|
.Nulli Secundus -
'Second to None'
by Terence Cardwell
.
Chapter
Eleven - Second to None
The train trundled slowly into Victoria Railway Station
in the heart of London, coming to a gentle stop with a
squeal of steel on steel, and stood wheezing steam like
an overworked horse.
The doors along the carriages opened and the passengers
alighted, heading quickly for the station exit.
Jack followed the passengers to the end of the
platform, where he noticed a soldier standing with a
clip board in his hand. This was Jack’s first sight of a
Coldstream Guard soldier. He was dressed in a khaki
uniform and had two stripes on his shoulders, and two
rows of ribbons on his left breast pocket. There was
little to differentiate him from any other regiment
except for the badge on each shoulder which read
‘Coldstream Guards’. He was easily six feet tall by
Jack’s estimation, and had grey hair and a moustache
that curled up a both ends. He was standing almost to
attention, a result of training of many years in the
Army.
‘Seems all corporals and sergeants have moustaches,’
Jack thought to himself, remembering the recruiting
sergeant. He walked up to the soldier. ‘Are you here to
receive anyone?’ he asked politely.
‘Certainly am, what’s your name?’
‘Joe Cardwell, but everyone calls me Jack.’
‘Well, we’ll call you Private. Wait over there till the
others come,’ the corporal replied, ticking off Jack’s
name on the clipboard.
Jack was in awe as he looked around the railway station.
Its glass-domed ceilings were designed to let maximum
light in, although dirt from soot and smoke, allowed
only a limited amount of light to pass through. The
station had a number of platforms, three with trains
standing at them. The main platform area was huge, with
small shops spread around its perimeter. People were
walking in all directions, most in a hurry to get where
they were going.
‘Well that’s the lot,’ said the corporal. Jack turned
and saw four men holding suitcases standing alongside
the corporal. They were also in awe of the huge modern
surroundings. They had not seen anything with such
grandeur as this.
‘Right-o, follow me,’ the corporal said, walking towards
the exit.
Outside the station a tan truck was standing with the
back and side covers rolled up, a driver patiently
waiting at the wheel. The corporal ordered them to climb
in the back and sit on the long boards along either
side. Jack had never ridden in a motor vehicle and by
the way the others were behaving, neither had they.
The truck putted away, turning right into Buckingham
Palace Road, trailing a small cloud of blue smoke behind
it. The driver ground the gears as they increased speed.
As they reached the end of the long wall protecting
Buckingham Palace on the left hand side of the truck
there was a gasp of amazement from the men. Before them
was one of the most majestic sights they would ever see.
The palace with its ornate fences and gates protected a
vast courtyard covered in a crushed stone that led up to
a immensely large building with an archway in the
middle. On either side of the archway was a tall sentry
box, and in front of each stood a soldier in a bright
red jacket, white belt, dark trousers and a tall black
fur-covered hat with a gold strap around the soldier’s
chin. The soldiers were holding their rifle vertically
along their side and stood ramrod straight and unmoving.
The truck stopped, allowing them a better look, and the
corporal stepped out of the cabin of the truck and
turned to the passengers.
‘That will be you fellows soon, as long as you get
through your training— and that’s bloody tough, I can
tell you.’
The truck turned around and drove down Birdcage Walk and
past Wellington Barracks.
‘That is where we are billeted in turn,’ the corporal
said, pointing at the barracks. ‘Our turn will be in
three years, but right now we’re at Chelsea Barracks,
not far from here.’
Nothing had prepared Jack for the sights he had seen and
he was still in awe as he stepped from the truck and
looked around at his new home. Chelsea Barracks was only
a relatively short march from Buckingham Palace, and it
provided the guards for the King’s protection. It was an
immense courtyard surrounded on three sides by
three-storey brick buildings that housed the barracks
for the troops. Here Jack would spend many hours
marching, doing athletics and running.
Jack’s initiation into the Coldstream Guards exceeded
his expectations. The billets, or beds, they slept on
were basic but comfortable. The only other furniture was
a table alongside each billet and a tall locker to hang
their uniforms in.
The soldiers with him were from all walks of life: young
farmers, labourers, some who had started learning a
trade; but most of them were miners with two desires in
common: to escape the mines and to be in the best
regiment in the world. The one thing they enjoyed more
than any other single thing was being clean. When they
marched they were clean; when they trained they were
clean; and at the end of the day they were still
reasonably clean. They knew more than anything else they
would never go back to the coal mines with the
associated dirt, grime, filth and the permanent fear of
injury or death.
