Page 6 - Bugle Autumn 2023

1 RIFLES
GOLDEN ORB
“No one will faint; there is no room for independent thought” barked the General Officer Commanding London District, as the orders concluded in the splendid Guards Chapel. This was going to feel decidedly different to ‘everything that is necessary and nothing that is not’. We were staring down the barrel of a millennium of British tradition, for a once-in-a-lifetime experience, of which the Household Division were in no uncertain doubt. We were about to see the Army demonstrate its most traditional values – marching up and down the square.
Despite a busy Spring, a team from the First and Seventh Battalions was put through their paces on Beachley’s parade ground and, with the kind (redcoat-bashing) remarks from those not marching, we managed to impress the Foot Guards enough to progress to the next stage.
Every day saw an average of 25k steps and 4.5k calories; more akin to the Roman Legionnaires, than modern PT. For all of
us, the opportunity to witness the wider- Army was valuable, with every cap badge
in attendance, and for sheer scale it was impressive. On the main rehearsals, 11,000 servicemen and women went through their paces, all visible from the runway of RAF Odiham, to create an inspiring sight. Then the night rehearsal for a full run through; a total
running time of twelve hours, from marching, to hiding in the guts of Wellington Barracks, to astounding commuters in Waterloo station.
The day itself fast came, with aching feet and backs, but niggling pains were soon forgotten in the extreme pageantry of it
all. We were in alien terrain here, and our subdued uniforms did little to hide us from the pure mania which was gripping that part of London (and the wider country). There’s nothing for it, but to dive in and let the training carry you through; experiencing real enjoyment as your Regimental contingent gets to show off (using the precautionary words “Chosen Men”) to the millions of spectators, to our spot in Whitehall. Then the long wait for the Coronation to conclude; knowing that an historic moment is happening close behind you, and the new Commander in Chief will eventually emerge crowned, whilst feet start to burn, and legs switch off. Collectively the whole parade steps off together, with all 19 bands striking up simultaneously. Through Pall Mall (where the theatre is You, and you know you’re going to be boring your future grandchildren about this one day) and into Buckingham Palace gardens.
Shoulder to shoulder, everyone waits for their Majesties to arrive. The national anthem plays, and then it’s hats off for the
Riflemen on parade
We were
in alien terrain, and our subdued uniforms did little to hide us
loudest three cheers you can manage. And suddenly, you’re extremely proud to be British, and serving in the best Armed Forces in
the world (and the finest Regiment at that). Their Majesties leave, and now it’s back to Waterloo, in that solid block of humanity, with bands playing – an unstoppable mass of extremely professional soldiers with swords fitted. Move it London, today is our day. Then you’re packed onto the trains with a packed lunch, and you’re left wondering why on earth any self-respecting Rifleman should have enjoyed that!
Maj Charlie James OC CCoy 1 Rifles
Golden Orb, Green tunics pressed and ready for drill
6 RIFLES The Bugle