Chapter 5
(Castigation, Compassion & Completion.)
“Wisdom cometh by suffering” – Aeschylus
The next day being Saturday, after being noisily aroused by a loudly bugling ‘sticky blue’ and consuming breakfast, we turned-tofor the day’s activities, comprising of ‘area beautification’ duties i.e. general cleanup of the barracks area. It was also an excellent time for instructors to use for any remedial or extra training.
After completion of the administration parade, we were detailed-offfor our respective work parties and tasks, after which Sergeant Donald announced that we were all to be finished whatever job we had been given and be back in our dhobi area by midday. We were informed there was something new he needed to show to the squad.
That morning, armed with large brooms and shovels, Jock and I laboured together in the same work party. It goes without saying we could not resist peeling back our sleeves and showing off our new pieces of ‘artwork’ to other squad members. This was either with or without a request, in short, we were showing off. Of course, our forearms were now vigorously suppurating and oozing to the extent the leaked ink and blood was adhering to and staining the shirt material. At least we felt very fortunate in the knowledge that we could continue to hide them.
At midday, we ‘fell in’at our dhobi room and were addressed by Sergeant Donald. Eyeing our eager and pimply faces, he informed us that although we were still in the grip of winter, once spring arrived and the weather warmed up, we discarded our outer garments and would start wearing what was known as ‘shirt-sleeve order’. In preparation for this, he was now going to show us how to iron a shirt correctly, with sleeves properly folded up to the elbow, to the regulation width and in a neat and uniform manner. To this day I do not know why, however, Jock and I instantly shot each other a knowing and worried look. After the demonstration and subsequent practice with a spare shirt, came the bombshell. Although a few months away from the season, to ensure we had correctly learnt the procedure we had just been shown, on Monday morning, for inspection purposes only, we were to wear shirt-sleeve order’. Jock and I later agreed that it was at that moment we both felt our world begin to spiral downward. As one can imagine, over the remainder of the weekend, cocooned in our barrack room, Jock and I were in a state of near panic and were ‘sweating neaters’while all the time trying hard to think of a solution. Suggestions from our well-meaning squad mates included everything from plastic surgery to going AWOL, obviously, all completely out of the question. Jock and I decided to take it head-on and also acknowledged that any thoughts of using Elastoplast or other medical material to cover them up would be a dead set giveaway. We even imagined that perhaps the tattoos may not be noticed on the morning in question and when back in our winter rig all would be okay until they eventually healed up.
Monday morning duly arrived. Jock and I nervously jockeyed for our positions within the squad, fervently wishing for invisibility amongst the ranks. A silly thought, considering all our collective right forearms would be bared and by default, be first seen during next to the subject of the inspection about to receive the most detailed scrutiny. This situation was all due to a small piece of folded, pressed and starched polyester material. As a body, we were all marched onto the parade ground to await our fate. A small digression here. Since we had been at the depot, I had always harboured a suspicion that the instructional staff may have undergone some acting or drama training. You will soon see why.
I stood perfectly at attention while the inspection took place. Corporal Mackenzie came first, slowly moving up the ranks and examining each individual rolled up sleeve. He checked for starch content, standard of ironing etc, while Sergeant Donald followed closely behind, with a ruler to ensure the correct width of the fold and its position on the arm. Corporal Mackenzie approached me, where after a cursory look at my face, began to examine my right folded sleeve. Then it happened. He produced one of the most terrifying sounds I have ever heard. This can only be described as a loud demented shriek! Although partially stunned, I saw his pace stick fly off, spinning in one direction then bounce along the bitumen, eventually coming to rest against a drainage channel, while in the opposite direction a green beret spun away with the characteristics of a supersonic frisbee, to eventually land on the lawn in front of the barrack block. “SERGEANT DONALD, THIS MAN HAS A TATTOO! I don’t recall permission being given to anyone in the squad to do so!” Sergeant Donald literally flew up to my side, looked at my forearm, and it all happened again. His pace stick and ruler flew off in a broad arc in one direction, while a beret went the other. This was followed by an animalistic bellow that I will never ever forget. By now, although quite traumatized, I was certain I could hear small whimpers emanating from Jock’s direction to my rear. Both instructors were simultaneously shouting and now appeared to be in a state of apoplexy with both their skin colours darkening to deep purple and small flecks of spittle spraying out of the corners of their mouths. Seconds later when Jock’s offending arm was detected, the uproar doubled in intensity. I thanked God; no one here possessed a weak bladder.
