| Subject: Bramcote Tales .......cont |
Author:
Dave P.
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Date Posted: 20:42:10 04/25/05 Mon
Two 'themes' dominated our lives as boy soldiers. Each theme was marked by an event at the end of each 'term'. One event would determine how we would live our lives the next term and was called the Best Troop competition. The other event was practiced for (as a Regiment), every Monday morning, on RSM's Drill Parade and was called Goschen Day (named after some General) or the Mustering Gunners, passing out parade.
Mustering Gunners, usually two troops of approx thirty men each, would parade with rifles (SLR's) and fixed bayonets (for which, they drilled separately, relentlessly until inch perfect and would not shame even those proudest exponents of Small Arms Drill, the Queens Colour Sqdrn of the RAF). The parade followed a, generally, fixed formulae, though each term the RSM liked to introduce a new or obscure drill to make each parade slightly different and unique. The Regt (accompanied by and to the music of the JLRRA Regimental Band, situated between two blocks at the top of the square) would march on with the three Batteries, in three ranks, at the rear of the square with the two Mustering Gunner Troops, also in three ranks, to the fore. The Mustering Gunners would fix bayonets and the whole Regiment stand at ease, awaiting the arrival of the visiting dignitary and inspecting Officer. On arrival, there would be the General Salute and the Regt would open order for inspection. This was followed by the Mustering Gunners taking position at the head of the Regt and the march passed in slow and quick time. At the reformation of the parade, the Mustered Gunners (note the change in tense!) would then slow march, through the ranks of the Regt (to the tune of 'Auld Lang Sine') and disappear into one of the 77 Bty blocks at the top of the square, there to start their celebrations early and to remain until the Regt had marched off and the formal proceeding ended. One of the traditions connected to this parade, was that, as they slow marched into the 77 Bty block, the Mustered Gunners would thrust their bayonets into the ceiling of the foyer, leaving their rifles dangling, to be retrieved by junior members of the Regt and returned to the armoury. At some point in the remainder of the day, the Mustered Gunners would then return their bayonet scabbards to the armoury, usually as part of saying farewell to their relatives and/or guests and seeing them off at the Guardroom. Summer term, there was usually a mini-Tattoo put on for the entertainment of the folks and guests. A display of arms, a demonstration of skills of some sort and a band display.
I remember one term in particular, we put on a grand, mock battle scene where we depicted an attack by our intrepid hero's on a heavily defended fort of some non-defined, rag head, army to rescue some prisoners that involved abseiling from the roof of a block, a death slide onto the square all accompanied to the deafening noise of gunfire and grenades exploding (blanks and thunder flashes of course). Yours truly was assigned the rank of Rag Head and had the pleasure of lying by the side of the square (near to the audience) and firing a couple of belts of blank ammo through an LMG to help create the sounds of battle. The script called for a well placed grenade (thunder flash) to wipe out my troublesome machine gun nest. In practice everything went according to plan but on the day and using real ammo, for the first and only time, (we had to worry about costs even in those days), I didn't appreciate how close the thunder flash had actually landed to me and when it went off, I was bodily lifted into the air and thrown a couple of feet onto the square, where I writhed around in real agony with my clothes smoldering for a few minutes, being both shocked and burned from the blast, much to the applause of the crowd in appreciation of my great acting skills. Thank the lord there wasn't to be any repeat performances, I don't think I would have survived another. To round off that memorable day, Mustered Gunners where allowed, that evening, into the NAAFI bar to partake of a couple of beers. Most of us though had been drinking regularly at a couple of local pubs for months but the thought was there.
To finish this episode I just want to tell you about my own Passing Out Parade. It took place in December 1964, in the densest fog I have ever witnessed. The only time we were visible to the audience of family and guests was for about ten yards either side of the saluting dais as we marched passed. The remainder of the parade was lost in space. If we hadn't practiced these parades until we could literally do them in our sleep, one missed turn and we could have been marching to this day!! My dear old mom looked forward for over two years to see her pride and joy march around the square with great skill and artistry, only to get a couple of fleeting glimpses and to hear a lot of disembodied voices shouting in the mist. Best laid plans of mice and men?.....................
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