NAPOLEON USED to fiddle about inside his shirt- front; Montgomery had an absurd taste in hats; Captain Queeg liked to roll ball-bearings in the palm of his hand when nervous. Our Coy Commander had none of these. But he carried a big stick, AND HE USED IT!

After only a year in command of G Coy, our Sunray is leaving us, for reasons best known only to him. His name needs no mention; simply to say that for those of us who care what training for war is all about, it is synonymous with directness, aggressiveness, withering tongue-lashings and invective of the worst kind. As a reminder to those of us who may forget at times what we are preparing for, I would like to dwell briefly on our Sunray and these characteristics of his in the light of recent Coy activities this year.

It may be news to some of you that our Sunray was once of the Gunners. In spite of the many peculiarities of this Corps, for as long as I have known him, our Sunray has been a Jock through and through - " in with the bayonet and bags of smoke ". I've a notion, however, that his aggressive spirit may have had its origins in the Gunners. If ever you have stood in the midst of a battery of 105's or 5.5's firing a mission, in a world of stinking cordite, smoke, clanging breech-blocks, orders being screamed right and left, and above all, the unearthly racket of six guns firing at a time, then you may know why. At times you can almost hear the adrenalin being pumped round and round.

There are many qualities required of soldiers in war – self-confidence, courage, initiative, quick thinking. The list is a long one. The business of killing people is a terrible thing, but if it must be done at all, then it must be done well. To be an effective killer, the soldier as well as being a good shot, must be aggressive. An aggressive soldier, well handled, can think for himself, for his platoon and react quickly to any situation. He is the one, who with his training and battle drills perfected, faces the enemy with confidence. We all claim to have latent war-like tendencies, and it isn't easy to draw them all out in a single week-end, dragged away from our cosy office-home orbit as we are, and expected to turn into instant soldiers at the flash of the Fairy Godmother's wand. I believe that our Sunray, among other things, made it his business to see that we were more quick-thinking, resolute and aggressive. He did so by personal example.

Our Sunray worked in an office too, but he possessed that remarkable quality, which, like Dracula emerging from the tombs at night, turned him on Friday evenings into a fearful monster that lay in wait for unsuspecting subalterns, junior sergeants, and dim-witted lance- corporals with their minds floating in breast-shaped clouds. His stick, or cromoch, and he was rarely seen without it, was an extension of his right arm, and rumour had it, this stick conducted electrical impulses that issued in a shower of sparks when its owner became agitated.

Those of you who attended Exercise "Dawn Druid" earlier this year learnt, as I did, some very basic lessons which had either rusted with neglect or had been forgotten altogether. For a start we were trundling along at our civvie street pace. We did things wrong, we did things badly, but it simply wasn't good enough to be firmly told so and left at that.

We were doing everything wrong! We weren't reacting quickly, we weren't moving quickly, we weren't aggressive. Junior leaders weren't thinking quickly or clearly; we weren't thinking at all. Wrong decisions were being made; we were slow, sloppy. We were asleep! In short we weren't soldiers at all. Instead, a bunch of poofs in fancy dress! The message was (leaving out all the colourful expletives) "Switch on Infantry -or else!"

Our Sunray was Dracula indeed! His well-padded frame shook in paroxysms of rage. He cursed, he swore, he pleaded, he cajoled. His face became vermilion hued and he yelled himself hoarse in his efforts to wake us up, and all the while his stick quivered expectantly in his hand. The RSM Guards Depot could not have held a candle to him! When we attacked, he attacked with us, running in hard behind the extended line, roaring fearfully, shouting encouragement and pushing along weary Jocks whose crumbling legs and bursting lungs were slowing them down. And woe betide any soldier, enemy or own, that stepped unwittingly in his path. The weight of his stick I felt at least once, and though I have no memory of the pain, the lesson that Sunray was making plain has stuck in my mind.

When at last we started to perform to his satisfaction, we were plainly and forthrightly told, "Yes, that was good! That's the way it must be done. Keep it up". On the Saturday night of "Dawn Druid", the Coy achieved some measure of self-satisfaction when two patrols bumped a position defended by some RAF nitwits, and came away with one RAF beret and a captured SLR. We were being aggressive, and Sunray liked that!

Most of us who were on that week-end will not easily forget that classic Sunday morning SNAFU, when one platoon fired upon the other shortly after taking up a position that both were to occupy. It was a situation that has occurred in real war before, and one which could easily have been avoided had we been alert, thinking men. It might well have passed off as a rather funny incident, had Sunray not been looking on. He had been standing apart at a distance, and observed it all in what I imagine was a horrified, pregnant silence. He then rushed in upon the scene of the shambles, shrieking and brandishing his stick, like Rory Mhor at a rout of the MacDonalds! The tongue-lashing we then received eclipsed all the many others that we had taken that week-end. We were tired, it was true; meals had been of a " snatch and bolt " type, and patrols and skirmishes had been constant. But that is what real war is all about!

Since " Dawn Druid ", similar activities have followed. The many-recessed Chamber of Horrors at Annual Camp, when we proved conclusively that many of the hard lessons learnt earlier had stuck. I well remember Sunray on the epic Exercise "Blue Hackle II ", who marched the entire distance of that horrible mountain road with us, yelling on frequent occasions, " C'mon, G Coy; only three miles to go! " Any fool with a smattering of map-reading knew that it was at least twice that distance, but that wasn't the point.

After 12 years of part-time soldiering, I am still learning, because as a volunteer, I cannot spend nearly enough time upon the complexities of my art as I would like to, and can never be a soldier fully trained for war until there is one. Every minute of our training time is precious, therefore it is necessary for such people as Sunray to lean heavily upon us at times. I personally have suffered various field punishments, such as being reduced to the ranks on several occasions during Camp, and being ordered to carry the MAW Carl Gustav on long tactical route marches!

There are many qualities that can be attributed to Sunray T. The few I have described here are the ones which matter most to me. I believe that he is a Commander G Coy can ill afford to lose; men who combine sound experience with fire in their blood are hard to come by in our business. But here I tread upon delicate ground. I say these things not to the disparagement of Coy Commanders past or future; indeed we must give our new Sunray all our support, loyalty and service without looking back.

But I shall look back at times, and remember with respect, the time that Sunray Treseder dressed us all down so scathingly, yet was so nice about it all afterwards. Some of us are better soldiers now.

NINER CHARLIE