The working hours were better, too: rising at six a.m.,
they had a hearty breakfast, which none of the miners
had enjoyed before. They worked till five in the
afternoon, except for a half hour break for lunch. Then
they had a few drinks together, followed by a good
night’s sleep on a warm comfortable bed, something they
quickly got used to.
Where Jack expected to be treated like a second-class
citizen, he was treated with respect and consideration.
The only abuse came from the corporals and sergeants
during their fitness and training sessions. It was
mostly directed at the less fit, overweight trainees in
the company who could not keep up with the
ever-increasing rigours of army training. They were
weeded out one by one till only the fittest and most
able remained.
To Jack these exercises were not a problem, and he
welcomed them as part of his ongoing fitness for boxing,
which the battalion commander had noted from Sergeant
Prior’s report. He called Jack to his office shortly
after his arrival and asked him if he would like to
represent the battalion in boxing, to which Jack readily
agreed. This allowed him to continue his love of boxing
and the competitive nature that he thrived on. It also
gave him a few perks, including the use of the battalion
gymnasium and extra time off for training prior to any
match.
Rifle shooting was a critical part of a soldier’s life,
and one of their first duties was learning to fire a
rifle accurately and quickly, then strip and clean it
till they could do it blindfolded.
‘Gentlemen, this is a Lee Enfield mark four, three oh
three rifle,’ the corporal in charge of the rifle range
announced to them on their first attendance at the range
‘It is the most crucial and available weapon in the
event of a war, and you will be trained to shoot it
quickly and, most of all, accurately, till you can fire
it in your sleep. I expect nothing but the best and
perhaps a bit more from you fellows. The Lee Enfield
will become your closest friend and ally, and you will
be expected to treat it as such. You will keep it
spotlessly clean and strip it at least once a week, or
more often if you are in a dirty area. Woe betide any
soldier found with a dirty rifle: you will be put on a
charge and possibly court martialled unless you have a
very good reason for your rifle being in such a
condition. Do you understand?’ he added, wiping his
moustache.
A weak, ‘Yes, Corporal,’ was received from the soldiers.
‘Are you fucking deaf? I can’t hear you,’ he shouted.
‘Yes, Corporal,’ shouted the soldiers.
‘That’s better, and make sure you remember it because
one day it could save your life if it’s clean, or it
could kill you if it’s dirty. You will be given one of
these beauties when you have learnt to handle it with
skill, and most importantly, with safety,’ the corporal
informed them. ‘This is one of the finest rifles in the
world. It can be easily stripped and assembled, and it
weighs only nine pounds. It is a bolt action rifle with
a ten-cartridge magazine, and because of its excellent
locking mechanism, it is the fastest bolt action rifle
in the world, firing up to twelve rounds per minute in
the right hands, possibly more, and can put bullets
within a three inch circle at a distance of two hundred
yards.’
The corporal took a breath and looked around to see if
all were listening. He knew they would be. All soldiers
were fascinated by the deadly weapon which these novices
were holding and which would become a major part of
their lives.
‘It fires a bullet at nearly two thousand, five hundred
feet per second and is accurate at a distance of over a
thousand yards. Now I will show you how to fire it.’
He walked to the firing line after ensuring the troops
could see and were safely away from the range. Then he
raised the rifle to his shoulder, sighting to the target
two hundred yards away, and fired off five rounds,
rapidly reloading between shots. The bullets hit the
target within a group of four inches near the bullseye.
‘Now lay yourselves on the mats there and I’ll pass you
some bullets to fire.’
Jack was the fifth one along and lay on the ground,
caressing the rifle with his left hand. He lined up the
sights of the rifle on the target. In the distance he
could hear the corporal’s voice and the firing of the
other rifles, but he was totally involved in the deadly
beauty of the weapon and its capacity as an instrument
of death.
‘Private Cardwell,’ a voice bellowed in his ear. ‘Are
you with us?’
Jack was startled out of his involvement with the rifle.
‘Sorry, Corporal, I got caught up with the rifle.’
The corporal studied Jack. With nearly twenty-five
years’ experience in the army he could see that Jack was
telling the truth.
‘That happens sometimes, they have a strong attraction
to some of us. Let’s see if you can fire it.’ He handed
Jack five bullets.
