"OWER CSM was a roight barsted. I 'ad a button missin' from me drill shirt an e 'ad me cleanin' out the loos fer a week ... wiv a toothbrush "

"An' you remember that night ambush? Yeah, aht in the bleedin' rain fer seven hours, soaked to the skin we was, not even a smoke break. We was feelin 'fair done in, wasn't we? But we showed them Signals Platoon wallies west for though. The silly sods was dyin' like flies all over the place when I let rip wiv me Gimpie! "

Most Jocks usually go home from camp with one or two outstanding memories, happy ones it is hoped. Or else they wouldn't keep coming back for more. This year's camp at Wretham, near Thetford, in Norfolk, should be no exception. For "G" Company and for the rest of the 1st Battalion, the 51st Highland Volunteers, it will be remembered most of all for the rain. For as sure as each day would begin with "Hey, Johnny Cope, are ye wauken yet", and end with "Retreat", it would come down, continuously and in buckets. England is renowned for its fickle climate, but if ever it becomes a tourist attraction, Thetford will surely be a centre of attraction. Mackintosh-clad Americans, puffing on damp cigars, will crowd in yelling, "Jeez, that sure is some storm cloud you've got there, Buddy". And the RSM will turn, smile indulgently and say, with considerable pride, "Aye Sir, but it's no match for our Jocks; they'll fight in any weather".

And so they did. Being a cadre camp there was no lack of things to do and all the nicest people to do them with. The Upgrading Board for Grade 2 to Grade 1 soldiers was conducted by Major Layden, the Sergeants/Junior Officers Cadre by Major Klepak, the Private / Lance Corporal Cadre by Lt Crowe and the Lance Corporal / Corporal Cadre by Lt Cairns. The Anti-Tank Platoon commanded by Captain Henwood practised gun drills for a week, then disappeared to Netheravon for Live Firing. Where the rest of the Battalion's officers fitted in, nobody seems to remember.

Each morning, before the last drone had died, the Camp became alive with swarthy Jocks clad in PT kit and Boots DMS, parading for tickle tests training. Scale A-even the RSM attending, to show his paces, mostly short but ever so determined ones. Sergeant Granger, the Company's ex-officio PTI, tried to brighten things up by ordering the rear files to sprint to the front of the Company every 30 seconds, whilst shouting the step to everyone else. He might well have ended his days on a marble slab had Private Lovelock not offered to show him certain Mafia liquidation techniques. Captain Rose, of HQ Company, showed that old age is no barrier to fitness by performing cartwheels afterwards. He comes out of hospital next week. During week two, by which time the actual test had been run, overworked Jocks and Field Officers benefited from an extra 30 minutes in bed. Junior Officers and certain Captains with non-reserved occupations were however detailed to rise at the normal time for saluting tuition under the RSM, or Reel Practice under the supervision of RQMS Morris. From the Bandroom could frequently be heard the anguished cries of "Can we do tickle training instead, RQ (sob). Please?"

Every day was fully occupied with drill, lectures, lessons and Field exercises. The camp was a model of efficiency. The RSM in his opening address to the Junior NCOs said, "You will work very hard, but above all I want you to be happy. A happy soldier reflects his own personal pride and the efficiency of his unit". So saying, he gave what he fondly imagined was a grin.

After the usual period of settling in and switching on to the Infantry frequency, the Camp worked well. No soldier had time to be bored - dress inspections, kit inspections, sick parades, jankers parades, kit cheeks, range practices, more drill, range reshoots, mess parades, fire drill, guard-mounting and OC's orders. It all Happened at Thetford, yet nobody seemed much the worse for it, despite the usual grumbles.

Major Klepak had his students doubling everywhere in full kit - battle bowlers and CEFO, with builders' rubble in their pouches and rifles at the high port, whilst he gave a fair imitation of a grizzly bear. W02 McDonald of K Coy, contracted laryngitis after two days on the square with the Lance-Corporals. "Don't Fidget - Don't you DARE Fidget!". RMO Major Webster had a busy fortnight treating a multitude of ailments and injuries ranging from horse colic and thrush to Parkinson's disease. Lance Corporal Groombridge was confined to a wheelchair after falling from his bunk on to Lance Corporal Hatrick who was polishing his bayonet at the time. Corporal Latto of K Company, a professional caber-tosser when he isn't pitching pit props in a Fife coalmine, had his arm in a sling for a week after straining it in an arm wrestling match. Lance Corporal Pudney was issued with an extra ration of bromide.

