Month: October 2024

PC 410 Memories of Sandhurst (Continued from PC 408)

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Britain has been a Christian country seemingly for ever and religion plays a crucial if understated role in the conduct of war, both at a personal level but also at an organisational one. One of our Captain instructors was a lay preacher and, on a weekend’s adventurous training exercise, led a small Sunday morning service – in the middle of a wood, in the rain. One comment has always stayed with me: “There are no atheists in a slit trench”. Fortunately I have never been in an operational slit trench, waiting to go ‘over the top’, but understand how those who were might have prayed to some higher being. At Sandhurst every Sunday we paraded in front of the Commandant and then marched off across the square to the chapel.

Nine hundred male voices singing hymns would lift anyone’s spirits and the memory of kneeling in the pew in the final minutes, quietly murmuring ‘Eternal Father, Strong To Save’ to the tune Melita by John Dykes, still brings goose pimples to my neck!

If you were tall and reasonably good at drill, you might be picked to be a Stick Orderly, as were Charlie Wilson, Edward Armitage, William Burrell and myself; four of us out of the 225 officer cadets in our intake, Number 39. (See PC 341 Tradition June 2023) On ceremonial occasions we stood on the corners the Inspection Dias, although I am not sure how effective my stick would have been in protecting the Commandant!

Prior to the Commandant’s Parade on a Sunday morning, the four Stick Orderlies would join him and his family for breakfast in the extremely large house which went with the job. I was a Stick Orderly for a year and recall that, after breakfast and before we needed to get moving, we would gather in the Games Room in his basement and compete on his Scalextric set. Such fun and far removed from our next task, the tradition of escorting him and the Adjutant to where the other 886 cadets were lined up for inspection.

I was assigned to Burma Company in Victory College, one of three colleges making up the Academy. The other company names in Victory were Alamein (North Africa 1942), Rhine (1944) and Normandy (1944). Old College represented the past glories of Dettingen (1743 War of Austrian Succession), Waterloo (1815), Inkerman (1854 Crimea) and Blenheim (1704 War of the Spanish Succession). New College companies reflected the First World War with Ypres (1914), Somme (1916), Gaza (1916) (Note 1) and Marne (1914). The organisational structure today is different, the number of companies reflecting the total number of officer cadets under training. Company names now include ‘Falklands’ and ‘Borneo’.

There is something fundamental to being a soldier, being capable of using weapons in times of war. Later I would serve in artillery regiments equipped with ‘medium’ artillery, the 5.5in howitzer and subsequently the 155mm Self Propelled M109, but at RMAS it was the self-loading rifle (SLR) and the general-purpose machine gun (GPMG), both using 7.62mm ammunition. I gained my marksman badge for the GPMG, taking in the instruction like a duck to water …… and it’s all about the breath! We were tested at various times, for instance after a 10-mile speed-march, and we developed the habit of keeping one’s small arm (aka personal weapon) close and clean. Obviously out on exercise or on the firing ranges, not in a classroom learning about Chemistry for instance. I highlight chemistry, as I had failed it twice at ‘O’ level and I needed to pass it. The lecturer was more interested in teaching us about his passion, seeking out the runners and their form in some horse race! We learned his techniques, lost a lot of money and I passed my Chemistry examination!

I have written that academic studies took up more than 50% of our working day. Having followed the science route in my choice of A Levels, I joined the ‘Special Maths and Science’ set, a pass ensuring my place at university a couple of years after commissioning. Non-science subjects covered International Relations, War Studies and Military Law. The latter is designed to “maintain order and discipline within the armed forces, and to ensure they can carry out their duties effectively. It covers a wide range of offences, from minor breaches of discipline to more serious crimes such as murder and rape.” As a commissioned officer, for minor offences I was ‘judge and jury’; for more serious ones there’s a Courts Martial system, run by the Judge Advocate General’s Department.

