Richard Andrew Croke

                   1905-1993 (picture c1951)

Like many of those who served in WW2  "Dick Croke" almost never spoke of his past until he was in his mid 70s. Then challenged by his son Peter he open up, as Peter explains,  "Dick"  was orphaned by the age of 12 so his parents died long before I was born and I never knew them. I spent years tracing and re-establishing family connections in Ireland. Thus his military service was not investigated  until a couple of years before he died when he handed over various diaries and documents.

Below is are extracts from his diary on enlistment in the RA, also from letters home on his early days in the army and home leave with comments by his son Peter:-

Saturday June 22 1940: 6.15pm

At 1.15pm today I was sworn in as a gunner in His Majesty's Royal Artillery. Six of us stood before Major C Carmody, Area Recruiting Officer, in what may at one time have been the head mistress' room mate, the former M/C HSG in Dover Street, Each pair were told to hold a New Testament by our right hands and repeat a mighty oath to serve King George VI, his heirs and successors and obey the generals and officers set over me. There was nothing about Sgt Majors. An attractive, dignified, scant-haired captain stood rigidly to attention during the blasphemy.

The major caught my eye fixed on him and probably detected a cynical gleam because he immediately dived into a drawer for something non-existent, rubbed his nose, then fixed a Stammerg, bearded Irishman who was about the majors own height (about 5'5"). When that was done, Carmody announced that the others report there 830am next Monday for E. Lancs., Pendleton, Then he gazed at me, turned to the be-flagged blue uniformed Sgt. major and said to the astonished mob, "This Gentleman is deferred embodiment he gets 4/6 for some reason. You others get only 4 bob".   Mob give sidelong looks, probably wondering where the hell the extra tanners worth came in. I learned later that 2/- is a days pay, 2/- ration money and the tanner is supposed to keep me from tomorrow until I land at my depot in Brighton on July 18. I'm booked for the 41st Regt Survey Training Regiment RA I was given rail warrant from Liverpool. a copy of my attestation pass to give to Sergeant of the Guard at Brighton, and a Roneod form of direction telling me where to report and to bring my civilian identification card, ration card, unemployment insurance book and civilian respirator. Privately the major suggested a change of undies, The sergeant major told the others to bring towel, soap, shaving kit.

I arrived at Dover Street 8.47 and staggered out at 1.20 clutching the King's 4/6 (florin, 2 shillings and a 6d) in one hand and a bunch of papers in the other, not quite sure whether I should whoop for joy or slip under a speeding bus. I dropped into the Holy Name for five minutes and found peace.
What a contrast between the two places. The one symbolised the futility of man's scrambling indifference to the things that really matter. The other stood for majestic, all-conquering, salutary humility. I uttered a fiat voluntas tua and went out to get some lunch determined to do my best to end this horror overshadowing us and bring back sanity and justice.

Gunner Croke! What irony that I who have so long sneered at the bureaucratic, cross-eyed mentality of the Army and such like should have almost begged this body to enslave me for the duration. I shall like the life because I regard it as a necessary job. The sacrifice of home, income, family this is immense, but so is the crisis and I joined because I have five children. I can see my duty in no other way, and pray God will look after Vera who must shoulder a terrible task.

For many years I have planned to keep a diary and this is a good opportunity to start. There will be so much of interest, so much to intrigue and amuse. I can fill pages with today's incidents alone. After a month or more of glorious sunshine the weather broke during the night and it poured all morning. Happy omen.   When the ban on journalists was lifted in January, I determined to do my bit in whatever service or sphere came my way. I answered an advert, Box 50, War Office, asking for men knowing foreign languages.

May 23 brought a letter from the Field Security Police saying there was no vacancy adding in ink, "This decision is final" . I wondered why they troubled to be so emphatic.

On June 12, I went to Dover Street to enquire about possibilities.  First I confirmed that I could volunteer. I saw the chief clerk (Mr Davies) who said I was too old for line regts, suggested the CMP, then RA Survey. Discovered I was over the limit for training battn, offered a medical examination and then write to war office to see If they'd take me although 4 months too old. When the French were on the verge of packing up!

