Chris becomes a Lancer

Hello All,

Just a brief one I'm afraid as times are busy.  However i have the great honour of letting you all know i will be commissioning into the Queen's Royal Lancers as a Formation Reconnaissance Troop Commander, which is exactly what i wanted. It was a nerve racking process, and for our whole Platoon it's been a pretty emotional week.  There have been a few unfortunate let downs, most of them wholly undeserved, but on the whole the majority are off to where they want which is excellent.

In other news we are being beasted through a combination of mental and physical tests, culminating on Monday with the dreaded log race, a 3.5 km race through rivers and around the academy carrying two logs and numerous other heavy lumps of inconvenience as fast as we physically can.  Our Platoon is a strong one, so this is our time to shine, which piles on the pressure but getting it done will be a major hurdle jumped.  As the training for the event has taught us though it will hurt quite like nothing else can.  Within the first 50m every part of you is screaming to stop and it is only a sense of loyalty which sees one through. 


I will write again when time allows in more detail.  In the meantime here are a few grainy photos of the boxing night, where a few of our strongest Trojans ultimately unsuccessfully thumped the crap out of some of the juniors.

Druid's Fridge

Well that is the final ‘conventional war’ exercise at Sandhurst completed, and also, excellently our last foray into Wales.  Things are looking up!  Having said that I am delighted to report that despite some pretty incredible hardship I reminisce on Druid’s Ridge with a more positive tint than I have with an Exercise before, and I think maybe the Army is getting to me as I kind of enjoyed it!  I’m afraid there is much to report and i have a wealth of photographic evidence so buckle up this may be a long one.

This exercise then was the culmination of our conventional warfare training and our first experience of fighting in, around and over buildings.  It followed a fairly logical and sequential narrative, and as such i shall describe along those lines.

Our cosy sentry position  as we awaited the attack

We deployed early, arriving in Brecon and the OBUA (Operations in Built Up Areas) village at 9am.  The village is a purpose built facility of around 40 buildings looking spookily like an East German village, complete with sewers to run through and haunting burnt out skeletons of tanks and vehicles littering the roads.  We did a number of lessons that morning, before charging headlong into making what was already a rather scenically challenged village into what can only be described as a hell hole.  We set about sandbagging up windows, covering every possible approach with razor wire and creating ‘rat runs’ with corrugated iron.  After about 24 hours graft we had created a stalingrad esq nightmare, and were fairly content with our fortress town.

Conducting patrols and the occasional attack out of the village we lived and worked in the hollow shells of the buildings. I also had to do an interview with the fake media in my role as a section commander, and I think fairly effectively managed to articulate what I, and the ISAF forces were doing making a mess of a village in the hypothetical ‘Sennymand’ province.  There was still mud and sand everywhere, and it was bloody freezing but being able to get into your sleeping bag under a concrete ceiling for the few snatched hours sleep every night was a huge luxury.

'Back Term Hill'

It was however not to last. On the 4^th morning the inevitable attack came.  My section spent a nervous few hours listening over the radio and out the window as the Gurkha’s machine guns edged ever closer to our building, flushing out weary Officer Cadets as they went. 

 Eventually it was our turn, unfortunately I only had time to loose off a few rounds from my LSW (light support weapon) before we quite literally ran away. What then ensued is what the DS called a ‘tactical withdrawal’ and everyone else in the world would refer to as a beasting, as we had to walk, with all kit, weighing at least 55 kilos for about 2 and a half hours to evacuate the village.  This culminated with a huge bastard hill, by which stage our backs were screaming and we were all struggling to keep control of both our weapons and our composure.  However worse than the walk was the fact it was delivering us kicking and screaming back into the Brecon woodland which we had so gratefully left on Crychan’s Challenge in Juniors.

A flooded shell scrape!

The Rural stage was always going to be the shit bit and it was!  We dag in and then spent three days doing various wilderness based activities designed to enable us to retake our precious village.  We did recce patrols, ambushed, were ambushed while in vehicles, and conducted a full night time Company attack.  The complexity was indeed up, and we were doing things which would have fried our tiny minds last term, but that wasn’t the problem.   

