Inflicting one’s Cav-ness (read ‘Chav-ness’ for RTR) on HMF

Greetings all! What a wonderful place to regale in one’s youth!

Having read a number of threads (haven’t laughed so much in years!) I thought I would add a thread of my own to allow us all (even them what wear black!) a tiptoe through the tulip fields of nostalgia as to how we, as Cavalry soldiers of Her Majesty, brought a touch of class to other elements of HM Forces with the subsequent light-hearted banter and merriment (and a little bit of jail time too perchance).

My chosen contribution of inflicting Cav-ness on those poor unfortunates not privileged to serve in the RAC is set in the latter stages of the 1980’s. I had, for my sins, secured a course of instruction at the School of Insanity… ops, Infantry. No problem there, there were worse places for Cav to go on courses…….

Having gained a certain reputation for being permanently in the sh1t (with just the depth varying), I was invited for a wee pre-course chat with the Squadron Leader. After exchanging pleasantries the Squadie pointed out “Open you mouth and fcuk up in Aldershot young man and you won’t be a LCpl much longer!” and he didn’t mean promotion!

“Err, sorry, Sir, but isn’t the School of Infantry at Warminster?” I knew it bloody was!

“Correct,” replied the Squadie, “But you’re going to J Division, and that’s Aldershot!”

Result thought I! Ma and Pa lived in Farnham just down the road from the Shot, so I envisaged a few home meals and spoiling by the olds during the course. As we exchanged further pleasantries on my departure the Squadie added, “By the way, J Division is at Depot PARA…….” FCUK!!!

Once I checked this with the chief clark (“We could have sent you to Warminster, but we thought Depot PARA would be character building for you!” (We being chiefy and the SSM and this being revenge for a nasty incident involving Smarties, but that’s another story!)

Well following a glorious wedding in London where I was part of the sword guard I dropped my blues et al at Ma and Pa’s and headed to the home of airborne forces. Once inside and having ensured it was permitted I parked up outside the block that was to be my new home to unload my chattels.

“What the kin hell are you doing with that piece of crap on the Depot’s Square!!!” Snarled the Provost Sergeant. How dare he call the automotive love of my life, a Ford Capri crap I thought (well, it was the 80’s!)! But seeing as he had three stripes to my one (along with a Pedro tash and a beret shaped like Albert Tatlocks flat cap!) I let it go!

“Soz Sarn’t,” ses I, “on a course here, this is my block and the lad at the gate said it was ok to park while I unloaded”

“Courses, eh? J Div, eh? Well get it of the Depot’s Square, boy, and just you kin remember that while you’re here, stripes or not, trained grunt or not, you’re just a ‘hat’!”

Well, I tolerated my Capri being called ‘crap’ (after all beauty and beholder’s eye etc) but I wasn’t going to be accused of being in an infantry Regiment of the Line by any James Hunt!

“Actually, I’m in the cavalry!” ses I in response.

Once the Provost Sergeant picked himself up of the floor having pissed himself laughing he stood toe to toe with me and whispered, “I’m knocking off just now, but I’ll see you outside MY guardroom 1900hrs tomorrow in your BEST KIT laffing boy!”

Well, as one can imagine, how p1ssed off was I! Anyway, as I settled into the block and retold the tail to my new roomies a plan formed. ‘Best kit’, I’ll give the merchant banker ‘best kin kit’ and a little trip back to my folks followed shortly!

1850 hrs the following day I was standing by the mirror at the entrance to the block, my new mates taking bets as to whether I’d get spit roasted by the RP staff or merely jailed for the rest of my natural for the bare cheek of what I was about to do….

“Cap, No1 Dress – Check”
“Tunic, No1 Dress –Check”
“Epaulettes Chain-mail – Check”
“Belt, Despatch – Check”
“Belt, Sword – Check”
“Gloves, white – Check”
“Trousers, Overall – Check”
“Boots, George – Check”
“Spurs – Check”

and the piece de résistance

“Sword, Cavalry Patter 1912, Other Ranks – Check”

A hush came over the fellows in attendance as I stepped back two paces from the mirror, sword at the trail completing the movment by rasing the leg thigh parallel to the ground, foot hanging naturally below the knee before drivging it home to assume the position of attention!

One last look in the mirror, yep, that how one scores with bride’s maids….. REMEMBER BALACLAVA!

Right turn, quick march (Garry Owen paying in my head), out the door, left wheel, fcuk it, three paces extra, left turn on the march…. It was an interesting journey to the Guard Room, a good 3 score salutes from crows (inc 2 x Cpls and 1 from a ‘fellow’ subaltern!). RV Guard Room 1859hrs…. well, it would have been except for the run in with Depot RSM…. and his boss, the LT COL Commanding Depot!

Contact, Senior Officer, Wait Out! Best defence is attack, smart salute to the left on the march and brass neck it out… UP, TWO, THREE “Good evening, SAH!” DOWN, SWING….. remember to breath, remember to breath……


Gulp, don’t fart, you may follow through….. fcuk it, HALT, ABOUT TURN, QUICK MARCH, HALT, SALUTE!

