Taking You A Stage Further In Your…….!
Quote from DavidFullard on March 2, 2024, 7:20 pmSo that no-one has to read far before discarding my post, it is about my experience on the All Arms Drill Instructors Course.
JKW is eloquently and interestingly serialising his own experience at the US 7th Army Academy. My reflections on the above course will certainly not rival John’s experience with an otherwise all American Army set of parameters and attendees. It is however helping keep the site going. Let’s face it contributors and contributions are as rare as hens teeth without his and my posts. I digress!
1978/79 [ I can’t remember which] Athlone Barracks, Sennelager. I am nominated to attend The All Arms Drill Course at Pirbright. Truth be told I needed an instructors’ ticket for promotion to WO2. Those familiar with my career path upto that point in time will understand why/ how I had reached S/Sgt rank without attaining a ‘schools instructors’ ticket’. The 6 week Drill Course was the only alternative acceptable for WO2 rank. The 12 years that had passed since my Control Signallers Course and the intervening years of absence from the tank park also made it the only really viable path to pursue.
Now drill and I are not great bedfellows. I actually hate drill. It bores me and I have only ever really accepted it as one of the sadly necessary wider inventory items on the Army list of necessary skills. Drill Sergeant Sid Carnegie ( Scots Guards) after drilling SNCOs whilst we were stationed in Catterick, declared my ‘cavalry’ halt as the worst bastardised version of a British Army drill movement he had ever seen. To be fair to me at that time he had never met or watched Martin Warwick [R.I.P.] our EME in Sennelager days do drill.No matter I had to pass this course. I needed help. I turned to the only person at RD whom I knew had attended the course in the recent past. TC, Tony Crease [R.I.P.] Tony kindly took me through some SLR drills and gave me some tips and advice on the course. The tips included inter alia to take several pairs of best boots, the advice was brutally frank….don’t go on it! As I said I had little choice if I wanted to be promoted, I had passed the Control Sig course 10 years previously and not touched a radio since C13, B47 days! The Drill Course had to be passed!
The day of departure came quickly. My Opel Rekord was stuffed full with an ironing board, 4 pairs of ( borrowed) best boots ) ( 2 pairs my size!) 2full SDs, 6 shirts, ( it was shirt sleeve order time) 3 pair of SD ‘working’ trousers etc etc. After an uneventful trip to Rotterdam, a quiet night crossing and a further road journey from the UK port I arrived at Pirbright one Sunday lunchtime. I was directed to the course mess where my accommodation was. Once there I was shown to my room on the first floor and told the bar was open until 2200 but I was to be stood in front of my room at 0830 next day for RSM’s room inspection. Room inspection I thought it was a drill course! I had only just arrived! No bed packs but best boots were to be presented on the of bottom of the bed, everything else in the room to be ‘out of sight’. Anything on show would be inspected. When approached by the RSM I was to come to attention and clearly state rank, name and regiment.
I unpacked and went downstairs to the bar. About 20 guys were there, all course students. I was quickly greeted and bought a beer joining a group of circa 8 at one end of the room. A couple of the group had gleaned some info from the barman, a Scots Guard Sgt. Each of the course instructors took turns to be barman on each course. Apparently we would soon be given a written set of some 30 or so 30 minute Drill TPs all of which we had to learn ad verbatim and 6 of which we would be randomly tested on. Obviously rubbish we concluded after a few pints and time to think about it. Who could learn 30+ 30 minute TPs off by heart and deliver 6 of them at random times randomly chosen from the list! The Sgt barman, listening in, smirked forebodingly!
I went to my room at about 2100, the bar was still ‘lively’. I slept uneasily that first night and regretted disregarding my wife’s advice to take a duvet with me.
I awoke early and rose at 6am. I was at breakfast at 7 am just as the hotplate opened. By 0815 1 was dressed and ready for that first meeting with the course RSM. He arrived at my room at about 0845 ( mine was the 3rd room in a long, narrow single corridor) he was a Coldstream Guard, circa 6’3” tall, immaculately dressed with a ramrod straight torso …all of which clearly emanated from many years spent in a ‘bullshit and brasso’ Guards environment.
My first meeting with him did not go well.Copying JKW’s serialisation format, more will follow.
So that no-one has to read far before discarding my post, it is about my experience on the All Arms Drill Instructors Course.
JKW is eloquently and interestingly serialising his own experience at the US 7th Army Academy. My reflections on the above course will certainly not rival John’s experience with an otherwise all American Army set of parameters and attendees. It is however helping keep the site going. Let’s face it contributors and contributions are as rare as hens teeth without his and my posts. I digress!