Friday June 21.    brought notice of medical today, and request to bring identity card, marriage and children's birth certificates with insurance card. Wired Vera who sent all but Pauline's. She enclosed note saying she'd asked Derby to forward it here. There was a plaintive footnote, "Please do your best to get an allowance from the office for me I don't want to let the insurance's go."  What a gem she is. She doesn't quite agree with me volunteering but doesn't complain about the probable hardships coming. I grabbed the registered letter with the certificates off the postman and scrammed in the rain, was lucky with buses and arrived little late (due 8.45) Room No 10 for Medical BD 3a = Volunteers. The waiting room used to be a cloakroom. We were a mixed grill I was probably the best off of all the 20 odd men who wandered in and out, though one after whose only concern was whether the rain would stop his cricket match was collared for the Grenadier Guards. He told me the Minister of Labour clerk said he can't volunteer as he had registered (26) as works manager and was therefore reserved, He was tired waiting to be called and said his piece. Clerk, conspirator- like, said it would be OK if he put himself down as a departmental manager. Hair splitting regulations again. After waiting 10 minutes we got our papers. Then an ancient mariner, dubbed by the guardsman "a conscientious director",  who repeatedly warned us we were 3A not 3 Board, herded me and a gang of No 3's to the basement, At least I went to the basement, they went above, Canvas screens made a room within a room, leaving a corridor down one length and width - down the length were doorless cubicles each with a chair and spring hangers. There was one man sitting clothed when I entered "Take a pew", he said. "Take this", said a clerk appearing and thrusting a glass beaker into my fist. "Fill up to here pointing - "The lavatory's under the stairs? I returned the nectar, bagged a cubicle and undressed except for coat and trousers, Gosh what a draughty hole. The doctors were calling for somebody to close the apparently permanently open windows, Four men stood by the entrance to the Holy of Holies. There were chairs but they (the men) seemed rather taut, had a wait for it air. One was young, cockiness temporarily numbed, another had thick leased specs, a large scar and scaliness on right of neck. A third seemed late  30's black frizzy hair weather-beaten, burly. I was the skinniest most anaemic looking specimen on view especially when we were joined by three hair-chested heavyweights with bristly chins who would seem more at home in a dockside brawl. "Thick-lenses" went in, couldn't read any letters without specs, had a long hospital history and was ploughed before he reached Doc No 2. There was a scurrying of docs and checking of more regulations and the chairman of the board called "Get dressed, there's a good fellow"
- then "I'm sorry but we can do nothing for you, you've done your best" said he "I suppose it's this" indicating his skin affection, "Yes" said doc "My wife said that would pip me" he confided to me later. In Room No 10 he had been bright, jaunty - the air of an ordinary man willing to take on an extraordinary job because he felt he must. Fearful not so much of what it would entail, but rather, perhaps secretly that he might not be allowed to take the chance. I met him later standing in the corner by the door as we waited to go upstairs again. The light had gone from his eyes. He seemed to have shrunk, He smiled, forced a mirthless, "They say I've done my best" - and seemed to be grasping some consolation from that tribute, because tribute it was, Thousands are dodging, spending £50 and more for substitutes to go through the medical and get a Grade 3 or lower if there is such a depth of failure. Silently I saluted that unknown acquaintance of an hour, he has passed on, I have passed in. God guides our ways. He will probably end the greater hero. "Frizzy mop was failed also, he was deaf - did his best to read everybody's lips but the docs knew that gag. The young un grinned cheekily again. Strutted round, looked like stretching out and pushing the walls over.

