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By Wilmot Godfrey James

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Not wilfully, but we are not going back in that hole. Come on… come and make us,’ Scott growled furiously. He stood there aggressively, hands on his hips and the cadet backed off, wisely deciding not to push his luck. ‘Captain Cooper will hear of this. I’ll see that you both swing,’ he said and stalked off. We never heard another word on the subject however – and we continued to sleep above ground. It was a second victory for us. As the exercise continued we exasperated the cadets by our unwillingness to cooperate.

It was competitive, and there were records to break and other squads to beat. It gave me a tremendous feeling of satisfaction sitting muddy and breathless at the end of the course, to listen to Sergeant Larrett announce that Green Squad had beaten the rest. The parade square didn’t belong to us perhaps. But the assault course was ours without argument. If we did particularly well we were rewarded with a canteen pass, which allowed us to go to the Troopers’ Canteen for two hours in the evening. This was a great privilege, mainly because it gave us the opportunity to smirk at the other squads.

An FN is not a gun but a rifle, and to call it by any other name was a serious offence… We’d been told we must treat our FN as we would a wife – even to the extent of being prepared to make love to it. My mind boggled. Thirty seconds later we were doubling around the infernal grenade wall. The wall was about four hundred metres from the instruction area and we got to double around it so many times each day that I soon lost count. It was the instructors’ favourite means of punishment. Out of the blue the sergeant would suddenly order us to stand up.

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