- Joined
- Mar 10, 2004
- Messages
- 388
- Points
- 83
I started in 1984 at Whittington Barracks, Lichfield, depot of the Prince of Wales Division. I was nominally on the strength of the Staffordshire Regt (Prince of Wales').
I got a taxi to the main gate and met with a very friendly man (very big) who introduced himself on the "civvie" side of the barrier as the Provost Sgt. He welcomed me to the depot, solicitiously asked if I'd had a good journey and wished me well with my course. I was very impressed and smiled at the taxi driver who had given me horror stories about his time during national service.
I picked up my cases and staggered through to the guardrooom where I checked in. The very nice provo Sgt. detailed a rather portly soldier to show me to the accomodation block. I thought that this was helpful and the soldier showed me the way, saying as we went that he couldn't help me with my cases as he needed both hands ready in case of attack. I sympathised and thought this a good move.
Two days later I was mooching around to get a coffee in my shiny new kit (the NAAFI was pretty much next to the guardroom), wearing my react-o-light specs. In January it was hideous cloudy but I looked like Idi Amin reviewing his guards! The nice provo sgt. came out of his den and shouted (in a nice way) that... "if I didn't have them glasses changed by yesterday, then I was for the high jump".
The next day it was NAAFI break and as I approached the canteen the provo sgt arrived and saw me - with those glasses on. From being such a nice man three days ago he turned into a human Vesuvius. Apart from marching up and back to him, saluting, about turning and doing it all again, he said that enough was enough and I found myself in the nick, being told that I was under arrest. The reason, he said, was for disobeying orders. My mind was still on civvie time when tomorrow means next week or so.
The sgt said he'd informed my OC and that I was his to use as wished. After 3 hours sitting in a cell sitting to attention and looking at a wall, I was told I would be cleaning the guardroom ceiling - all of it. Not so bad thought I and went to get a brush to clean the (spotless) ceiling. The, by now, not so nice provo sgt. whipped the brush away from me and said "this is what you use" giving me a heavy duty steel bumper - in fact two of them welded together!! I could hardly pick the blasted thing up, let alone heave it up to the ceiling. Watching with no pity whatsoever, the provo sgt. let me sweat for 10 or so minutes and then told me to F***k right off out of his f****ing guardroom and never, f***ing ever darken his f***ing doors with my f****ing face ever a f****ing gain.
I got my glasses changed that afternoon!
(I was that horrible breed on non soldier, the officer cadet - I failed miserably and ended up at Helles Barracks, 11 Signal Regiment, Catterick Garrison 3 months later - prob. more to come!)
I got a taxi to the main gate and met with a very friendly man (very big) who introduced himself on the "civvie" side of the barrier as the Provost Sgt. He welcomed me to the depot, solicitiously asked if I'd had a good journey and wished me well with my course. I was very impressed and smiled at the taxi driver who had given me horror stories about his time during national service.
I picked up my cases and staggered through to the guardrooom where I checked in. The very nice provo Sgt. detailed a rather portly soldier to show me to the accomodation block. I thought that this was helpful and the soldier showed me the way, saying as we went that he couldn't help me with my cases as he needed both hands ready in case of attack. I sympathised and thought this a good move.
Two days later I was mooching around to get a coffee in my shiny new kit (the NAAFI was pretty much next to the guardroom), wearing my react-o-light specs. In January it was hideous cloudy but I looked like Idi Amin reviewing his guards! The nice provo sgt. came out of his den and shouted (in a nice way) that... "if I didn't have them glasses changed by yesterday, then I was for the high jump".
The next day it was NAAFI break and as I approached the canteen the provo sgt arrived and saw me - with those glasses on. From being such a nice man three days ago he turned into a human Vesuvius. Apart from marching up and back to him, saluting, about turning and doing it all again, he said that enough was enough and I found myself in the nick, being told that I was under arrest. The reason, he said, was for disobeying orders. My mind was still on civvie time when tomorrow means next week or so.
The sgt said he'd informed my OC and that I was his to use as wished. After 3 hours sitting in a cell sitting to attention and looking at a wall, I was told I would be cleaning the guardroom ceiling - all of it. Not so bad thought I and went to get a brush to clean the (spotless) ceiling. The, by now, not so nice provo sgt. whipped the brush away from me and said "this is what you use" giving me a heavy duty steel bumper - in fact two of them welded together!! I could hardly pick the blasted thing up, let alone heave it up to the ceiling. Watching with no pity whatsoever, the provo sgt. let me sweat for 10 or so minutes and then told me to F***k right off out of his f****ing guardroom and never, f***ing ever darken his f***ing doors with my f****ing face ever a f****ing gain.
I got my glasses changed that afternoon!
(I was that horrible breed on non soldier, the officer cadet - I failed miserably and ended up at Helles Barracks, 11 Signal Regiment, Catterick Garrison 3 months later - prob. more to come!)