CO: “Ask him who he is and why he’s wearing that here, RSM!”


ME “ LCpl Me, Fractional Donkeywhallopers. Been ordered to report to the GuardRoom at 1900hrs in my best kit by the Provost Sarn’t and this is the best kit I have……. and I’m gpoing to be late. Permission to carry on, please, SAH!

CO “Carry on indeed!” (smiled the old sweet shaking his head.) “Go with him RSM!”

ME “Thank you SAH!” Spit roasting for sure…….

What remained of the journey to guard room was a blur of salutes (not returned this time of course) and dressing downs to the poor miscreant, all crows this time! The Provost Sergeant was waiting….

RSM: Did you tell this cnut to report in best kit at 1900
Provost Sgt: Errrr…. yes, Sir, but I didn’t think…. (I’d have lied here!)
RSM: Obviously!

RSM: (Turning to me) And you just ‘happened’ to have this with you?
ME: Yes, Sir, Sword Guard at a wedding, Sir, came Straight here, Sir. (I did lie about that!).

RSM: Well you funny little fcuker, I could jail you for this stunt, I should jail you for this stunt, but then I’d have to jail the quarter of soldiers under training, several NCOs and send a 2LT to see the adjutant for saluting you! Alternatively, you could ‘voluntarily’ join us for early morning PT…..

ME: (Jail me, jail me, jail me)… Permission to volunteer for early morning PT, please, SAH!

RSM: Granted, now fcuk off and put your black coveralls on or what ever you normally wear that’s from this centuaries 1157 issue (didn’t seem wise to correct him on this) and put that kin toothpick in the armoury!

ME: Very Good SAH, Thank you SAH…….. about turn, quick march!

By the end of the course I had a shinny new badge to wear above my tapes, a waist two inches slimmer and the best BFT time I’d ever done and had put the debt of a small African nation across the Cpls Mess bar. Before leaving I got a message to go see the razman, he had something for me… a good thumping or a letter for my CO “Dear Colonel, this soldier’s a cnut, please bust and “jail him etc..” . I’d take the slap over the latter……

Instead I got a pat on the back and you ever thought of a transfer to us (yeah, right!) and a Depot plaque for sticking with the PT……

Who says Badges don’t have a sense of humour if you have a pair of balls to exercise it on.


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Nice one, mate.

Reminds me of heading off to the Guardroom for Guard Mounting. Two of us (both Command Troop Ferret drivers) tank park shuffling past the back door of RHQ in best combats.

A pair of Officer Pattern No2 Dress trousers come down the staircase just inside the door. I tip the wink to me mukker and call up a salute exactly as we pass the door and the rest of the figure appears in front of us. Two arms go longest way up in perfect unison and break the elbow to bring fingertips to forelock just as the razzman's head appears.

Independently and in perfect time, the fingers whipping toward forelock open and we both convert the salute to a wave to the RSM, trying to keep a straight face.

Give his due, he returned the salute (but smarter) and called us a pair of "KERRRRRRRRRRNTS!!!" as he went to his car.

I shudder to think what he'd have done had we not each driven him on exercise in the recent past.
:oops: As a subaltern in a beautiful cavalry regiment in the early 70s, I and a friend bought ourselves Capri GTs, all the rage then and just what we needed to cruise down the autobahn.

Our Adjutant, who sadly died recently, sent us a note;

" Lt Pmr and Ct Everhard those are not officer's cars and may not be parked in front of the mess. In camp they should be stabled at the back of the mess with the mess staff's cars".

He sent another friend a memo which stated;

" Lt Desparate Dan, for opening the bonnet of your car in front of the mess take three extras




for knowing how to open the bonnet of your car take seven extras!"
Glad my little yarn has raised a smile or two peeps…. Respect to those who were good enough to say it made them smile etc! And to you, SAH, with the capri GT - it explains why all the troopies couldn't keep their eyes of mine!

As to the Smarties…. Well, are we sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin…..

Once upon a time, her Majesty the Queen set me and my muckers to the frozen north to protect the NATO flank in that area (practice purpose only of course!).

Much to my delight, the girlies in this area were quite beautiful, in fact the word for ‘ugly bint’ in their language was ‘tourist’. But much to the shock of us all, the indigenous population had no access to Smarties!!!

This was a particular problem to our most beloved sage and mentor, the SSM. Once his limited supply had run dry, he developed LSS – Lack of Smarties Syndrome which manifested itself in extras to all and sundry.

The brethren of the Sqn’s Cpl’s mess formed a committee to discuss the problem. Such was the nature of such an elite committee that an appropriate abbreviated title was created – SAS – Smartie Action Squad!!!

We resolved that the only thing to be done was to get the pads among us to post over Smarties for us to placate the SSM.

Once the first batch arrived we decided to leave a few of Rowntree’s finest at strategic locations: SSM’s office draw, SSM’s coffee mug, SSM’s boots etc etc etc.