1978/79 [ I can’t remember which] Athlone Barracks, Sennelager. I am nominated to attend The All Arms Drill Course at Pirbright. Truth be told I needed an instructors’ ticket for promotion to WO2. Those familiar with my career path upto that point in time will understand why/ how I had reached S/Sgt rank without attaining a ‘schools instructors’ ticket’. The 6 week Drill Course was the only alternative acceptable for WO2 rank. The 12 years that had passed since my Control Signallers Course and the intervening years of absence from the tank park also made it the only really viable path to pursue.
Now drill and I are not great bedfellows. I actually hate drill. It bores me and I have only ever really accepted it as one of the sadly necessary wider inventory items on the Army list of necessary skills. Drill Sergeant Sid Carnegie ( Scots Guards) after drilling SNCOs whilst we were stationed in Catterick, declared my ‘cavalry’ halt as the worst bastardised version of a British Army drill movement he had ever seen. To be fair to me at that time he had never met or watched Martin Warwick [R.I.P.] our EME in Sennelager days do drill.
No matter I had to pass this course. I needed help. I turned to the only person at RD whom I knew had attended the course in the recent past. TC, Tony Crease [R.I.P.] Tony kindly took me through some SLR drills and gave me some tips and advice on the course. The tips included inter alia to take several pairs of best boots, the advice was brutally frank….don’t go on it! As I said I had little choice if I wanted to be promoted, I had passed the Control Sig course 10 years previously and not touched a radio since C13, B47 days! The Drill Course had to be passed!
The day of departure came quickly. My Opel Rekord was stuffed full with an ironing board, 4 pairs of ( borrowed) best boots ) ( 2 pairs my size!) 2full SDs, 6 shirts, ( it was shirt sleeve order time) 3 pair of SD ‘working’ trousers etc etc. After an uneventful trip to Rotterdam, a quiet night crossing and a further road journey from the UK port I arrived at Pirbright one Sunday lunchtime. I was directed to the course mess where my accommodation was. Once there I was shown to my room on the first floor and told the bar was open until 2200 but I was to be stood in front of my room at 0830 next day for RSM’s room inspection. Room inspection I thought it was a drill course! I had only just arrived! No bed packs but best boots were to be presented on the of bottom of the bed, everything else in the room to be ‘out of sight’. Anything on show would be inspected. When approached by the RSM I was to come to attention and clearly state rank, name and regiment.
I unpacked and went downstairs to the bar. About 20 guys were there, all course students. I was quickly greeted and bought a beer joining a group of circa 8 at one end of the room. A couple of the group had gleaned some info from the barman, a Scots Guard Sgt. Each of the course instructors took turns to be barman on each course. Apparently we would soon be given a written set of some 30 or so 30 minute Drill TPs all of which we had to learn ad verbatim and 6 of which we would be randomly tested on. Obviously rubbish we concluded after a few pints and time to think about it. Who could learn 30+ 30 minute TPs off by heart and deliver 6 of them at random times randomly chosen from the list! The Sgt barman, listening in, smirked forebodingly!
I went to my room at about 2100, the bar was still ‘lively’. I slept uneasily that first night and regretted disregarding my wife’s advice to take a duvet with me.
I awoke early and rose at 6am. I was at breakfast at 7 am just as the hotplate opened. By 0815 1 was dressed and ready for that first meeting with the course RSM. He arrived at my room at about 0845 ( mine was the 3rd room in a long, narrow single corridor) he was a Coldstream Guard, circa 6’3” tall, immaculately dressed with a ramrod straight torso …all of which clearly emanated from many years spent in a ‘bullshit and brasso’ Guards environment.
My first meeting with him did not go well.
Copying JKW’s serialisation format, more will follow.
Quote from jkwebster06 on March 2, 2024, 9:36 pmGreat stuff David, keep it going ! John (JKW)
Great stuff David, keep it going ! John (JKW)
Quote from DavidFullard on March 4, 2024, 1:31 amPart 2 A Rocky Start.
The RSM was indifferent to my opening rendition of my rank, name, regiment, so much so he had me repeat it 3 times before he was satisfied. Each time with one less abbreviation until I laboriously enunciated my rank, name, regiment in full. I should have known better…I had been warned but old habits die hard! The RSM had a cursory look around my room, an annoying, accompanying course Sgt hovered like a vulture with a notebook and pen scribbling furiously each time the RSM noted anything. I was asked my boot size, I stated ‘9’ before I realised the reason behind the question. The RSM lifted my [ immaculate but borrowed] best boots from the end of the bed and saw the clear size 8 marked on the sole. I was told to either wear them next day or present a pair of boots that were mine. Luckily I still had 2 pairs in reserve apart from those on my feet! Even luckier the matter was strangely never mentioned again!
