Paul Daniels

by Paul Daniels

  ‘One hundred dollars?’ he offered.

  I didn’t have $100. I didn’t have ten! I could not afford to lose and wondered if I should accept the deal. Fortunately, a crowd of squaddies whom I knew declared their backing for me and they seemed to dislike this guy.

  With the offer of being covered by my mates and knowing that I could not fail, I made sure of the bet. I even knew that the lad had already seen his card go past.

  ‘For one hundred dollars, you are on that the next card I turn over is yours?’ I asked.

  ‘Sure thing,’ he smiled.

  With that, I put the card in my hand back on top of the deck still face down and took his card from the face-up pile and turned it face down. He never bothered me again.

  Life started to roll along in Stanley Fort. I got a job in the office of Headquarter Company directly below my barrack room. This was the first time in my life I put weight on. We had chips with every meal, including breakfast. Those cooks knew what to feed Yorkshiremen. The snacks were also wonderful, made from the softest bread rolls that I have ever tasted, along with the best cups of tea that I have ever had. The cha-wallah served them on the balconies of the barracks. His cheese and tomato ‘banjos’ (the name for the bread rolls) were fabulous. The tea was kept in an urn that had the tea, the sugar and the milk all mixed up inside and constantly heated at the base. I don’t know why it never tasted stewed. There were quite a few cha-wallahs all working for an Indian.

  Apparently, back in England this Indian man had arrived at Richmond barracks one day and asked to see the officer in charge. In that wonderfully fruity, sing-song voice he explained how he was used to organising the cha-wallahs and jadu-wallahs, providing the food and laundry services for the Army, and could he please have the concession for Hong Kong.

  ‘But we are not going to Hong Kong,’ replied the officer, who had just had his regiment fitted with the gleaming white ‘topes’ uniform of the Bahamas.

  ‘I believe you are, Sir,’ smiled the astute businessman.

  ‘I can assure you, my man, that we are not departing for Hong Kong. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Well then, Sir, may I ask for the concession just in case you do go to Stanley Fort in Hong Kong?’

  ‘Of course, if you insist, you bloody fool.’ The officer, having already received his orders to sail to Bermuda within a couple of weeks, happily agreed to sign the Indian’s document, probably just to get rid of him.

  As the Indian entrepreneur walked out through the barrack gates, a motorbike dispatch rider passed him carrying an urgent, top-secret message for the Commanding Officer. The orders contained the command that the regiment would now be going to Hong Kong. ‘Stop that Indian!’ screamed the officer.

  The little man was hauled back before the commander and asked to explain himself. How had he got access to top-secret information that even the Commanding Officer knew nothing about?

  ‘It’s easy, Sir,’ came the gentle reply. ‘May I show you?’

  The Indian walked behind the desk and directed their attention at the huge world map that was displayed along the wall. He pointed out all the previous tours of the British Army and said where each regiment and corps had been over the last ten years. Summarising a complex set of patterns he finished by saying, ‘so, by simple deduction, Sir, it’s obvious that the only place you are going to would be Hong Kong.’ He won his concession and made complete nonsense out of top-secret information.

  I don’t think that I will be breaking the Official Secrets Act if I tell you a little about how the Army is organised. I’ve always admired the army clerical system and with the inside information gained from my stint in Chichester, had a useful general knowledge of the workings of the military. The Army is run by Queen’s Regulations known as ‘QRs’ which contains the ruling orders for the services. This single book covers every peacetime and wartime eventuality and is altered practically every day by the War Office to become a ‘living’ set of rules. As part of my clerical exam, I had to find the correct answers to a series of questions within the allotted time, using the latest set of QRs. It’s a wonderful system, because although I was very familiar with its rules, they could easily have been changed in some way without my knowledge. It is never wise to assume you know and I realised how important it was to keep up to date with the latest directive. We always checked the book and the skill was in being able to find the correct law quickly and easily. The officers of the British Army never stop training and even a colonel is still prepared to learn new skills.