Despite enjoying the little chockie pep pills, the extras continued – the SSM voved to find the culprits of the SAS and give them some career guidance behind the tank sheds with a snow shovel, and to catch them, he would PERSONALLY shake all small parcels sent to the Sqn to find out who they were being posted to!

What had we done? We had created a Smartie Monster! Thank god for us that none were in transit!

“If only we could get some posted to a local…” said a member of the brethren.

By jove, we could! By this time I was well shacked up with a local fair maiden (she often wondered why I had so many lightweights in sizes Tpr, shortass to Cpl, fatb@stard going through her washing machine!). And so SAS recruited itss first and only local partisan!!!

The ensuring weeks delivered a vast quantity of the shinny little fcukers to my fair maiden, who in turn supplied them to me who distributed them to the brethren to deploy as they saw fit (or at least, wouldn’t get caught leaving them!). And thus, the SSM got his Smarties, and we escaped having snow shovelled flatted heads!

It would have been the crime of the century had it not been for the Sqn smoker at the end of the deployment. It had been decided to hold more of a ‘cocktail party’ smoker rather than having the youngest Tpr spanked by a 40 something striper so as to say thanks to our hosts. As such, my own fair maid, together with virtually all of the student teachers and a handful of nurses form the local town were in attendance.
Striper aside, the evening progressed with some interesting skits as to our views on life in our hosts country, much to the disgust of my fair maiden (who had been sworn to secrecy ref. SAS!).

To my utter amazement, her goodself and two friends, all being rather shapely appeared on the ‘stage’ dressed in smocks, cold weather (and nothing much else!) and turned their backs to us, their audience.

The first young lady turned and announced, “I’m a British Tommy and spend all my LOA on beer!” while undoing said jacket to expose a matching pair of bra and knickers – this got the crowds attention!

The next young lady turned to face the audience and announced, “I’m a British Tommy Sergeant and I spend all my LOA on beer and can drink any local under the table and still walk ten mile home in the snow!” while undoing said jacket to expose a matching pair of bra and knickers – the boys were hooked, and I was sh!tting myself as to what my fair maiden would do…..

As she turned to me I saw the SSM stare in my direction. We were a well know item and ALL my pay and LOA went on taxis back from hers in the wee small hours of every morning we were in camp!

“I’m a Tommy Sergeant Major and I get paid 500 kroner a day plus LOA,” she said reaching into the jacket pocket and produced a white cylindrical tube…

“You can buy an awful lot of Smarties on 500 kroner a day…..” she said emptying contents of said tube into her mouth!!!

The joint Officers and Sergeants mess were wetting themselves, the brethren in SAS took a quick vote deciding to deny all knowledge or participation in the hennas crime which had been exposed before dissolving the committee while the Tprs started chanting ‘Get ‘em down, you Zulu warriors!’

My thoughts at this time turned to myself, hoping that I had made my fair maiden preggers the previous night as I doubted I’d have a set left to do it in the future……

I decided to make a tactical withdrawal to the bar where the girls had gone, believing that while they had relatively little clothes on I would be safe.

“Thanks for that, Sweetie”, I said to my fair maiden.

“You’re welcome!” she replied.

It was at this time I felt a rather firm and painful grip applied to my shoulder.

“Hi Pete!” says she, kissing the SSM on the check, “Wanna Smartie?” She produced a further tube as he turned to me….

“Drink, Sir?” I enquired in a higher than usual tone, getting in practice for the forthcoming removel! I thought it wise to use ‘Sir’ seeing as I wasn’t blond, size 10 with a 34C cup!

“Ta, love,” says the SSM taking the Smarties, “And a bottle of Whiskey will do nicely, Lance Corporal…”

Well, a bottle of scotch was the least I could do, so said bottle was handed over with a respectful smile.

“I’d just like to say Sir that no disrespect….” says I before being interrupted.

“We’ll talk about this back at the Regiment, Lance Corporal, make sure this lovely lady gets home safely!”

Was that it? A bottle of scotch and a chat back in Blighty? Was I being allowed to take my fair lady home and Roger her silly before the tour Endex? It transpired I was.


Our little ‘chat’ involved me choosing left or right pocket, said pocket containing a box, not a tube of Smarties. “I think I’m going to have one Smartie every time I find a shItty job for you to do, and when the box is empty, the sh1tty jobs will end……..”

I did soooooo many extras I called them norms


I later learnt both of the SSM’s pockets had boxes, so there was no chance of picking a tube and on our return to the frozen north, my fair maiden still loved me and kissed the SSM on the check and called him Pete (and he brought his own supply of fcuking Smarties!)
Another great tale, have many happy memories of Norway. What was her name? and was she from Levanger or Verdal?
TheBigUn said:
Another great tale, have many happy memories of Norway. What was her name? and was she from Levanger or Verdal?
How the hell you worked that out from my no, name no pack drill post amazes me lol!!!

(And it was Levanger, Hilda, and post shot-gun Annie era!)
Have PM'd you Bob!
fcuking stunning feller..... we should publish some of the great ARRSE tales. the likes of these, some of RTFQ's, etc. the profits could keep ARRSE going for thousnd years! and cover the bar tab at the next crawl!
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