Gonna have a montage - fck yeah
About thirty odd years ago I joined the military and went through basic training. It was exactly the type of thing that you see in films, a right of passage, a watershed, turning from a kid into a trained soldier, and all that sh 1 te.And full of incident and drama.
There were 45 guys in our platoon and 24 of us made it through to the passing out parade, I still keep in touch with a couple of them. In our platoon we had guys from all corners of the UK plus two from overseas, one, Robert, was a 6 foot 2 inch son of a major, from Rhodesia, aka Zimbabwe. Robert was officer material but he wanted to do it the hard way and come up through the ranks, so he didnt go through Officer training, he joined us as a common soldier. At home, on the plantation, he was the only white kid within 50 miles and he was not allowed to fraternise with the non whites, he was mostly isolated from other kids so he had a pretty weird upbringing.
We had two black guys in the platoon, both from London, and to us, they were just blokes. In those days, the word racism was used in the literal sense, a racist was universally hated but on the other hand it was ok to use the n word. In our minds, it was possible to call someone n*** without trying to be superior, it was just another term of abuse.(I got my share of abuse and sponging* for being a scouser).
During the first week we were in the hut, bulling our boots when Robert decided he needed something from his locker 'hey kaffir, git may polish you bleck bested'
You could have heard a pin drop. We wern't sure if he was joking. He wasn't.
We all told him to get his own gear , he was truly shocked. He just didn't get it, he thought we were all mad.
This happened a few more times and it even came to blows, so we decided we hated the fcker. One day , at morning parade, the drill sergeant told us that the next day we were due in the gas chamber.
'This is the only day in your army career that you are excused shaving. Do NOT shave tomorrow, the CS gas will get in the tiny cuts and you WILL wish you were dead. Do NOT use any aftershave, this will open your pores and the gas will get in and you WILL wish you were dead. Now its firing drill and where's that whitewog Robert?' 'He has gone sick sergeant' 'Right well give him the gas drill when he turns up'
So Robert comes back from the doctors and asked us about the drill for the CS gas chamber the next day. 'Well in order to get a good fit with the face, we have to shave really close tomorrow, in fact sarge reckons two shaves, one after the other'
'Oh and lots of Hai Karate to smooth the skin down'
'Souns gut, kent wait'
The next day we were in the chamber, and white clouds of gas billowed around us. I was first to go
'Take a deep breath, mask off, number rank and name then out - you scouse cnt'
'24344111 - private Opti - JESUS FKIN CHRIST' and that was it - nose streaming, eyes watering, throat closed up coughing. I stumbled out of the chamber, faced into the breeze and spread my arms wide - bliss.
The other guys came out one by one, mostly grinning, pleased that they had survived the ordeal.
Then there was a scream. Robert came out of the chamber at full tilt, his face was already swelling, little slits for eyes, screaming like a banshee. I think he's probably still running now(his head finally swelled to the size of a pumpkin)
A bit harsh maybe. But fair
*Sponging. To be sponged. To be hit on the head by a closed pace stick, even to the point of drawing blood.
About thirty odd years ago I joined the military and went through basic training. It was exactly the type of thing that you see in films, a right of passage, a watershed, turning from a kid into a trained soldier, and all that sh 1 te.And full of incident and drama.
There were 45 guys in our platoon and 24 of us made it through to the passing out parade, I still keep in touch with a couple of them. In our platoon we had guys from all corners of the UK plus two from overseas, one, Robert, was a 6 foot 2 inch son of a major, from Rhodesia, aka Zimbabwe. Robert was officer material but he wanted to do it the hard way and come up through the ranks, so he didnt go through Officer training, he joined us as a common soldier. At home, on the plantation, he was the only white kid within 50 miles and he was not allowed to fraternise with the non whites, he was mostly isolated from other kids so he had a pretty weird upbringing.
We had two black guys in the platoon, both from London, and to us, they were just blokes. In those days, the word racism was used in the literal sense, a racist was universally hated but on the other hand it was ok to use the n word. In our minds, it was possible to call someone n*** without trying to be superior, it was just another term of abuse.(I got my share of abuse and sponging* for being a scouser).
During the first week we were in the hut, bulling our boots when Robert decided he needed something from his locker 'hey kaffir, git may polish you bleck bested'
You could have heard a pin drop. We wern't sure if he was joking. He wasn't.
We all told him to get his own gear , he was truly shocked. He just didn't get it, he thought we were all mad.
This happened a few more times and it even came to blows, so we decided we hated the fcker. One day , at morning parade, the drill sergeant told us that the next day we were due in the gas chamber.
'This is the only day in your army career that you are excused shaving. Do NOT shave tomorrow, the CS gas will get in the tiny cuts and you WILL wish you were dead. Do NOT use any aftershave, this will open your pores and the gas will get in and you WILL wish you were dead. Now its firing drill and where's that whitewog Robert?' 'He has gone sick sergeant' 'Right well give him the gas drill when he turns up'
So Robert comes back from the doctors and asked us about the drill for the CS gas chamber the next day. 'Well in order to get a good fit with the face, we have to shave really close tomorrow, in fact sarge reckons two shaves, one after the other'
'Oh and lots of Hai Karate to smooth the skin down'
'Souns gut, kent wait'
The next day we were in the chamber, and white clouds of gas billowed around us. I was first to go
'Take a deep breath, mask off, number rank and name then out - you scouse cnt'
'24344111 - private Opti - JESUS FKIN CHRIST' and that was it - nose streaming, eyes watering, throat closed up coughing. I stumbled out of the chamber, faced into the breeze and spread my arms wide - bliss.
The other guys came out one by one, mostly grinning, pleased that they had survived the ordeal.
Then there was a scream. Robert came out of the chamber at full tilt, his face was already swelling, little slits for eyes, screaming like a banshee. I think he's probably still running now(his head finally swelled to the size of a pumpkin)
A bit harsh maybe. But fair
*Sponging. To be sponged. To be hit on the head by a closed pace stick, even to the point of drawing blood.
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