The boys working into the gloom on my grotty hole.

The Problem was we were in Wales, and it rained, and rained and rained.  Our shell scrapes descended into a First World War nightmare of mud and rifle, every inch of every item we possessed soaked and covered in an impossible layer of slick mud.  One can abide the mess, and once you give in to the fact everything is dirty it does begin not to bother you, but the cold and wind was constant.  On one disgusting evening my poor section had to lay in a field mid storm for 3 hours waiting for the Company to attack.  As we maintained our tactical spacing you were very much alone fighting a stationary battle against the weather.  All attempts to maintain a firing position went out the window, we must have looked a sorry sight quite literally curled up in balls shaking uncontrollably as hour after hour passed with the pitch black ceiling above us pouring a staggering amount of water onto our shuddering forms.

Post ambush hiding in muddy irrigation diches.

What we are beginning to realise however is that is exactly what makes us different, what makes us soldiers is the ability to simply crack on.  I still have no idea how men far better than any of us could have endured conditions incomparably worse for years in previous wars, but we were proud of our resilience in that woodblock.  The humour returned in good fashion and as we trudged through swamp after swamp only to return to flooded holes in the floor spirits were irrationally high.

In remarkably good spirits just before extraction to the barn.

Then Sandhurst did something i’d never expected it to, it showed compassion. We were plucked from our rural nightmare and placed with bewildered expressions into an enormous barn and told we had 36 hours to prepare for the final attack. This involved eating everything we could find, and sleeping the longest night’s sleep i’ve had in 6 months.  It was absolute bliss, and we were happier than we have been in a long time, everything was still filthy and we were still knackered, but that could not dampen our joy as the long platoon lines slumbered.  This time also coincided with Sunday, and a very moving Rememberance Service. The padre set up his mobile altar at the top of a valley, and for the first time I looked out at Wales’ rolling hills and was reminded just how beautiful it is.  The names of every man we have lost this year were read out in a painfully long procession, and we sung with emotion fuelled gusto worthy of the valleys we had been fighting over.  If any one of us had failed to do so yet, I am sure that stood there with our rifles, and our weary bodies facing the grim fact that within a couple years some of the names stitched to chests around us would be being read out by the next wave of Sandhurst Cadets, we all faced the realities of what exactly we were putting up with all this crap to do.

The Padre's mobile altar on Sunday.

With that in mind and with growing energy we planned for the final attack back onto the village.  Our Company once again was given the most challenging task, and began the 8km trek to our Forming Up Point (FUP) just after midnight.  We then lay in wait for the rest of the intake until at ¼ to 5 precisely the village was subjected to simulated artillery assault.  We were expecting a few loud fire crackers, what we were not expecting was the fifteen minutes of body shaking explosions rolling through the hills, and the 30ft high towers of flame spewing from the village 200m, away as we lay watching wide eyed in the bushes.

The mighty 2 section rested and ready for the final attack.

 

A very intense looking me hiding behind a landrover,

The attack itself was rather an anticlimax for my Platoon as we were largely left with the mopping up, we did however have great fun smashing through doors, and crashing over the iron sheeting  blocking the roads.  I can’t put my finger on why but fighting in towns is just fun! It may just be because it doesn’t involve laying down on the mud, but tearing across roads and clearing buildings as you take growing numbers of casualties is exhilarating stuff.

'Shot' in the head with a smile,

We prepare to attack one of the final buildings.

Druid’s then, at least in hindsight was good, it was wary, it was wet and it was fun.  Finally this is what the videos promised!  My Platoon remains remarkably resilient and we lost no one to either injury or to a change of heart, which is certainly not the norm.  We continue to doggedly hammer away at this course with what is now becoming notorious silliness but a remarkable ability to endure, certainly in comparison to the other dwindling Platoons.  That was a big hurdle, now though we are back in the busy world of Sandhurst, a trip to France and then the all important Regimental Selection Boards.  I imagine it will be after those I will next report.  Lets hope it’s good news, and I have a Regiment I will be proud to be part of to tell you all I will be joining. Enjoy the photos.

One of my more scenic attempts at a photo of military life.

