Perhaps this would be a good time to mention that as Territorials we were expected to supply some personal items of kit. If we provided boot brushes, hair brushes, comb, button stick, housewife (hussive), underclothes and some other odds-and-sods to take with us to the annual camp we would be rewarded with the magnificent sum of ten shillings. Until 1942 I was never issued with a complete kit but over that period I was given some replacements of personal items; we also changed our WWI uniforms for battle dress. We didn't lose our leather bandoliers however and we were supplied with the Royal Navy's black leather gaiters. We were still not sartorially attractive. But to get back to August 1938; the round-up of civilians who were now to be embodied was not without its humour, in the early hours of the morning Reg Pinnel happened to meet one of his flock in the Kingsdown area and told him of the situation. Len was on his rounds delivering milk; his milk float was of a new type, battery driven at a walking pace it allowed the roundsmen to walk by its side starting and stopping as necessary and obviating any muscular effort on his part. Len took his orders literally, left his milk float where it was in the road, went home, changed into his uniform and reported to HQ. Then he phoned his employer and told him where he could find the milk float leaving it up to the employer to mollify all the irate customers. In December 1939 I returned from Filton to Worral Road and for three months became a member of a GOR shift. We had no plotting table but instead a map of south-east England hung on one wall, we of course were south-west but I suppose that south-east was better than nothing. Coloured pins were used to mark the position of planes. Information on aircraft activity was given to us over a permanently manned phone line connected to No.11 Fighter Group at Uxbridge and the lucky man who was given the job of listening sat in the middle of the room on an office type swivel chair wearing a telephonist's head-and-breast-set doing nothing but waiting. As soon as the ringing assailed his ears he answered, "Bristol," and then yelled to the rest of the group, "Operations," at which they were supposed to get ready to relay any incoming information to the gun sites by phone. While I was there I don't recall any plots coming from Uxbridge that concerned our area. The shout of, "Operations" was also supposed to alert the Gun Control Officer, GCO, of the Royal Artillery who then stood by his wall map, coloured pins at the ready, waiting to give some relevant information to the gun sites; however this was the time of the "phony war" and the boredom was considerable. MY GOR SHIFT, WORRAL ROAD, 1940.