One Easter holidays some of us volunteered to become military parachutists. I asked Crichton, who was also in Burma 39 and with whom I have kept in touch, who else was there, apart from him. “Sorry! I suffer from old git syndrome and simply can’t remember who was with us. Pity!” Anyway, twenty or thirty of us went off to some RAF Base, I think Brize Norton as that’s where they’re trained today, for three weeks. During that time we learned exit, flight and landing techniques in large hangers with mock-up fuselages, completed three jumps from a balloon tethered at 800ft and a further five from a DC8/9 aircraft, the last one at night. Back at Sandhurst we wore a little light-bulb badge on our uniform to signify our proficiency, joined The Edward Bear Club (See PC 28 Balloons, Bacteria & Bloating December 2014) and jumped out of an aeroplane over Hankley Common near Aldershot for a summer picnic – called ‘the Teddy Bears’ Picnic’ obviously!

There will be a Part 3!

Richard 25th October 2024

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 The Middle East was fought over during the First World War and that arena of conflict was recognised by Gaza Company. The land borders one sees today were laid out in the Sykes-Picot agreement of 1916, created by the French and British, with tacit assent from Russia and Italy. It defined their mutually agreed spheres of influence and control. Over 100 hundred years later it remains a troubled and unsettled part of the world. (See PC 286 I’ve Read That …. June 2022)

PC 409 Saying Adieu

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Things come in threes, right? It was in Estoril in September when I took a telephone call that told me my dear chum Bill had died. Two days earlier a WhatsApp message imparted the news that Carol, the wife of an Army colleague whom I had first met in 1973, had died and gave information about her funeral. Three week’s ago my brother-in-law’s elderly little Yorkshire Terrier Buddy left for a different place. Each piece of news brought a flood of pertinent, personal memories but it wasn’t until I started Peter James’ latest novel, ‘One of Us is Dead’, that I thought I would scribble something on the subject of saying goodbye.

It wasn’t James’ description of a funeral service that brought me up short but his observations of a wake, for three days before I had been to Bill’s ‘Celebration of Life’, a ‘wake’ by any other name! It was as if James had been looking over my shoulder, down to the ‘….. and on tables bottles of Red and White wine, with no effort for the latter to be chilled.’

‘Sailing in The Baltic’! Alongside in Faaborg, Denmark 1972

Dear Bill! I had met him in Lippstadt, Germany in August 1972 when he was my Troop Commander in 27 Medium Regiment Royal Artillery. The Cold War was at its height and NATO faced the might of the Warsaw Pact across the Inner German Border. Additionally, in August 1969, Her Majesty’s Government had committed the military to assist the local police in Northern Ireland; so serious times. (Note 1) But it was also the time of Idi Amin, the President of Uganda, whose rule was characterized by political repression, ethnic persecution and rampant corruption. The British magazine Punch had a column devoted to Idi Amin’s week. Bill and David Morley, another Captain and great raconteur, had those of us taking morning coffee in the Officers’ Mess in fits, as they read the column out loud, taking on the voices and appropriate accents. Probably frowned upon now, certainly racist, but this was 1972! I was only in 27 Regiment for a year before moving down the road to Sennelager in preparation for 39 Medium Regiment’s first Northern Ireland tour in 1973.    

Then we just kept in touch, met up now and again, that delightful result of good times and shared experiences remaining the glue to our friendship. Bill eventually retired from the Army as a colonel and got a job in the Ministry of Defence (MOD) as a Watchkeeper. Deep below the MOD building in Whitehall is an operations room, manned 24/7, that manages the Government’s overseas military operations. The Watchkeeper’s main role seemed to be preparing the morning brief for the Chief of Defence Staff, a task Bill would have been exemplary at. This Watchkeeper duty came round every few weeks, so not onerous and, after he was free, we’d try and meet for lunch in the Crusting Pie in Covent Garden. Bill was good at ‘chewing the fat’, although occasionally he would lean across the table and, fixing me with his beady eye, ask: ‘Now Richard, what do you think of the current situation in Timbuktu (or wherever)?’.

Bill developed Prostate Cancer. In April I met David Morley for lunch in Winchester and we had tried to entice Bill to join us ….. but he obviously didn’t feel up to it  ….. so months later we came together to celebrate his life; no funeral, just a celebration, a chance to say goodbye and to thank him for his friendship.

