Page 23 - The Wish Stream Year of 2020 Crest

Some Thoughts on Rehearsals for the Sovereign’s Parade
Irecently had the privilege and pleasure of par- ticipating in the Intermediate Term’s debate night. My team and I shaded a well-fought
contest – the popular vote supported our rejec- tion of the proposal to reduce recruits’ time on the drill square in Phase One training, in favour of more time in lecture theatres. Now that the end of term is upon us, and rehearsals for the Sover- eign’s Parade are well underway, my efforts have garnered me some well-deserved mockery from my peers. Needless to say, I am not quite the evangelical proponent of drill I was a few weeks earlier.
Parades are a funny thing. The stillness and order are unnatural, but at the same time, by stripping away all the human fidgeting and movement, one is left with something simpler and almost mathematical in its purity. I have enjoyed exploring this intersection. One’s grip on reality can slip or pivot in interesting ways when focusing single-mindedly on such austere things as posture and position. As a result, the parade square is an interesting cerebral space, despite first impressions being very much to the contrary.
Regimented hours, and drums.
Pasts no less lustrous
Process, reflected in mirrored boots and brass While we conquer ourselves
And are still.
Overhead the birds wheel and turn freely.
OCdt Grell
Long held at slope, my left arm
whines its aching discomfort
I seek distraction to placate my mind
And stave off agonising tallying of seconds: Up at Old Trafford.
They’ll have started now.
Second innings, Shan Masood opening. Another ton and England done for.
Idly I imagine the bat raised; cruel imagination contorts his arm
Until he holds his burden in the slope like mine And pain returns, no unthinking now – But the Sergeant Major,
Whose gift it is to stop all thought, Glides soundlessly into my
vision like Mao’s guerrilla
A darting fish through a yielding ocean.
He is subject to no step or dressing.
Now I am absurdly, exceptionally aware Of the small boot polish mark which
I know exists at the bottom of the back of my left trouser leg; Someday, soon, it will be found. But as I dwell on my downfall: Shoulder arms, and salvation. Stillness in movement; in noise, silence.
SANDHURST 21