The course was split into 4 squads each squad was assigned a course Sgt. There were about 8 course Sgts all told, all from the various Foot Guard Regiments. 4 assigned to the students, 1 on mess bar duties , 1 in the admin block and 2 in reserve. They were mostly despots. Ours, a Welsh Guards Sgt, was easily the best of the bunch and seemed less devious, less vindictive than the rest. The Irish Guards Sgt was a particularly nasty piece of work. Carrying circa 20lbs too much body weight, puce in the face and with a NI accent that was barely understandable he was a narcissist of the worst sort. I did not envy the students in his squad,
Following the room inspection we ‘fell in’ on the square and were then given a ‘personal’ inspection. Minor infarctions could result in a trip to the guardroom….irrespective of rank. It was a farce. Experienced WOs and SNCOs shouted at by young, often junior course Sgts and sent to the guardroom.
I made one visit to the guardroom during my 6 weeks. A tiny piece of duster had caught in my cap badge during cleaning. ‘Fluff on ‘at’ take yourself off to the guardroom’. I played along with the charade until the Guards Provost Sgt began to rant at me on arrival. We had all been warned not to show any dissent at the happenings on the course but I saw no merit in these acts of pathetic stupidity. I very calmly informed him I was there because I chose to be, that there was no legitimate military reason for my presence there other than the game being played and he should STFU! I stayed in the guardroom for the obligatory hour reflecting on the fact that a few months previously, as a Local WO2, I had been responsible for an entire newly formed Zimbabwean National Army Battalion stationed in the middle of the African Bush!
I was ‘invited’ to a meeting with the course RSM after the guardroom event, the Provost Sgt had complained I shouted at him. I was told in no uncertain terms to either enter into the spirit of the course or be RTU’d. For whatever reason I was never again sent to the guardroom but Karma can be fickle as I was to later learn.
The first few days of the course were spent concentrating on personal drill and listening to the TPs our instructors took us through as learning modules.My squad included a Canadian Forces Sgt, a Royal Hong Kong Forces Sgt and an Omani Forces Wo2. The Canadian struggled! Truth be told so did I. The fact was the Canadian and I both struggled to inject the snappy ‘Guards’ ‘whole body’ movement into our drill. We were warned we needed to improve before TPs commenced. Then when we started TPs I was nominated in our squad to deliver the first of them. I HAD, contrary to rumours, been told the day before which TP I was to deliver and I spent the whole evening learning it off by heart. Next day, muster parade over, we formed up in our squads at the 4 corners of the square to begin TPs. Our squad was positioned nearest to the course admin block…that was to have consequences for me. We had 20 minutes of ‘warm up drill’ before being told each TP would be graded pass or fail and count towards final gradings. My name was called out to begin the first TP. It was a relatively simple SLR set. I came to attention and then marched forward, veered left to position myself front and centre of the squad and halted facing them. Suddenly a scream echoed across the square from the admin block. ‘Sgt Evans, get that bloody man off my square now, immediately, get him off’! ‘ I furtively glanced towards the admin block, what was going on? I saw a window was open, the RSM was leaning out of it apoplectically shouting in my direction. Taff Evans, our instructor, marched over to me screaming ‘Suh’ back at the RSM and said I should exit the square quickly and wait on the side in the covered drill shed. The other 3 squads of students had stopped and were all looking in my direction clearly unaware as to what was going on, where there should have been lots of shouting of drill movements there was only an eerie silence. Readers I can tell you what was going on it was my very own public humiliation! I was told later the RSM had been affronted and upset by my cavalry halt. I spent a whole hour in that drill shed with Sgt Evans that evening practising a ‘Guards’ halt and learning to abandon the ‘sliding foot’ synonymous with the lazy ‘ cavalry halt’. Later in the course the Irish Guards Sgt took delight in goading me that my dismissal from the square that day was payback for my reaction to the Provost Sgt during my ‘visit’ to the guardroom. Deep joy!
Part 2 A Rocky Start.