We were quickly extricated from the squad, I supposed in case our evil presence may infect others, and of course, the anticipated process began. Yep, we were up before the Officer Commanding on a charge. He too attempted a degree of shocked distress at our ‘crime’; however, he was nowhere near as convincing as our squad instructors were. We were both convicted and fined five pounds each and letters written to our parents. Of course, the OC gave us another of his prepared lectures about what these days we would now call their ‘duty of care’ and the threat of transmittable diseases, etc.
By now, my reader must be convinced that all Royal Marine NCOs were a cruel, insensitive and hard-hearted bunch. Actually, I have often seen that in certain circumstances, this was the complete opposite. One of our squad members was a lad by the name of ‘Dolly’ Gray. Dolly was from the north of England, whose family consisted of his mother and six younger siblings. His father had died some years earlier in an industrial accident, which was not an unusual occurrence in those days. Dolly was one of those unfortunate people, who no matter what they attempted or how hard they tried, they always found things unattainable, complicated or just against them. He would literally spend all night spit and polishing his boots, polishing brass etc; however, by morning, when dressed for parade, he still looked like a bag of the proverbial tied in the middle with string. I am of the belief that at one time Dolly held the depot record for the most periods of extra drill or weapon training ever awarded. After finishing our own necessary chores, the rest of the squad would rally around and try to help where they could, but it seemed hopeless. It reached the stage where Dolly was taken aside after a particularly bad turnout, ‘counselled’ by Sergeant Donald, and warned that if he did not immediately and drastically improve, he would be back- squadded or even worse. This only resulted in frightening the hell out of Dolly, as he and his mother were the only breadwinners for their large family (he religiously sent most of his pay home every week). The only thing this achieved was to create a vicious circle where he now had less or no sleep each night, and as time progressed, his appearance deteriorated even more.
This particular morning, we were on parade in our number one lovat-green uniform, peaked caps and white webbing. During the inspection I escaped without too much criticism from Sergeant Donald, and was happy with the result, however, when he reached Dolly, it was a different story. After the anticipated and loud bawling out, as normal, Dolly was made to ‘march to the flank’. To be marched to the flank when on parade was a terrible thing to happen and was to be avoided at all costs. Some of the senior officers at Deal were predatory by nature, such as the adjutant, who made it his business to keep a lookout during large parades for any trainees standing clear to the side of their squads. Like a large crow sighting road kill, he would swoop down upon the luckless recruits and subject them to dire bollockings and threats of more serious consequences. Recruit Gray, stood alone and in disgrace, at attention, five clear paces to the left of our squad, being spoken to by Sergeant Donald. Without moving my body and straining all of my senses, I struggled to find out what was going on. After a few minutes of a heated, one-sided conversation, Corporal Mackenzie was summoned to attend, at which he quickly marched over to the Sergeant’s side. After some quick words between them, Corporal Mackenzie returned and continued with the inspection of the squad. Sergeant Donald and Recruit Gray marched off the Parade Ground towards the Junior Wing HQ. This was a new development and as one, we all wondered what was to be Dolly’s fate.
On completion of the parade, as per the training program, we were marched back to the barrack block to collect our PT gear for the next period. On entry to our barrack rooms, we saw Dolly dressed in civilian clothes and packing his small suitcase. Although pushed for time, we were able to speak quickly with him. We learned that a few days prior, a relative had written a letter, informing him that his mother had suddenly died and his brothers and sisters had been ‘taken into care’ by the authorities. For reasons best known to Dolly, he had not told anyone else about this. We also found out that he had eventually blurted out this information to Sergeant Donald, only when stood on the flank of our squad this morning. He then received a bollocking, not for his turnout, but for not telling any staff member, particularly Sergeant Donald, of his problem. That was why they had marched off to the Junior Wing Orderly Room to make arrangements. Before Dolly had his suitcase packed, Sergeant Donald had already arranged for a leave pass, a railway warrant, the receipt of any back pay owed and two weeks pay in advance. Sergeant Donald had also personally liaised with the authorities that had Dolly’s family in care to try to organise for them to be reunited. He also called an oppo of his who was a member of the training staff at a local RMFVR reserve unit, to meet with Dolly and to perhaps help him and ‘open doors’ where possible. Dolly was told to go home ASAP and look after his family, as he was now the breadwinner. Sadly, he was later discharged, however, this was probably the best outcome for all and as Sergeant Donald had advised him, as soon as he arrived home, that was the time to start looking for a job while he still had some money in his pocket. I do not know about you, but that is what I would call ‘man management with a heart’. We never heard from, or of Dolly again.
