Dark Patch on the Surface

Just before I retired from the Army in 1980, I visited the 1st Battalion of my regiment which was engaged on a four month tour of duty in Northern Ireland. In the course of publicity work I was doing, I required some photographs of signalling equipment in current use with an infantry battalion, so I went along to the signal store with my camera. The thought went through my mind of the remarkable changes that had taken place since the days when I had been the signals officer of the 1st Battalion South Wales Borderers. I claim to be the last British officer to use pigeons on active service, not that I sought to establish a record, it was only because my wireless equipment was so abysmally inefficient.
I was taught how to use the numbers 18, 19 and 22 wireless sets at the School of Signals in Richmond, Yorkshire. The course lasted 11 weeks and at the end I was just as mystified by radio valves, oscillating waves and battery charging as when I arrived. The rest of the students must have felt the same because the commandant gave us some advice before we left.
"Gentlemen," he began. "You are about to return to your units to become regimental signals officers. We have taught you as much as we can during the time you have been here, but it will not have escaped your notice that the wireless sets are, to say the least, pretty useless. You will have to make the most of them though until the new range of equipment comes through. There will be times when you will have to 'carry the can' for the shortcomings of your equipment, and your commanding officer might well get angry with you. If this happens, I suggest you tell him that this is the worst time of year for sunspots." With that he turned on his heel and left the room. I remember asking the fellow next to me what sunspots were, but he didn't know either.
When I had the opportunity, I looked up the word in a dictionary and found that a 'sunspot is a dark patch on the sun's surface'. On further investigation, I learnt that these dark patches were violent eruptions of nuclear energy which had a detrimental effect on radio waves.
Within a few weeks I was back with my unit in Cyprus, but just in time to check the stores and take over from the outgoing signals officer before we packed up and set sail for the Sudan. It was not until early April 1949 when we had unpacked all our kit that I was able to sort everything out. The old hands in the signals platoon were busy erecting aerials, laying telephone lines and coaxing the charging engines to put some energy into the cumbersome secondary batteries that were used to power the wireless sets. These batteries were to cause me more trouble than anything else in the months ahead.
Khartoum is a hot place to be at any time of the year, but even before we were properly acclimatised, the commanding officer announced he was holding a two day signals exercise in the desert south of Omdurman. I realised that this was going to be my first big test and I worked hard over the weekend to ensure that all the wireless sets were in good working order and that batteries were charged to their full capacity.
We set out for the exercise area on the Monday morning with each company HQ vehicle having aboard a No. 19 set on the main battalion net. We made a fine sight as we sped across the desert, each vehicle leaving a wide dust trail behind it.
Battalion headquarters was established under a solitary group of palm trees and the commanding officer, after checking he was in wireless communication with me, roared off in his jeep. For the first hour or so, outstations managed to speak to each other but then voices got weaker, crackles and squeaks grew louder until, by midday, nothing could be heard except me shouting to myself: "All stations, report my signals." In the end, even I gave up when I saw that my batteries were running down.
I was munching a cheese sandwich when I became aware of a dust cloud growing larger by the minute. Soon, I recognised the pennant on the bonnet of the jeep as belonging to the commanding officer; before the vehicle stopped, he jumped out and demanded to know why he couldn't hear anyone. Slipping my half eaten sandwich into the headset carrier bag I remembered the words of the commandant at the School of Signals. "I'm sorry, sir, but it's only to be expected," I said. "This is the worst time of year for sunspots." The CO looked at me for a second or two, and then he erupted. "SUNSPOTS!!" he bellowed. "You'll have sunspots on your arse if you don't get these wireless sets working."
With my trump card played, there was nothing else I could do and, as there didn't seem much point in carrying on with the exercise when no one could hear anything, the CO set off in his jeep to tell everybody to go home.
There was much mirth when we all met in the mess and I was the recipient of many hurtful remarks. The commanding officer had been heard muttering: "Sunspots, I'll give him bloody sunspots." The adjutant thought the CO had taken too much sun and spoke to the medical officer about it, but eventually the truth came out.
I was known as 'Sunspots' for a long time and I had a good mind to write to the commandant of the Signals School and tell him that his advice didn't work in the Sudan.

Postscript: The young signaller to whom I spoke in the signals store looked owlishly at me when I asked him if he had any trouble with sunspots. I was just testing him to see if it was still an emotive word in the Signals Platoon. He didn't react, so I suppose it's forgotten now. The mule panniers had gone as well.





