Down Among the Weeds

by Harry Beaves

  Every Monday morning the Troop Commander would inspect our barrack room, with us standing by our beds. On one occasion he ran his hand across the top of a steel locker and, horror of horrors, discovered two small scraps of paper. The owner of the locker looked on in misery as his world came tumbling down. At six that evening the NCOs came back and ordered the whole section to dress in full combat clothing including great coat and gloves. We were then marched into the drying room and spent the next half hour running on the spot and doing exercises while the NCOs reminded us what miserably low forms of life we were for such squalid behaviour. Ever after, before any inspection we checked the offender’s locker and contents ourselves and there was never the same mistake again. Collective punishment encourages team spirit, though I doubt if The Guardian would have approved of this particular way of promoting it.

  After twelve weeks we ‘Passed Out’ and C Troop of 24 Battery dispersed to various Artillery Regiments as trained soldiers. I and one other remained in 17 Training Regiment and moved across to the Potential Officers Troop.

  Acting Local Lance Bombardier Beaves as an Assistant Instructor-Physical Training at 17 Training Regiment, Oswestry 1966.

  At any time there were about a dozen of us in the troop who, like me, had joined with the intention of going forward to RCB. Most of us at some stage attended an ‘Outward Bound Course’ at the Army Outward Bound School at Tywyn in North Wales. I went in December 1965 during one of the worst periods of weather on record. I cannot remember ever being so cold, wet and utterly shattered in all my service. The course culminated in a three-day expedition in groups of five through the mountains around Dollgellau. Our final expedition was called off after twenty-four hours as blizzards and heavy snow made progress through the hills impossible. We were secretly relieved by the cancellation, but our joy was short-lived as, when we got back to camp, we discovered that high winds had torn the asbestos roof off one of the drying rooms and much of the clean dry clothing that we were looking forward to getting into had been spread across the surrounding marsh land.

  I also attended a ‘Christian Leadership Course’ at Bagshot Park, then home of the Royal Army Chaplains Department, though, in truth, I remember little from it. When I returned to Oswestry the Troop Commander asked me what I had learnt on the course. ‘Well, Sir, when the red ball is sitting close to the top pocket, if you put enough side on the cue ball you can usually screw back for the yellow.’ In those circles such frivolity was quite likely to be taken seriously and I could well have been marked down on ‘officer qualities’ because of it!

  The Regiment ran a fourteen-day course within the Potential Officers Troop during which we practiced all of the things we were likely to be tested on at RCB. A few ‘certainties’ went straight to Westbury, but, for most of us, there was a pause and an opportunity to continue to grow up by working as an assistant instructor either in the gymnasium or in the Weapon Training Wing. I was given the rank of Local Acting Lance Bombardier (a short step above nothing) and sent to the gym as an Assistant Instructor – Physical Training. It was a job tailor-made for me and could not have been better.

  In due course my time came for another crack at the RCB. This time I passed, thanks to the thorough grounding that I had been given at Oswestry, and I had time to kill before the next course started at Sandhurst in September. Major Peter Sweet, my Battery Commander (BC), interviewed me and, recognising how much I had enjoyed my time in the gym, asked me how I felt about going to the Army Outward Bound School for six weeks as an Assistant Instructor. I couldn’t believe my luck. I had loved the Adventurous Training activities we had done at times in Oswestry and although my experience on the course at Tywyn the previous December had been pretty cold, wet and miserable, I could see the possibility for real enjoyment. I jumped at the chance and became assistant, at Tywyn, to Sergeant George Davis of the Army Physical Training Corps. During my six weeks there in the summer of 1966 I saw two Outward Bound Courses pass through. It was a wonderful opportunity for me to learn the skills and techniques of climbing, canoeing and mountain navigation and much, much more. Above all it instilled in me a love of the outdoors that has remained with me ever since. I was posted to Tywyn twice during my commissioned service, in 1974 as a fully-fledged instructor and in 1980 as the Chief Instructor, during which time my two sons were born there.

