top deck of the number 25 bus and do just about everything except make love. There was one girl I was quite keen on for a few months. I made love to her on Wanstead flats late one night but it turned out to be a horrible experience. We were in the heat of passion when I pushed against the ground with both hands for extra leverage. Instead of feeling terra firma , my hand squelched and slid along the grass. I had plonked it smack bang in the middle of a huge mound of dog mess.
Another girlfriend and I were travelling home on the number 25 when the urge to make loveovertook me. I couldn’t wait to get home so we got off the bus, raced into a derelict house and made passionate love against the crumbling wall. I was exhausted by the end of it because this girl was hefty. She was bigger and heavier than me and the strain really showed. My legs were like jelly. After that I vowed I would do daily leg exercises to build up my muscles.
I left school at 16 not knowing quite what I wanted to do. I went on the dole and continued seeing the boys and having a lot of fun. But I was very hurt at the ending of my close friendship with Colin. When I make friends, I’m very serious about the relationship. Colin had some very fine clothes and gold coins and ducats. They were worth a lot of money and were stolen by one of our circle of friends who then pointed the finger at me. The devastating thing was that Colin believed him.
In the meantime, Mum was becoming increasingly anxious about my friends and the direction, or lack of direction, I was taking in my life. My brother John was already serving in the regular army, serving with the First Battalion, Royal Regiment of Fusiliers in Minden, West Germany. She begged him to persuade me to join. Thank God I did. The decision to do so was a major turning point in my life.
4
FOR QUEEN AND COUNTRY
P latoon Sergeant Weaver was a bastard and a gentleman. He thought he was God. We believed he was and he certainly behaved like a deity. He ruled by fear and scared the living daylights out of me and all the other raw recruits who joined Tobruk Platoon for their initial 18 weeks’ training at Bassingbourn Barracks in Royston, Hertfordshire.
Sergeant Weaver was a one-off but I respect him for what he put me through. My first impression was that he was a racist bastard. I was wrong about the ‘racist’. He treated everybody the same and put us through the toughest regime I have ever experienced. You would get a pasting just because you were in his platoon. He’d go up to a guy and say, ‘Look at those nostrils!’ and pull out the man’s lip.
To see how tough we were, he’d order us to get down on our knees and stick out our chins. Then he’d walk by and crack jaws with his NCO’s baton. It was done to find out if you were a man. There was no racial abuse involved. If you couldtake it, you were tough and passed the test. In one of our survival practice sessions, I was made to swim under a boat in freezing cold water. Sergeant Weaver watched approvingly as my fellow soldiers then threw me naked into a bed of nettles. While hating him at times, I admired the way Weaver conducted himself. His grooming was immaculate. I had never seen anybody as well turned out as he was.
His approach would pay dividends for us later in our training. When we were sent to Scotland for our final assessment, we were grateful he’d hardened our resolve. That’s where they really sorted out the men from the boys. Anyone who put a foot wrong would receive one of several punishments, each more barbaric than the last.
If you were given ‘Corporal Rock’ as punishment, you were unlucky. It was one of the hardest to endure. You had to carry a big rock on your back for the whole day. It was about five stone in weight and, for brief spells, you were made to run with it until you had reached the point of exhaustion. But I would have preferred Corporal Rock to ‘Corporal Entrails’, which meant wearing a
Another girlfriend and I were travelling home on the number 25 when the urge to make loveovertook me. I couldn’t wait to get home so we got off the bus, raced into a derelict house and made passionate love against the crumbling wall. I was exhausted by the end of it because this girl was hefty. She was bigger and heavier than me and the strain really showed. My legs were like jelly. After that I vowed I would do daily leg exercises to build up my muscles.
I left school at 16 not knowing quite what I wanted to do. I went on the dole and continued seeing the boys and having a lot of fun. But I was very hurt at the ending of my close friendship with Colin. When I make friends, I’m very serious about the relationship. Colin had some very fine clothes and gold coins and ducats. They were worth a lot of money and were stolen by one of our circle of friends who then pointed the finger at me. The devastating thing was that Colin believed him.
In the meantime, Mum was becoming increasingly anxious about my friends and the direction, or lack of direction, I was taking in my life. My brother John was already serving in the regular army, serving with the First Battalion, Royal Regiment of Fusiliers in Minden, West Germany. She begged him to persuade me to join. Thank God I did. The decision to do so was a major turning point in my life.
4
FOR QUEEN AND COUNTRY
P latoon Sergeant Weaver was a bastard and a gentleman. He thought he was God. We believed he was and he certainly behaved like a deity. He ruled by fear and scared the living daylights out of me and all the other raw recruits who joined Tobruk Platoon for their initial 18 weeks’ training at Bassingbourn Barracks in Royston, Hertfordshire.
Sergeant Weaver was a one-off but I respect him for what he put me through. My first impression was that he was a racist bastard. I was wrong about the ‘racist’. He treated everybody the same and put us through the toughest regime I have ever experienced. You would get a pasting just because you were in his platoon. He’d go up to a guy and say, ‘Look at those nostrils!’ and pull out the man’s lip.
To see how tough we were, he’d order us to get down on our knees and stick out our chins. Then he’d walk by and crack jaws with his NCO’s baton. It was done to find out if you were a man. There was no racial abuse involved. If you couldtake it, you were tough and passed the test. In one of our survival practice sessions, I was made to swim under a boat in freezing cold water. Sergeant Weaver watched approvingly as my fellow soldiers then threw me naked into a bed of nettles. While hating him at times, I admired the way Weaver conducted himself. His grooming was immaculate. I had never seen anybody as well turned out as he was.
His approach would pay dividends for us later in our training. When we were sent to Scotland for our final assessment, we were grateful he’d hardened our resolve. That’s where they really sorted out the men from the boys. Anyone who put a foot wrong would receive one of several punishments, each more barbaric than the last.
If you were given ‘Corporal Rock’ as punishment, you were unlucky. It was one of the hardest to endure. You had to carry a big rock on your back for the whole day. It was about five stone in weight and, for brief spells, you were made to run with it until you had reached the point of exhaustion. But I would have preferred Corporal Rock to ‘Corporal Entrails’, which meant wearing a
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