The Loose Screw by Jim Dawkins Read Free Book Online

light infantry. A handful of civilians walked past grinning at the look of despair on our faces -this was obviously a scene they were used to. Even the kid in the silk shirt had shut up and was standing there looking as pale as the rest of us. As the corporal paced up the line shouting his well-rehearsed 'welcome to the British army' speech I couldn't help but think of the similarities between this and that scene in the film An Officer and a Gentleman where Richard Gere arrived at the naval training base, the only difference being that there were no officers in this line-up and certainly no gentlemen.
    We were split into groups and put on one of the minibuses in the car park. Mine was driven by an enormous, bearded civilian who was well-rehearsed in keeping the mood of the moment going with his comments on what we had let ourselves in for. As we passed through the gates of Sir John Moore Barracks on the Copthorne Road our driver shouted out of the window to the group of hard-nosed regimental police, "You can close the gates now we've got them." I swallowed hard.
    Inside the camp the scene was chaotic. There were groups of people running everywhere, some in uniform and some in civvies. We drove past a group of uniformed lads on the parade square and the look on their faces seemed to be telling us to get out of there while we still had a chance. We debussed at the administration block and as soon as we were out we were sucked into the rollercoaster ride of signing forms, receiving injections, undergoing medicals, kit issue, the mandatory skinhead cut, and being allocated to our new platoon.
    In no time at all I was lined up in the ranks of Corunna platoon awaiting the arrival of our platoon commander, Warrant Officer Class One, Wilson. Wilson arrived with the rest of the training staff and at first sight looked like the laughing cavalier with his neatly trimmed moustache immaculately waxed to a needle-sharp point at each end. The only trouble was, he wasn't laughing. He gave us his welcoming speech, which in a nutshell imparted the message, "if you fuck up, I or one of my staff will beat the shit out of you". I do admire a man who doesn't mince his words.
    In turn I was 'introduced' to my new section commander Corporal 'Squid' Rumble, apparently so called due to the fact that he half strangled a recruit in his previous section and, true to his name, he liked a rumble now and again. It turned out that we couldn't have wished for better men to prepare us for our new careers. Both Wilson and Squid were highly experienced men from the Third Battalion Royal Green Jackets and both were as hard as nails.
    Wilson had come up through the ranks and had almost twenty-two years of experience behind him. This is one reason why I detested those high-flying governors that I would come across later in my Prison Service days who gained promotion on merit and by kissing the right arse. It goes back to my old belief that no amount of academic qualifications can substitute experience when you are dealing with real people in real life. All Wilson and Squid were interested in was that we learned what they taught us as it could save our lives in the future. If we performed well they were happy, and if not we got the 'treatment'.
    So effective were their 'methods' that we rarely made the same mistake once let alone twice. It's all changed now, of course. Instructors are not even allowed to touch recruits for fear of a parent complaining about their poor little wounded soldier being shouted at. Well, if you're that protective of your 'little Johnny' then the army is not the place for him. Recruits are not even allowed to run in boots any more in case they damage their poor little tootsies. I only hope the enemy are that sympathetic and allow them time to get their Reeboks on before they overrun their positions in future -what a load of bollocks! The army will be issuing them with furry pink leotards and teaching them ballet next. Maybe we could