  All too soon the time came for me to return to Oswestry. My spell as a Gunner had been an opportunity to mature and get used to life in the real world away from home and school. I went back, handed my kit in and was sent on leave, prior to embarking on the next stage in what was now my career, officer training at the Royal Military Academy, Sandhurst, something far more challenging and very different.

  Chapter 3

  The Officer Cadet

  My father drove me to the Royal Military Academy, Sandhurst (RMAS), gave me a manly handshake, slapped me on the shoulder and wished me ‘All the best’ just as he had done before.

  Old College of RMAS is a wonderfully imposing building. The doors of the Grand Entrance are huge, probably fifteen feet high. This was fortunate as the chip on my shoulder when I arrived on 5th September 1966 needed at least that much clearance. My twelve months at Oswestry had given me bags of confidence and I felt ready for whatever Sandhurst could throw at me. How wrong I was. I was duly ‘processed’ by the reception staff and led along the historic flagstone corridors to Blenheim Company where I became a member of Intake 41.

  Sandhurst was divided into three Colleges, Old, New and Victory with each College containing four Companies. In spring and autumn a new intake of cadets would arrive and be spread among the twelve companies. Since the course lasted two years, at any one time four intakes were passing through the system.

  The officer and NCO members of staff came from all branches of the Army and were responsible for every aspect of the training. Having four intakes of cadets going through at any one time produced a natural hierarchy within each company. The senior cadets who were next for commissioning were given considerable responsibility and authority over us, particularly in supervising out of hours (roll calls, kit cleaning, weapon cleaning, competition training and the like). To achieve this they were given cadet ranks and wore insignias to recognise their position. The most senior cadet in the company was the Senior Under Officer (SUO), a sort of Head Boy. He was assisted by three Junior Under Officers (JUOs), each responsible for an intake. Each JUO had a Cadet Sergeant and a Cadet Corporal to assist him.

  There were twenty-three of us in Blenheim 41. Our course would last for two years spread over six terms with the first term covering the recruit syllabus we had followed at Oswestry, but taught to considerably higher standards. The overall content of the first term was ninety per cent military and ten per cent academic. The second term was about sixty per cent military. The third, fourth and fifth terms were eighty per cent academic and the last term was eighty per cent military and twenty per cent academic. At that time some officers attended university after they had completed their Sandhurst training. The academic syllabus was supposed to keep the brains of the brightest of us, who would in due course go on to Oxford or Cambridge and the second strings who would attend the Degree Course at the Royal Military School of Science, Shrivenham or some other universities, ticking over. The rest of the cadets, me included, studied subjects that might have followed on from our ‘A’ level subjects, but which in most cases served little useful purpose. If you add in the generous periods of leave between terms to the time spent on academic studies, then the person who suggested that in 1966 Sandhurst managed to cram six months’ work into two years was not far from the truth. The syllabus had been written for Intake 1 who went through Sandhurst in around 1947, the year of my birth. We were Intake 41 and there had been few significant changes over the intervening period. In the years following us the syllabus was given a long overdue revision.

  Most cadets started at Sandhurst aged eighteen. One of the things that the two-year course gave us was time to grow u
p and mature a little before being set loose on the Army. The shape of the training programme meant there was always plenty of time for sport and extra-mural activities. Standards were extremely high and, though I threw enormous amounts of energy into rugby, I never made selection for the Academy side. Rugby served as a physical safety valve for me and relieved some of the anger and frustration I felt with other parts of Academy life. On Mondays I played rugby for the Company, on Wednesdays I captained the Old College side and on Saturdays I played for Camberley Thirds, having joined the local rugby club. I was permanently battered and bruised and I loved it. The long Sandhurst holidays provided opportunities for ambitious expeditions and adventurous activities. I climbed occasionally with the Academy Climbing Club and thought I would learn to sail. However four days of sea-sickness on a five-day race from Harwich to Norway on one of the Academy boats convinced me that sailing would never be my sport. I also completed a Free Fall Parachute course at the Army Parachute Association Centre at Netheravon. The fear factor always significantly outweighed the exhilaration and this was another activity that I was able to decide was not for me, which was ironic as I subsequently served as a military parachutist for several years.