Now my turn. Gaunt blue-suited, be-spectacled, rather absent-minded doc was in first section of room with clerk taking declared parties. Put your coat on that chair - drop your trousers. Cripes, what a day for a nudist experiment. The window above banged open again in derision, the wind whistled round the corner of the screen. "Stand over here" - a scales. What price dignity. The doc fingered the balance gazed at "Thick-specs just passing to doc No 2, gazed again at the chairman, muttered to himself, then came to earth. "10st exactly," he said - looked away again, turned and advised, "Put your trousers on - it's cold," he volunteered as if it were news to me. Then a Scots doc bustled in, pointed to some sub- section of a blasted regular, and that finished the forlorn hope in "thick specs". "No", "Oh"  where was I?" pleaded my bloke, "Have we got his eyes? " "No", "Oh", looking under his specs "they're blue." "chest 37 -2½  (i.e. 37 expanded, 2½ expansion - coo-er!) - "5ft 8" (shoes and a hair cut do make a difference to height). Now came the supreme test for me - eyes. Now or never. Automatically I had listened to the others churn out the letters, had even pictured the card as I waited, It was a four-sided affair - surely he would turn it round. No! the same one, He covered alternate eyes. Right was OK down to last line but one; left blurred at that one - I hadn't memorised that line, blast it - but it was no matter - "Good," said the old boy. "Baloney" says I to myself - man must learn to say things to myself in the army - its going to be a trial.

I passed on to Scotty, stocky, grey-suited fair-haired, "Put your coat over that chair" - He gazed at my carcass like a good family butcher sizing up his pet customer's weekend joint. "Um," he vouchsafed and wrote something on my sheet. "Let's see your teeth - Oh complete artificial." My heart missed a beat - would that plough me? but he seemed unconcerned - "I'm now looking for identification marks and potted and peered - found something nor'west of my derriere - must ask V what it is - again I was passed along to blue-striped, dark hair, copy book, strong, silent doctor tested my ticker and rooted rudely round unmentionable parts, telling me to cough while he did it. Tea had meanwhile arrived for the docs and they drank it with relish - medico next door had back to me and was gazing at the sky as he sipped continued drinking then parked me on table thumped and squeezed, peered down ears and whispered "Can you hear me whispering?" I could and, so it seemed to me, could the gents across the room who seemed to divide their time between fiddling with beakers and cups of tea.

It was all over, my papers were passed to benevolent, bed-side chairman who eventually called me over, expressed wonder at my eyesight, informed me the 1st three lines were Regular Army Al and offered the Opinion that my specs were all wrong and probably harmful. "You feel perfectly fit?" - Yes - "Well you're Grade 1."

Sw'elp me - Grade 1 with specs and dentures. He wished me good luck and good morning and I chattered into my clothes again, regarding a bunch of new corners very superiorly and not a little condescendingly. A bunch of us waited in the draughty cellar outside before we were called up to daylight after 3/4 hour or more. The same ancient mariner fussy and fearful, ordered me to go into a big room where I had volunteered. I kindly said "No - chief clerk wants my papers" - He said "I've got to take you here and I've got your papers - see him after". He sailed on, I turned left, spotted the serang, recalled my case and was told age limits been pushed up five years in last few days - now 40 for RA Survey - I go to attestation room in a dream, knowing only that clerk mentioned casually "deferred embodiment - report July 18" - July 18 and I had expected to wait a month or two before the next move. In attestation room were six clerks (including 2 sergt majors) filling papers, and this clerk receiving them an bustling old time sergt major dealing with pay - He scared the wits out of most lads scarcely giving them time to sign for the first day's pay as soldiers. I waited nearly another 1/2 hour then one of the sergts called me and the fun started. "Married?" - "Yes "- "Any children - "Five" , "Bugger me - why pick on me, I've just had one with seven and here's a Five."He moaned to next door sergt who grinned sardonically and replied in brogue - "Ah, I can pick 'em - four in a row unmarried and no children either." The point is every child's name, age, place of birth have to be triplicated from certs. He first refused to accept my identity card receipt. Explained I was getting a green one with photo - he'd never heard of one. Took me to major who said he'd only sign real card and would I get one. "Yes I said - should I have said "sir?" Heaven direct me on army etiquette. Tummies were beginning to roll generally it was nearly one and still a crowd waited - I grabbed papers and pay clerk, signed up before he knew what was happening, then he announced "That's all before lunch, come back in half and hour. General protest from men waiting since 8.30am, but out they had to go. While I waited earlier a clerk entered and asked "Any vacancies in the horse cavalry? There's a chap here want to know" The chap unadvisedly had entered the crowded room, seemed pained and disillusioned at the brief "No" and cynical smiles all round.

