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Towards the end of the summer, members of the Battalion were selected for overseas duty in North Africa to reinforce a battalion of the D.L.I. that had suffered heavy casualties in the western desert.
As I remained behind with what was left of the 70th Battalion I decided that now was the time to make a move.

Fortuitously, at that time, a recruiting team from the newly formed Parachute Regiment was "Looking for a few good men" and having nothing more exciting to do than guard duty and fatigues, I thought why not. The fact that the members of the Parachute Regiment received additional flying pay, (or was it danger pay), obviously didn't influence my decision. I like to think so anyway, even if it isn't true. !!!

In order to ensure that the young soldiers of the D.L.I. would give a good account for themselves with the Parachute Regiment, our Commanding Officer. (whose name I forget), decided that the few who had volunteered should be given a toughening up course on the moors in the vicinity of a small village about ten miles or so from Middleton in Teesdale, called Harwood Langdon Beck.

We were installed in tents adjacent to a derelict farmhouse and spent our days and many nights trudging the moors in all kinds of weather.
I remember one night exercise that involved hiking to the highest point in the area (could it be named Cross Fell--question), from which one could stand at dawn and view six Counties, if my memory serves me correctly, Northumberland, Cumberland, Westmorland, Yorkshire, Lancashire, and Durham. Unfortunately, a thick fog came down that night and completely enveloped our small group. We spent a very uncomfortable night bedded down in the heather until we got thawed out by the watery early morning sun. One of our group wandered off in the dark and fell over an escarpment and broke his arm. Lucky for him that he didn't break his neck.
Quite an experience. !!!
Another hike took us across the moors to High Force Waterfall - at that time the falls were running pretty full and we were given the task of crossing the river.
One couldn't blame us lowly paid soldiers for seeing some of the finest scenery of Northern England at the Government's expense. Could one?
Perhaps one of these days before I depart this earth, I could or perhaps should attempt to repeat this adventure.

So - on to "The Parachute Regiment", which culminated in my participation in the "D" day Invasion landings by parachuting into Normandy on the night of the 5th/6th of June 1944 and eventually becoming a Prisoner of War of the Germans.
But that is a different story.

LIFE WITH THE PARACHUTE REGIMENT.

As remarked previously, I transferred from the Durham Light Infantry to the 7th (L.I.) Battalion of the Parachute Regiment and joined them at their Physical Training Depot at Hardwick Hall in Chesterfield on the 9th of September 1943 for a six weeks physical toughening up course.

Up until this point in my military career I thought that my original "Basic Training" at Berwick on Tweed had been rigorous - how wrong could I be. The physical training for the Parachute Regiment at Hardwick Hall was probably the toughest physical exertion that I was ever subjected to.
Many of the "volunteers" didn't make the grade and were "RTU'd" (Returned to unit), due to physical or psychological limitations.

Then there was the matter of eight qualifying parachute jumps at what was then a small grass field runway at Ringway, Manchester.
How times have changed, Ringway is now an International Airport.
The eight qualifying parachute jumps, consisted of two, or was it three, from a captive barrage balloon at 800 feet and five or six more from what even then appeared to be an ancient aircraft, the "Armstrong Whitworth Whitley".
I don't suspect there are many people still around who would even know of the existence of an aircraft called a "Whitley", let alone recognize one.

Our Drop Zone from the aircraft was at nearby Tatton Park and included one drop into trees, and another into water at night. Dramatic experiences for a young teenager who had never been inside an aircraft before, let alone flown in one.
Once again the selection process took its toll and only the courageous, or stupid, survived.

After qualification I was posted from Ringway to the 7th Battalion (L.I.) of the Parachute Regiment, who were stationed at Bulford Camp near Salisbury.
From that day forward until "D" day, (the 6th of June 1944), we were subjected to intensive training for our upcoming role in the Normandy Invasion landings.
We may not have been the most intelligent bunch of soldiers a'serving of His Majesty the King, but we certainly were the fittest--and we were "very well trained".