Page 86 - Wish Stream Year of 2017

Gucci. We all looked at each other confused. No bother, the day ended going to get some scoff (breakfast, brunch, elevensies, lunch, high tea, dinner, supper) with our new healthy diet of pie and chips about to begin.
Each day hereon started with the dreaded rev- eille, varying between previously alien morning times of 0500hrs (for the thrusters) - 0530hrs. By 0600hrs and not a second later, the whole platoon would be lined up, ready to belt out the Queens anthem, an old Sandhurst tradition that still exists today. To make the international cadets feel more welcome, every Friday we were tasked with singing the Qatari, Afghanistan and Omani national anthems to honour them. The first line would always get off to a good start, but it would soon descend into mumbling and farce as the majority of the platoon struggled to articulate Arabic correctly.
threats of being Abra ka-backtermed already if they failed to reach the 10 minute 30 second limit.
Exercise Self Reliance was many’s introduction into field life. Those of us pursuing a career in the infantry naively assumed a warm cozy tent would accommodate us, when in stark contrast a shell scrape (defensive pit) and basha (sheet of tarpaulin) was all we were allowed. Suddenly half the intakes choice of arm swapped to the royal chaplain corps and even more followed after the post exercise rifle cleaning ensued, with one cadet being rebuked seven times insisting his rifle was clean. Tactical use of lighting digging these shell scrapes meant that cadets would be safely swinging pick axes and shovels in the pitch black within a metre of one another. The horror of Stag (Sentry duty) and being woken up between the hours of 0000hrs and 0500hrs was
Early on inspections were high on
the agenda. The dreaded locker
layout and sleepless nights reflect-
ing on whether you should have
polished your lightbulb, dusted
underneath your desk or ironed
your floor properly played on all our
minds. Accumulative fatigue would
kick in as a result of these early
mornings, and more armyisms were introduced to the uninitiated. Looking licked (tired or angry) became common theme. Being in clip (tired, in pain, a mess, a state) more so, and, to the very unfortunate turbo mega clip (just go home). Victims of this fatigue would be seen sprawled across Woolwich hall during a navigation, battle- field casualty drill or communication information system lecture. Drifters would be encouraged to dress themselves to the side and stand up if the sleep gremlins weighed heavily on their shoul- ders. The record amount of people I saw stand- ing up in one lecture reached 19, but it was ok, they had four hours of sleep to look forward to after bulling (polishing/shining) their boots that evening.
PT introduced the intake to a throwback 60s-esque outfit, featuring short shorts worn high and burgundy t-shirts tucked in to suit. Cadets then had to run 1.5 mile PFAs with the
another shock to the system. Luckily, our ration packs kindly rewarded us with a tuna salad that helped lift spirits.
Being introduced to combat drills pro- voked many to find their alter ego. The art of fire and maneuver took new meaning as the tactical bound for some was no less than a Jason Bourne 50 meters on debuts. Simi-
larly, fire control orders and the request for delib- erate fire (a round being fired every six seconds) resulted in some going full Rambo and rattling off a magazine on automatic setting in equal time.
After Self Reliance, the culmination of these activities was the dreaded week five drill test. 20 minutes rehearsed drill over the watchful eye of the Regimental Sergeant Major, and then a grilling on college personalities from designated directing staff. Most lived to tell the tale and were granted their first leave from camp, jumping in their car furiously and breaking every speed limit in the county of Surrey for some welcome relief. Highlights of the first five weeks included being described as an ‘absolute mutant’ on the drill square, a fellow cadet being threatened with having his head impaled with a staff’s pac- ing stick and ridden like a bicycle and a platoon member’s room being described as a ‘cake and arse party’ following inspections.
Being introduced to combat drills provoked many to find their alter ego.
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