The RSM was indifferent to my opening rendition of my rank, name, regiment, so much so he had me repeat it 3 times before he was satisfied. Each time with one less abbreviation until I laboriously enunciated my rank, name, regiment in full. I should have known better…I had been warned but old habits die hard! The RSM had a cursory look around my room, an annoying, accompanying course Sgt hovered like a vulture with a notebook and pen scribbling furiously each time the RSM noted anything. I was asked my boot size, I stated ‘9’ before I realised the reason behind the question. The RSM lifted my [ immaculate but borrowed] best boots from the end of the bed and saw the clear size 8 marked on the sole. I was told to either wear them next day or present a pair of boots that were mine. Luckily I still had 2 pairs in reserve apart from those on my feet! Even luckier the matter was strangely never mentioned again!
The course was split into 4 squads each squad was assigned a course Sgt. There were about 8 course Sgts all told, all from the various Foot Guard Regiments. 4 assigned to the students, 1 on mess bar duties , 1 in the admin block and 2 in reserve. They were mostly despots. Ours, a Welsh Guards Sgt, was easily the best of the bunch and seemed less devious, less vindictive than the rest. The Irish Guards Sgt was a particularly nasty piece of work. Carrying circa 20lbs too much body weight, puce in the face and with a NI accent that was barely understandable he was a narcissist of the worst sort. I did not envy the students in his squad,
Following the room inspection we ‘fell in’ on the square and were then given a ‘personal’ inspection. Minor infarctions could result in a trip to the guardroom….irrespective of rank. It was a farce. Experienced WOs and SNCOs shouted at by young, often junior course Sgts and sent to the guardroom.
I made one visit to the guardroom during my 6 weeks. A tiny piece of duster had caught in my cap badge during cleaning. ‘Fluff on ‘at’ take yourself off to the guardroom’. I played along with the charade until the Guards Provost Sgt began to rant at me on arrival. We had all been warned not to show any dissent at the happenings on the course but I saw no merit in these acts of pathetic stupidity. I very calmly informed him I was there because I chose to be, that there was no legitimate military reason for my presence there other than the game being played and he should STFU! I stayed in the guardroom for the obligatory hour reflecting on the fact that a few months previously, as a Local WO2, I had been responsible for an entire newly formed Zimbabwean National Army Battalion stationed in the middle of the African Bush!
I was ‘invited’ to a meeting with the course RSM after the guardroom event, the Provost Sgt had complained I shouted at him. I was told in no uncertain terms to either enter into the spirit of the course or be RTU’d. For whatever reason I was never again sent to the guardroom but Karma can be fickle as I was to later learn.
The first few days of the course were spent concentrating on personal drill and listening to the TPs our instructors took us through as learning modules.My squad included a Canadian Forces Sgt, a Royal Hong Kong Forces Sgt and an Omani Forces Wo2. The Canadian struggled! Truth be told so did I. The fact was the Canadian and I both struggled to inject the snappy ‘Guards’ ‘whole body’ movement into our drill. We were warned we needed to improve before TPs commenced. Then when we started TPs I was nominated in our squad to deliver the first of them. I HAD, contrary to rumours, been told the day before which TP I was to deliver and I spent the whole evening learning it off by heart. Next day, muster parade over, we formed up in our squads at the 4 corners of the square to begin TPs. Our squad was positioned nearest to the course admin block…that was to have consequences for me. We had 20 minutes of ‘warm up drill’ before being told each TP would be graded pass or fail and count towards final gradings. My name was called out to begin the first TP. It was a relatively simple SLR set. I came to attention and then marched forward, veered left to position myself front and centre of the squad and halted facing them. Suddenly a scream echoed across the square from the admin block. ‘Sgt Evans, get that bloody man off my square now, immediately, get him off’! ‘ I furtively glanced towards the admin block, what was going on? I saw a window was open, the RSM was leaning out of it apoplectically shouting in my direction. Taff Evans, our instructor, marched over to me screaming ‘Suh’ back at the RSM and said I should exit the square quickly and wait on the side in the covered drill shed. The other 3 squads of students had stopped and were all looking in my direction clearly unaware as to what was going on, where there should have been lots of shouting of drill movements there was only an eerie silence. Readers I can tell you what was going on it was my very own public humiliation! I was told later the RSM had been affronted and upset by my cavalry halt. I spent a whole hour in that drill shed with Sgt Evans that evening practising a ‘Guards’ halt and learning to abandon the ‘sliding foot’ synonymous with the lazy ‘ cavalry halt’. Later in the course the Irish Guards Sgt took delight in goading me that my dismissal from the square that day was payback for my reaction to the Provost Sgt during my ‘visit’ to the guardroom. Deep joy!