For us who remained behind, life energetically rolled along. There were occasions where an over abundance of testosterone would flow resulting in some minor spats or arguments, however, generally speaking we were all very good friends who tried to help and motivate each other if required. By sheer necessity, we had bonded and formed a strong squad brotherhood. Although at times the going was hard, one still recalled those days with some fondness. Similar to school days, these were the formative times you never forgot.
Then arrived that magic day when the majority of us Passed Out of training at the Depot RM (The squad did lose one or two through injury etc). The day of the final parade and our drill display, proved to be one of the proudest moments of my life.
Not wishing to detract from one of our finest moments, perhaps I should mention the slight mishap that did occur at a particular juncture during the final phase of the drill display.
Some well-meaning individual, whom we never identified which was probably in his favour, advised one of our number that to magnify the wonderful short smashing sounds that drill with weapons can create. He was told that one should place some loose coins or small pieces of gravel within the empty ammunition magazine attached to our personal weapon, in this case the 7.62mm Self Loading Rifle (SLR). Apparently when ‘smacked’ hard by the owner’s hand during brisk drill movements, the result would be a loud metallic crashing sound which was sure to impress those watching.
Therefore, the much rehearsed and spectator enthralling drill display consisting of many automatic movements was underway. Seated to our front in the drill shed was a temporary grandstand filled with our relatives, friends and some visiting senior officers from all the services, including some from overseas.
All concentrating very hard and putting everything we had into our efforts, we performed admirably, or so we were later told, except for the final phase.
The ‘Grand Finale’ was to be a drill movement known as ‘Advance in Review Order’. This consisted of the whole squad in line with a frontage of about twenty recruits, marching in a straight line abreast, a predetermined number of paces and to come to a loud and synchronised halt a few paces away from the grandstand. After the time-honoured RM timing count of ‘tup three’, we were to then to ‘Present Arms’. This movement was to finish with our rifles rigidly held to our centre front, straight up and down at the position of a royal salute, the bottom of the weapon facing the spectators, after a final hard smashing grab with our hands around the stock of the rifle.
Unfortunately, a millisecond after what was supposed to be this final movement, there was heard a very loud sound which I can only phonetically describe as a metallic ’sproinggg!!!’ To our horror, we then saw many of the spectators staring at the items that had landed in their laps and others, particularly children, scrabbling around and under their seats! They then took great joy in holding up halfpenny, penny and threepenny pieces in the manner of recently won prizes!
It appears that one of our number, notably ‘Paddy’ Murphy, had taken the advice in relation to coins placed within the rifle magazine a bit too seriously. I am convinced he must have put about ten shillings worth of coins into the empty magazine. Either due to the base plate of his magazine not being replaced properly or the added weight of the money and the stresses of the prior and ongoing drill movements, had loosened the spring loaded base plate and allowed the detached metal to suddenly give way and fly outwards to allow the accompanying compressed coinage to escape in the manner of a low velocity shotgun, scattering the pieces of money in a spray directly at the grandstand inhabitants. Thankfully, some people thought this had been done on purpose. This did not help a young red-faced Paddy, who while fervently wishing for the ground to open up and swallow him, stood their perfectly at ‘Present Arms’ with the foot long silver coloured spring hanging out and slowly undulating up and down in front of him, quite obviously defining him as the perpetrator!
At the conclusion of the parade, we were marched outside to our form up point, where I can still remember the well-rehearsed theatrics by the depot adjutant, who sat astride his horse, front and centre of the Royal Marine School of Music Band and our squad; He was positioned to lead us out of the depot main gates after the bellowed order, “Royal Marines around the world quick march!” Even my father and sister came down to watch the ceremony. Fortunately, Jock’s father was also able to travel down from Scotland and later joined my dad, sister and I during some of the post-parade activities. I can still recall other proud parents who attended the parade making such comments as, “It’s a miracle, I never thought they could get him looking that smart.” Or “How smart and fit he looks now. I didn’t recognise him.” One thing we did remember however was when congratulating us that day; Sergeant Donald made it clear that as good this was, it was only a small beginning. There were tougher challenges ahead. It was now off to Lympstone in Devon where he intimated we were to find most of them.
© Copyright Allan 'Buster' Brown 2011 ....All Rights Reserved