And so to the Swearing with which I began this prolonged history of my official exit as a civilian. After lunch went to office, told Barkworth who advised on letter to Elland re allowance - seemed confident I'd get one the correctly promised nothing.

8.35pm now my officially perfect eyes ache, the streets are wet; I am dry and now venture out for a breather before tackling trig and logs - Oh boy, are my maths going to give the army a headache.

PS I forgot to mention when we stood outside majors room, we were lined up, I first. Automatically I took off my impressive Eden hat - the scarved ones, very fed with so much time wasting, kept caps on and hands in pocket. Sergt major instructed them what to do on Monday then whispered to the bloke by me, "Take your hands out of your pockets" - "What?" - "I said take your hands out of your pockets."  He did, looking furious and bewildered too. Then said SM. "Now take your cap off."  Well, well, we're in the army now. The SM. gave us booklet   "Health Memoranda for Soldiers" and finally shook hands with me - I must have winning ways, or perhaps there's something foreboding about having ones mitt squeezed by an S.M. who had told a slow coach "I'm getting on in years and my breath is rather valuable." He wasn't a bad old stick, all the same.

8.45pm June 22.1940

Afterthoughts June 22

Nothing can master the British phlegm - So many of us were volunteering to fight for something we hold dear; but are too shy to express no demonstration of patriotism, no "united we stand stuff - just grumbling at waiting criticism of red tape and that was our only bond. When we stopped moaning, we stopped talking. It required four hours of that recruiting office to wrench diffident queries about each others mob.

After his initial training Richard Croke  joined the newly formed 7th Survey Regiment in January 1941, where due to his back ground as a journalist was soon to  produce the first editions February & March 1941 of the regiments monthly newspaper "On Parade" (see Link). April and May 1941 was to see him on further courses in Sound Ranging and being promoted to Sergeant. On his return he  joined 53bty, C Troop Sound Ranging, and was active in all their exercises through-out the next   year or so. Then on 27/02/1943, he was discharged on medical grounds brought on it is said by sleeping out in all weathers on Salisbury Plain and on the Brecon Beacons.

"On enlistment Richard Croke had worked for the Daily Express in Manchester but on discharge he took a job with the Liverpool Echo and later became assistant editor.  Liverpool being our home city. In 1953 he realised a long standing dream and emigrated to Australia and his children arrived at various times. As a child, I remember photos of him in uniform but none have survived".

Joining The Army
Ironically, I had volunteered for the Army in 1939, but was told I was in a Reserved Occupation and so could not be enlisted. To add to the irony, I shared a flat in Stretford, Manchester, near the Lancashire County Cricket Ground with Johnny Burns after he gave up his house in Didsbury, Manchester, in the first week of war. He, too, was officially Reserved, but two days after we moved in, he was sacked by the Manchester Evening Chronicle. Newspaper managements did some incredible things at the time. Newsprint was rationed and 32 page papers were cut to eight, but circulations increased for reasons obvious to all but managements. Add to this, many younger men were soon drafted when the farce of Reservation became clear.

Two days after he was given a month's notice, Johnny was re-employed and remained on The Chronicle so far as I know, long after we came to Australia. After Dunkirk, when invasion seemed certain, I volunteered again and was accepted. The D. Express gave Vera 5 Pound 10s a week, half salary, but excluding "travel expenses" which kept official salaries at a fair level for the gooks (and income tax) but made the total income acceptable)

The Battle of Brighton Beach
Johnny (Burns) joined up two days after me and we both reported at Preston Barracks, Brighton, for training in basic Artillery Survey as well as "square bashing". The threat of invasion quickly limited all training to filling sandbags on strategic points on Brighton front for gun emplacements, and also clearing the famous Brighton Piers which authority said would be used by the Hitler hordes for landing. Why Hitler would present such concentrated targets was never explained. Life was full of infuriating frustration because clearly both the officers and NCOs were using manuals 10-15 years old. "Blitz Krieg" was never mentioned, although some of them survived Dunkirk.