Inters Continues

Hello all, my sincere apologies for my absence here for so long.  The rumoured business of the intermediate term regretfully was reality.  The usual schedule of exercise, lessons and bullshit has continued; yet now our evenings are taken up with homework and preparation for presentations and various other fun academic based activities.  One can only really liken it to a busy day at school followed by an hour at the gym, followed by an evening working in a laundry, while trying to complete your well overdue dissertation at the same time.  Things have been busy.

However with the impending Exercise Druids Ridge on the horizon, and an even more hectic few weeks after that i will attempt to stem the flood and update on what has passed over the last few weeks.  After First Encounter we were plunged muddy and tired but entirely willingly into a period of sustained academic endeavour in our War Studies, DIA (Defence and International Affairs) and CABS (Communication and Applied Behavioural Science) building for day after day of pondering morality, learning just how much better the Germans were than us at fighting in 1940, and discovering exactly how confusing and hopeless the world’s political situation was.  However for minds, admittedly starved of intelligent debate and honed to blind obedience, these days of coffee breaks and peace, hidden away from the bereft Colour Sergeants during our illicit encounters with overweight, balding, unpolished shoe wearing,  entirely unmilitary boffins this was bliss. 

 

The Bliss began to be tempered however by more and more gruelling PT sessions, heaving logs around roads, and charging in unremitting agony about the academy with our daysacs and rifles and webbing as the Directing Staff sought to rid us of our blossoming academic bellies. 

There has also been another entirely welcome trip away from Sandhurst, and to one of my Regimental suitors up in Yorkshire.  I had a wonderful time and am entirely smitten with the Regiment in question, and even the obligatory nights drinking, which did descend into semi naked lime cordial and brown sugar coated wrestling (don’t ask), but this time it was inclusive fun rather than targeted bullying wasn’t too bad, and i felt a lot more at home. 

 Time will tell if i impressed them in return, but fingers crossed.

 

We’ve also hosted (and i endured the seating plan nightmare) a hugely enjoyable Dinner Night, to which Parents were invited.  It was a novel but very welcome experience for us all to bring our loved ones into work, in strange role reversal, and then getting steadily merry as the scary Regimental Sergeant Major becomes less and less scary as he stands (girly G&T in hand) chatting to one’s parents.

The last few weeks then have been a whirl of activity, but without any real focus on which to report.  I have learnt to shoot a pistol (which it turns out despite all the films would literally struggle to hit a barn door at any more than 25m!), i’ve learned to climb a 6ft wall in the official style, and i’ve learned that Yemen is definitely a shit hole, but i’m not sure how much i’ve progressed as a soldier.  The upcoming exercise i suppose will tell.  The complexity we’re told has ramped up, and we’re now expected to be at least half way competent (no more 360 degree attacks).  

 We have the intrigues of fighting in buildings, conducting ambushes, and the pretend media bugging us while we try to remember which end of our rifle the bullets meant to come out of after 7 days on next to no sleep.  I hope the complexity, and the thrill of fighting Gurkhas up and down clean mud free stairs for at least some of the time will make this one fun.  I fear the cold and wet of Wales in November, and the inevitable shame as one forgets to collect half of your sleeping platoon after they’ve been laying in ambush for 6 hours, or the fact my feet will definitely be wet for every second, and probably at least one of the floppy pale wrinkled messes will fall off at some stage will, instead make it rubbish.   

But either way it will be done and this again is one of those big steps in the course. I will report my progress in a few weeks.  In the meantime here are a number of largely irrelevant photographs, some of one of the more fun PT sessions on the high wire course, where i discovered i’m still not afraid of heights but that cable does hurt your hands, and some of academy sports day, and our Company Rugby Team beating everyone.  Wish us luck, Wales didn’t beat us last time lets hope now its winter it will continue to show us mercy.

