So we are having a bit of hot weather at last, the last time I remember such a long hot spell was when I did my two years National Service. I wrote about my training at the beginning, it would now be called a 'BLOG'

Here is a copy.

National Service, 1959. 
By
Tony Bowles

I was home from work as usual about 6pm, but there was a strange atmosphere. 'there's a letter from 'On Her Majesty's Service' My call up papers had arrived at long last.
I was beginning to think perhaps I had been overlooked, after all I was now nearly twenty two years old having served an apprenticeship with deferred call up an option.
A bag of nerves I opened the letter with father, mother and sister quietly looking on. I was to report to Bury Barracks on the first week of Bolton's annual fortnights holiday, we still had 'Wakes Week' then.
I went to work the following day and found to my amazement, Stan Tudge, a fellow worker, was called up on the same day, same place, same regiment, The Lancashire Fusiliers.

We met in Bolton for a last pint as civilians at a pub just twenty yards from the 23 bus service to Bury. Looking at two years then it seemed a lifetime, looking back now at fifty years ago this year I wonder how it went so fast.

We arrived at Wellington Barracks somewhere around mid day and were ushered to the canteen for a taste of army food and our first taste of army life. It was also my first taste of meatballs and string beans. I was gobsmacked to be served by a cousin of mine serving with the Catering Corp.
After our meal we were assembled and given our respective platoon placements. Our draft proved to be a very large one, enough for three platoons, Inkerman, Cassino and Spion Kop. All very mysterious names to me at the time, but enlightenment came and we began to digest regimental history as we went along.
Sergeants Pritchard, Cassino, Smith, Inkerman and Lyons Spion Kop took charge of us and with great efficiency as if by magic we were kitted out, fitted out and quartered.
The tv hit 'Hut twenty nine' immediately sprang to mind, we even had a 'Ted Lune ' look a like, who in fact was a very nice lad. 
Our new abode, a wooden nissen hut, one of a row situated just below the playing fields toward the barracks perimeter. The three platoons accommodation were side by side and quite large really, large enough to house our intake of some one hundred and twenty new recruits.
My mate was allotted Inkerman and from that point on our social lives changed over the next two years.
Reveille was to be the most important call of the day and saw a scramble onto the road in front of our barrack rooms to the shouts of corporals and lance corporals giving out orders to a complete and utter 'shower', this was a new and demanding life for all of us and a sense of humour would be a blessing. It was on this road we were given the rudiments of moving in time, basic drill and obeying a given order, immediately.
Later we were introduced to R.S.M.Alley who managed with very few words put the fear of god into new recruits, his first orders for us was to get our hair cut, any thoughts of crew cuts and style were quickly put to rest, anything below the beret was shaved to the 'wood'.
The barber was a civilian who's barber shop was a hut just across from the barracks, no amount of pleading by the lads detracted him from the orders of R.S.M.Alley, down to the wood. One young man I can never forget was John Collins from Salford, he came in with an immaculate 'Teddy Boy' dress and the most glorious head of hair, thick black and curly with an equally immaculate 'D.A.'. I was present as the barber set to and removed the lovingly styled hairdo. A plea to leave on what he could only led to a great mop of thick hair being left under the beret but when the beret was removed the head looked like a black fuzz on top of a billiard ball, John was truly crestfallen. He wasn't alone, some one hundred and twenty other new fusiliers kept him company. I think the barber had a very good Bury holiday fortnight, which always followed Bolton's two weeks later.
During our early running around we caught sight of the draft prior to ours returning to barracks from a stay at Holcombe ranges, I was very impressed. Shirtsleeve order, marching smartly back with shouldered arms looking every inch like long time regulars, surely we would never look like that, I was of course going by the way early drill was working out with all the classic clangers. These guys had only been drafted eight or so weeks before us.

Among our training groups were a few young lads who were in between the two intakes, regulars who had signed on then mixed in with us. They were quite valuable in that they had already picked up a few 'wrinkles', bulling the pimples from our new boots, how to blanco, polish brasses, square our beds, press BD's, in fact all the basics, the best sergeants, the worst NCO's, we had apparently the best sergeant, sergeant Bill Pritchard, under him we would have the best platoon award. The three platoons would bring about a highly competitive edge to our training, ideal for honing teamwork to a high standard. Sergeant Pritchard was a confident man, although it maybe inspiring to his wards he predicted we would be 'best platoon' and not only that, we would also furnish the 'best recruit'. He was right on both counts.
Soon, against all odds we were beginning to resemble the draft before us, though we had some way to go, we jumped when told to jump, ran when told to run, doubled when told to double. As some one who hated the army and only here because I had to be, I was surprised to find myself being proud as we began to march and drill with an expertise not thought to be possible early days. I was a National Service Man, keep your nose clean, do your two years and get out, simple.
September arrived, passing out parade day was near and we had rehearsals after rehearsals with R.S.M. Alley getting more involved as the big day drew close culminating in our C.O. inspecting the parade and choosing the 'best recruit' of the intake from a guard comprised of each platoons candidates. 
Bill Pritchard was a proud sergeant as he gained the distinction of best platoon and best recruit, a double no less, and I was the dubbed 'Commanding Officers Stick Man'. Oddly enough, beside Bill Pritchard predicting I would gain that distinction, sergeant Lyons had asked me whilst on the firing rage if I would consider a transfer to Spion Kop, he was also convinced I would be best recruit. Personally I thought they were both wrong, I only wanted to get through with as little trouble as possible, they ( sergeants) saw something I didn't.

Come the big day, blues will be worn, band and drums, families invited, the ceremony began to take my whole being over, the proud traditions of the Lancashire Fusiliers were beginning to be instilled. 
I took my place on the square with an escort by my side, a corporal, again my perusal of LF's at rest brought back these vivid memories, by the name of Paul Harrison. Paul was respected by us as an, 'old sweat' with a good deal of service already in and was noted for being unflappable and, unlike some, a well liked corporal. 
Today I look at my memento of the day , a small silver plated cup engraved 'best recruit September 1959' and remember how proud I felt parading in front of my very proud father and mother, sisters and uncle and of course the rest of my fellow trainees and sergeant Pritchard. 
I also remember the board inside the archway entrance to Wellington Barracks, directly opposite the guard room, listing the best recruits of past intakes and the dates awarded, I often wonder what happened to it.
As a reluctant serviceman I have to admit, though I never would at the time, just how much the Lancashire Fusiliers enriched my life. The web page brings back so many stories and for every story, there is a story within a story. Captain Whacker Brown, Captain Cartwright, Lieutenant Jewkes, Joe Kelly, Ken Scragg, Corporals Pete Singleton, Kenny Stubbs, Ronnie McDonald, Jimmy Mills and his long time friend Jessie Owen, so many, and a story attached to each and everyone of them.
It is said that there is a book in all of us, I can certainly vouch for that.

As a footnote I might add that the summer of 1959 was one of the hottest and longest, for a period, water was only turned on for a few minutes in the morning and the same again in the evening, you had to be quick so as not to be on a charge for parading unshaven. Water carts were sent out to outlying districts, it was a very serious situation. Eventually those living within travelling distance were allowed home for the weekend to have a decent bath.

Tony Bowles, signals platoon 59/61.