Quote from DavidFullard on March 4, 2024, 11:15 pmPart 3 In Which Things Can [ and do] Only Get Better
The days passed quickly and with passing time my personal drill improved. The result was I passed my initial TP that the RSM had so presumptively and unceremoniously interrupted. I had given myself a good talking to and had adopted the maxim a successful course outcome was far more likely if I could bring myself to embrace the whole concept of how important drill was. Well at least for the duration of the course!
One day the whole course was marched around the MQ area. I never found out why but it was apparently a course ‘tradition’ and the wives and children turned out to wave and cheer ( read jeer). I was not alone in finding the exercise a bit demeaning, one or two of the instructors ( Irish Guard amongst them) took delight in shouting at us as we passed small family groups.
More successful TPs followed. My spirits were further lifted one Friday afternoon just as we finished the last lesson when an unexpected but very welcome visitor arrived at my room. It was Marty Graham [R.I.P] He was in the nearby barracks on a QMs’ Course had somehow found out I was at Pirbright and decided to pay me a visit. Marty had spent a couple of weeks on the Drill Course just as he was promoted to RSM a few years previously. He understood! He spent a couple of hours with me and with his natural kind and good humoured manner left me with the thought….the end justifies the means! He was right! Marty was such a kind and decent guy, someone I respected hugely I was saddened by his premature passing.
And then the mid course break arrived. 4 days off! Veronika had caught a ‘Sam’s Coach’ in Sennelager to London then hopped on a National Express coach and had arrived at my parents’ home in Great Yarmouth. We had a wonderful 4 days by the sea with glorious weather and a rare but welcome reunion with my parents. My pa, a Dunkirk Vet and 26 year Royal Norfolk Regiment member, couldn’t pass up the opportunity to regale with his thoughts on ‘today’s army’ and feigned surprise when I declined the broom he proffered with the invitation to show him some SLR drills. The 4 days passed quickly and I drove back to a Pirbright with a car full of clean laundry and plenty of unsolicited but well meant advice from my father.
A couple of days post course resumption a mess social was held. I can honestly say it was anything but social. As it happened I had fallen asleep that evening and arrived in the mess bar an hour late. I could hear the raucous laughter and shouts as I ascended the stairs to the bar. I entered without anyone noticing my arrival. I quickly observed the activity in progress in the centre of the room was the reason for the noise. At this point in my narrative I choose to exercise discretion and spare everyone the sordid details of that evening. Suffice it to say in my later career as SO2 G3 PInfo in HQ 1 BR Corps I dealt with far less salubrious stories of ‘mess parties’ that attracted front page ‘Red Top’ press coverage than the activities that took place that evening in that bar. It was a very strange contradictory event given the rigid adherence to military etiquette demanded of us otherwise!
By week 4 we were, inter alia, into the finer details of military funerals. One whole day was devoted to this activity. A burial party was formed from students and many of us were given other roles. The coffin had 16 stones of weights in it. The bearer party were under orders to drop the coffin at their mortal peril. After a ridiculously long journey ( on the bearers’ shoulders) the coffin somehow made its way perilously but safely to the bottom of the faux grave kept for that purpose. We then all had to take turns lowering the coffin into the grave. It was a welcome distraction from the more mundane everyday drill and I was not alone in forgetting 90% of what we were taught about organising such an event long before the course ended.
By week 5 we were given hints at likely course gradings. Each squad DI graded each student and then cleared the grades with the RSM. I needed a ‘Cavalry C’. Sgt Evans indicated a pass was not a ‘given’ at that time and I should continue my overall improvement. I had never failed any course ….ever, imagine returning to RD without a pass! That would upset the apple cart.
Little did I know my finest hour was yet to come.
Part 3 In Which Things Can [ and do] Only Get Better
The days passed quickly and with passing time my personal drill improved. The result was I passed my initial TP that the RSM had so presumptively and unceremoniously interrupted. I had given myself a good talking to and had adopted the maxim a successful course outcome was far more likely if I could bring myself to embrace the whole concept of how important drill was. Well at least for the duration of the course!
One day the whole course was marched around the MQ area. I never found out why but it was apparently a course ‘tradition’ and the wives and children turned out to wave and cheer ( read jeer). I was not alone in finding the exercise a bit demeaning, one or two of the instructors ( Irish Guard amongst them) took delight in shouting at us as we passed small family groups.