First (Worst ) Encounter

Mid Deturfing

Tuesday morning the trench takes shape

Well its done, which is wonderful!  First Encounter is another one of those hurdle moments in the course and its over, it was also number 3 of the 'big six' exercises so I'm half way!  I'd love to be reporting that its was great fun, and really just like being a kid, building sand castles with some mates.  But it wasn't, it was at times as they would say here 'turbo shit'.  In short the first 3 days were truly grim, and particularly the night times were just about as low as i can ever remember being.  Fortunately the last 2 days picked up a little for reasons i will henceforth explain.  On the up side the static nature of the Exercise and some weirdly cooperative Directing Staff meant much photo and film taking, so this will be a media intensive post, i hope that goes down well.

Snatching some sleep

So what happened, well we deployed early, and just to ensure we arrived at where we were to start digging sweaty and miserable we had a 5km or so 'insertion TAB (tactical advance to battle)' while carrying all our kit, which we believe averaged in at about 50kg.  Once our steamy, weary selves finally made it to the big field that was to be home we started digging at about midday on Monday.  Save for the odd gruelling night time recce patrol, and a period of about half an hour at first and last light where we all stood guard we then dug, non stop until late on Wednesday night.

Wed morning and the metal's in.

Day in day out no let up, just cadets, shovels and lots and lots of earth. I, and i think its fair to say we, went to some pretty dark places as we stubbled and grovelled through the night time hours, everything aching and our minds in absolute turmoil as to why exactly you are here doing this.  We all wanted to give up with literally every inch of our being, but it says huge amounts about our sense of loyalty, not to our Country, the Queen nor even the Army but to our muckers in the Platoon and Company who were standing bleary eyed next to you, sometimes literally collapsing into heaps only to stand up again and keep passing turf for the next 40 hours. This time, truth be told there was little mindless banter and silly chit chat, we all went introspective and had to fight the battle in our minds, but we were not fighting it alone, and to a man we got through it. Yes we were late finishing our trenches but we did finish the bastards, and when we finally collapsed into their narrow confines for an hour or so snatched sleep on Wednesday night it was not with resentment, but neither was it pride.

I saw friends literally swaying and staring into the distance, completely removed from any sort of immediacy, i saw people fall out of consciousness within 30 seconds of sitting down, and experienced my own mind descending into lunacy as i saw baby dinosaurs playing in the fields and bushes morphing into BMW's as i scanned the bright sunlit grass for the enemy.What i did not see though, certainly not in abundance was giving up, arguments and the bickering predicted.  There were of course fatigue induced grumbles occasionally but the remarkable propensity here to crack a smile just when you know your friend needs one, or a conciliatory pat on the back as you drop what must be the five hundreth sod of turf youve uprooted that night in a undignified heap is something i've never been pushed to experience outside the ridiculous confines of the Army.

Fortunately things turned slightly for the better once the defences were made, there were still barbed wire fences to erect, minefields to lay, night attacks to be conducted and gurkhas with gas to be repelled, but there was now brief rest bite between the periods of activity.  The beautiful weather was both a blessing and a curse, stunning sunset followed beautiful dusk, and our trenches remained dry throughout.  But with temperatures in the high 20s we sweated and coughed through our respirators and charcoal lined suits, and the dust infected everything.

Things ended on a crescendo of gaseous violence as we were attacked by and then counter attacked against a Gurkha dawn attack. Struggling but eventually succeeding to repel an enemy advance under the weight of our CBRN suits.  Then it was back to the grind stone as our trenches had to be filled in and then re turfed, this time though a digger helped, but it was still a 6 hour slog to finish with.

Defending against the Gurkha attack.

On Crychans we saw the point, we learnt to soldier, on First Encounter truth be told i did not.  I learned to 'operate under conditions of stress and fatigue'  but i know what it is to be knackered, and angry, Long Reach and Crychans have taught me that.  Did we learn anything about defence and how to organise one against the enemy? No, i learnt i flipping hate digging and i never want to de turf anything ever again.  I know we're not meant to understand at the moment, and some time in my career it will become crystal clear what that was all about, but for now i'm just glad its over.  We smiled for the photos and laughed when we could, but this was very much a sense of cheerfulness in the face of adversity, which i suppose is a skill enough in itself.  Its probably brought us closer though, and knowing that i can share i smelly dusty hole in Norfolk for 5 days with the likes of Gibo, Over and Vausey and never for one moment not want them about is a pretty good feeling.  They wanted us to descend to hating each other, but we didn't, we dug a big fucking hole for three days, slept in it for less than 4 hours then filled it in again, and laughed at the futility of it all.

