I think it was in the early days just after we were embodied that we were given our medicals, it was a bit of a joke really, a cursory once-over with the stethoscope and an eyesight test on a standard eye chart at a range of five or six feet; for a hearing test the MO stuck a pocket watch in my left ear, "Can you hear that?" "Yes," I replied, then in my right ear, "and that?" "Yes." "OK." And I had passed. And apart from the time of my final discharge from the army when they were trying to make sure that I couldn't make any post-war claims for incapacity and the times when I was discharged from hospital that was the only medical examination I ever had. One possible advantage of being stationed in Bristol was that I could go home when I was not on duty but home was a fourpenny bus ride from Worral Road and this double journey together with ten Woodbine cigarettes cost me a day's allowance (I was getting two shillings a day but was allotting one shilling a day to my mother who incidentally never spent it but saved it up for my return). I usually went home after a night shift and so was rather tired and not very good company; after a month or so of this routine I decided that I would be better off away from Bristol and applied for a transfer to Plymouth. The war was not very old before the Post Office started to get concerned over the loss of some of their key personnel to the forces; it was one thing to have their employees playing at soldiers in their own time but quite another matter to lose some of their qualified staff on a semi-permanent basis. So just before I went to Plymouth an arrangement was made that allowed the Post Office to claim back all their employees who did not have an army trade. The army could see all their Territorial signal units being drastically reduced and took swift action. In a blanket approach army trade ratings were given to as many members of my company as possible, not only Post Office employees; I was called before Captain Sommerville. "You are?" I identified myself "I believe you've been spending your drill nights at the Post Office, is that correct?" "Sah!" (I was now learning the lingo). "On teleprinters?" "Sah!" There was a short pause as he looked over the papers in front of him and then, "You are now a teleprinter operator class III. Dismiss." A smart salute, about turn, quick march and I was out of the Company Office with an extra shilling a day but there was now no way my employers could claim me back even if they wanted to.