A RECRUIT GOES TO CAMP

Otago Daily Times, Issue 23882, 9 August 1939, Page 7

A RECRUIT GOES TO CAMP

TRAINING AT BURNHAM By P. H. W. N. "No recruit will be considered efficient," we were told, " until he has attended a recruit camp." So we, the latest joined members of his Majesty's Territorial Forces, decided that to camp we would amarching go, whether our bosses were willing or no. With a hey Anthony Rowley! As a matter of fact, our bosses proved perfectly willing, even encouraging. With Danzig dancing on the political horizon and a Japaneasy feeling in the air, they seemed positively to welcome our intention to take a week's holiday in the open air to the accompaniment of martial exercises. So, consigning our urgent occasions to the care of our rather envious colleagues, we packed our kit-bags and set off, one doubtful morning in July, for the joys of Burnham. The doubt was in the setting off, for the line had only just been cleared of snowdrifts, but there was no doubt in the two carriages full of recruits of all ages from 17 to 30 odd. We were all starting off on the same foot, all recruits, and as such licensed to make all the mistakes in the military calendaronce. "Jerry," a hardened old soldier of three and thirty, with seven years' training behind him, had joined up as a recruit in a different unit, just because he thought he ought to, and as a recruit was determined to pull the leg of any sergeant in sight. We had joined for all sorts of reasons, but very few, I think, only or chiefly because of the "attractive conditions" offered by our Government. Members of the bestpaid and one of the best-fed territorial forces in the world, most of us would still have been there had we been offered the Englishman's Is 2d instead of the New Zealander's 12s. Though we might not have been there had the menu been anything like the Italian's vegetables and pasta. The New Zealander is not a man who, in Kipling's immortal words, owes his stomach anything.

The journey up was long but not tedious. "Lofty" had brought his violin, and, with its accompaniment, many voices 6f varying quality were raised in cheerful song. At Burnham we fell in, in approximately military formation, and marched off to what for many of us was a first view of the camp. The night was dark but the messroom looked cheerful and on arrival we were fed magnificently on saveloys and potatoes, washed down with jorums of hot tea, and securely wedged with bread and butter. We quivered a little at the sight of tents, in midwinter, but cheered up when we found inside them the unheard of luxury of stretcher beds, once reserved exclusively for officers and gentlemen. The issue of no fewer that six blankets confirmed our belief that we were the spoilt darlings of the army. Even our straw palliasses were ready filled for us. Shades of past camps! A short talk from the O.C. in the gymnasium introduced us to the programme, and then to bed. Bed-making was a varied proceeding, and sleep difficult to woo as a number of the soldiery, having had an insufficiently tiring day, spent most of the night in varied song. Most of us spent a somewhat wakeful night, in unaccustomed conditions, and some few, having piled all their blankets on top of them, were unaccountably chilly. The art of a camp bed lies in putting rather more underneath you than on top. It was not long before most of us learnt that the envelope bed is the answer to the problem. We woke to find our tents surprisingly dim. Brrh! They were covered with snow, and there were about two inches of it outside. We from Otago were freely accused of bringing it in our pockets, but nobody really minded much. It was dry and not unpleasant, and we were much too busy to be cold. Breakfast was hot and substantial —good oatmeal porridge, meat and the übiquitous and filling potato. Only the quartermaster knows how many tons of potatoes we consumed in our six days' camp. Thereafter we paraded for church. But we did not take the straight and narrow path to it. We took a very roundabout one, at a good brisk pace, and entered the chapel warm and cheerful. The service was short and to the point and the sermon a model of what such sermons ought to be, stimulating and very practical. We were talked to, not talked at. After service, another little walk, quite a little walk, and some physical jerks. Quite a few of them. We were kept at it by a staff sergeant of amazing physique and mcincible determination. We could not keep it up, we were not going to keep it up, but we did keep it up, till we were nearly dead, but very, very warm. Then back to camp, and dinner, hot on account of the weather, with our circulations in a better state than they had been for months. All day it snowed, and snowed, so that afternoon we did rifle exercises in the gymnasium beside two huge log fires, and so to tea and bed. . Bed was in barracks this time, thanks to Father Australis. We were crowded, but cosy. Next day they separated us into squads, by territories and units. The Mounted Rifles, for some reas'on the infantry fail quite to appreciate, come first on parade. There is a story about their being the senior unit. This, of course, makes the footsloggers watch their behaviour very carefully and critically. And when they stumble over their own fetlocks on parade, as sometimes happens, a small spot of jubilation may be observed among the ranks of Tuscany. Every unit was given its instructor, a sergeant or sergeant-major of the permanent staff. Not quite the traditional idea of the army n.c.0., these men. Spending their lives constantly dealing with the young and ignorant they have something of the air of slightly disillusioned but on the whole rather kindly schoolmasters. One instructor, after a particularly bright effort on the part of his squad, offered to raffle them among the other sergeants but could find no takers. The same bright spirit, discovering a bow and arrow about six inches long, offered it to our sergeant to arm us with. We pointed out that we were all now experts with the regulation weapon, and sent it to the Canterbury Regiment, as more suitable to their ideas of drill Such interludes, more common than the mere civilian might suppose, do much to relieve the tedium of porting arms, presenting arms, and forming squad on various flanks.