Gas Gas Gas, Guns Guns Guns.

So that's week two over, and  it has been a flurry of activity, not unpleasant but crazily busy.  The week has been largely focused on next weeks exercise and as such we've been learning lots about defencive operations and planning, writing orders and struggling to get all the bits and bobs we will need prepared.

We've also continued to be bombarded by CBRN stuff, and can now successfully not only put our gear on in an emergency, but eat drink and various other bodily function in our clumsy suits.  This culminated with a trip to the Respirator Testing Facility (Gas Chamber).  Perversely we were all rather disappointed when everyones respirator did indeed work and we carried out all our drills successfully, and no one really came out with anything more severe than a runny nose. It wasn't quite the streaming eyes and dribbling we wanted for the photos!


We've also had a day on the ranges, where fingers crossed my usually inept shooting has taken a turn for the better and i did rather well, which is making me resent my rifle perhaps that little bit less.  Lets see if that lasts the entirety of next week when the deceptively heavy bastard has to be within 1m of me 24 hours a day.  A few good circuit sessions in the gym and a predictably hilarious return to the drill square after a month off and the week has been complete.

We are left now with the simple matter of Exercise First Encounter to deal with.  At least 48 hours of solid digging to start, followed by running engagements with this time Company strength (90+) Gurkhas who are happy to use chemical attacks doesn't exactly sound like fun. Our hope is that the surreal nature of digging a massive hole while having not slept for days on end, all the while dressed like an extra from Alien will keep us going.  Its those times when the fact that as a group we are all i'm sure truly insane, and can be entertained for hours on end by singing crap pop hits, or discussing whether it would be better to have a sausage for a nose or a eyelashes made of charcoal, really makes the difference between imploding in a puddle of self pitying civilian, or standing up and being counted even when every inch of you wants to stop digging take off your body armour, throw your rifle in a puddle and go to the pub.

It will  no doubt be breathtakingly tiring and sore and sweaty, but it is my real hope that it will also at stages be fun, and when we finally sit in our complete trenches the sense of achievement should be great. My gardening gloves are primed and my snickers pouch is full , and my next post here will tell if i survived 'Worst Encounter'.

Inters: New College Begins!

So i'm back! After an all too blissful break over the summer i very much slipped back into my civilian mentality.  The freedoms of getting up whenever i wanted, impromptu drinks with friends and not a chance of marching, were all too easy to get used to.
As such driving through the gates and unloading my gear into my new room in New College was not the best feeling i've had in a while. Reminiscent of the feelings i used to have as a 10 year old returning to boarding school i think truth be told i was home sick, expect now i wasn't worrying about French lessons and whether my new football boots were cool enough, it was that i was about to spend a term digging trenches, being gassed and learning how to kill people with a whole range of new weapons.
However i'm pleased to report those low first few days are now well and truly past on saturday night, and i've remembered that this can indeed be fun, and since its my job its not all that bad at all! So what have we done this week? Well things have been undeniably hectic and sleep has been at a premium.  There has been a big emphasis on CBRN (lots of different shitty ways to die), and so lots of running about in silly big suits which couldn't protect us from a spilled coffee let alone a nuclear blast, and stifling respirators.
We also had what can only be described as a school trip to the Defence College at Shrivenham where we played with all the equipment we will be allowed to use once we leave the time warp that is Sandhurst. This involved 270 Officer Cadets crawling around in and out of tanks, and every other bit of military gubbins you can imagine for a day, happily away from the confies of the Academy.  Just as we started thinking the Army was about impressive technology there to make our lives safer, and certainly easier, we then went on Exercise!
It was only a 24 hour 'shake out' and truth be told i actually had fun, and reacquainting oneself with the stinking, knackered, aching world of exercise was probably the shock to my system that was necessary.  One night time recce patrol, creeping about in bushes searching for Gurkhas, a few lessons and a rapid platoon attack, complete with mock artillery and another lung bursting casualty evacuation and we were done and back to camp.

