Re: Never did time in the Guardroom!
Posted: Wed Apr 22, 2020 11:23 am
Contrary to most people's experience I have enjoyed every moment of this national lockdown. Instead of taking my wife of 52 years (same as JK) shopping every day and for an expensive coffee I have been at home and able to complete my autobiography of my working life.
In the spirit of the current confinement theme I enclose an extract from my early time in the Regiment.
BENGHAZI - The trip to the camp only took about twenty minutes from the airport and soon I was standing outside the main gate of the 14/20 Kings Hussars. I stood bathed in the security floodlights as my transport drove off in the darkness to wherever it was going next.
13 May 1964 I had arrived at my regiment in Benghazi Libya
It was now still early evening but fully dark and stiflingly hot. I was alone and I was the only person to get off the truck at this place in the middle of nowhere. I approached the soldier on guard duty behind the gate and showed him my identity card. He opened a side gate told me to report to the guard room and they would "sort me out", I did not expect to be sorted out in the way I was sorted out but it was my own fault. I think the long day had frazzled my common sense; After all I was in the man's army now, and should have known what to expect. Looking back, my confidence was understandable because I considered myself to be a highly trained soldier albeit very young but that was the whole point of being a Junior Leader.
Dropping my suitcase on the wooden veranda I was just about to enter the guard room when there was a screech of unintelligible sound from a half human throat just behind me. Turning quickly I saw a tight tailored shirt and slashed-peak flat cap bearing down on me with measured strides. I saw his two stripes but I'd been shouted at by tough NCO's instructors for the last three years and I was not particularly afraid of him or even bothered by it because I'd done nothing wrong.
He screeched, "Get that ####### case off my veranda now, and who the #### are you dressed in pansy civilian clothes anyway?"
I answered in a most reasonable tone. "Sorry mate, I have just arrived from England."
"Mate! Mate!" he spluttered, almost apoplectic "I'm Regimental Police Corporal Daubney, not your mate." I thought ("Nor will you ever be, you silly Pratt!") That is when the situation took a downward turn. The guardroom door opened and out stepped the Regimental Provost Sergeant, "Don" Davies. Another less than savoury character by reputation I was to learn.
One minute later my offending suitcase was confiscated and I was sitting in a cell inside the bowels of the guardroom. After travelling 4000 unobstructed miles my last 60 feet ended in a cell behind Daubney's squeaky clean veranda now unobstructed once more.
I never did speak to that ghastly man again during my whole service but have learned he became a Metropolitan Policeman after leaving the army. I was not surprised about that.
About thirty minutes later I heard raised voices nearby and moments later Sergeant Don Davies came into the cell block, unlocked the door and let me out. Inside the guardroom office my suitcase was in plain view on the floor next to a tough looking man who looked just like Desperate Dan (from the British comic paper called Dandy).
"Come with me Son," he said. "I'm Sergeant Bingham your Troop Sergeant."
Struggling to keep up with my suitcase dragging me down Sergeant Bingham chatted to me about my training and qualifications as we walked between the flat roofed barrack huts. He seemed a pleasant man but I could detect he had a backbone of steel. We arrived at a non-descript hut, he opened the door for me and gestured for me to proceed him inside. I dragged my suitcase inside and faced about 10 silent faces looking back at me.
"This is Assault Troop and this is Trooper Neilson our newest member. Look after him". Without further ado Sergeant Bingham spun on his heel and was gone. I felt as if I had just been thrown in with the lions. For anyone who does not know, Assault Troop was the place all the misfits generally ended up. Well I did make my own place among those monsters and could call many of them my friends after a while.
In the spirit of the current confinement theme I enclose an extract from my early time in the Regiment.
BENGHAZI - The trip to the camp only took about twenty minutes from the airport and soon I was standing outside the main gate of the 14/20 Kings Hussars. I stood bathed in the security floodlights as my transport drove off in the darkness to wherever it was going next.
13 May 1964 I had arrived at my regiment in Benghazi Libya
It was now still early evening but fully dark and stiflingly hot. I was alone and I was the only person to get off the truck at this place in the middle of nowhere. I approached the soldier on guard duty behind the gate and showed him my identity card. He opened a side gate told me to report to the guard room and they would "sort me out", I did not expect to be sorted out in the way I was sorted out but it was my own fault. I think the long day had frazzled my common sense; After all I was in the man's army now, and should have known what to expect. Looking back, my confidence was understandable because I considered myself to be a highly trained soldier albeit very young but that was the whole point of being a Junior Leader.
Dropping my suitcase on the wooden veranda I was just about to enter the guard room when there was a screech of unintelligible sound from a half human throat just behind me. Turning quickly I saw a tight tailored shirt and slashed-peak flat cap bearing down on me with measured strides. I saw his two stripes but I'd been shouted at by tough NCO's instructors for the last three years and I was not particularly afraid of him or even bothered by it because I'd done nothing wrong.
He screeched, "Get that ####### case off my veranda now, and who the #### are you dressed in pansy civilian clothes anyway?"
I answered in a most reasonable tone. "Sorry mate, I have just arrived from England."
"Mate! Mate!" he spluttered, almost apoplectic "I'm Regimental Police Corporal Daubney, not your mate." I thought ("Nor will you ever be, you silly Pratt!") That is when the situation took a downward turn. The guardroom door opened and out stepped the Regimental Provost Sergeant, "Don" Davies. Another less than savoury character by reputation I was to learn.
One minute later my offending suitcase was confiscated and I was sitting in a cell inside the bowels of the guardroom. After travelling 4000 unobstructed miles my last 60 feet ended in a cell behind Daubney's squeaky clean veranda now unobstructed once more.
I never did speak to that ghastly man again during my whole service but have learned he became a Metropolitan Policeman after leaving the army. I was not surprised about that.
About thirty minutes later I heard raised voices nearby and moments later Sergeant Don Davies came into the cell block, unlocked the door and let me out. Inside the guardroom office my suitcase was in plain view on the floor next to a tough looking man who looked just like Desperate Dan (from the British comic paper called Dandy).
"Come with me Son," he said. "I'm Sergeant Bingham your Troop Sergeant."
Struggling to keep up with my suitcase dragging me down Sergeant Bingham chatted to me about my training and qualifications as we walked between the flat roofed barrack huts. He seemed a pleasant man but I could detect he had a backbone of steel. We arrived at a non-descript hut, he opened the door for me and gestured for me to proceed him inside. I dragged my suitcase inside and faced about 10 silent faces looking back at me.
"This is Assault Troop and this is Trooper Neilson our newest member. Look after him". Without further ado Sergeant Bingham spun on his heel and was gone. I felt as if I had just been thrown in with the lions. For anyone who does not know, Assault Troop was the place all the misfits generally ended up. Well I did make my own place among those monsters and could call many of them my friends after a while.