  The working day began for everyone with the Breakfast Roll Call Parade at 0715. Training was from 0800 to 1600 with an hour for lunch. Tea was at 1630. There was compulsory games for everyone from 1700 to 1830 and dinner at 1900. The junior intake then cleaned their kit which was inspected by the senior intake at 2100. A huge number of items had to be presented, cleaned and shining immaculately. Any kit not up to standard was re-inspected at a show parade at 2230, after which the junior intake stood by their doors dressed in Army pyjamas and were given five minutes to get down to the showers and back before lights out. In winter with the dark evenings sport took place in the afternoon and training took place from 1700 to 1830. With the mainly physical content of the syllabus it was a long and tiring day and the pressure never let up so that by the time we had reached week three we were permanently shattered.

  High on the list of qualities we were expected to display was a sense of integrity. We learnt this very early on when one Saturday afternoon we were all sent on an orienteering exercise on nearby Barossa Common. Each checkpoint had a letter stamp with which we marked our cards. Few people had any interest in the activity as there were far more urgent things to be done back in camp, so when we bumped into each other we shared information and pointed out checkpoints. One of our number realised the letter ’I’ stamp at one checkpoint could be used to make other letters, ‘V, L H’ and so on. He got back early and handed his card in. The senior cadets running it were not fooled and reported the matter to the staff. The cadet was considered to have displayed a serious lack of integrity and appeared before his Company Commander on Monday morning. He was wheeled before the Commandant the same afternoon. By lunchtime the following day he had been discharged from the Army and was heading home, such was the seriousness of his offence.

  I sailed very close to the wind myself when I went to Twickenham to watch an England-Ireland rugby international. It was early in my second term and I signed out in the book, fully understanding that I had to be back by 0100. At Twickenham I met Monkey Martin, an old school friend who was reading engineering at Imperial College, London. Before the match we had a few pints in the West Bar followed by a couple more in the Cabbage Patch in Twickenham before heading to London to finish the night in the Students Union. Through the haze I was very well aware of my Cinderella status, but I seriously underestimated the time it would take to cross London by tube and arrived at Waterloo to see my Camberley train pulling out. My heart sank as I realised the trouble I was in, but there was a train going to Guildford. This had to be better than nothing so I climbed on.

  I arrived at Guildford at half past midnight and I rushed up to a waiting taxi.

  ‘How long does it take to get to Camberley?’

  ‘About half an hour, mate.’

  I jumped in and we set off. As I explained my plight we increased speed. The taxi driver was very amused and without prompting said. ‘Well how would it be if I said that I broke down? You know, the lights packed in, or something so I had to stop and fix them. Wasted a quarter of an hour or more, I’d say.’ I couldn’t believe my luck.

  We arrived outside Old College and I rushed into the Guard Room. I stood respectfully to attention in front of the Duty Cadet and recited my name rank, number and company. It was 0105 and ‘Absent’ was already written beside my name in the book.

  The taxi driver came through the door panting. ‘Oh I’m ever so sorry, mate, it’s not his fault, honest. We were coming along and the lights packed in…’

  The Duty Cadet listened carefully and wrote it all down. I went back to the taxi with the driver and in whispered tones thanked him profusely and crossed his palm with a very large bag of silver. Then I slinked off to my bed to await the fallout.

  On Monday afternoon I appeared on Company Commander’s Orders to answer the charge of ‘Absence Without Leave.’ The procedures for administering military discipline are precisely laid down and always followed to the letter in a manner deliberately intended to be as intimidating as possible.

  The Company Sergeant Major (CSM) knocked politely on the Company Commander’s door. He then threw the door open furiously and rifted me in. (‘Rifting’ is an impossibly fast marching pace loved by the Guards.) We halted with a crash on the Company Commander’s carpet.

  The Company Commander sat behind an enormous desk, head bowed in thought. On the corner of the desk lay his cap and a Bible. In front of him, the charge sheet was clipped to a blue folder containing my conduct record. He slowly and deliberately read from it.

  ‘Two four zero six seven three five zero Officer Cadet Beaves M W.’ He paused for dramatic effect then looked up. The Intimidation Factor by then was almost off the scale. ‘Is that you?’

  Staring straight at a point on the wall about two feet above the Company Commander’s head I replied. ‘No, sir.’

  ‘WHAT?’

  ‘My correct initials are H W not M W. sir,’ I replied. Thus tossing a large handful of grit into the well-oiled machinery of intimidation.

  Behind my back Company Sergeant Major’s face was red with rage. The Company Commander was confused. ‘Company Sergeant Major, march out the accused.’

  I was rifted out. By now the Sergeant Major’s face was purple. A simple mistake on the charge sheet had destroyed any shred of intimidation and the initiative was briefly mine while the one fingered typist rushed to prepare a new charge sheet. The amazing (and amusing) thing was that this happened every time I appeared on Orders, as the initial ’H’ was badly hand written on my documents so the poor clerk always read it wrongly.

  I was rifted back in. I entered my ‘plea in mitigation’ supported by the taxi driver’s statement from the log and I thought I was home and dry. The Company Commander thought differently, however, and not only gave me five days Restriction of Privileges (RPs), but put me on report for questionable integrity. I was mortified.

  For a long time I nursed a real hate for that Company Commander who was a Gunner and eventually reached the rank of Colonel. Despite his success he was considered by many to be a shady character which only served to fuel my sense of injustice. It was many years later that it finally occurred to me that he had chosen to disbelieve what was a complete lie and was actually quite right. It was hardly a wonder that Sandhurst was such a struggle for me!

  On the face of it RPs appear to be a trivial punishment since Officer Cadets seemed to have precious few privileges in the first place, but not so. Those on RPs wore their drill uniform all day with a white belt so they were clearly identifiable to staff who felt vindictive and wanted an easy target. My five days quickly became six when I failed to salute an Officer Instructor who passed me at thirty miles an hour in his car on a rainy day.

  RPs started at 0630 when you paraded in drill uniform for the Duty SUO who usually inspected you yawni
ng in his pyjamas. From six in the evening until seven you did extra drill under the duty drill instructor. Because it was a duty for him he, also, was invariably vindictive – ‘Haircut, sir’ and my six days became seven. I had my hair cut three times in a week because different people considered it too long. Mr Slater, Sandhurst’s demon barber, knew only one style and we used to joke that he was the only barber in the world who took a run-up. He probably enjoyed a comfortable retirement in a warm climate thanks to miserable cadets like me.

  The day ended when you paraded again for the duty SUO at 2300. The normal fatigue of the working day was magnified because you simply didn’t have a minute to yourself and it was easy to become trapped in a downward spiral accumulating more and more days of Restrictions.

  This was the low point of my time at Sandhurst and I had serious reservations about whether I wanted to continue. The officer and NCO instructors were the finest in the Army and, whilst I could admire the senior NCOs for their knowledge and professionalism, the officers were altogether different. The preferred style of many, laid-back and laconic, was simply not me. Moreover, that style rubbed off on the cadets and pervaded the whole Company. We were the ‘gentlemen of Old College’ for whom it was better to come second or third with no apparent effort than to come first. Winning was really rather vulgar and trying hard was the province of the ‘Hitler Youth’ in Victory College. The senior cadet system also riled me. The cadets in charge of us were overgrown prefects, martinets, with no knowledge of the real Army outside Sandhurst. With my extensive experience, gained from a whole twelve whole months in the ranks, I thought that when they were finally commissioned their soldiers would have little time for them!