Hard work but good fun, with more helicopters than sections!  That was the basis on which Exercise Dawn Druid - April 7-9, 1978, to give it its official title, was sold - and as it turned out this was no contravention of the Trade Descriptions Act. Unfortunately, it only had 20 buyers from G Coy with a further 20 from the Westminster Cadets.

Having sorted the sections out and loaded the essential kit, we clambered aboard a chilly four-tonner driven by Captain Layden - I wonder if my life assurance premiums are up to date.  On arrival, sentries were posted and the sections gonked out on the edge of the wood, which gave minimal protection against the piercing gales that were a feature of the week-end.

No sooner had I arrived at the Eros centre in my dreams than I was nudged to a state of semi-consciousness. " Schmatter - gwarnpizzorf ", but the pleb had no sense of humour.

"You've got to be up and ready to move in half an hour", he continued, after all it was 04.30 - groan, mutter, mumble.

After some time of marching in roughly the right direction, apart from one detour, we were met by the OC and, by some minor act of God, we were only 200 m out and much cheered by the fact that the road party and Anti-Tanks were nowhere to be found!

On arrival at the wood we were informed in no uncertain terms of our performance so far by Major Treseder.  After this tongue-lashing, ration packs were issued and the countryside soon smelt of hexiblocks and tea. This was all too good to be true so 2/Lt Pearson gave the order to move out. This we did, advancing in tactical formation towards our safe base, Dumbell Woods.

This area was soon ringing to the sound of entrenching tools as ordered, some digging where others had dug before - no, it wasn't a tumulus!  This activity was made all the more difficult by an imaginary gas attack and the not so imaginary respirators.

The Anti-Tanks got into the act by having their Mobats airlifted, unmanned of course.   This merriment over, the Cadets were sent out as enemy with G Coy sending out recce patrols and a heliborne fighting patrol.  After much shouting and loud noises we returned to base to be whisked away by helicopters to evade the advancing Fantasian units, with the helicopters hugging the ground so closely we thought they were on rails.  After a landing and a briefing we carried out a heli-borne assault of Dumbell Woods that went like greased lightning, and after a swift de-brief, the evening meal was broken out revealing many horrifying variations of the chicken curry.

The sections settled down for their first rest of the day, but not so the planning staff, for a night raid had been arranged against the helicopters, protected by a staggering number of men and tanks - real, not imaginary.  This was related to the patrol leaders concerned who soon had the patrols suitably equipped and camouflaged.

It was 20.00 when the patrol under Sgt Welsh set out and later the night was quite dark, but the ground was well covered in twigs which made the five of us sound like an army marching on Rice Krispies!  Some excellent mapwork got us to within earshot of the enemy when a Rover moving along a nearby road, with headlights on, gave us away.

Apparently during the night a convoy of vehicles drove into the woods, they were promptly stopped and the lead driver, who wasn't used to having rifle barrels stuck up his nose, hastily said that they were the HAC and the Pln Commander was two Rovers back.  No they couldn't have the woods, we were here first, but they could use the western edge, they revved their engines and disappeared in a cloud of dust.

The morning was marred by getting up and the activity that followed as we prepared to move locations.  This involves a time-honoured ritual - the OC tells the Pln Commander to get a move on, he tells the Pln Sgt to get the men moving out now, he tells the Section Commanders to wake their bloody ideas up and they rage at the Jocks saying that is should all have been done ten minutes ago!  It's funny how it works, but it does.

We were about to carry on when the OC, his voice now hoarse from the week-end's exertions and exhortions, gained control.  He gathered us round and explained that wiping out your own Anti-Tanks really wasn't the thing to do and that as a penance we should all double down to a tank crossing some 200 m distant and back, this we reluctantly did, reluctant all save Lt Cairns who, with great gusto, picked up the nearby Karl Gustav and was seen to outpace many a Jock!

The remainder of the morning was taken up with the now traditional attack up Sidbury Hill, iron age man certainly knew what he was doing when he built the hill-fort up there.  Our return march / crawl to base was followed by the news that we were going to hit a boozer on the way back but we had to clean up first. This causes a stampede for the large packs on the back of the four-tonner, followed by screams as razors hack away at two days' growth, while others ponce boot polish, which is surprisingly easy when the victim is smaller than you.

Looking a good deal less warlike, we inflict ourselves on a nearby pub, no ordinary pub mind you, a WADSWORTH pub, or was it Wordsworth, being a lager drinker the name means nothing to me.  "Drinks on the Coy" was the word, so twenty-two pints of bitter was the order. "Mine's a lager", I said, taking a few steps nearer to the door before twenty-one real ale freaks form a lynching party.

After several pints of a very tasty lager / real ale, the pub shuts, leaving us to play a quick game of murderball in a nearby field, organised by Cpl Granger, who has emerged from his lair of headphones and mush he calls the CP.

All agree, a grand game that, no ball, no referees, no rules - no problem, rather like the week-end really.