A wake of sorts, but uncoloured by a prior service, and attended by those touched by Bill down the decades, from school friends, through Army service, to golf and tennis chums. The Royal Regiment of Artillery has a very distinctive tie so those who had served with Bill were very evident.

I am always curious about what are now called people’s ‘backstories’ and enjoyed talking to Jerry, one of his two schoolmates and subsequently British Airways Concorde pilot. Another chap, Martin, had served in The Gunners then became a Practice Manager in a law firm, retiring to the Salisbury suburb of Harnham, where he sculpts in his garden shed. His wife said they’d moved 18 times in their life together! Then there was John someone, who spoke to us all of Bill’s time in the Army. He knew me but couldn’t place me; I vaguely knew him, and we dodged around the question of when and where and even why. Memory fades! Bill and Lynne’s daughter Georgina spoke of Bill as her father, a family man through and through.

When I told Celina’s family the date of Carol’s funeral which then was to be in three weeks’ time, there was a sharp intake of breath, as Brazilians bury their dead within a day or two, as do many religions. I am a fan of a slight delay if only to allow those who might wish to attend but live far away to make the necessary arrangements. The funeral took place in the tiny parish church of St Mary’s The Virgin in Vernham Dean in deepest Hampshire and was extremely well attended.

We sang the appropriate hymns, listened to the eulogies, smiled at the oration of the popular poems regarding our departure from this earth …. and as the wicker casket was taken out for its committal, the heavens opened with a downpour of biblical proportions. Seemed apposite! Later, standing in the widower’s home for drinks and canapés, our wet clothes steamed …..! I later thought of how Covid was spread and how quickly we forget. One hundred people crammed into three rooms, 50% slightly deaf, bending an ear to hear!

One’s pets are all characters and Buddy was no different, but like us humans, their lives are finite.

Attendance at the funerals of family members is a duty, something expected of us. To go to those of friends is something different, a reflection of love and affection, of respect and humanity. As Christina Rossetti wrote:

“Better by far you should forget and smile, than that you should remember and be sad.”

Adieu Bill. Farewell Carol. Thank you Buddy. You lived your lives to the full.

Richard 18th October 2024

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS I hope things don’t come in fours!

Note 1 No one imagined this embryonic conflict would smoulder for almost thirty years, with the occasional period of more intense mayhem.

PC 408 Memories of Sandhurst – The United Kingdom’s Royal Military Academy

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Towards the end of my teenage years, I wanted to be an architect …… but architecture was going through a difficult time and my stepfather suggested I join the British Army. He thought was that by the time I had spent three years or so serving Her Majesty, architectural opportunities might be better; I did 20 years!

To gain entry to the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst (RMAS) I had to attend the Regular Commissions Board, then located in Westbury, Wiltshire, to be assessed!

Fortunately I passed the various physical and mental tests, including the ‘speak for 5 minutes about … a milk bottle’!

The transition from boy to man, girl to woman, is, for some, complex and unnerving, for others it’s like water off the proverbial duck’s back. Everyone’s experience is unique, can never be otherwise and it could be forced upon one through the diktats of family life, the loss of a parent for instance, or tribal customs very early, but for most it happened after one’s 16th birthday; nowadays I sense it’s much earlier – more’s the shame! Of course there are those who never really grow up, still maintaining a childish outlook on life, the Peter Pans. The syndrome, used to describe those adults who are socially immature, refers to people who have reached an adult age but cannot face their adult sensations and responsibilities.

The Royal Military Academy (Note 1) turns boys into young men, girls into young women, ready to be deployed into combat should that be necessary, ready to lead. Nowadays the course is a year (Note 2) but in 1965 it was a two-year course mirroring and, in some respects, equalling the first-degree courses at many universities. The Academy had four intakes of Officer Cadets at any one time; commissioning took place in December and July. Some 60% of our time was spent on academics, the rest on learning our new craft, the military and the art of warfare (Note 3).