Jack loaded the bullets into the gun and waited for
instructions.
‘Now line up the sights and squeeze the trigger gently.
Don’t just pull the trigger, squeeze it gently.’
Jack sighted through the sights, applied firm pressure
to the trigger and fired off five shots, the rifle
kicking up each time.
‘Fair for a starter, but a long way to go. They’re too
high and would have missed your intended target,’ the
corporal observed, looking through a pair of binoculars.
‘Let’s see if we can improve it. Firstly, you’re holding
the rifle to loose. Pull it into your shoulder firmly.
You’ll have less kickback. Next, stroke the trigger,
don‘t jerk it. Use a nice steady movement, not a snap
action. Here’s five more bullets— give it another go.’
Jack loaded the rifle. Pulling it into his shoulder, he
took aim and stroked the trigger. The rifle hardly moved
with each shot; Jack understood what the corporal was
saying. The gun felt as if it was an extension of his
own body and gave him a strange sense of power.
When he had finished firing the corporal looked at the
target though his binoculars. He then passed them down
to Jack. ‘Take a look.’
Jack looked through the binoculars, focusing on the
target. What he saw excited him. Two bullets within the
bullseye, one in the second ring and two in the outer
ring.
He stood up, looking at his fellow soldiers with a shy
grin. He was never one to show off and was often
embarrassed by his successes in boxing and other
achievements.
‘That’s bloody good shooting for a beginner. Well done,
Private Cardwell,’ the corporal said. He turned to the
next soldier in line. ‘Right-o, who’s next?’
‘Good on ya, Jack’;
‘Nice shooting’;
‘Not bad for a coal miner’, his fellow soldiers called
out, quickly learning to respect his quiet disposition
and lack of exhibitionism.
Jack felt the timber handle, ran his fingers over the
trigger mechanism and the still-hot gun barrel, studying
it as if it was a new-found treasure. From then on Jack
had two passions in life: boxing and rifle shooting.
The soldiers finally reached the end of their harsh
training. It had taken its toll on them, but they felt a
change within themselves. They were more confident,
healthier, more alive, and ready to face the world
knowing they were among the world’s finest soldiers. The
passing out parade in the courtyard of Chelsea Barracks
was one of great excitement and achievement. After what
seemed a long time, their emotions on completing the
training were of great relief after seeing some of their
fellow trainees fail to keep up with the rugged,
punishing course. To succeed required a strong
determination to keep going when they were exhausted,
learning to suffer pain when their bodies were screaming
at them to stop, and pressing on to the end.
Jack stood in his barracks with his fellow Guardsmen,
checking for the third time that they were immaculate in
their uniforms, each inspecting the other for anything
out of place. Not a speck of fluff or grease could be
allowed and no excuses were accepted.
Their uniforms filled the room with colour and majesty.
Jack looked extremely handsome in his uniform, and after
carefully placing the large but amazingly light fur
bearskin on his head, he adjusted the gold strap to rest
above his chin and inspected himself in the mirror. What
he saw made his heart leap. He had waited a long time
for this moment and had daydreamed of it while sweating
in the coal mine, or lying in bed at night. He had tried
to create a vision of himself wearing this very uniform.
Even in the pub having a beer with his mates the vision
would flash in his mind whenever the subject of joining
up was introduced.
The image in the mirror was beyond anything he had
dreamed. The handsome, tall young man he saw before him
in the bright red jacket, white belt and packs, dark
blue trousers, shoes shining like a mirror and the
superb bearskin with the gold strap over his chin,
standing ramrod straight, was a defining image,
something he would remember for the rest of his life. He
felt like shouting, ‘I’ve finally done it, I’m a
Coldstreamer.’ The pride and excitement welled up
within him.
‘Calm down, you don’t want to make a fool of yourself,’
he thought, taking deep breaths.
‘Bloody hell, you look damn smart,’ enthused his friend
Bob Suthers. ‘I hope I look that good.’
Jack looked at him and smiled. ‘Bob, if any woman saw
you now she’d wet her knickers. I didn’t know you could
look so good.’
‘Thanks, Jack, we might win a heart or two in this,’ he
replied, admiring himself in the tall mirror.
The trumpet sounded outside to call the Guardsmen to
assembly. They all headed for the door, being careful
not to bump into each other lest they disturb the
immaculate uniforms. They quickly assembled in rows on
the parade ground, sergeants and corporals at the front
with the officers in front of them.
