When at long last peace broke out, a momentarily grateful Admiralty granted all naval and RM personnel six weeks Post-War Leave. This could be taken at any time and as required. Some took the lot at one go whilst others hoarded their entitlement for years, adding a few days or a week onto other leaves here and there. Because of the piecemeal way in which the majority took it, each leave day when taken was marked into their personal records (located in the Admiralty) 'in pencil', until such time as the full six weeks had been used, when 'Post-War Leave Taken' would be inked in.

'Jock' as we will call our man, used to regularly 'drop in' to visit his old Admiralty colleagues in London and when the opportunity presented itself, would extract his own records and erase or alter the penciled entries against his personal leave entitlement. Sometime later back at Deal he would apply for another week or two of his P.W. Leave. When I knew him 'Jock' claimed to have already taken 16 weeks and had several more still to come. Yet another entrepreneurial RMB type!

Whilst still living in the barracks I realised a long-held dream and purchased a new Royal Enfield 500cc. motorcycle. It was a lovely bike and for those days quite fast. Every free weekend I would shoot up to North London where my wife (who was then working in the city) was living in her parents' house. After enjoying two nights of matrimony (!) I would then depart late on the Sunday evening to return to Deal. Fortunately there were not nearly so many cars about in those days and many more motor-cycles. Unfortunately, they lacked protection from the elements and on many occasions in the winters, I had to stop to unload the inches of snow that had built up on the front of my jacket! No-one wore Crash Helmets. I only came off once, one dark evening in teeming rain halfway across the intersection at Marble Arch, right in the centre of London! The London streets were mostly surfaced with wooden blocks which had then been covered with bitumen. After some years of use, when the blocks were wet they became as slippery as ice. Fortunately I was only moving slowly when the wheels went from beneath me and down I went. Nothing hit me and after picking the bike up I went on my way. When, (three months after we were married - such things mattered then) my wife became pregnant, I fitted a side-car and she was able to travel in great comfort with her feet up and on Dunlopillo cushions - quite the most comfortable way for a increasingly 'bulgy' female to travel, she always avowed.

Not long afterwards we found a furnished bed-sit in Walmer and from then on I 'lived out'. One day the barrel was scraped and I was promoted to Band Corporal. I was also extracted from my cosy H.Q. office job to begin the necessary promotion exams. The parade part was not a problem - if you could totally suspend your 'normality' for its duration and scream and stamp as loudly as everyone else! With that completed, the musical part came almost as a relaxation. We started under the tuition of one of the most popular of Band officers 'Sam' Weller, but unfortunately he didn't last very long. One evening I returned to our schoolroom for something I'd forgotten, to find a certain RMB Lieut. nosing through the books and papers in our desks. Shortly after that 'Sam' disappeared from the scene. At a later date I had the opportunity to tell him of what I had seen and he succinctly remarked, "we've got some slimy b------s in our service".

I remember that the aforementioned Lieut. subsequently set us a 'musical knowledge' question paper that included a segment listing the names of a number of fairly well-known pieces of classical music - for which we were required to name the composer. Later he announced that someone - who wasn't named and kept quiet about it - had suggested that the Eroica Symphony had been composed by Eric Coates (which many of us thought showed a logical and inventive thought process!) Only one of us had achieved a perfect score but as I hate to boast, won't mention who it was!