The week has ended in a fairly relaxed manner, but with the foreboding knowledge that things i feel are about to get a little crazy.  You can only be taught about how to dig trenches and put on gas masks for so long before you inevitably find yourself in a trench being gassed.  Which is far from an ideal place to be when you haven't slept for 48 hours.  Here are a few pictures of our 10 year old inner selves being unleashed on some poor undeserving army toys at Shrivenham. More reports to come soon.

Crychan's Challenge

So we have returned, biten and beaten, and covered in shit from Brecon, and Crychan's Challenge. Crychan's is the summatative exercise of the Junior term, and really marks the end of the green bit of the term, leading into next weeks flurry of packing and Drill.  It involved 5 days and nights in Brecon, which really is the; i'd like to say heart, but its far to grim for such a romantic notion; of the Infantry and is infamous for its use by the boys with blacked out faces.  We spent the 5 days being thrashed through attack after attack, attacking through forests, out of swamps, down valleys, up valleys, at night, at dawn and during the day; all involving lots of sweating, frequent rain and sodden boots.  It was true infantry grizzle, and to be fair at times was bloody good fun. 

However despite the war film bravado of charging positions and jumping in and out of ditches like spider man, the truth is very different.  Weighed down with radios and ammunition, and suffering from an average of about 1.5 fitful hours of sleep per night, simply standing up is a major effort every time, let alone commando rolling in and out of a bushes.  The predictable joys of wet, blistered feet and 'prickly heat' as your body armour and smock provide a disgusting insulator to our sweating bodies, and everything, everything covered in a liberal coating of sheep crap as Wales's finest seem to be remarkably prolific shitters.  We are bitten day and night by the midges and every of the many scratches and cuts one picks up is predictably infected we are a pretty sorry state.

However this time the exercise at least has a purpose, and as we fight running battles with the Malyban, and ensure that the hypothetical aid convoys can continue to use Route Dog, we are now learning.  We're also told we're not too awful, which is pretty good!  Despite the odd instant of mistakenly attacking one position from all four angles and as such ensuring that we comprehensively kill the enemy but also each other, and various other bumbling antics as tiredness well and truly kicks in, i get the sense we are getting better.  There's also very welcome added realism which makes the hardships of Exercise slightly easier to bear.  The final Company scale dawn attack starts with a Great War esq countdown, hiding behind a ridge in the gloom waiting for 0500, as simulated mortar fire reigns down on the enemy position and then amongst a sea of illumination flares, muzzle flash and rain we charge over the top, its easy to get carried away.  Added realism though also involves casualties, one of which i later become as i'm 'shot' in the thigh and evacuated out of the battle on a stretcher.  It's with an odd pride, but also huge guilt that you watch your mates applying the tourniquet and writing my casualty report then heaving my sorry arse kilometre after kilmoter on the stretcher as we are bombarded with flash bangs and smoke; just to remind us that the Taliban don't give a crap if your helping a casualty they'll still shoot you in the back.

Crychan's on the whole was grim, it was wet and painful and i'm sure for 90% of the time all of us hated it.  However it served a purpose, and at least now tucked up in camp and appreciating the fact hugely that i'm not sitting in a cowpat, on a hill in the rain about to run for twenty minutes with an aching body, i can see that. If we're all brutally honest i think it also fulfilled at least slightly that little boy desire to properly soldier, to throw grenades, storm trenches and scream down the radio that you're running out of ammunition and are going to have to start throwing your spare socks at the enemy if the runner doesn't reach you soon.  It's that perhaps misguided feeling that other people don't know what this feels like, that after 112 hours of fighting and 8 of sleep you can still keep going and that somehow makes you different that i think spurs us all on.  There's a huge way to go yet but i think we're getting better, and we can now at the very least say we've done Brecon, and yes it rained, and yes it was miserable but we all survived, so screw you Wales! Here are some photos of me looking miserable alone, miserable in small groups and miserable with the rest of my Platoon, enjoy!

Deutschland!

