The Gentle Art of Grenade Lobbing

 A tale of the last days of National Service conscription.
 
 
The drill was over we all had been shown how to clean and fuse a hand grenade now, at last, we were going to have some fun throwing live ones. We were, however, about to have much more fun than we had bargained for.  
 
The British Army prides itself in the quality of its training methods so we soldiers first had to train on dummy grenades with dummy fuses. The art of delivering a grenade to the enemy we were told was to lob it high thus allowing time for the fuse to burn down and denying the enemy the chance to pick it up and throw it back. After many practice throws with the dummies the training sergeant, one Harry Joseph(Grumpy)Graham, declared himself satisfied with the highly appreciative remark: “Well I suppose you bunch of feckless tossers’s are as good as you’re ever going to be.”  
 
This is what passed for high praise from Grumpy Graham however at this point of the proceedings this world war two veteran, whose face and natural demeanour made a bloodhound look deliriously happy by comparison, didn’t know just how disappointing his day was going to become.  
 
We collected two live grenades and fuses each and moved off to the throwing point, a wide brick lined slit trench with an inbuilt shelf. The throwers were called forward one at a time into the trench with the sergeant and put one grenade on the shelf in front of him. On the command prepare to throw the soldier withdrew the grenade's pin and stretched his throwing arm back. On the command throw he brought his arm sweeping in an overhead arc aiming the device at a pile of old ammunition boxes some twenty five yards away. It fell to me to be first up.  
 
Trembling slightly I assumed the position facing Sergeant Graham. “Don’t be nervous lad” he barked at me in a voice that would have made a statue nervous “There’s bugger-all to it.”  
 
It wasn’t the grenade I was nervous of it was Grumpy Graham he was a man you upset at your peril. I threw my first grenade stood and watched it fall near the boxes as we’d been instructed. “Watch, Watch” Bawled Graham then the word I was longing to hear “Down!”  
 
We ducked down below the lip of the trench and after what seemed an age the grenade went off with a loud crack rather than the big bang I’d expected. The fuses were only four seconds but that four seconds seemed to take an eternity. I repeated the drill with the second one and stood there after it had gone off waiting to be dismissed.  
 
“Well” said Graham “What did you think of that?”  
 
“Not much of a bang sarge” I remarked.  
 
“What the hell did you expect lad?” he shouted “its four ounces of TNT not a bloody atom bomb. You’ve been watching too many American war movies” He shook his head looking even more morose than usual. “Send the next man down and look sharp.”  
 
I scurried out of the trench with an enthusiastic “Yes Sergeant” and back up the hill for thirty yards to where the rest of the squad was waiting sitting on a long bench in front of a low dry stone wall. “Next man and he said to look sharp” I panted.  
 
Gunner Menmure, or ‘Manure’ to the rest of us was next to throw, he was one of those reluctant National Servicemen who were called up in one of the last batches to have to do compulsory service. That was in September 1960 we were known as intake 60/18. Although conscription had officially ended the lads being called up were the ones who had been deferred until they were aged twenty one to allow them time to finish apprenticeships. These chaps were, on the whole, more mature than the eighteen year olds more commonly called up and supposedly brighter too that’s why we’d been selected for the Royal Artillery. Our group were to be trained as surveyors, radio operators and technical assistants. Menmure ambled off down the hill casually flicking away his cigarette butt as he went.  
 
“Move yer arse” yelled Graham annoyed at Manure’s slow progress. Menmure didn’t increase his pace one jot. They rest of us groaned inwardly, oh god he was going to get Grumpy into a foul mood then all of us would pay. And boy was that mood about to get foul.  
 
Arriving at the throwing point Manure adopted his usual sullen I-don’t-give-a-shit slouch which prompted some extremely fierce ‘words of wisdom’ from Grumpy, causing Manure to assume more soldier-like stance and prepare to throw.  
 
Off went Manure's first grenade sailing towards the target He tried to duck immediately but Grumpy held him up “Watch yer barstid watch.” Bawled Grumpy directly into his ear then they ducked.  
 
Nothing, no bang the unexploded grenade rolled to an anticlimactic halt next to the ammunition boxes.  
 
Up they popped Grumpy looked puzzled “Not often we get a dud” he said “prepare to throw yer second.”  
 
After the second grenade was thrown with the same negative result the penny dropped with Grumpy. “Where’s yer dummy fuses lad?” he asked aggressively.  
 
“They’re here sarge” Said the hapless gunner pulling two fuses out of his pocket.  
 
“Those are yer live ones yer thick bugger” Roared the sergeant “bloody hell! Why should Britain tremble when we’ve got idiots like you defending us?” His bloodhound face was puce with rage. "Get the hell out of my sight you sorry waste of rations, bugger off before I wedge my boot up yer arse!”  
 
Manure scrambled out of the trench with an urgency he rarely displayed and scrambled back up the hill red faced as the next man went down for his turn.  
 
All went well for the next five throwers and then it was the turn of another National Serviceman a lad from the Outer Hebrides called Rabbie.  
 
