NEVER TRUST A SERGEANT

Peter Evans

“I’m Corporal ‘awkins, and this is Corporal ‘ickey, and our job is to knock you lot of nancy boys into shape – and we are going to do just that!” I don’t know how the rest of the squad thought but I was petrified. We were a bunch of trainee Pilots on our first square bashing course and we had only said Goodbye to our Mothers a couple of weeks before.

For the next two weeks we didn’t know what hit us, but if we thought ‘awkins and ‘ickey were a little un-motherly, our real worries were personified in the name of Flight Sergeant ‘arris.

It was he, apparently, we would have to perform for at the end of the course and he had already put the fear of God into our instructors, let alone us!

The dreaded day came. We lined up and “He” arrived to inspect us. He did it slowly with venom and obvious, sadistic loathing. “He” then marched us off, describing our attempts at drill in uncomplimentary terms; very clear, unequivocal uncomplimentary terms. We went down the road and into a park.

In the park he called us to a halt, stood us at ease and said, “Right lads, there’s a hut over there where you can get tea and a bun: be back here in fifteen minutes. And when we go back I want bags of swank, and when ‘awkins asks you what I’m like – tell him I’m a bastard!”