So, i went to Germany this week, which is nice! Just getting away from Sandhurst into the real, no saluting, calling Majors their first names (i'm not even sure i remember my own first name sometimes), 7 o'clock mornings proper Field Army is a joy.  It takes trips like these i think to remind us why where all doing this in the first place, which maybe is the point.  Although the other more salient point perhaps is that it gives us a bloody good look at the Regiments we may be joining and even more so gives them a look at us! 

My visit was characterised my three things, running, looking at stuff and drinking, not always in that order and not always exclusive of each other.  I was hugely impressed by the Regiment, the Mess was massively welcoming and the soldiers some of the brightest i've come across. They did the hard sell and showed us all the 'gucci' bits of kit that the Army actually uses, rather than the Falklands spec stuff we still use at Sandhurst.  They even took me for a ride in a Scimitar (little tank) which was awesome.  As i perched in the commanders position and hurtled about doing my very best tank commander face as a big Fijian gunner explained how everything worked next to me it was blissfully easy to forget about Sandhurst, and the pile of ironing and polishing i have now been reunited with on my return.

The visit was capped off by a very civilised Black tie dinner followed by a rather less civilised drinking session in the Mess afterwards.  I suspect this is where the real test phase began for us, and our performance was most closely scrutinised.  What followed was a typically Cavalry programme of games involving setting fire to stuff, doing potentially dangerous things with champagne, narrowly avoiding ruining the priceless Oil Panting in the corner and ending with a game of Mini Flare Cricket.  We were forcibly encouraged to drink a frankly hideous amount, and then packed off to bed when we had, to the general consensus  lost control of ourselves to enough of an extent.  Drinking raw eggs and Tequila and pints of Gin has never exactly been my cup of tea but these initiations are an unavoidable if archaic part of Army life, especially amongst the more old fashioned Regiments. 

Now back at the Academy things are beginning to ramp up towards our final big exercise of the term Crychans Challenge, which is a week of thrashing in Brecon and promises to be quite a test.  After that we then have to get our Drill up to scratch before the Sovereigns Parade on the last day and begin our move to our new home in New College.  It promises to be a hectic few weeks but i will do my utmost to keep you all updated.

Dinners and Orders

Not really a weekly or even event based post here, but its been a while so thought id keep the ball rolling and let you all know what's been going on over the last week or so. 
Not hugely exciting i'm afraid as the focus is now firmly on the '7 Question Estimate' and giving Orders.  Which truth be told is a pretty tedious process, by which we all come to the decision to go right flanking with a Fire Support Section at 90 degrees in lots of different and convoluted ways.  Then go through an equally convoluted process to deliver said Order to our Platoon in a way that has graduates from good univiersities  baffled; but i'm sure will be clear as day to your average Infantry Squaddie.  Of course i jest; and we all understand why this process has to be so regulated (mainly so when we're in full idiot mode after weeks on no sleep and living in the rain we just follow said process and so don't forget anything) it's still pretty turgid stuff.  It is however the bread and butter of being an Officer so we must all simply swallow it down.

The weeks have however been punctuated by a number of mainly alcohol related festivities, which is the sort of thing we would have dreamed about towards the beginning of the course.  First up was a Platoon night in London, which was the predictable flurry of colourful trousers, overly formal shirts and champagne in one of Claphams, truth be told less classy establishments.  We may appal everyone within a tactical bound of us, but we have fun so who cares.


This is followed by our first Company Dinner Night, which i think its fair to say is a big success.  For those of you as yet unaccustomed to the Dinner Night (I will do my best to correct this for many of you soon!) its classic military fair.  Trumpet calls to dinner, silver one must never ever touch, very tight trousers, bursting for the loo but not be able to go, port drinking, marching band inside the dining hall, banging of tables and putting on our poshest voices stuff!  All of the senior Officers are there, and its a great chance for us all to let our closely cropped hair down, and converse with them as humans rather than strangely keen servants. 

Needless to say drinking goes on far longer than it should; which feels less than good the next day when one is up at 6 regardless, and being forced to run around the athletics track as we all struggle, and some fail, to maintain full control of our churning stomachs.  I suppose there's a lesson there somewhere, but by the look of the various Colonels and Majors last night its clearly one i have many years to learn yet.  As photos are frowned upon (obviously!) here are a few of our getting ready revelry.  More to come soon.