Our neighbour Meryl, an avid reader of my postcards, suggested I wrote something about my memories of the two years I spent at RMAS. Why, I am not quite sure; maybe she wanted to find out why I am how I am (?) but I doubted whether, in 1000 words or less, I could encapsulate my time growing, from teenager to adult, from schoolboy to Army Officer. Maybe I would need two or even three PCs? It was a disparate bunch of teenagers who formed up on the Victory College square as Burma Company Intake 39 in September 1965 and included three from overseas, Sid Sonsomsouk from Thailand, Ngambi from Uganda and Jo Nakamet from Kenya. No one was sure what we had let ourselves in for. It didn’t take long to find out!

How would I describe the first six weeks, when the days began very early and ended very late, when others dictated what you did? Challenging? Draining? Character building? Probably all of the above and more besides. A good example was ‘Changing Parades’, when we had to appear in the corridor outside our room in one form of dress, be inspected with infringements resulting in press-ups, before going back and changing into another form of dress – from full combat gear, to Service Dress, to PT Kit (Blue Blazer, Blue shorts, White T-Shirt, White ‘plimsols’ (Does anyone know what these are?)) to Parade Ground Uniform. Our rooms had, during the whole process, to remain immaculate. The instructors would scream and shout at any visible laziness or inattention. Faced with an external threat (the instructors!) we all began to coalesce into a group, safety in numbers and focusing our hate on our instructors. I think this was where the military saying ‘Kit on! Kit off!’ comes from.

Within the first month one of the platoon was suddenly diagnosed with leukaemia, disappeared to the Military Hospital in Aldershot ….. and died two months later. 

I have written before how the experience of becoming proficient at drill, in marching in time, swinging the appropriate arm, showing off our skills and being part of something, belonging, wanting, gets imbedded within one. Imagine being on parade with another 889 officer cadets, moving in formation to the familiar marching tunes, bursting with pride. That’s a great memory, acknowledging the hard work that preceded it, to get to the required standard. For those who have never had the privilege and opportunity, your life is missing something!

The main Sandhurst parades started at 1100. There were always little niggles, so the Academy Sergeant Major, a chap called Phillips, the most senior non-commissioned officer and otherwise known as ‘God’, would insist we would be lined up on Old College Square at 1030, to ensure there was no last-minute panic. Old College Square was a 10-minute march from New College Square, so College Sergeant Major Murphy, Irish Guards, (‘Spud’ behind his back, but never to his face!) insisted we were ready to leave at 1000, as there were always little niggles. Burma Company Sergeant Major Hewlett, Coldstream Guards, insisted we formed up for him at 0930, as there were always little niggles. Staff Sergeant Rooney, a Welsh Fusilier, insisted the platoon for which he was responsible formed up at 0900, as there were always little niggles. This is probably where the phrase ‘5 minutes before 5 minutes before …..’ originates.

(to be continued)

Richard 11th October 2024

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 Naval Officers are trained at the Royal Navy College Dartmouth and Air Force Officers at Cranwell

Note 2 A new term started last month with 288 Officer Cadets joining CC 243 for the 44-week course. There are 40 international cadets from 23 countries as diverse as Columbia and Kazakhstan. Of the 248 British cadets, just over half were educated in the state sector, 80% are university graduates and the average age is 22.

Note 3 The War Studies Department was run by John Keegan. The recent obituary of Duncan Anderson, who took over as its head in 1997, had an interesting snippet!  Keegan’s successor was a chap called John Pimlott, who had died after two grenades he picked up during a battlefield tour in France exploded in his study at home. 

PC 407 Catch up in The Hope

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I love familiar places as much as I love the adventure of travelling somewhere new; something reassuring that there is continuity of activity even if you yourself are absent. I hadn’t made it to The Hope Café since we got back from Estoril, so it was a little potluck as to who was there on Tuesday afternoon. ‘Ah!’ I thought, ‘Josh has gone back to Israel’, as he was not behind the counter and the candle was back, a testament that our thoughts go with him. Despite him being wounded when he was last with the IDF (see PCs 361, 368 and 378), he recovered very quickly and there was a lasting legacy of action, of tension, of excitement; no wonder he’s gone back. I imagine he’ll be used in some support role.

A quick scan of the occupied tables and I recognise Sami, Anna and Robert. The latter has his head down into his laptop on the window counter, hopefully being creative, so I decide not to disturb him.  

Sami looks up. “You look as though you’ve a lot on your mind, Richard!”