More successful TPs followed. My spirits were further lifted one Friday afternoon just as we finished the last lesson when an unexpected but very welcome visitor arrived at my room. It was Marty Graham [R.I.P] He was in the nearby barracks on a QMs’ Course had somehow found out I was at Pirbright and decided to pay me a visit. Marty had spent a couple of weeks on the Drill Course just as he was promoted to RSM a few years previously. He understood! He spent a couple of hours with me and with his natural kind and good humoured manner left me with the thought….the end justifies the means! He was right! Marty was such a kind and decent guy, someone I respected hugely I was saddened by his premature passing.
And then the mid course break arrived. 4 days off! Veronika had caught a ‘Sam’s Coach’ in Sennelager to London then hopped on a National Express coach and had arrived at my parents’ home in Great Yarmouth. We had a wonderful 4 days by the sea with glorious weather and a rare but welcome reunion with my parents. My pa, a Dunkirk Vet and 26 year Royal Norfolk Regiment member, couldn’t pass up the opportunity to regale with his thoughts on ‘today’s army’ and feigned surprise when I declined the broom he proffered with the invitation to show him some SLR drills. The 4 days passed quickly and I drove back to a Pirbright with a car full of clean laundry and plenty of unsolicited but well meant advice from my father.
A couple of days post course resumption a mess social was held. I can honestly say it was anything but social. As it happened I had fallen asleep that evening and arrived in the mess bar an hour late. I could hear the raucous laughter and shouts as I ascended the stairs to the bar. I entered without anyone noticing my arrival. I quickly observed the activity in progress in the centre of the room was the reason for the noise. At this point in my narrative I choose to exercise discretion and spare everyone the sordid details of that evening. Suffice it to say in my later career as SO2 G3 PInfo in HQ 1 BR Corps I dealt with far less salubrious stories of ‘mess parties’ that attracted front page ‘Red Top’ press coverage than the activities that took place that evening in that bar. It was a very strange contradictory event given the rigid adherence to military etiquette demanded of us otherwise!
By week 4 we were, inter alia, into the finer details of military funerals. One whole day was devoted to this activity. A burial party was formed from students and many of us were given other roles. The coffin had 16 stones of weights in it. The bearer party were under orders to drop the coffin at their mortal peril. After a ridiculously long journey ( on the bearers’ shoulders) the coffin somehow made its way perilously but safely to the bottom of the faux grave kept for that purpose. We then all had to take turns lowering the coffin into the grave. It was a welcome distraction from the more mundane everyday drill and I was not alone in forgetting 90% of what we were taught about organising such an event long before the course ended.
By week 5 we were given hints at likely course gradings. Each squad DI graded each student and then cleared the grades with the RSM. I needed a ‘Cavalry C’. Sgt Evans indicated a pass was not a ‘given’ at that time and I should continue my overall improvement. I had never failed any course ….ever, imagine returning to RD without a pass! That would upset the apple cart.
Little did I know my finest hour was yet to come.
Quote from DavidFullard on March 5, 2024, 3:25 pmPart 1v In Which My Finest Hour Arrives.
In the middle of week 5 I was offered a very welcome trip to London. A formal course mess dinner was to be held and Joe the Canadian had volunteered to make Moose Milk! No me neither but it is a traditional Canadian drink comprising Whisky, Kalhua, coffee, cream, eggnog and ice cream. It has the consistency of a milkshake and is deceptively strong. Joe insisted on using Canadian Whisky and had sourced a supply from the Canadian Embassy duty free store. We each took a backpack and headed off to London. Getting into the Embassy was no straight forward matter. Joe had rung ahead and was on the ‘Embassy ‘day’ list of expected visitors. His Canadian Forces ID card sufficed for entry. My MOD 90 proved to be less inviting to the zealous security staff. We eventually collected the whisky which Joe paid for on his credit card and left, each carrying 6 bottles in our rucksacks. We then spent several hours doing the ‘tourist’ thing before arriving back at Pirbright that evening. The Moose Milk was a roaring success on the night of the mess dinner albeit an acquired taste in my opinion.
My final TP was ‘sprung’ on me by Sgt Evans one morning in the drill shed during the final week. We had been rehearsing the course pass off parade beforehand and had taken refuge from persistent rain under the roof of the drill shed. The drill shed wasn’t actually a shed rather it was a very large covered area open on 3 sides. I was to teach 30 minutes of saluting on the march …with swords. The twist was ..no swords but bayonets. It was difficult to take this seriously and the squad was laughing at the thought of it. The appearance of the RSM stopped the joviality in its tracks and I was told to start my TP. I fell the squad in, brought them to attention, stood them at ease and began..’Taking you a stage further in your sword drill…out of the corner of my eye I saw the RSM and Sgt Evans leave. Nonplussed I continued. I confess marching up and down in that drill shed with a bayonet in place of a sword, knowing how stupid it must look but also knowing it was meant to be a graded TP was no easy task. Sgt Evans arrived back just as the squad finished its final run through of the drill. My question as to how the TP could be graded given the absence of the Sgt DI was pre-empted by the announcement the squad would grade it…pass or fail. I passed. All 18 squad members voted pass with a single exception, a Coldstream C/SGT who stated the TP was a farce. I ( silently) agreed with him but that final TP signalled the end of my trials and tribulations on that course. 2 things remained. Final gradings and Pass Off.
