Humour in Uniform Part Two

After some encouraging comments about the post I made regarding Humour in Uniform someone mentioned to me recently that there must have been other or even funnier events [as if they were not funny enough] or mishaps to befall me during many years service to the Crown.

The problem as I saw it, and in fact I mentioned to my friend, is that perhaps what I and possibly he with a military background may find very funny and send us into fits of laughter or as I understand the computer and text speak language of the young has it; ROTFLUTS, may not be humorous or funny to The man on the Clapham omnibus for example. Nonsense replied my friend, those who will understand will laugh those who don’t will not, it is all about context and who you aim your scribbling at, anyway who is the man on the Clapham omnibus? I saw his point and smiled. 

It is 1977. I am a sergeant based at the RAOC Training Depot and as part of my future career path and upward promotion I was required at some point to attend and pass the All Arms Drill Instructors Course held at and run by the Brigade of Guards All Arms Drill Training Wing at Pirbright.

As the title may indicate to non military readers [stay with it, it may get funny] this is an all arms course open to any regiment or corps including other Commonwealth countries and even the Police Training Centre at Hendon [or it was at Hendon in 1977] to send individuals of the rank of sergeant or above or the civilian equivalent to attend a six week intensive instructional course in all aspects of drill; foot drill, arms drill, ceremonial drill and so on with the aim that successful individuals will return to their units and then be qualified to teach and evaluate others in the teaching of all aspects of drill. The successful individual will in future years as he becomes promoted upward become a reference point on all drill related matters to superior officers, occasionally even very superior officers.

For the non military reader, and thanks for staying thus far, you need to understand the Brigade of Guards are a law unto themselves within the military world. They do things their way, they have this notion inbred at the recruit stage that they are special [believe me they are special] they have their way of doing things and the rest of the Army is, in their reasoning, always wrong until the rest of the Army have been taught how to do it the ‘Guards Way’, and really this is what this course is all about. 

It is not really about teaching the individual how to either do or in fact teach others how to do drill, if you qualify for this course you already know how to do that, no what it is about is the opportunity three times a year for the Brigade of Guards Training Wing to get it hands on thirty upright, honest and sober, okay perhaps sober is not correct, individuals and in six weeks make them Guards Clones and send them back to their units. The fact that you were not a member of the Brigade of Guards in the first place gives them the physiological upper hand from day one, the fact that none of us students applied to be in the Brigade of Guards or that some were far more educational qualified and thus in the main sent to technical Corps passes them by.

So day one starts by the Brigade of Guards Training Team referring to the thirty odd students assembled for the course, as they refer to the remaining 99.99% of the British Army who are not members of a Foot Guards Regiment, as ‘Them’. We immediately take it upon ourselves to refer to them as ‘Wooden Tops’ as in wooden toy soldiers. However we in the main are bright enough to understand even on day one that this is not a battle or even the war that we will win, we know that and the Wooden Tops know that, we understand each other; both sides understand the rules of the game.

For the next six weeks they break us down into small individual component parts of ourselves, we allow them to do it, we have no choice and it is easier and less painful to play by their rules. They then by the mid course point start to individually re-assemble us again and suddenly we find the thirty of us beginning to understand the point of it all, they are not just trying to qualify us as drill instructors they are also re-assembling us into better individual soldiers, leaders and managers than we were some weeks earlier. Yes we are still ‘Them’ and they are still ‘Wooden Tops’ but suddenly this is fun, there is a point to this, they are clever little sods these Wooden Tops.

One morning we were all on the drill square, were else would we be, we were practising the black art of sword drill. The RSM had taken it upon himself to take the air and see how life was progressing outside of his office. Suddenly from across the square he bellows ‘That man there’ and then points at me ‘that’s not marching that is mincing’ I will not have men mincing around my square; lock yourself up in the guardroom in double quick time. Off I go at the double toward the guardroom about 200 meters away, as I approach magically the door opens before me so that I enter the building still at the double and the doors slams shut behind me, I stop as I face the wall, I can go no further. My mind is now racing, what happens now, should I do something, I decide to stand perfectly still until someone else takes the lead.

Alright Sarge says a cockney voice, I turn my head slowly to face the voice and see before me a Cpl standing the other side of the desk, do you take sugar and milk he asks holding a mug above the desk, sorry but we only have rich tea biscuits if that’s okay. I start to relax a little. A chair is produced and I am invited to sit down. The mug of tea and two biscuits are placed before me, the Cpl goes to the window and looks out ‘look at em daft sods waving their swords about, they will have some buggers eye out if they’re not careful, a private stands next to the Cpl and nods, he turns to me, tea okay Sarge? I nod.