There were hilarious episodes to relieve the passing hours. I helped to hack a big hole in one chalk cliff with pick and shovel supervised remotely by a former lecturer in architecture in London University. He was a Territorial Army officer with more battle theory than practice. He was "designing" Bren gun posts in that area and 1939 Militia boys, now with stripes, were carrying out what they thought were his plans and orders. One of our group, a former member of a university regiment, all potential O and G's (officers and gents) queried both the positions of our pit and another clearly visible, plus the limited apertures. He was told bluntly by the former barber's assistant now sporting two stripes, that such complicated military operations were beyond the understanding of mere trainees, so "shut up and get on with it." We did, and soon a bunch of Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders arrived to inspect our creations. A WO2 jumped into our "strongpoint", gazed unbelievingly through the aperture at the other creation and swore. Translated, he said in effect: "Gentlemen, far be it for me to criticise the work of military geniuses, but may I respectfully draw your attention to the fact that if anyone fires a Bren from this boudoir he will undoubtedly kill all in that attractive residence yonder. Why? because gentlemen - and I use this term in the loosest possible manner - you are about 45E out in your siting and there's no room for traverse."

As an ex-serviceman, you can picture the scene and imagine the language. The university lecturer turned soldier didn't believe him (he hadn't seen the finished jobs!) and the NCOs who used the theodolites on the survey reported they turned over their readings to a man who messed up the computations! The Argyles set up petrol cans in the opposite bunker and a Bren gunner in ours. He blasted every can in the restricted angle inside the bunker.

The architect was at last convinced, and the following day vanished - probably to the Imperial General Staff!

No wonder when the air blitz started the area was called Hell Fire Corner.

By the way some humorist had managed to fix to the blasted bunker a very appropriate label: "We can take it."

Before I take an affectionate leave of Brighton, let me add another gem. Cleaning the piers, focal points of many generations of holiday-makers, was an hilarious affair which could have ended in tragedy. Apart from the usual sideshows, the pier I was on boasted a large theatre, a wide area for bumper cars which were always well patronised, and a dance floor. The obvious thing to have done was to let the various operators remove their goods, but, no, the Army said the necessary transport and petrol was not available. Later I heard one of the operators owned a large furniture removal fleet with the requisite petrol coupons!

While the Royal Artillery, supplied the slave labour, every officers' mess for miles around was represented by Top Brass and transport. Valuable furnishings and money vanished into the greedy maws - some to be sold very soon to the original owners.

The electrically-driven bumper cars fitted into no official scheme, so the order was "Throw them over the side." This we did with gusto, venting our wrath on these pleasure cars instead of on officers and WOs. We made a big splash when the tide was high. We nearly fainted when the tide went out.

There were our cars reposing gracefully on the beach amid a stack of notices: "DANGER - MINES".

The engineers had mined the beach and fixed explosives to the pier uprights but nobody told anyone anything!! Never was an area evacuated so swiftly. Even two 15cwt Bedfords loaded to the roofs with an assortment of booze, and a five ton AEC high-seat packed with furniture and drapes were left driverless - one with the engine still running!

Gunner officers who had been tipped off about what was happening to us, arrived in a deserted seafront, shared the grog with us, commandeered meals from a nearby hotel, played hell with the junior officers who let themselves be bullied by "mere footsloggers", then got us back to barracks in the Bedfords.

The 5 tonner? Nobody ever saw it again - officially!

One of the last jobs I did before going to Preston Barracks in July 1940 was to crisscross all the windows with brown paper sticky tape to minimise flying glass during air raids. This fascinated the children who had not yet wakened to the fact that in moving from Daresbury Road, Chorlton-cum-Hardy, to escape probable raids on nearby industrial Trafford Park to 55 York Avenue, Crosby, we had moved perilously close to the Liverpool Docks, especially Gladstone Dock, Seaforth. It was this factor which eventually prompted Vera to look for a bigger house in Birkdale, Southport area. Air raids and near misses in late August / early September 1940, finally chased her and Winnie Burns (not far away in Crosby) into temporary digs in Southport.