  News of my magical ability had been picked up once again, this time by the locals. How they found out I have no idea; perhaps it was word of mouth from one of the officers from the ship. I was soon taking bookings to appear at people’s homes up on the ‘peak’, on my days or evenings off. This was where the rich businessmen of Hong Kong lived and the English, Chinese and American residents were extremely fond of their parties. It was the first chance in a long time to be able to entertain out of uniform and in my shirt and slacks. All my clothes had been locally hand-made and cost less than six shillings. Everything in Hong Kong was so cheap and even more so when you bartered. Why are the English so loath to barter?

  On one particular evening I had spent the whole night amusing the guests of an extremely wealthy Chinese gentleman, when he asked me to show a special friend some tricks. Sitting at a huge dining table was Sir Robert Black, the Governor of Hong Kong. I baffled and bemused them with a whole series of my best effects. The host was extremely grateful and gave me a generous tip for my efforts. What a nice man.

  About a week later, we had an important parade at which the whole regiment was on show. The Governor of the colony was to inspect the troops. We practised like mad to get the drill right. The order was always to remain still and silent unless referred to, at which time the only answer should be ‘sir!’ And it had to be yelled ‘SAAAH!’ Even if you were responding to a question, the answer could only be ‘SAAAH!’ At the same time, you had to present arms by a series of moves that positions the rifle vertically in front of your body.

  The sun shone brightly that day as 600 men, including myself, stood to attention on the parade ground, eyes firmly front.

  Sir Robert Black, the man I had entertained, led the inspection, hands behind his back, very much in the manner of the Royal Family whom he represented. Two paces behind him was the Commanding Officer, walking in what is known as the ‘slow’ march where the foot hovers a few inches above the ground. He has his sword held vertically and glinting in the sunshine. Two paces behind him was the Second-in-Command, sword held in the same way. Then there was the Adjutant and following him the Regimental Sergeant Major, a most immaculate man with dark grey hair cut very short and steely blue eyes that could cut through you at a glance. He carried a swagger stick under his arm. He was also totally unbiased. He hated everyone.

  To read RSM Calvert’s citation was incredible. Apparently during World War II, he had walked into no-man’s land and dragged his injured men out of the line of fire. He carried on even when shot himself. I had already decided that if I went into battle, I wanted him beside me.

  He had the loudest shout of anyone I knew. Watching him control his men on the parade ground was fascinating. Having let 600 men march off the ground in files of three and move up the hill, I could see him tense himself up before screaming: ‘BATTALION! ABOUT TURN!’ The sheer noise was incredible and 600 men would simultaneously change direction. As NCOs – by now I was a Lance Corporal – we had all been trained to shout commands by standing 6ft apart in a row with another line of men standing 80 yards away also 6ft apart. Your job was to make your opposite number understand and carry out the rifle commands, amongst a row of other soldiers all doing the same with their own comrades. This practice fortifies the voice and its ability to project and it helped me no end later on in clubs when the microphone went off.

  Suddenly, Sir Robert Black stopped in his tracks, looked behind him and walked back to me. There is nothing in Queen
’s Regulations about how officers should walk backwards. Each of the officers behind him fell into each other like skittles, began shuffling about, and the whole parade was in disarray.

  My heart was banging and my mind was panicking as, with disruption all around him, Sir Robert Black looked me straight in the face, smiled and said, ‘Hello, Ted!’

  ‘SAAAH!’

  ‘I didn’t know you were in the Army.’

  ‘SAAAH!’

  ‘How extraordinary. You must come up to tea sometime.’

  ‘SAAAH!’

  He turned and walked away followed by the CO, the 2IC and the Adjutant, all glaring at me with the utmost incredulity. As the RSM walked past, from the corner of his mouth came, ‘my office.’

  Immediately after dismissal, I handed my rifle to the soldier next to me and ran to the RSM’s office. As I stood to attention, he slowly looked me up and down, got up from behind his desk and very slowly walked around me three times before saying gently in my ear, ‘Hello, Ted,’ and I knew I was going to die. When this is over, I thought, I was going to find every way possible of avoiding parades.

