When I finished training I had 2 weeks off, after the 2 weeks, I headed to the battalion in central London only to find that the regiment was also on 2 weeks’ leave. I think it was easter leave maybe? I forget.
The following happens within the week of the battalion returning from leave. So at this point, I was in my 3rd week in the battalion.
When they came back, my friends and I started settling in. 1 of those friends immediately put his notice in to leave the army, which he was well within his rights to do, as he was still only 17. At that age you had (or still have?) 6 months for DAOR which is Discharge As Of Right I believe. Billy as he liked to be known had a special father shall we say. By no means do I mean this in a bad way. Actually far from it. After I heard how respected he was around the place. His father said in order to get his respect he had to do basic military training and that was it. So he did. Billy was to be fair, one of the best blokes I’d met at this point and if I’m honest with myself, probably ever was. Great bloke. His brother was awesome too. Also Known as billy for various reasons. Anyway. So he left the army about 4weeks after getting to the battalion. That left I think… 5 of us joining the Irish Guards. Myself, Culligan, Keith, McLoving from Coventry and a South African lad who was well respected amongst us.
I got put into 2 Company 6 platoon. I just took a moment to think about that. It was either number 6 or 4 platoon to start with. I moved around and the platoon numbers changed so much it’s hard to remember sometimes the exact numbers. But I digress again. I had Culligan and McLoving in my platoon i think. South African lad went to 1 company and Keith joined 4 or 6 platoon. Always in 2 Company, if I was 4 he was 6 and vice versa if I was 6 he was 4. Eventually at the end of my career leaving 2 coy, I was 6 platoon before doing my last year or 2 into MT platoon.
My 1st few nights were sleepless. I struggled. I got picked on and I was bullied. I’ve not told many about the horrors when I first joined. I had a guardsman. Let’s call him Guardsman (Gdsm) Ethel. Gdsm Ethel was an absolute cunt of an ass to me in the mornings. For whatever reason, he would love to be in my room regardless of what time my alarm was set for, and literally, and im not exaggerating when I say he would lift the foot of my bed up and just full-on throw me out of my bed. Absolute plonker. Hated him.
After this encounter, I lost a lot of motivation for wanting to be in the army. I had gone past my DOAR time, and it was about this time that I just saw it as a job that I couldn’t be sacked from. Gdsm Ethel made my life hell for a fair bit. There were others, but he sticks out in my mind most. Or at this present time of my army life, he sticks out. Like a sore thumb in fact. From here, I spiralled into not really giving a care at all. This was picked up, as I started to smell, didn’t really brush my teeth, showered less, didn’t iron my clothes, as well as I, could have, I didn’t care about how my kit was looking and this showed as I started to get 10 O’Clock shows. 10 O’Clock show was where, if you had been inspected by a person of rank or authority, and had been picked up on anything you would have to go to the guardroom to show that what was wrong when inspected was now fixed or corrected. Not only that but obviously the rest of your uniform had to be immaculate too. So much so that those who usually got a 10 O’Clock show would: Re shave so it’s fresh, re-iron fresh new clean combats, boots freshly polished, and depending if it was summer order or winter order would dictate if sleeves were rolled up or down. I’m pretty sure you can guess what part of the year is rolled up sleeves or rolled down sleeves.
So, Platoon (Plt) Sergeant (Sgt) was Sgt Corcoran (RIP gone too soon) was my Plt Sgt. Cool, seemed like a nice enough character, and he was. He introduced us to our platoon. I remember a few from that. Mad dog and Gaz E, haha. Both great. There was a funny lad whose name escapes me that Gaz would hang with. Scouse lad. Ended up going to prison. That’s another story but he was generally an OK guy to be around. Gaz’s catchphrase would be FUCK’EM or BOLLOCKS with a pleasant laugh after saying such catchphrases.
Everyone who joins from new into the army back then used to do an initiation. It’s been in the newspapers a few times that I’ve seen for what goes on in these but my initiation was really enjoyable. I was to drink from Topper’s famous 1974 boot. (Topper was my Plt Sgts nickname). In this boot, the lads had poured anything and everything. All the beers, all the liquors. So many liquors. Rice and chicken someone was currently eating? in it goes. An unused condom ( that i saw get opened in front of me)? in it goes. We then stood on a chair so everyone could see me drinking this concoction of diabolical proportions, and admittedly I didn’t really taste much as I put the heel of the boot up to my mouth to start guzzling it all down. The chicken needed to be chewed as I drank, the rice just slipping down, the condom flung half out hit my forehead, and down the hatch, it went. I drank all of it. It was messy. I climbed down off my chair ran the length of the corridor and spun with my head on a broom pole I pivoted around said broom handle and ran back. This time was Keith’s turn. After we all managed to do this we all went out. I remember going downstairs and I remember going to Soho/Leceister sq, but I do not recall how I got back. We got a taxi to Leicester square as none of me or my friends knew our way around London. So after that, I don’t recall too much. The boot and its contents I believe had got to me at this point. One thing I will always never know is how I got back to camp. I didn’t know the route back on foot, I don’t think I got a taxi. So I can only deduce that I came back with someone, but who? that I do not know!