So far as memory serves, Johnny and I were doing a theodolite exercise on Salisbury Plain at Larkhill School of Artillery Survey when a telegram arrived for us. It was so well worded that when we showed it to our sergeant, he took it higher up and we were on our way to Southport within a couple of hours. It was a memorable trip because current regulations (based on fear of imminent invasion) required us to take our World War I Canadian Ross rifles with us and carry them wherever we went while in our home area. You can imagine the interested glances from civilians and incredulous stares from servicemen as we stood at bus stops and at shops with wives and children and rifles which we didn't know how to carry least obtrusively. After one such hour long outing, we removed the rifle bolts and hid the rifles in a wardrobe. The estate agent who let 9 Claremont Road, Birkdale, to us took a lot of convincing when we stalked into his office armed with rifles. He was more impressed when I told him to ring the London Daily Express office in Manchester. I signed the indefinite lease and we at least knew our families could not be evicted during the war.

How the families moved into Claremont Road I cannot recall because we left barracks on Wednesday afternoon and had to be back by 23.59 hours on Friday. There were a few hours hectic sorting and packing before we left

Back in Training
After Army trade tests, we had the choice of specialising in straight survey, sound ranging or flash spotting, but when the postings were announced, I found he (Johnny Burns) had really applied for flash spotting. He put up his surveyor's badge whereas I was an outsider because, for most of the training period, I was permanent room orderly because I had broken my specs on a field exercise, was not allowed to wear civilian specs, and I waited nearly five months for Army specs. The usual training (basic) was 3 months. I tried to do the trade test from other people's notes and failed.

We went to the Seventh Survey Regt, (a new mob) I did a crash course, got my badge, was sent back to Larkhill for an advanced course, passed, (with one stripe up), returned to collect a second stripe and nine months after starting was a sergeant. In 11 months I was a troop sergeant with the traditions of "C" Troop in all RA regiments on my back. Johnny never collected a stripe and was eventually posted to Woolwich Depot minus trade pay.

Dick Croke continues:

I vividly remember going on leave, about June 1941, for the first time in six months and arriving at Claremont about 10.45pm. I fell into bed at about 11.45 dog tired only to hear the sirens go about midnight. There was a recognisable "crump" nearby, but no explosion. By 12.15 air raid wardens were hammering on the door. "Unexploded land mine two doors down. Get out quickly to the school." With the speed of almost nightly practice, Vera had the children out of bed and dressed before I appreciated her problems. Off we went to the school assembly hall to join a crowd of neighbourhood families. I was the only serviceman in the place and attracted much attention. I began to realise I had better rescue my equipment. Vera had all the family papers in a bag. I went back to the house which now had a barricade round it with another at the farther street junction. An air raid warden challenged me as I approached. He was joined by a policeman. They wouldn't let me in the house till another warden arrived and told the pair Mrs Croke was expecting her husband home on leave. They checked my pay book and in I went. "You've got five minutes only" I was told. I grabbed my gear just as someone banged on the door. That meant a police inspector was coming. He never saw me and I returned to the school to spend a sleepless night with a couple of hundred others in an airless room. At first light I prevailed on Winnie Burns to join us in a park not far away. Better to be under bushes in the open air. I scouted round, found a cafe open at 6am ordered bacon and eggs for eleven more as a joke, and found we could have such a meal. And what a meal it was. The proprietor thought all eight children were ours. The bill was much less than it should have been. We also found a place for a refreshing "wash and brush up".

Then came the long wait. When, if at all, could we return home? I went to see at about noon and was told the Army disposal men thought the mine a dud which could be sandbagged, defused and blown later, but higher powers had to decide. Peter went along twice, and on his second visit late afternoon learned we could go home at 5pm. Nobody explained this arbitrary time, but we didn't care much. Back we went with the proviso that we must be ready to move at a moment's notice. We didn't undress fully that night, but there were no more alarms and I ended my leave with the knowledge that the day I left all windows and doors had to be wide open in the afternoon when the mine would be exploded. The operation was successful and painless.

I believe this was the last major alarm in Birkdale, but the strain of the previous 12 months had a lasting effect on Vera and indirectly contributed to her later problems. That was the leave when Liverpool dock area was bombed for seven consecutive nights. The destruction was horrific when ammo ships blew up.

Written by Sgt Richard Andrew Croke RA