  One more trip round my quivering body and then, ‘I didn’t know you were in the Army, Ted.’

  Another slow walk around me and, ‘You must come and have tea with me sometime.’

  Then he exploded, ‘HOW THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU, YOU ‘ORRIBLE LITTLE MAN, KNOW THE GOVERNOR OF THIS COLONY?!!’

  ‘I … I … I showed him a card trick,’ I stammered. ‘YOU DID BLOODY WHAT? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?’ he yelped.

  I explained my moonlighting misdemeanours, which I knew went right against Queen’s Regulations.

  ‘YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO TAKE OTHER JOBS WHILE YOU ARE A SOLDIER!’ he snorted with a mixture of astonishment and disgust.

  ‘You, you ‘orrible little man, will serve your time showing what you are worth to the rest of the Army on this island. Now get moving!’

  I couldn’t believe how lucky I was when he doled out the punishment.

  He sentenced me to perform in the Sergeants’ Mess at their next function the following month and I nearly put out my arms and kissed him. Nearly, but I decided against it.

  From this developed other offers to appear in other messes and I was even paid a little extra to do the local army hospitals, the NAAFI and many of the ships in dock. This included the massive USA warships and aircraft carriers, which were like floating towns. We went up the side of one American aircraft carrier on a huge lift and when we went inside we got into a Cadillac to drive up to the other end of the ship. Their military seemed to live a little differently to us. Then I joined a concert party and from then on not only had a great time but never seemed to stop doing shows.

  The buzz I got from performing was in danger of reducing my regular job to a boring day-to-day monotony of moving papers. The one thing that I had to do, I decided, was to avoid parades. I used my Orderly Room job to look up various courses open to me.

  Not every application to join a course was accepted, the Army must stay in control at all times, of course. Finally, I was enrolled into fencing. To my amazement, this involved swords. I thought fencing was something that would be useful when I got home to put around the house! No I didn’t, I’m just kidding.

  One of the reasons I had applied for this was that it took place in a WRAC camp on the other side of the island and I thought I’d be surrounded by girls. I still hadn’t enjoyed the sexual experiences that I longed for and, although I had been in many of the local bars where the girls were cheaply bought, I often stood there like a little boy in a sweet shop. Perhaps an instinct deep inside me wanted to be introduced to the eroticism of life in a more natural way, without having to pay for it.

  As it turned out, the girls in the WRAC were nowhere near as desirable as the Chinese girls in the cheongsams, and they were pretty tough-looking, too. With muscles that bulged in places I didn’t know existed, all thoughts of getting one of them between the sheets soon evaporated.

  We soon found out that we were in no fit state to deal with them in any case, when on our first day the CSMI (Company Sergeant Major Instructor) proceeded to humiliate our manhood. This guy had just failed to be a professor of fencing, which ironically showed how good he was. A professor of fencing was a very rare thing, the qualifications are incredibly demanding and after years of intensive training, if you fail your exam on a technicality, this has no real reflection on your ability. This guy was mind-boggling.

  CSMI Kirby was a pretty fit-looking chap, a bit on the short side, and was much tougher than he looked.

  On day one of the course, wondering why we hadn’t been issued with the normal protective gear and standing only in our shorts, he made us stand with our feet at right angles, slightly apart, with the right foot pointing forward. While bending our knees, we were shown how to lift our left arm and bend the wrist, which put us into an extremely camp position. I laughed; my pose held connotations I was not prepared to go along with. Having chuckled to the soldier next to me, I turned to see CSMI Kirby staring me in the face.

  ‘Name?’ he spat.

  ‘Daniels, Sarge!’

  ‘Come here.’

  He motioned me to stand a few paces away from him and I looked back at the group of 20 other soldiers wondering what was coming next. CSMI Kirby took up a foil. This was a very flexible piece of metal with a quarter-inch stud on the end, and taking one look at my stiff body, lunged straight at me.