Just before I retired from the Army in 1980, I visited the 1st Battalion of my regiment which was engaged on a four month tour of duty in Northern Ireland. In the course of publicity work I was doing, I required some photographs of signalling equipment in current use with an infantry battalion, so I went along to the signal store with my camera. The thought went through my mind of the remarkable changes that had taken place since the days when I had been the signals officer of the 1st Battalion South Wales Borderers. I claim to be the last British officer to use pigeons on active service, not that I sought to establish a record, it was only because my wireless equipment was so abysmally inefficient.
I was taught how to use the numbers 18, 19 and 22 wireless sets at the School of Signals in Richmond, Yorkshire. The course lasted 11 weeks and at the end I was just as mystified by radio valves, oscillating waves and battery charging as when I arrived. The rest of the students must have felt the same because the commandant gave us some advice before we left.
"Gentlemen," he began. "You are about to return to your units to become regimental signals officers. We have taught you as much as we can during the time you have been here, but it will not have escaped your notice that the wireless sets are, to say the least, pretty useless. You will have to make the most of them though until the new range of equipment comes through. There will be times when you will have to 'carry the can' for the shortcomings of your equipment, and your commanding officer might well get angry with you. If this happens, I suggest you tell him that this is the worst time of year for sunspots." With that he turned on his heel and left the room. I remember asking the fellow next to me what sunspots were, but he didn't know either.
When I had the opportunity, I looked up the word in a dictionary and found that a 'sunspot is a dark patch on the sun's surface'. On further investigation, I learnt that these dark patches were violent eruptions of nuclear energy which had a detrimental effect on radio waves.
Within a few weeks I was back with my unit in Cyprus, but just in time to check the stores and take over from the outgoing signals officer before we packed up and set sail for the Sudan. It was not until early April 1949 when we had unpacked all our kit that I was able to sort everything out. The old hands in the signals platoon were busy erecting aerials, laying telephone lines and coaxing the charging engines to put some energy into the cumbersome secondary batteries that were used to power the wireless sets. These batteries were to cause me more trouble than anything else in the months ahead.
Khartoum is a hot place to be at any time of the year, but even before we were properly acclimatised, the commanding officer announced he was holding a two day signals exercise in the desert south of Omdurman. I realised that this was going to be my first big test and I worked hard over the weekend to ensure that all the wireless sets were in good working order and that batteries were charged to their full capacity.
We set out for the exercise area on the Monday morning with each company HQ vehicle having aboard a No. 19 set on the main battalion net. We made a fine sight as we sped across the desert, each vehicle leaving a wide dust trail behind it.
Battalion headquarters was established under a solitary group of palm trees and the commanding officer, after checking he was in wireless communication with me, roared off in his jeep. For the first hour or so, outstations managed to speak to each other but then voices got weaker, crackles and squeaks grew louder until, by midday, nothing could be heard except me shouting to myself: "All stations, report my signals." In the end, even I gave up when I saw that my batteries were running down.
I was munching a cheese sandwich when I became aware of a dust cloud growing larger by the minute. Soon, I recognised the pennant on the bonnet of the jeep as belonging to the commanding officer; before the vehicle stopped, he jumped out and demanded to know why he couldn't hear anyone. Slipping my half eaten sandwich into the headset carrier bag I remembered the words of the commandant at the School of Signals. "I'm sorry, sir, but it's only to be expected," I said. "This is the worst time of year for sunspots." The CO looked at me for a second or two, and then he erupted. "SUNSPOTS!!" he bellowed. "You'll have sunspots on your arse if you don't get these wireless sets working."
With my trump card played, there was nothing else I could do and, as there didn't seem much point in carrying on with the exercise when no one could hear anything, the CO set off in his jeep to tell everybody to go home.
There was much mirth when we all met in the mess and I was the recipient of many hurtful remarks. The commanding officer had been heard muttering: "Sunspots, I'll give him bloody sunspots." The adjutant thought the CO had taken too much sun and spoke to the medical officer about it, but eventually the truth came out.
I was known as 'Sunspots' for a long time and I had a good mind to write to the commandant of the Signals School and tell him that his advice didn't work in the Sudan.

Postscript: The young signaller to whom I spoke in the signals store looked owlishly at me when I asked him if he had any trouble with sunspots. I was just testing him to see if it was still an emotive word in the Signals Platoon. He didn't react, so I suppose it's forgotten now. The mule panniers had gone as well.