“Hi! Sami. How are you? Sorry! Am I wearing some underlying tension on my face?”

“Yes. Not usual for you; you’re normally fairly laid back, unstressed, calm. Where were you yesterday? Had hoped to see you.”

“A very good chum of mine, a Canadian called Bill Pender, had died of cancer. Never one to make a fuss, he didn’t want the mawkishness of a funeral, rather a ‘Celebration of (his) Life’. That was yesterday in Salisbury; he had a very good turnout, despite the weather, and good to exchange memories of Bill with others. But the slight stressful look? Actually, it’s not about me but my daughter and her family. They are buying her grandmother’s house and frankly it reminds me of that film with Tom Hanks and someone ……”

“The Money Pit? With Shelley Long ……”

“Exactly. This is a house that’s been allowed to become decrepit through lack of maintenance, doesn’t have a kitchen or working bathroom, has a hole in the roof but with lots of TLC could be a wonderful family home for her, Sam and their three boys.”

“So why are you looking so concerned, it’s not you buying it?”

“For all sorts of reasons, they exchanged on the house without exchanging on their own ….. although their purchaser says he’s firmly committed to buying it!”

“Woah! Now that’s risky but ….”

“Funny how purchasing a house, possibly the most expensive item you will ever own, is never straight forward and one of those four ‘most stressful things in life’; divorce being another! But, Sami, you became bankrupt after the Post Office wrongly accused you of fraud ….. and you lost your home.”

“Indeed. I lost everything and went back to square one. The Post Office eventually made an acceptable compensation offer and Lisa and I have found somewhere together down here in Hove. She’ll keep her house in Folding-over-Sheet and enjoy the rental income. Did you personally do something so risky as your daughter?”

“No, although her situation has brought back some memories of house purchases. I bought my first for £29,500 and four years later my second, which we couldn’t afford but you kid yourself somehow you will. Fortunately I was never in a negative-equity situation with a large mortgage! A decade or two later I bought a terraced house in Battersea and, after we’d exchanged, someone offered an extra £10,000. I had written to the owner to say how much I was going to love living in her house, la-di-dah-di-dah, and she turned down the bigger offer (phew!). And I almost lost our large apartment in Amber House here in Hove …..

“It is big, isn’t it Richard. I remember when Lisa and I came to supper (See PCs 329 and 330) we were in love with the tall ceilings and gorgeous proportions.”

“….. as my now ex wouldn’t commit to somewhere for herself. We exchanged three days before it was to go back on the open market! Seems a long time ago! I noticed the candle’s back up on the counter. You surprised Josh has gone back?”

“No, not really. He’s young and he got so fired up the last time. I feel sorry for Luke, left behind and always going to dread an unexpected telephone call. Libby said they have bought a dog, a Norfolk Terrier, to keep Luke busy!”

“Great idea! Hey! Listen. Must go and speak to Anna. (See PCs 358 and 365). Been good to catch up; love to Lisa and see you anon.”

And with that, and a squeeze of my hand on his shoulder, I got up and moved across to Anna. I don’t know her at all well but had noticed she’d been away during the Paralympics in Paris (28 Aug – 8 Sep).

“Hi! Anna. Hadn’t seen you and assumed you’d gone to Paris. Were you competing or simply in some support role?”

“I didn’t make the wheelchair basketball team as here in the UK we have too many extraordinarily gifted players, but I went to the Bercy Arena to support them. The Netherlands won gold, the USA silver and China bronze; we came fifth, although I am pleased our men’s team won silver.”

“You’ll try for the Los Angeles Olympics in 2028?”

“I’ll see! Working full time restricts the amount of time I can dedicate to training …… and you need to be extremely dedicated! Listen, need to finish this report but good to see you.”

On my way out, I pass by Sami’s table. “Forgot to say, Sami, I’ve shrunk!”

“Sorry?”

“I have always been 6ft 2̋ which equates to 187cms. In a recent medical, I confidently replied ‘187’ to the obvious question, to be told that I was now 183. I’ve lost four centimetres Sami! Where did they go?”

“Where indeed …….”

Richard 4th October 2024

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk