Colin Granger's Article

CLASSIFICATION STARTED for the signal section on the Thursday before. I was told we were to use the range telephones if they worked but to have a radio link set up in case they broke down. So I was soon at work loading and checking kit in preparation for this.

I soon found that I wasn't the only member of G Coy in that night. My peace was broken by Sgt Hunter offering me the unique opportunity to help him load a 3-tonner with the tables and chairs that had been used at the Children's Party, so that they could be taken back to Mr Roger at the Horticultural Hall. I was going to decline this kind invitation but that's not a sensible thing to do where he is concerned, so I said I would be ready to join him in five minutes. I was joined by Mr Pearson and Sgt James and the audible assistance of Mr Crowe who had just returned from Holland and was full of good cheer and gin.

It took a fair while to move all this kit but after a deal of grunting and groaning, oh, and the moving of an Escort for the hall doors, we soon finished. On returning to the Drill Hall, Mr Pearson bought the first round, as I drank it I wondered what the week-end would bring.

I arrived at the Drill Hall at about 18.30, pleased to find that Fergi had brought my FFR round from the garage. I retired to my store after a mad hunt for the key, and with the help of a couple of Jocks, loaded the truck straight away.  We were told to report by 19.30, but most people didn't show up till 19.45.  This made little difference though because we were away in under an hour and thanks to Captain Layden we stopped at the Brookwood chippy on route.

On arrival at the hut L/Cpl Martin Felstead lent me two stout fellows to help unload the FFR which was soon done and, with pit found and bang stick handed in, I, along with a few others, retired to the bar, which that night was being run by that scholar of the English Language, Chris Ross. " Oh! **** off."

After a couple of pints and a rum and black, taken purely for medicinal reasons, I took Mr Cairns out to give him some inspiration into the PT we were to suffer in the morning.

Saturday morning arrived with the golden tones of L/Cpl John Morton rousing us from our gentle slumber and thence to tip-i-toe downstairs to join Mr Cairns for our daily masochist lesson. This was like any other run except that C/Sgt Woodall came on it. I know we've had a change of command but this is ridiculous!

We arrived at the range at about 08.30. The sigs went ahead along with the butt party to prepare it, so that the Coy could start firing at 09.00, which they did.

The day went very well and by the end of it everybody had zeroed and had fired a practice devised by Sgt 'Split" Waterman to shake the, in some cases year long, cobwebs away. We also managed to get the first two details through the classification course. I think that Sgt/Major Carter would have been proud of us.

The shooting finished on the range and we were addressed by the Maior. He had been pleased with the general running of the range and gave a vote of thanks to the butt markers who had done a fantastic job, led by the RQMS.  He didn't have the same praise for the Jocks.  He told them that the weapon handling had been terrible and so they could all do half an hour's extra weapon handling drill as soon as they got back to the hut.  They all did and it showed on Sunday.

After this extra lesson was over, weapons and bodies were cleaned, the first being put away in the armoury and the second getting changed ready to sample the pleasures of Jim Thoir's gastronomic delights. However, four members of the Coy found themselves with some time to kill, so they used it by trying to kill themselves by running four miles; mind you it didn't half work up an appetite. The meal was first-class and we even had waiter service.

After dinner the Ted Dyer Wine Society retired to the bar, but myself and four other chaps decided we needed a change of scene so we piled into Dave Scott's car and went in search for a good pint. We found one and were soon sitting drinking a fine pint of Sam Smith's Old Brewery bitter and discussing, among other things, the rise and fall of the British motorbike industry. You see, members of G Coy can sometimes talk about something other than sex. We arrived back at the hut to find things really humming, yes, Alan Bagnall had taken his shoes off. The star turn at that particular time was Split who was in terrific form. Sgt McCullough wasn't to be outstaged, however, and gave us his rendition of Daniel, fantastic. The night then just drifted along until right at the end when the plastic seagull must have said something out of turn and found himself debagged, well at least it helped to find a guard for Camp.

The morning came finding many members feeling slightly second-hand; thank God we didn't have a run that morning. Breakfast was served and soon after the sigs and butts moved off, in somewhat of a mess but soon sorted themselves out and were ready to receive shots at 08.00. The first detail consisted of most of the officers who, for a change, shot very well with the Major scoring 58, the best of the detail, nice one.

With all this slick work going on we found ourselves finished by 11.15. So it was left to Mr Cairns to entertain us for a while with some more PT. It didn't half hurt.

We moved back to the hut and soon had it clean and were then ready to eat. The CSM said there was some beer to finish in the bar - the trouble was we had to pay for it. Lunch was taken and trucks loaded and we moved back to 59. On arrival things were cleaned and polished and put away.

With that the week-end came to a close. The plan had been to classify as many members of the Coy as possible, we achieved our aim in an efficient and well humoured manner, let's hope this is a foretaste of things to come for G Coy in the future months, especially at Camp.

WITH THE above threat in mind about 40 brave souls turned out on the Friday night to be burdened with the usual tasks that make the rest of the weekend seem so much better.

Having done our bit I, and a couple of others of a like mind, looked for someone travelling in their own transport that would enjoy our intellectual company - Ted Dyer - just the man!  Yes, he had a beaten up van and yes, he had three spare seats, it's amazing how quickly four people can disappear!

We made our way to the Clubhouse to find the "party pieces" in full swing, ranging from obscure choruses that Sgt Waterman appears to make up as he goes along to a wag impersonating various Regimental characters.

Eventually all clambered into their pits and no sooner had sleep overtaken us than we were roused in pitch blackness by the COS, I made a time honoured gesture at him with my fingers, it didn't work, he still wouldn't let me go back to sleep.

06.15, PT with Lt Cairns, aided and abetted by L/Cpl Granger, this involved a short run with a pause for some kangeroo hops then a sprint back to the Clubhouse for the few empty sinks. All this was too much for L/Cpl Felstead of "nasal curry" fame, he paid his respects to a friendly anti-tank gun by honking beside it, and the sight of the excellent porridge for breakfast nearly prompted an encore!

We saddled up and made our way to the ranges, Pirbright Number 3(a), here the morning was spent zeroing and getting the shooters used to the loud bangs that they make when the trigger is pulled. The newer members of the Coy were encouraged in their endeavours by comments like "I've seen a blind, deaf cripple shoot better than that", and, "If you point that rifle at me you had better use it!".

Major Sims visited later to shoot his classification. he did very well, scoring 13/11 and 14/13 on a couple of the practices -such style. The top G Coy shot of the day was Captain Layden with 52/70, those lower down the list had to shoot again the next day.

To reduce the incidence of heart failure among the coaches, mandatory rifle drill was given to all on arrival back at the Clubhouse, followed by rifle cleaning which occupied most until supper.  All but four foolhardy people who thought that a four mile trot around Bisley may be fun, when asked to confirm this after the run we were greeted by a stream of invectives.

The highlight of the evening was when CSM Archdale refused to sing a song when called upon (or he didn't get a chance), he was then surrounded by a ring of evil grinning faces, those of Ptes Dyer and Groombridge (pronounced Gloomblidge) being prominent, who proceeded to debag him. This left the CSM supine on the floor bellowing for the return of his trousers and Y-fronts! They were returned-eventually.

The party petered out about 01.30, I know because that was when all the lights were turned on and everybody woken up by a cacophony of voices all trying to outshout each other.

06.00, all up sharp, why? No PT of course - such an incentive.  A very early start that day, the first shot going down the range on a cold and frosty morning, at 08.05 in semi darkness, all this left the range warden speechless, but recovering in time to brew pints of hot tea for the butts party at token prices.

Indeed things ran so smoothly that two details had fired by 09.30 freeing a couple of people from the butts party to shoot on the last detail. The overall winner was Cpl Ormiston with a score of 63/70, thank heavens for 6" nails!

Rather than standing around fiddling with our weapons because we had finished so early Lt Cairns thought he would organise some PT with a difference. While helping on the ranges Lt Cairns noticed that CSM Archdale was not moving very well about point so he, organised eight of us to carry Mr Archdale from the 300 yard firing point to the 200, such a shame about that puddle and us losing our grip, still, shouldn't have much trouble filling up the Camp Shitelist, we were about to help him out of the puddle, when, fearing we had evil intentions the CSM shot off at a pace that left many of us wondering where he had gone!

We were all glad that the catering team under C/Sgt Norton had swept and tidied the Clubhouse so that once the weapons were cleaned we made a quick get away from a most enjoyable week-end.

But, for the crew that returned in Ted Dyer's van the story does not end there, for after an uneventful trip from the Clubhouse to a pub and the pub to about Earls Court a wisp of steam could be seen coming from under the bonnet - sod we've overheated!

Looking in the radiator it was bone dry, what do we do about water? Of course, the canteens, five were poured in and apart from the jet of steam we could hear a gurgling noise and just noticed that the main hose had split. Luckily the split was near the end so we undid the clip and cut the hose, but not before all the water we had put in had drained away.

Not to be put off, the remainder of the hose was secured, for the second time what do we do for water'? Ted Dyer came up with the solution, we had all downed several pints and were in great need of relief, so by the side of a busy road we all filled the radiator to the utter disbelief of the passing motorists!

This served us well and we all got back to 59, I imagine Ted is still driving around without having changed the "water", after all, he hardly needs any anti-freeze.