We gathered in the mess the afternoon of the day before pass off in squad groups to learn our grades. Sgt Evans had decided to tear paper into postage stamp size squares, he then wrote the single letter grade on each of the 18 squares which he finally folded in four. The name of each recipient were meticulously written on the face of the squares. He distributed the squares saying one or two members of the squad would be disappointed but he had tried to be totally fair to each of us. I KNEW I would be one of those ‘disappointed’. My ‘paper square’ was placed in my hand. I opened it and saw a large ‘C’. I turned it over to check the name, thinking I had been given someone else’s result but it WAS my name. Elated doesn’t do justice to how I felt. Not only had I survived the bloody course I had passed! And more was to follow!
Pass off Parade day. There were to be a few ‘awards’ to be made and we were told the procedure if we were lucky enough to be called out to receive one from the Major General taking the salute. We marched on, completed a few drill movements and then assembled for the awards. Standing there on the square that scorching summer day in full SD while this was all going on I switched off and was planning my escape straight after the march off. I was rudely and abruptly interrupted from my thoughts on hearing my name shouted. I had been awarded ‘most improved student’. I was beginning to think this drill lark wasn’t so bad after all!
The course gathered in the mess for drinks straight after the parade. I said goodbye to Taff Evans on the steps of the mess, went upstairs, changed, packed my car and headed for the port. My finest hour was not the pass or the most improved student award it was leaving Pirbright behind me and returning to sanity!!Postscript. When JKW later resurrected the inter squadron drill competition I was the only SSM who had completed the drill instructors course. HQ Squadron won the competition. That single event was THE one and only time in the rest of my career that the Drill Instructors’ Course was of use to me.
Part 1v In Which My Finest Hour Arrives.
In the middle of week 5 I was offered a very welcome trip to London. A formal course mess dinner was to be held and Joe the Canadian had volunteered to make Moose Milk! No me neither but it is a traditional Canadian drink comprising Whisky, Kalhua, coffee, cream, eggnog and ice cream. It has the consistency of a milkshake and is deceptively strong. Joe insisted on using Canadian Whisky and had sourced a supply from the Canadian Embassy duty free store. We each took a backpack and headed off to London. Getting into the Embassy was no straight forward matter. Joe had rung ahead and was on the ‘Embassy ‘day’ list of expected visitors. His Canadian Forces ID card sufficed for entry. My MOD 90 proved to be less inviting to the zealous security staff. We eventually collected the whisky which Joe paid for on his credit card and left, each carrying 6 bottles in our rucksacks. We then spent several hours doing the ‘tourist’ thing before arriving back at Pirbright that evening. The Moose Milk was a roaring success on the night of the mess dinner albeit an acquired taste in my opinion.
My final TP was ‘sprung’ on me by Sgt Evans one morning in the drill shed during the final week. We had been rehearsing the course pass off parade beforehand and had taken refuge from persistent rain under the roof of the drill shed. The drill shed wasn’t actually a shed rather it was a very large covered area open on 3 sides. I was to teach 30 minutes of saluting on the march …with swords. The twist was ..no swords but bayonets. It was difficult to take this seriously and the squad was laughing at the thought of it. The appearance of the RSM stopped the joviality in its tracks and I was told to start my TP. I fell the squad in, brought them to attention, stood them at ease and began..’Taking you a stage further in your sword drill…out of the corner of my eye I saw the RSM and Sgt Evans leave. Nonplussed I continued. I confess marching up and down in that drill shed with a bayonet in place of a sword, knowing how stupid it must look but also knowing it was meant to be a graded TP was no easy task. Sgt Evans arrived back just as the squad finished its final run through of the drill. My question as to how the TP could be graded given the absence of the Sgt DI was pre-empted by the announcement the squad would grade it…pass or fail. I passed. All 18 squad members voted pass with a single exception, a Coldstream C/SGT who stated the TP was a farce. I ( silently) agreed with him but that final TP signalled the end of my trials and tribulations on that course. 2 things remained. Final gradings and Pass Off.
