the recruitment brochures. They certainly hadn’t shown the discomfort of sweating like a cheap beef salad while lying awkwardly in spiky gorse bushes, with twigs, leaves and broken branches scraping, cutting and scoring the skin leaving me feeling like I had been buggered by a sexually frustrated Laburnum.
In between being jabbed, poked, kicked and thrashed around the local vicinity, we had further theoretical instruction in the large marquee that doubled as the training team’s accommodation and lecture room. Any notification was usually in the form of, ‘Right, you fuckers, you were told to be ready for your next session, and by the look of it you have been swanning/arsing about/loafing/ignoring us/taking thepiss [delete as required]. You have got five minutes to get your shit together and be in the marquee for a lecture on…’
On this occasion it was ‘sentry duty’. I consoled myself with the thought that at least the lesson on the duties of a sentry had to be easy. I based this forlorn hope on my extensive research of sentry duty that mainly involved watching lots of old war films. It seemed to entail a lot of walking up and down a designated path, usually in the opposite direction to any silent enemy, while sharing cigarettes, and talking German.
Unfortunately the reality of a sentry duty lecture was a lot different.
‘When you are a sentry, fellas, you are the eyes and ears of the troop,’ said the Unsmiling Assassin looking rather sinister behind his lectern. ‘So it is vitally important you are awake, alert and aware of your surroundings. Falling asleep is the biggest no-no of all when on sentry and you not only show a lack of discipline, you show true selfishness putting your own needs before your oppos. This scant regard for the team ethic lets not only your mates down, but also puts them in grave danger. You are the early warning system and it is up to you to alert your troop of any possible enemy approach.’
In the steam of a humid tent, in the early afternoon heat, immediately after lunch, trying to stay awake and alert while learning how to stay awake and alert was clearly a lesson in irony. However, I found it interesting. More interesting than some, it seemed. As usual, questions were asked to reinforce our learning, and more often than not the Unsmiling Assassin would question, pause, nominate one of the eager-eyed students keen to impress.
‘So to recap then, why do we stay awake?’ The Unsmiling Assassin’s eyes scanned the room, searching for a willing, or unwilling, volunteer to answer.
I tried to look alert by perking up my head in an attempt to garner his attention.
‘Right, just a minute fellas.’ He walked from behind his lectern. ‘Am I boring you, Lofty?’ he asked.
I looked to where his steely glare fell. One of the nods, Brum, (no one knew his first name, but he was from Birmingham), didn’t have his head raised and certainly didn’t look alert. In fact, he couldn’t have done a better impression of inattentiveness if he’d tried. His chin sat on his chest, his eyes firmly closed. He seemed content enough; anyone would, emitting the sort of wheeze that suggests a sleep so deep that it’s bordering clinical death.
‘Don’t any of you wake him up,’ warned the Unsmiling Assassin as he approached Sleeping Beauty, who now had the temerity to snore.
‘Oi, fuckdust, wake up.’ No answer. To be fair, the corporal hadn’t shouted. He never did.
‘What’s his name?’ the Unsmiling Assassin asked the group.
‘Davies, Corporal,’ answered a voice from the crowd.
‘Oi, Davies, you knob jockey, wake up.’
Davies still didn’t move.
‘Is he dead?’
Now, if you were asked how to wake somebody up in such a circumstance, or indeed check if someone was still alive, would you:
A. Give them a shake?
B. Shout at them a little louder?
C. Hit them on the head with a wooden mallet?
The Unsmiling Assassin chose the third option, picking up a large-headed mallet
In between being jabbed, poked, kicked and thrashed around the local vicinity, we had further theoretical instruction in the large marquee that doubled as the training team’s accommodation and lecture room. Any notification was usually in the form of, ‘Right, you fuckers, you were told to be ready for your next session, and by the look of it you have been swanning/arsing about/loafing/ignoring us/taking thepiss [delete as required]. You have got five minutes to get your shit together and be in the marquee for a lecture on…’
On this occasion it was ‘sentry duty’. I consoled myself with the thought that at least the lesson on the duties of a sentry had to be easy. I based this forlorn hope on my extensive research of sentry duty that mainly involved watching lots of old war films. It seemed to entail a lot of walking up and down a designated path, usually in the opposite direction to any silent enemy, while sharing cigarettes, and talking German.
Unfortunately the reality of a sentry duty lecture was a lot different.
‘When you are a sentry, fellas, you are the eyes and ears of the troop,’ said the Unsmiling Assassin looking rather sinister behind his lectern. ‘So it is vitally important you are awake, alert and aware of your surroundings. Falling asleep is the biggest no-no of all when on sentry and you not only show a lack of discipline, you show true selfishness putting your own needs before your oppos. This scant regard for the team ethic lets not only your mates down, but also puts them in grave danger. You are the early warning system and it is up to you to alert your troop of any possible enemy approach.’
In the steam of a humid tent, in the early afternoon heat, immediately after lunch, trying to stay awake and alert while learning how to stay awake and alert was clearly a lesson in irony. However, I found it interesting. More interesting than some, it seemed. As usual, questions were asked to reinforce our learning, and more often than not the Unsmiling Assassin would question, pause, nominate one of the eager-eyed students keen to impress.
‘So to recap then, why do we stay awake?’ The Unsmiling Assassin’s eyes scanned the room, searching for a willing, or unwilling, volunteer to answer.
I tried to look alert by perking up my head in an attempt to garner his attention.
‘Right, just a minute fellas.’ He walked from behind his lectern. ‘Am I boring you, Lofty?’ he asked.
I looked to where his steely glare fell. One of the nods, Brum, (no one knew his first name, but he was from Birmingham), didn’t have his head raised and certainly didn’t look alert. In fact, he couldn’t have done a better impression of inattentiveness if he’d tried. His chin sat on his chest, his eyes firmly closed. He seemed content enough; anyone would, emitting the sort of wheeze that suggests a sleep so deep that it’s bordering clinical death.
‘Don’t any of you wake him up,’ warned the Unsmiling Assassin as he approached Sleeping Beauty, who now had the temerity to snore.
‘Oi, fuckdust, wake up.’ No answer. To be fair, the corporal hadn’t shouted. He never did.
‘What’s his name?’ the Unsmiling Assassin asked the group.
‘Davies, Corporal,’ answered a voice from the crowd.
‘Oi, Davies, you knob jockey, wake up.’
Davies still didn’t move.
‘Is he dead?’
Now, if you were asked how to wake somebody up in such a circumstance, or indeed check if someone was still alive, would you:
A. Give them a shake?
B. Shout at them a little louder?
C. Hit them on the head with a wooden mallet?
The Unsmiling Assassin chose the third option, picking up a large-headed mallet
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