Some hours pass and the phone rings the Cpl answers it and smartly stiffens his body and every other word is Sir, yes Sir, right Sir, certainly Sir and so on, the phone conversation ends and the Cpl turns to me, that’s it  Sarge you’re free the RSM wants to see you. He opens the door and as I am departing he says he might see me again and grins, the door slams shut behind me. I report to the RSM.

You have been absent from lessons he says without looking up from writing something, you are an absentee he states. No Sir I reply you may remember you told me to lock myself up in the guardroom I have hardly been absent I have been in the guardroom. I now remember the golden rule, when the hole is deep enough stop digging. The RSM looks up at me so let me get this straight not only are you an absentee from lessons you are now telling me you are a criminal as well because you have been in the guardroom, I am not sure you are the sort of person we want here at the Brigade of Guards Training Wing this may well be the way you do things in your own unit but it’s not the way we do things here. This is your last chance understand, yes Sir I reply, get back to your lessons he orders I about turn and march out of his office, as I am going along the corridor I hear him say to himself ‘Bloody Mincing about on my square whatever next’ and then I heard him laugh. It was all part of the game.

I am being inspected one morning and I am told there is fluff on the top of my cap, the inference of course being I either did not brush my cap before inspection or I did not check my cap before putting it on or worse still both. My name is put in the report book and I am instructed to report for inspection again at 2200 hours that night ‘showing fluff removed from my cap’ [remember this phrase].

At 2155 hours I present myself at the guardroom for the inspection parade at 2200 hours, I note there are about twenty others for the parade as well. 

The officer starts his inspections followed by the duty sergeant, as the duty officer gets to an individual the sergeant reads out aloud from the report book the offenders name and the heinous crime he has committed that has brought him here. He gets to me, my name is read out and in a loud clear voice possessed only by guardsmen he reads: Reporting to show fluff removed from cap.

I look at the officer and I think he is not very tall, not as tall as me anyway. I wonder if I should remove my cap to show him that the fluff has indeed been removed, perhaps not. I next think should I bend forward a little so he may clearly see the top of my cap and the total absence of fluff as I am pondering this the officer stares at me and then says’ come on I have not got all night’. Sir? I ask as a query, show me the fluff then he replies holding out his hand. The fluff? I reply. For Gods sake man; his voice starting to go up a couple of octaves. You are here to show me the fluff removed from your cap, this morning you had fluff on your cap, you are here now to show me it removed so show the damn fluff you have removed from your cap you bloody idiot.  It’s gone sir I reply, I brushed it off, where has it gone he asks, just gone sir I reply, well you had better scour this whole camp until you find it and report back here tomorrow night to show me it.

The following night I paraded the officer approached; after my name and crime was read out I duly opened my hand and showed a bit of fluff. Is this the fluff you removed from your cap he asked, yes I replied, he looked at me and I stared back at him, he winked and said you are learning. Indeed I was.

The week before the end of the course the RSM assembles the whole course on the square and informs us it is customary to have a course photo taken. This photo will be taken by someone he knows and the photo will be suitably framed within the high standard we have come to expect from the Brigade Guards, this is not tat he tells us, it will be a thing to treasure for life, we will, he assures us, be able to show it to our grandchildren when we are old and certainly in need of assistance to mash our food up. The grandchildren will be suitably impressed by the quality and framing of the photo that that may decided a life in the Brigade of Guards is for them. If you would like such a valued memento of our happy time at Pirbright put your hand up.

This was week five, we were nobody’s fools, we knew how it went, and nobody moved an inch.

Come come said the RSM I am sure some of you might want a photo say something said the RSM even if it is Sod off....................then a quiet voice from the rear rank said sorry lads, the rest of us instantly knew what was going to happen...........Sod Off said the voice from the rear rank..............and a couple of us giggled................RIGHT shouted the RSM lock yourselves up at the double off to the guardroom with you all.

As a single body the thirty of us turned and doubled toward the guardroom as we approached the door opened and in we all went......the door slammed shut behind the last man, there was total silence...................right said a cockney voice, now we are going to do this slowly, if you want milk put your hand up...........one, two three, four, five, six he started to count...................someone burst out laughing.