大象传媒

Eighty years of life has taught me that there鈥檚 no such thing as the perfect human being, there are few real experts, few real specialists, no angels, no devils, no supreme intelligence, and no father figure capable of solving all problems. The superman doesn鈥檛 exist, we are all weak, simple, selfish and arrogant human beings with varying degrees of intelligence, developing with experiences but never attaining any real merit over our fellow human beings. We are born, we die, and that鈥檚 the long and short of it, what happens in between is pure chance of birth at the beginning and experiences through to the end.

I never cease to wonder why so many people possess the compulsive desire to hero worship other people, to revere the 鈥榩op star鈥� to adulate the 鈥榝ootballer鈥� to adore the 鈥榝ilm star鈥� to venerate the 鈥榤illionaire,鈥� oh how foolish they are. If they only understood the true characteristics of their idol, their mistaken adulation would immediately cease. We are all common clay and destined only for the same ignominious end: there is no human being fit to sit in judgement of his fellow creatures.

I shudder to think what possesses a Judge to have the nerve to sentence other people to a term of imprisonment when underneath his skin he must really know that he himself is fortunate not to be in the same situation as his prisoner. Yes, I know what you鈥檙e thinking; somebody has to dish out the punishment to the wrongdoer. That is quite so, but I think it could be done with a little more humility and less of the pomposity.

I am not of religious inclination but I should quote the Christian bible in which, somewhere or other, Christ is portrayed to command any member of the gathering around him who was innocent of any sin, to 鈥渃ast the first stone.鈥� As I recollect it, there wasn鈥檛 anyone there qualified to perform the first act of execution and they all walked away with downcast eyes.

Yes, you鈥檙e right, it鈥檚 time I got back onto the track of the main story, that is; when the ancient wartime steam train clattered its way into Derby station. It was at that point that I had my first glimpse of the absolute efficiency of the British army when practising a set routine. Picking up recruits is a task they have carried out for centuries and no doubt they have picked them up in more ways than one. Canvas covered army trucks were waiting for each train as it entered the station, in command was an RASC corporal with a driver and assistant. A blackboard suitably inscribed with the words 鈥楻ecruits for Markeaton Park Camp鈥� was prominently displayed at the open rear of the vehicle and the corporal stood by to examine the credentials of each candidate who hesitantly came forward. The assistant skilfully rounded up any dissidents who were reluctant to take the final step!
I remember climbing into the back of that truck to take a seat on the long benches stretching full length on both sides, these were quickly taken and soon there was standing room only, the only support for the men left standing was to hang on to the metal frame supporting the canvas roof. I was very soon to get used to this form of transport and to think myself lucky that we were so very well catered for!

We soon arrived at Markeaton Park and passed through the barrier and guardhouse to come to a standstill outside the main office block. It was at this point that I received my very first introduction to the mainstay of the British Army; the Regimental Drill Sergeant, the very man who was going to make every recruits life an absolute misery for the next six weeks.
We were lined up in rows of ten men, six rows deep, told to stand to attention and await the arrival of our lord and master and it was soon apparent he was on his way by the agitation of the junior NCOs who were responsible for our presentation.

鈥淲hat a shower鈥� he screamed as he turned the corner and came into view. 鈥淚鈥檝e never seen such a dismal set of sons of bitches in all my life, you鈥檙e like bags of sh*t tied up at the middle, God help the King if you lot were his only hope.鈥�

He was a tall, middle aged man of dark and ruddy complexion, his battle-dress was immaculate, his upright and healthy stance was plain to see and he wore his three stripes and crown with both authority and pride. Without doubt a regular soldier with extensive peacetime service, he walked around we rookies with a critical and doleful eye, criticising each and every one as he passed by.

鈥淧erhaps you lot won鈥檛 look so awful if you have a hair cut? Corporal鈥� he shouted, 鈥渢ake this lot to the barber and beg him to make them all look at least respectable, we can鈥檛 do much but we'll have to try.鈥�

And so began the painful transformation from undisciplined civilian, to soldier, with all that that implied; the discipline the obedience the immediate response to an order, the routine of the drill on the barrack square (square bashing) the assault course, peeling spuds by the ton, polishing brasses, learning how to make up ones bed for inspection by the Orderly Officer.

Guard duty at night with the blacked out countryside and the stars at midnight on a clear night, ten, fifteen and twenty mile route marches carrying full kit and equipment all added up to misery, even for young teenagers. All activity was taken at the run except inside the buildings or when under supervision of an NCO, physical training was a daily affair and we were very quickly fit, more so than ever before but that didn鈥檛 lessen the difficulty of accepting the hard discipline.

There was some sobbing in the Nissan huts at night (corrugated metal roofs, wooden walls with concrete floors fitted with one cast iron coke burner to keep out the winter frost) The beds, crammed in to maximum capacity, were made up of a simple wooden frame, two tiers, upon which one had the luxury of a straw filled palliasse! Needless to say there was always a fight for the bottom bunk! We learned to march in ranks of three, to turn about, to stand to attention, to stand easy, to slope arms whilst counting time together, to present arms. We learned to clean a rifle, to load a rifle, to shoot at a target on the rifle range, how we managed to do this without killing each other I'll never know! We learned how to strip down and clean a Bren gun (quick firing light machine gun used by the British army) and laying flat on our bellies, learned how to shoot without the weapon pulling itself out of our hands.

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