DARK PATCH ON THE SURFACE


Just before I retired from the Army in 1980, I visited the 1st Battalion of my regiment which was engaged on a four month tour of duty in Northern Ireland. In the course of publicity work I was doing, I required some photographs of signalling equipment in current use with an infantry battalion, so I went along to the signal store with my camera. The thought went through my mind of the remarkable changes that had taken place since the days when I had been the signals officer of the 1st Battalion South Wales Borderers. I claim to be the last British officer to use pigeons on active service, not that I sought to establish a record, it was only because my wireless equipment was so abysmally inefficient.
I was taught how to use the numbers 18, 19 and 22 wireless sets at the School of Signals in Richmond, Yorkshire. The course lasted 11 weeks and at the end I was just as mystified by radio valves, oscillating waves and battery charging as when I arrived. The rest of the students must have felt the same because the commandant gave us some advice before we left.
"Gentlemen," he began. "You are about to return to your units to become regimental signals officers. We have taught you as much as we can during the time you have been here, but it will not have escaped your notice that the wireless sets are, to say the least, pretty useless. You will have to make the most of them though until the new range of equipment comes through. There will be times when you will have to 'carry the can' for the shortcomings of your equipment, and your commanding officer might well get angry with you. If this happens, I suggest you tell him that this is the worst time of year for sunspots." With that he turned on his heel and left the room. I remember asking the fellow next to me what sunspots were, but he didn't know either.
When I had the opportunity, I looked up the word in a dictionary and found that a 'sunspot is a dark patch on the sun's surface'. On further investigation, I learnt that these dark patches were violent eruptions of nuclear energy which had a detrimental effect on radio waves.
Within a few weeks I was back with my unit in Cyprus, but just in time to check the stores and take over from the outgoing signals officer before we packed up and set sail for the Sudan. It was not until early April 1949 when we had unpacked all our kit that I was able to sort everything out. The old hands in the signals platoon were busy erecting aerials, laying telephone lines and coaxing the charging engines to put some energy into the cumbersome secondary batteries that were used to power the wireless sets. These batteries were to cause me more trouble than anything else in the months ahead.
Khartoum is a hot place to be at any time of the year, but even before we were properly acclimatised, the commanding officer announced he was holding a two day signals exercise in the desert south of Omdurman. I realised that this was going to be my first big test and I worked hard over the weekend to ensure that all the wireless sets were in good working order and that batteries were charged to their full capacity.
We set out for the exercise area on the Monday morning with each company HQ vehicle having aboard a No. 19 set on the main battalion net. We made a fine sight as we sped across the desert, each vehicle leaving a wide dust trail behind it.
Battalion headquarters was established under a solitary group of palm trees and the commanding officer, after checking he was in wireless communication with me, roared off in his jeep. For the first hour or so, outstations managed to speak to each other but then voices got weaker, crackles and squeaks grew louder until, by midday, nothing could be heard except me shouting to myself: "All stations, report my signals." In the end, even I gave up when I saw that my batteries were running down.
I was munching a cheese sandwich when I became aware of a dust cloud growing larger by the minute. Soon, I recognised the pennant on the bonnet of the jeep as belonging to the commanding officer; before the vehicle stopped, he jumped out and demanded to know why he couldn't hear anyone. Slipping my half eaten sandwich into the headset carrier bag I remembered the words of the commandant at the School of Signals. "I'm sorry, sir, but it's only to be expected," I said. "This is the worst time of year for sunspots." The CO looked at me for a second or two, and then he erupted. "SUNSPOTS!!" he bellowed. "You'll have sunspots on your arse if you don't get these wireless sets working."
With my trump card played, there was nothing else I could do and, as there didn't seem much point in carrying on with the exercise when no one could hear anything, the CO set off in his jeep to tell everybody to go home.
There was much mirth when we all met in the mess and I was the recipient of many hurtful remarks. The commanding officer had been heard muttering: "Sunspots, I'll give him bloody sunspots." The adjutant thought the CO had taken too much sun and spoke to the medical officer about it, but eventually the truth came out.
I was known as 'Sunspots' for a long time and I had a good mind to write to the commandant of the Signals School and tell him that his advice didn't work in the Sudan.

Postscript: The young signaller to whom I spoke in the signals store looked owlishly at me when I asked him if he had any trouble with sunspots. I was just testing him to see if it was still an emotive word in the Signals Platoon. He didn't react, so I suppose it's forgotten now. The mule panniers had gone as well.