Rabbie was a sweet natured, gentle soul but the only army he was fit for was the Salvation Army. He was the guy we all looked after, we made sure his bed was made correctly and his kit was as it should be for, try as he might, this kind decent lad simply could not cope with soldiering. The mere sound of Grumpy's voice turned him into a quivering jelly.  
 
Now Rabbie stood, grenade in hand, facing Grumpy. “Throw” bawled grumpy with quite unnecessary volume. Poor Rabbie let out a terrified squawk, threw the pin down the range then dropped the grenade in the bottom of the trench.  
 
Rabbie continued to panick and tried to climb over Grumpy Graham in an effort to vacate the trench. This seriously impeded the sergeant's efforts to retrieve the grenade; he cursed Rabbie for a bastard and, with a great effort, slammed the lad out of the way. He retrieved the grenade and threw it over the side of the trench. He then grabbed Rabbie who was scrabbling half out of the trench and managed to drag him back in and get his head below the parapet just as the damn thing went off.  
   
Graham stood up his face pale with shock and anger his words were deliberately spaced, his voice deadly.  
 
“Six long fookin’ years Adolf tried to kill me” he hissed “then the Chinese had a go in Korea and now a great useless streak o’ piss like you damn near succeeds where those bastards failed.” Graham brought a vicious right fist into Rabbie’s solar plexus sending him gasping to the bottom of the trench.  
 
“I'm three months away from my pension you thick Jock clown" Grumpy spat vemonously and with that he climbed out of the trench and made his way to where we were gathered lighting a cigarette with trembling hands.  
 
“You two” snapped Grumpy pointing to the nearest men to him “get down there and help him out of that trench and be careful he doesn’t fall again, the clumsy bugger.”  
 
The vehicle arrived with our midday meal and Graham gave us five minutes to get served and five minutes to bolt the food down. The rest of the lunch hour was spent practicing with the dummy grenades all over again. When he was satisfied that the rest of the throwers were more terrified of making a mistake than of sitting on a live grenade he resumed the practice at the end of which he called Menmure over. “Right you bloody dozy git sod off and retrieve those two grenades.”  
 
Menmure came back with three!  
 
“I found another one sarge” he quipped holding them out in his cupped hands. The third device was obviously old and in a badly corroded state. Now a hand grenade is a very simple device it’s a steel container of high explosive with a hollow tube running down its centre. Pushed up this tube is a plunger with a coiled spring around it. Where the plunger comes through the grenade at the top there is a slot in it into which the lever is put. This lever is held in place by the pin.  
 
Pull the pin and hold the lever all day and nothing will happen let go and the spring sends the lever flying and the plunger shooting down the tube to strike a cap which lights the fuse. Four seconds later this reaches a detonator which sets off the charge. Simple.  
 
The grenades of the day were the Mills Bomb they came in boxes of twelve all covered in thick preserving grease which, if not properly cleaned off before use, could cause the plunger to stick in the tube. Disturbing it can cause the said plunger to continue its interrupted journey towards the cap.  
 
Sergeant Graham was still opening his mouth to bawl at Manure when the squad, who had realised this danger for themselves in a nanosecond, immediately departed left and right with the speed and agility of Olympic athletes.  
 
With this urgent departure it dawned on Menmure that retrieving the third device was perhaps not the brightest idea he’d ever had. “What shall I do Sarge” he wailed through pallid lips.  
 
Graham, who had dived smartly over the low dry stone wall straight into a bed of nettles, raised his badly stung head a fraction and called “gently put them down and step away. Can you see any smoke?”  
 
“N.. No sarge” Menmure stammered.  
 
“Well if you see any or hear a click drop them, run like hell and jump over this wall.” The sergeant instructed.  
   
All went well the grenade didn’t go off and Graham retrieved the two good ones. He should have marked the dud with a stick and red tape and told the range people to come and dispose of it. This was too much trouble for Grumpy as it entailed filling in paperwork a task the semi literate man hated so he picked up the dud and, telling us never ever to follow his example, heaved it as far as he could down the hill. We watched as it hit the ground, bounced, rolled a few feet then dropped into the throwing trench; seconds later it went off!  
 
Graham’s face was a sight to behold “Oh shit” he said in a voice about a hundred decibels quieter than normal. “I left my small pack in that trench with my issue binoculars and compass.” In spite of our fear of the man we couldn’t help laughing until we ached. Grumpy raged and cursed but we just couldn’t stop.  
 
He sent me and Manure to retrieve the shattered small pack and what was left of his binoculars and compass then he formed us up in three ranks and made us double march back to camp whilst he rode in the truck behind. On arriving at camp almost an hour later sweating and breathless we complained that we had missed our evening meal.  
 
“Oh dear” said Grumpy, his voice dripping with mock sympathy, holding up his shattered compass he continued “my watch seems to have stopped lads, so sorry. Oh well never mind you’ll be pleased to know that all is not lost my nice hot meal will still be waiting for me in the sergeants' mess.”  
 
He then glowered at us, his usual persona restored. “Well now yer pack o’ barstids, let’s hear you laugh that one off.”