DITS AND DAHS

I have experienced only a few complete failures in my life, but one that came quite close was trying to teach conscript soldiers of the South Wales Borderers how to use Morse code.
The signals training pamphlet states that messages transmitted on carrier wave, using Morse code (a series of dits and dahs), travels further than normal voice communication. Certain wireless sets we used in the ‘50s had this facility but, even though my signal sergeant and I spent many hours trying to train our signalers to transmit and receive messages, we never achieved any meaningful success.
At the end of my three year tour with the 1st Battalion South Wales Borderers, I joined the 3rd (Kenya) Battalion King’s African Rifles in Kenya. When I met my new commanding officer he was interested to hear that I had been signals officer of my previous unit. He was short of an officer to fill that specialist appointment and, as we were under orders for active service in Malaya, I dropped into his lap like a ripe plum. Warrant Officer Platoon Commander Kathuka, of the Kamba tribe, had been doing the job for the previous 12 months and he was summoned to the CO’s office to meet his new boss. We got on well from the start.
When we walked across the playing fields towards the signals lines I was able to learn something about him. He had been with the KAR since the end of the war, he spoke very good English and was, by African standards, well educated. He had the natural dignity of a member of his tribe and he was proud to be a warrant officer in the King’s African Rifles. He was also proud to have commanded the signals platoon for 12 months and, if the truth be known, must have been somewhat disappointed about handing over to me – a ‘new boy’ as far as the KAR was concerned who could not speak a word of Kiswahili.
When we were about 200 yards away from the hut where the signals cadre was receiving instruction, I could hear a strange noise. Kathuka opened the door and I thought that some sort of black magic ritual was being practised. “What’s going on?” I asked. “We do this every morning, effendi,” replied Kathuka: “Morse code and physical training.” He went on to explain that the first 40 minute period of the day was a mixture of learning the Morse code alphabet and strenuous PT.
Askaris were coming to the end of one bout and were bathed in perspiration. They had a few minutes rest before the instructor rapped the table with his stick and asked: “Watu wote tayeri (Is everyone ready?)” “Ndio (yes), tayeri,” came the response. “Sekia,” said the instructor with his stick raised like a conductor: ‘ABLE’, (the first letter in the old phonetic alphabet) said the instructor. Back came the answer from the askaris: ‘DIT DAH’ (the Morse symbol). ‘BAKER” was delivered from the front, ‘DAH DIT DIT DIT’, came the chant with askaris already prancing in time with the dits and dahs. ‘CHARLIE, DOG, EASY and FOX” were signals for askaris to mount chairs and tables or to gyrate on the floor. African rhythm is infectious and before long I found myself caught in the sensation of movement and sound. Not all the letters of the alphabet followed each other in sequence. The instructor produced, either by coincidence or sense of rhythm, a series of letters which continually altered the flow and tempo of the chant.
Everyone enjoyed themselves and what impressed me most was that those askaris, after only four weeks training, could read and send 15 words a minute. That may not seem much to a layman, but I can assure you it is more than adequate for a regimental signaler.