From Coal Raids to Kenya: My Memories of the DLOY and Beyond

By Sgt Bill Cocker

My journey with the Territorial Army (now the Army Reserve) began in 1982 when I joined 'B' Squadron, The Duke of Lancaster’s Own Yeomanry. Little did I know that the next two decades would take me from the frozen roofs of Nissen huts to the jungles of Kenya and the heights of Gibraltar.

The Early Days: Bricks and Bayonets

My basic training took place from September 18th to October 2nd, 1982. It was a proper introduction to military life—and military "unorthodoxy."

The Nissen huts we stayed in were freezing, and the chimneys were often blocked. Our first job? Climbing onto the roofs to drop bricks down the flues to clear them. Even then, coal was strictly rationed. To keep from freezing, we’d "black up" late at night and launch tactical raids on the coal supplies.

The instructors were just as wild. I remember sitting in a circle during a lesson when an instructor burst in screaming, bayonet fixed to his SLR, and jammed it into the wooden floor right in the middle of us. As the rifle swayed to and fro, we all went rolling backwards out of the way to the sound of the instructors laughing outside!

"Pillow" Fights and Gurkha Lessons

One night during camp, the battery members challenged us recruits to a pillow fight. Eagerly—and rather stupidly—we accepted. I had a feeling something was up, so as soon as my fellow recruits headed out, I bolted the door behind them. Sure enough, the "pillows" the veterans were swinging had steel helmets and boots stuffed inside! I wasn't opening that door for anyone.

We also trained with the Gurkhas, who acted as the "enemy" during exercises. They thought we were mad when, at the end of the exercise, we decided the quickest way to get ourselves and our kit clean was to shower fully dressed, removing one item at a time.

Later that night in the NAAFI, a Gurkha instructor asked if we’d seen three of his men. We’d last seen them in a trench. It turns out they were still there, lying in the mud, because their last order had been to "play dead"—and they weren't moving until told otherwise!

Special Attachments and Royal Visits

During my time with the DLOY, I qualified in signals and earned my HGV license. I was there when we re-rolled from Infantry to Anti-Terrorist UKLF.

Being unemployed for a spell allowed me to take every attachment offered:

• Exercise Lionheart: The largest mobilisation since WWII.

• Ptarmigan Trials (1984): A three-month attachment at the School of Signals, Blandford.

• The Royal Visit: I had the immense privilege of being inspected by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II during her visit to Southport. I still cherish the photo of that moment.

The Artist’s Touch: The Scotland Model

As an artist, I teamed up with Pete O’Sullivan and a few others to build a full-scale, 3D, radio-equipped exercise model table of a large area of Scotland. It took two months to build and allowed Squadron exercises to be run without ever leaving the building. It’s a shame to hear it has since been destroyed.

Memories of Kenya: Six Weeks in the Bush

In November 1985, I was attached to the 1st King’s for an exercise in Kenya. We stayed on the grounds of "Tall Trees," a Royal residence surrounded by pure jungle.

Our six-week deployment to Kenya was a grueling rotation, broken down into one-week phases that took us through everything the landscape could throw at us: thick jungle, semi-desert, live-fire assaults with grenades, and a bit of R&R. For my part, I spent some of that time working on a schoolhouse project, but it’s the time in the bush that sticks in my mind the most.

The Resident Observer

The "jungle phase" was my first week, and it was a very rude awakening. I remember hacking through dense, tangled greenery day after day. The rain was the only thing we could rely on; it came down twice a day like clockwork—you could literally set your watch by the downpours.

We seemed to march for miles every single day, yet we never seemed to be alone. Without fail, every day, a young lad—no more than nine years old—would appear out of nowhere. He was wearing what I can only describe as a tweed school blazer. He’d just stand there, calmly observing us struggling soldiers as if to rub it in. I’m still not sure if the Special Forces instructors were leading us in intentional circles, or if that kid just knew the jungle better than we ever would!

A Wall of Grey

Eventually, we swapped our boots for wheels and became vehicle-bound in the Land Rovers. It felt like heaven compared to the marching, at least until we found ourselves deep on a track in the dense jungle with a local guide.

Suddenly, the guide stopped the convoy. He hopped out, walked down the track, and just stood there. After what felt like ages of nothing happening, I dismounted and approached him to ask what the hold-up was.

"Shhh! Stand still," he whispered.

Before I could reply, a herd of wild elephants burst through the trees on either side of us. We were trapped. "Don't move," he hissed. I didn't need telling twice. Standing there, surrounded by a literal wall of grey skin, was humbling. They passed by peacefully enough, but it was a close call. One false move could have sparked a stampede, and we would’ve been history.

Lessons in the Heat

When it came to our elective week, we were given a choice: fishing in the Aberdare Mountains or camel walking in the desert. Even though I don’t fish, I chose the mountains. It turned out to be the smarter move.

"Hookie," a pub landlord from 'A' Sqn, opted for the camels. In the blistering heat, he made the mistake of walking without a shirt on. When we met up again a week later, we spent the next few days peeling the skin off his back, from shoulders to waist, in one solid piece. Because the sun damage was technically "self-inflicted," he couldn't go to the Medical Officer without getting in trouble, so we became his makeshift first-aiders.

The Price of a Smoke

Back in those days, I was a smoker—of sorts. In the Army, a smoke break is often the only thing the world stops for. However, because I didn't smoke much, I never bothered to buy my own, which led to me constantly scrounging "fags" from the lads.

I still have my old bedroll from that trip. If you look closely, there’s a very blunt, very "Army" message scrawled on it by my frustrated mates, telling me in no uncertain terms to finally go out and buy my own pack!

Transition to the Royal Artillery

In 1988, my time with the DLOY came to an end. Later that year, I joined 209 Bty Royal Artillery (103 AD Regiment). I started from the bottom again, but within two years, I had worked my way up to Sergeant.

My later career was busy and rewarding:

• Qualified as a Javelin Air Defence missile operator.

• Saxon AFV Driver and Commander.

• HGV Instructor and Recruitment lead.

• Awarded the VRSM in 1993, with clasps in 1998 and 2003.

Final Thoughts

I reluctantly resigned in 2003 due to restructuring, but I look back on those years with immense pride. To me, the TA was always about the people—the camaraderie, the friendship, and the way we supported one another.

To everyone I served with: I might not be able to name you all here, but I remember every one of you.

Bill's Photos

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