Money we spent in the Drill Hall in Christchurch, getting there, like true modern infantry, in buses, and returning by train The journey to the station was accomplished under our own steam, end some of us, beguiled by the manifold attractions of the chain stores, managed to miss the train. Urgent taxis caught it at Addington, however, and all

was well. The authorities seemed more amused than surprised, especially as our breaths were innocent of anything but coca-cola. Hard liquor is, of course, forbidden in the modern camp, and the old song "If you want to find the Sergeant. I know where 'e is, Lying on the Canteen Floor" has little meaning, although frequently hummed when sergeants are around.

Every day had its variety. We were never allowed to get stale, though each day saw us a little smarter and a little steadier. Our own instructor, possessed of a dry sarcastic wit, never barked at us, but somehow we found ourselves doing what he wanted, juct as hard as we could. He would suggest " a little brasso, as ?. good idea" and quite a little brasso would be used that night. He would suggest, in the politest way in the world, that we should turn out to parade, when it suited us, of course, and even "Jerry," the old soldier, managed to make the effort. And when on the march past we heard the O.C. say "Well done, Otago," we felt repaid for quite a lot of perspiration. Perhaps, after all, we hadn't let our sergeant down. And that came to seem, by the end of the week, quite the most important consideration. We were the Otago unit, too, and the honour of Otago had to be upheld. The army knows all about esprit de corps. We had returned to our tents by Wednesday, and with boxing, wrestling and lectures of various sorts days and evenings soon sped by. Came the final march past before Colonel Bell, O.C. South Island, and the small matter of the giving out of certificates and pay. Then the last Saturday. We had to rise at the unearthly hour of 5.45, with a little assistance from our N.C.O.'s. and with bayonet practice, firing practice, and rifle exercises all packed away in our heads for future use, we handed in our blankets and departed for the train. Military discipline does not. however, end at the station. The journey back was merry, but not entirely unfettered. At timaru a number of hopeful souls departed hot foot for the nearest hotel. The wise ones among us tucked our drinks under our belts and returned with guileless smiles to our seats. The optimists tucked their drinks, in bottle form, into their overcoat pockets. They forgot that the sergeants had made this journey quite often before. Some were robbed of their prizes, forthwith, upon the platform. The rest were shocked to see that knowing instructor walk through the carriage with hands outheld, and a gentle request that he be appointed temporary guardian of the unlawful purchases. About a suitcase full of bottled hops was accumulated by the powers that were. They were returned to their owners at Dunedin. The last applicant, however, who had surrendered two bottles, got only one back. He still darkly hints that he saw some froth upon the sergeant's lips. This base libel, however, merely covered the knowledge that some shrewder fellow walked off with two bottles after paying for only one. Such are the tragedies of a soldier's life. On Monday we were back at work " You do look well," they said. " Never seen you looking so fit, my lad." And we felt it. Every muscle working just so, circulation great, digestion wonderful. It was a grand holiday. "Adjutant, what is the next course I can take. I feel my country needs me again very soon. Say in about October."