Peter has mentioned the huts at Howstrake Camp and anyone who lived in them would have to agree that, as accommodation, they did leave a little to be desired. Perched high on a hillside overlooking the Irish Sea the air could be said to be 'bracing' at almost any time of the year and in winter it was absolutely vicious. Each hut had originally been four units of double cabins for the 'happy campers' who presumably only spent the warmest summer months there. For us Band Boys, the partitions had been removed and 12 of us were located in the resulting larger room, sleeping on two-tiered bunks. Having once been four separate small rooms meant that the previously necessary four outer doors remained in our larger version huts. And mostly (but not always) in winter, cold winds whistled through and around those doors! The outer skin was of corrugated iron, guaranteeing that we were hot in summer and cold in winter. However, we had youth and resilience on our side and, so far as I can remember, no-one died from pneumonia!

There was a large central hall used for indoor parades; as our mess hall, for concerts, etc. The food I seem to remember as being reasonably plentiful and nutritious, if not particularly inspired. In fact typical service grub of those days. It was provided by Wren cooks, who also represented the 'feminine love interest' in the camp - unrequited for the boys but definitely more than that for some of the instructing staff. Many were the tales of passion allegedly observed by eager, young and prying eyes!

Back to the product of the Wren's principle duties (oh, I don't know though?!). On the occasional hot summer days we would have salads, and each table would keep a tally of the slugs and snails that were still lurking in the lettuce leaves! One very thin lad was a Band Boy Gay, known for obvious reasons as 'Ghandi Gay'. (In those days, 'Gay' only meant 'happy' and cheerful'). Like myself Ghandi was a product of the Training Ship Mercury (an establishment run by an ancient female sadist and allegedly designed to 'make men of us'. By comparison, Howstrake camp was a hotel of the 'Hilton' variety. TS Mercury deserves a book to itself, but this is not the place for it!). Ghandi had an unusually sensitive stomach and those slugs and snails were a distinct 'turn-off' for him. Unfortunately, he was also overly-susceptible to suggestion and we, his friends (?), quickly discovered that any mention of unpleasant things (such as 'cupfuls of cold sick' just as he was about to start his meal) would have poor Ghandi pushing his plate away and rapidly leaving the table. The discarded plateful would then be grabbed and consumed by the aforementioned 'friends'. What a horrible lot we were!