Warning
Some may find the adult language used
in these pages offensive
Introduction
Old Paratrooper's never die,
they go to hell and regroup
It
is said, that the army lives on it's characters. And of that, I certainly
am one of those. I joined the army in 1973, my basic training, was carried
out at the depot of the Royal Artillery, Woolwich. I had been told, by
the friendly recruiting Sargent, that at 6'2". I was in fact, too tall,
to join the tank regts, as I would not be able to fit inside one, due to
my height. I had thought, that driving a tank, would be the easy option,
and ideal for me. All you would have to do, if it rained, was close the
hatch, and if it got a bit cold, turn on the heater. There would be absolutely
no walking involved. So I would not get tired, or dirty. When we had come
back from being on an exercise, I would merely get a big hose out, and
wash the thing down, easy ,simple, go for a beer.
Having read all the Commando comics, I knew not to be a signaller, as radios were heavy, and in all the films, they usually got shot. So, after doing the aptitude tests, and being told I was capable of being a Regimental Surveyor, I gladly signed on, and took the Queen's shilling. Thinking that I would be able to build roads, and buildings, in civvie street, when I got out. It only took me three years, to get my first glimpse of a director stand, and only then, from through the dial sight of a 105 mm .pack howitzer.
Since
then, I have traveled world wide, in the service of Queen and Country,
experiencing the dining etiquette of MCTC, ( the Military Corrective Training
Centre Colchester), as well as, that of the Officer's Mess. I served a
short spell, with the French Foreign Legion, reaching the dizzy heights
of Corporal. But, it was not for me, (the pay was bad), and I thought the
British Army was disorganized, till I went to France. I must admit, I did
like the songs, as many could testify to. Upon hearing my noisy drunken
returns to barracks late at night, (often via the officer's mess). Where
I would serenade them, till being politely asked, to "fuck off " and go
to bed.
As a 2066 once stated: "He tends to lead a curates egg style of existence". Nothing's changed Bob. Today I dodge a different type of flack, I work for the MOD as a Civil servant.
Jim
Love
June 2000
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