  The force that hit me was unexpected and powerful. Feeling I had been hit in the bare chest by a champion boxer the wind went out of me and I fell backwards on to the ground gasping for air. Lying on my backside catching my breath, I touched my chest expecting to feel blood pouring out.

  ‘Get up, Daniels!’ came the retort.

  As I struggled to my feet, the laughter of the group rang in my ears.

  ‘Now stand as I told you, because I’m going to hit you again!’

  ‘Errrrrr, no, Sarge! That’s all right, Sarge. I understand now, Sarge.’

  My words were not sufficient to deter Kirby from his mission.

  ‘Stand as I told you! Feet at right angles, knees bent.’

  Whoof! He hit me again. The impact, best described as a rock of ice hitting you at 50mph was enormous. This time I found that I had remained standing. As he sent me back to the ranks with my head and body reeling, he explained how the legs act as a spring, taking the impact out of the thrust. I knew I would never forget it! I had also learnt how powerful a sword can be when it is used correctly.

  We spent the rest of the day lunging at one another, with right arms going forward and stiff first; your left leg pushes your right leg forward; you go into a low lunge as your left arm drops and then raises to bring you back up – it was like being choreographed for a theatre show. Eight hours of lunging later, I had never been so grateful to see my bed.

  Early next morning, I awoke with the reveille and a shout from our beloved CSMI, who marched straight over to our bunks and started to pull the sheets off. Every single man’s legs were bent into the shape we had kept them in all the previous day. Mine were so stiff I couldn’t even move them. CSMI Kirby grabbed me roughly by the ankles and yanked them straight. The pain was excruciating. It was absolute agony. His continued shouting and bawling was interspersed by the desperate screams and cries from men having their legs cracked back into position. Having had a quick wash down and a smartish breakfast, we were back on the parade ground where the first thing he said was, ‘lunge!’ I don’t think I’d heard men groan like that before!

  Slowly, we learnt the art of the foil which is a touch-sensitive weapon. To my horror, CSMI decided to use me as the role model once more. Wisely, I decided to play along every step of the way this time. With sweeping movements around my bare skin, he demonstrated just how fast a sport fencing is. This is the reason why it has never taken off on television, as the viewer would not be able to see the incredibly fast reflex actions.

  When you push
against somebody else’s sword, their natural instinct is to push back. One of the many secrets was to use their impetus at that moment and taking the tip of your sword under theirs, move it over the top and strike them. As CSMI demonstrated this, he hit me again.

  He also demonstrated that, if the opponent does react quickly and their foil starts to come back then you must, as you are moving forward, dip your foil under theirs and continue the attack.

  He came at me in a lunge, I tapped his sword out of the way, he pushed my sword away and started to go under, I came back, he started to retreat, I hit it the other way, rolled over the top of his foil and struck him. This was totally instinctive on my part. I didn’t work it out. I didn’t have time to work it out.

  Without a moment to rejoice in my success he lunged at me again and with an instantaneous sweeping motion flipped his sword in the air, caught the tip of the foil, flicked it in an arc and the metal handle came down on my head. What a crack!

  ‘Don’t get clever with me, son!’ was the answer to my attempts to defeat him.

  I finished the course with plenty of bruises, a lot of experience and a certificate in fencing that said I had ended up top of the course.

  CHAPTER 6

  CASUAL SEX

  Even Elvis was drafted into the Army. He received his call-up papers in March 1958, but managed to postpone the big day so that he could finish his latest film King Creole. The king of rock ‘n’ roll saw his wage package drop from $100,000 to just $83.20 a month. When Elvis sang, he captured the hearts of millions of teenage girls around the world and this exercise was similar to that which many young recruits still had in mind.

  Taking the stage at every possible service party now ate up most of my spare time, but I was still awaiting the chance to put my other undeveloped skills into practice, too. Surrounded by constant boasting from my mates and with the lack of natural opportunity, I finally decided to see if what they said about the girls on the colony was true.