大象传媒

鈥漎ou are without doubt the stupidest, limps of humanity, unworthy of the king鈥檚 uniform, 鈥� shouted the sergeant, 鈥� But don鈥檛 worry. I will lick you into shape; You鈥檒l not know yourselves when I鈥檝e finished with you

The sergeant was small. But very fierce. From our first encounter she had frightened us and her programme of licking us into shape was not something we were looking forward to.
Dressed in scratchy blue serge, most of us were under twenty. Some tearfully having parted from mum and dad for the first time, we were not, considered objectively, promising material.
The sergeant was also in blue, but not the rough Hessian that rubbed our limbs sore.
Sarge was trimly tailored, smooth. Not brand new. At ease, she had piercing blue eyes that could see round corners and a voice that could shatter steel. Also she was quite old.
We speculated about her in our Nissen huts draped in our blankets as the iron beams, long parted, let in the November chill. 鈥� Must be at least thirty, 鈥� we guessed.
鈥� Can鈥檛 be, she鈥檚 got a boy friend 鈥� , 鈥淎t her age, must be her brother鈥�
鈥淣o 鈥� said Daphne, 鈥� I saw her with an army officer also old,
Probably she鈥檚 giving him secrets from our unit.鈥�
We went to bed in all our clothes except boots, not only because we were cold, but because the interval between wake up call and our attendance on parade was too short for dressing
Daphne, my neighbour in the thirty-bed hut, tucked a warm scarf under her tunic; this was immediately discovered by our sergeant who kept us waiting while Daphne ran back at the double and returned. We missed breakfast that day, and although the lumpy porridge and the reconstituted egg was the cause of much complaint and nostalgia, we wolfed it down anyway, all of us putting on two or thee pounds in out first weeks.
After three weeks of turning right and left, squaring up and forming three, we could do it in our sleep. Then came the big news. Our sergeant, though no less abrasive than before, told us that our squad, because of her tremendous efforts, was to be on parade to greet our Commander in Chief.
Without moving our lips, we conveyed the amazing invitation that we were to be inspected by the king.
With something resembling a smile our sergeant confirmed it
was our very own monarch and the King, George the 6th, would be here on an unspecified secret date. Actually be walking among us!
We seethed with excitement.
Most of the conversation in our hut was about the royal family. There was nothing we did not know about their dress, their diet, their hobbies, and their pet dogs. We had all discussed, endlessly, the entrance of Princess Elizabeth, heir to the throne, on her eighteenth birthday. According to the law, she would be called up.
We were divided in this matter.
Some of us thought it was too big a risk for our future queen to be exposed to the dangers of a military life
The more egalitarian, said, well why not. We had to. Why should she not? Nobody pointed out, because it was self evident, even to the staunchest republican- and there were none in our hut 鈥� that there was a considerable difference in circumstances.

More speculation.
鈥� You know, she鈥檚 a driver. Maybe she will be driving her dad?鈥� I was a driver so my opinion was sought as an expert.
However, I only drove a thirty hundred weight Bedford van, but I guessed that she, if she was indeed at the wheel, would be in an armored staff car. Everyone accepted this as reasonable.
The intense atmosphere in the whole camp increased.
Whatever could be scrubbed, was scrubbed- or polished, or burnished glowed as the sun rose.
Immobile objects such as mounds of coal, were painted white. Daphne pointed out - but only to me - that enemy aircraft flying high could spot our preparations from very high up.
Day after day we were roused before dawn, paraded, inspected, cursed, and after an hour or so sent in for breakfast, 鈥� Don鈥檛 drink anything, we warned each other. Nobody wanted to ask permission to go to the bog once the ceremony had started. All leave was cancelled.
Our sergeant froze our grumbles with an icy look that implied we were some kind of traitors.
One day, we reassembled after breakfast and waited. And waited. And waited.
An R A F quadrant was standing in front of us. One of the airmen fainted. We sneered, there was a movement at the gate.
Without any of us moving so much as an eyelash we saw that three large staff cars had slid in escorted by a platoon of motorcyclists.
Our own CinC, an Air Vice Marshall, came forward and saluted smartly as the leading car opened and THE KING- it was unmistakably the king, came out. The second car had two drivers. Both female. Is it She? We could hardly ask our sergeant who looked as though she had just been turtned into stone by the Gorgon. The inspection proceeded. Then two girls got out and stood by the car. 鈥淒efinitely. Positively. We knew her features as well as we know those of our mothers. The small one looked in our direction. We all stopped breathing, Inspection over, our C in C announced that our commander in chief had asked for all of us to have an extra day鈥檚 leave, so the cheers that followed were by no means forced.

The girl driver got back in their car. As they rolled out- she smiled. We all saw that, and she then lifted her hand in a kind of mini-wave.
It was our Princess. We knew it in every fibre of our being and all the waiting and standing and boredom was forgotten .
I shall always remember that glimpse of our queen though I doubt whether she will remember me even if she had been able to pick me out from the other blue clad automotons. If we were ever to meet again as civilians, sadly I could not attempt a curtsy what with arthritis and both of us being a lot older.
But I think I could still manage a snappy salute.

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