We gathered in the mess the afternoon of the day before pass off in squad groups to learn our grades. Sgt Evans had decided to tear paper into postage stamp size squares, he then wrote the single letter grade on each of the 18 squares which he finally folded in four. The name of each recipient were meticulously written on the face of the squares. He distributed the squares saying one or two members of the squad would be disappointed but he had tried to be totally fair to each of us. I KNEW I would be one of those ‘disappointed’. My ‘paper square’ was placed in my hand. I opened it and saw a large ‘C’. I turned it over to check the name, thinking I had been given someone else’s result but it WAS my name. Elated doesn’t do justice to how I felt. Not only had I survived the bloody course I had passed! And more was to follow!
Pass off Parade day. There were to be a few ‘awards’ to be made and we were told the procedure if we were lucky enough to be called out to receive one from the Major General taking the salute. We marched on, completed a few drill movements and then assembled for the awards. Standing there on the square that scorching summer day in full SD while this was all going on I switched off and was planning my escape straight after the march off. I was rudely and abruptly interrupted from my thoughts on hearing my name shouted. I had been awarded ‘most improved student’. I was beginning to think this drill lark wasn’t so bad after all!
The course gathered in the mess for drinks straight after the parade. I said goodbye to Taff Evans on the steps of the mess, went upstairs, changed, packed my car and headed for the port. My finest hour was not the pass or the most improved student award it was leaving Pirbright behind me and returning to sanity!!
Postscript. When JKW later resurrected the inter squadron drill competition I was the only SSM who had completed the drill instructors course. HQ Squadron won the competition. That single event was THE one and only time in the rest of my career that the Drill Instructors’ Course was of use to me.
Quote from fpeall on March 6, 2024, 10:41 amI know the Army love their acronyms and I am assuming that TP stands for Teaching Practice? No prizes but who is first to come up with an explanation for a TEWT? It would be good to hear from some of you outside the magic circle. If you don't use it you lose it! Freddy
I know the Army love their acronyms and I am assuming that TP stands for Teaching Practice? No prizes but who is first to come up with an explanation for a TEWT? It would be good to hear from some of you outside the magic circle. If you don't use it you lose it! Freddy
Quote from jkwebster06 on March 6, 2024, 9:41 pmTEWT - Tactical Exercise Without Troops, & if we lose any more soldiers that's all we'll be able to do, TEWTS ! You're correct Freddy, TP = Teaching Practice, the dread of many, if not all, especially for the first time.
I remember, when at Lulworth, one of the students (an officer in the Life Guards) asked me to stay behind to assist him in prepping his TP for the following morning. I explained I was willing to do so but as I was sharing lifts back to my MQ in Bovington it would leave me stranded. "No problem Staaaf" he said (they all speak like that LOL), "I'll give you a lift home". An hour or so later, his "homework" finished, he said he'd bring his car round to take me home. I'm waiting by the Guard Room when this beautiful Rolls Royce glides up - "In you get Staaaf" he says, & proceeds to drive me to Bovington. When we got to the MQ area I told him to slow down AND tour around the whole area, very slowly & serenely, whilst I gave the Royal wave at the twitching curtains !! That was almost 50 years ago but I've never forgotten that lift home - incidentally, Lt L-L gave a good TP and changed the "Roller" a few weeks later for a Ferrari ("The Roller didn't suit my image Staaaf") !!! John (JKW)
TEWT - Tactical Exercise Without Troops, & if we lose any more soldiers that's all we'll be able to do, TEWTS ! You're correct Freddy, TP = Teaching Practice, the dread of many, if not all, especially for the first time.
I remember, when at Lulworth, one of the students (an officer in the Life Guards) asked me to stay behind to assist him in prepping his TP for the following morning. I explained I was willing to do so but as I was sharing lifts back to my MQ in Bovington it would leave me stranded. "No problem Staaaf" he said (they all speak like that LOL), "I'll give you a lift home". An hour or so later, his "homework" finished, he said he'd bring his car round to take me home. I'm waiting by the Guard Room when this beautiful Rolls Royce glides up - "In you get Staaaf" he says, & proceeds to drive me to Bovington. When we got to the MQ area I told him to slow down AND tour around the whole area, very slowly & serenely, whilst I gave the Royal wave at the twitching curtains !! That was almost 50 years ago but I've never forgotten that lift home - incidentally, Lt L-L gave a good TP and changed the "Roller" a few weeks later for a Ferrari ("The Roller didn't suit my image Staaaf") !!! John (JKW)