Major Graham, Training Major Designate, was never far from any scenes of activity. Like the Gunners (he isn't one), he was everywhere, cromach in hand, with his inseparable spaniel. During meal times the dog slept under the coffee table in the Officer's Mess and begged ginger biscuits from the stewards. This got a bit much for Sergeant Wilson, who had the spaniel put on the ration strength. The Chief Clerk was prevailed upon to allot the following regimental number: FID-079644.

The new battalion Padre, Captain Forbes, from Brechin, showed he had acquired as much in the way of regimental spirit as of the other sort. The hymn singing at church parade being somewhat desultory and not at all joyful, he stopped the band after verse 1 and, including a well-chosen four letter word (beginning with "D")' he castigated the battalion for the sloppiest, idlest rendition of "Praise My Soul" that he had ever heard. A short period of silence followed "Now we will start again". The response was dramatic. The Morriston Orpheus Choir had nothing on the angelic voices of 1/ 51 Church Parade. There was ample scope for the pursuit of pleasure. There was local leave most evenings and Jocks were frequently to be seen rolling back to the barracks at all hours after visits to the nearby hostelries, full to the buttons with Greene King's Abbot Ale, etc. When the attractions of the local nightspots palled, the messes at RAF Mildenhall increased in popularity, due to the all- embracing American hospitality. A number of officers even paraded there in full mess-kit to impress the culture-starved Yanks and were welcomed like long-lost friends.

For those who had missed the opportunity to write themselves off on the battalion outing to Yarmouth the day before, there was a further opportunity to do so on the following day during the battalion Sports Day. A great many did so. The main events were football, volleyball, the 100 metre sprint, 1500 metres, arm wrestling, caber tossing and the chain of command race. Several members of "C" Company gained outstanding credit in these events. Private Cameron turned out to be an excellent and unbeatable sprinter and collected the trophy of the 100 metre event. It laser transpired that he and Steve Ovett had been at school together! Lt Harry Downie, a one time sprinter of note for Scotland, put in steady and reliable performances, but showed that age was beginning to weary him a bit. Captain Robinson was carried off the football field early in the day after a triple head on collision with the Padre and a member of the opposing team. He spent the rest of the week hobbling about with the aid of his ash plant, imitating a Chelsea Pensioner. Sergeant James of the benign and holy look, wore a cope and mitre for the occasion. He got his comeuppance later in the day, when, during the Chain of Command Race, he did, in the execution of his duties as Orderly Room Clerk, cause the carriage of his typewriter to become irreparably jammed, thus putting "G" Company last in that event. He now spends Tuesday evenings practising IAs on Olivetti Mark 11 under Kit's supervision and on OC's orders, must type out 10 times "The quick brown fox jumped .. ."

To conclude Camp 1980, a Regimental Parade was conducted on the final day, attended by a cast of thousands. Captain Scott-Barrett commanding the Recruits' Company, showed that his Guard's word of command had lost none of its incisiveness. The parade was overlong, due only to the fact that the Adjutant had almost half a mile to march from the point where he handed the Parade over to the CO, to his final position to the left of the left flanking Company. Certain Jocks felt the strain considerably, and fainted to attention, to the delight of some American visitors from RAF Mildenhall, who filmed it all madly and to the consternation of Sgt Joe Byrne, who was seen doubling for the first time in Regimental history. Finally the Parade marched past in Column of Route, every man in step, kilts aswinging and the salute was taken by the Honorary Colonel, Colonel David Carnegy-Arbuthnott, TD, DL, CA. The RSM's face was aglow with silent praise.

It was the last camp for Major Mike Melville, 1st Battalion The Black Watch, outgoing Training Major, who is leaving the Army to devote his time to maintaining his estate at Balnacool, near Crieff. Major Melville was a gifted officer whose knowledge and counsel were invaluable. His sense of humour, love of fun and ability to get on well with men at all levels were probably his greatest gifts. He is not irreplaceable, but will he greatly missed all the same. At least now Mr Cairns can confidently reclaim his title to being the Battalion's tallest officer, knowing that he is unlikely to be challenged again for some time.

There wasn't going to be a moral in this tale, but there is now. You Jocks are what matter most. You are the meat in the sandwich, if you like, perhaps not an altogether enviable position in Army life, but an important one, for without you the sandwich would be very unappetising. Officers aren't important, at least not as important as soldiers. As Jocks, you will always grumble about the shortcomings-kit inspections, drill, cookhouse food and that sort of thing. What matters is that you go home knowing that you personally have learnt something new, achieved something, that you have enjoyed a little comradeship, a little fun and that you are part of a great team. You will be back next year.