‘Attention!’ bellowed the sergeant major. The company
snapped to attention as one, in exact straight lines,
their guns held on their shoulders.
The colonel of the regiment, General Sir Frederick
Stephenson, mounted the dais along with his assistants
and the captain of the battalion. General Stephenson
observed the new Guardsmen before him, and felt proud
and honoured to be in charge of such fine-looking
soldiers, knowing them to be the finest soldiers in the
world.
The sergeant major looked at the general, who nodded his
head.
‘Stand easy!’ the sergeant major roared. The Guardsmen,
as one, stood at ease, lowering the rifles vertically to
rest on the ground by their sides.
‘Today is a very important and defining moment in your
lives,’ General Stephenson began. ‘You have succeeded in
completing one of the most severe and exacting training
courses in the British Army. This course was carefully
designed to find those inner qualities you may not have
been aware of.
‘All potential Guardsmen, whether they be officers or
men alike, go through this training which builds each
one of you into something greater and stronger than
himself. It develops confidence in oneself, one’s
comrades and one’s corps, that gives great strength and
inspires men to achievement.
‘What a man has got doesn’t matter. What a man has
done, and what he’s stood or fallen for, that’s what
matters. Individuality and audacity is one of the
qualities of a Guardsman, gained from self confidence
in oneself and your faith in your abilities.
‘We cannot teach you courage. That is something that
cannot be taught, but we can help you to find that
courage within yourself. To help you look inside and
find your best qualities.
‘Every man is a coward in some form, but overcoming that
fear makes a brave man.
‘However, within most men there is courage of different
forms. The determination to walk that extra mile when
your body is screaming at you, or at the onrush of
danger. Not to give in to a rising panic, but to stand
and fight, and stand by your fellow Guardsmen. A
courage that makes you reach a little higher than you
thought you could reach.
‘An individuality, self-confidence and courage knowing
you never will fail in your duty.
‘External discipline, properly applied, leads to the
other stronger, and more flexible, qualities of
self-discipline. Of wanting to behave as Guardsmen are
expected to behave and always have behaved. The rule is
that there shall be no acceptance of anything that is in
any way second rate.
‘It may be good enough for others, but not for us, and
sets a standard whereby the best is the norm.
‘This attitude, often called ‘Guards discipline,’ is an
unbending insistence on nothing but the highest standard
in every detail, from turnout to the timing of arms
drill, and is not an end in itself. It is a means to an
end, which is the achievement of self-imposed standards,
such as few of us can hope to attain without help.
‘Such an attitude is fortified by complete confidence
that every Guardsman has the same standards and the
same determination to maintain them, be it the King’s
birthday parade or advancing under fire.
‘The Guardsman’s approach to life extends beyond this
barrack square and beyond the battlefield. It covers
qualities such as leadership, loyalty, charity, and
integrity.
‘It sets standards which live on in civilian life, be it
a straight back or a straight answer, moral courage or a
day’s work for a day’s pay.
‘Tradition plays a vital part in a Guardsman’s life,
for great achievements in the past tend to inspire
similar deeds again. Hundreds of years of successful
soldiering end by making the Guardsman feel that he can
beat the world. The result is that he can and he does.
‘I welcome all you fine men to the Second Battalion
Coldstream Guards and know that you will maintain these
standards and will never accept anything that is not
first class. We are the first into battle and the last
to leave, and will always be second to none.’
General Stephenson stepped back one pace and saluted the
battalion.
‘Battalion attention!’ roared the sergeant major.
The boots sounded as one as they slammed together, the
sound echoing around the walls of Chelsea Barracks.
The band of the Coldstream Guards began playing ‘Milanello,’
a tune they shared with no other regiment of the British
Army.
‘Right turn, quick march,’ shouted the sergeant major.
The battalion marched around the square, parading past
the dais. They saluted the general and officers as they
went past with their eyes turned left. The Guardsmen
marched in precise step and Jack, having absorbed the
words of the General, understood more clearly those
punishing twelve weeks of training. His chest swelled
with pride as the words passed through his thoughts.
Those years of boxing training had been of great
benefit, helping immensely with his training. He thought
of how his father had push him and Thomas to their
limits. He thought of his father’s words that were so
much like the Coldstream Guards’ motto – second place is
never good enough.
It was something he had tried to live by and maintain.
He realised he had always been destined to be here in
the Coldstream Guards, and to always be Second to none.
|
