ARmy Rumour SErvice

7 May 53, 1500 hrs our NS intake had to report in by and the first thing our erstwhile platoon Sgt did was march us in a complete shambles to face the twenty foot high perimeter wall. "That's a wall that is!" he informed us "and any f----r who has no real wish to be here, climb up it tonight and b----r off, it'll make my job that much easier. Let the gents in Red Hats sort you out instead." Nobody took up his generous offer but it definitely went downhill from there. The sole (and unintentional) dropout we had, involved a very quiet, amiable sort of chap and I can still recall his face after all these years but not his name. We were on drill parade one morning when two civvy cop cars pulled up on the side of the square. Escorted by the Provost Sgt, two civpol types ran on the square, roughly collared hold of this unfortunate individual, bundled him into the back of one of the cars and drove swiftly away. Even our hard bitten Pl Sgt looked astonished. We never saw him again; nobody wised us up to what crime he may have committed and curiously no-one, as I recall, dare ask?

In Basic putting thick blue gray Blanco over my webbing belt as ordered, buffing it till it shone putting brasses back and having it inspected and passed, this at 19.00, then told to get all that orrible blue gray shit off it and all this nice white Blanco on, and there better not be a fucking hint of blue, it better be whiter than Gabriels wings, and shinier than his fucking horn. Inspection at 22.00. GET CRACKING.
First time I ever achieved the impossible

Infantry Junior Leaders Battalion, Ouston, somewhere near Newcastle.
Camp familiarisation, in working dress - boots, denims, JHW.
"Right, this is the gym. fall in 3 ranks, this is your PTI, Cpl X, I will be back in an hour"
Much sweat, tears and puke later
"Right, any questions about the Gym?"
"NO CORPORAL"
where's my mummy?

December, 1962. A station, somewhere near Catterick camp. A young and fresh faced Ofah alights from the train and is met by two attractive WRAC ladies. ( I was young, and from a small mining village, so they looked good to me). I ask how I can get to my destination, and they offer me a lift, in a Humber car. I am delighted.

Arrive at 11 Signals Regiment, the depot for Royal Sigs. I approach a building that has been identified to me as a guard room. There are several square areas of tarmac with people dashing around and much shouting - fortunately quite muffled due to wind. I knock on door of guard room and enter. A tall chap, approx 12 feet tall, with a dark hat and a peak that is vertical is screaming abuse and foul language at a skinny and terrified youth. I begin to realise that this was not like the comics I read, and had never seen this in The Eagle.
And so it began.