Well, it`s that day again - 4th February every year brings back memories of my 731 days doing my National Service with the 10th Heavily Armoured Royal Hussars and my role in their Retreat Division. But this 4th February marks the halfway point of my enforced military career, as at noon on this day in 1961 - exactly 50 years ago - I had completed 365 and a half days and was now embarking on the second 365 and a half days (just my luck that there was a leap year which accounted for me doing the extra day.)
But it was downhill all the way now. I had become a highly tuned lethal killing machine; well at least on the pinball machine in Fritz`s bar down the road. I had mastered the curious world of military language (language, military for the use of); I could by now turn smartly left, right and right around and I could respond instantly to being barked at by sergeants, officers and anyone else who fancied a good bark.
On the positive side, I had risen to the dizzy heights of Lance Corporal; I had become part of the Regimental football squad and, most importantly, had cemented my part time role as a fully trained projectionist in the garrison cinema. I had long been accepted as a member of the PA Club, following my downing of the entry level eight litres of Fritz`s finest in one go and I had also been accepted as a member of the National Service Ticking Association, whose role in life was to tick (a mild but constant form of grumbling) about anything remotely military, especially barking.
So, I faced the second half with renewed optimism, knowing that each day would bring me a day closer to release from this conscription. There were, therefore, things to look forward to, not least the prospect of getting married to the fragrant Mr. Snopper in July, 1961. So this year, 2011, we have our 50th wedding anniversery - a long and winding road and one which absolutely did not start out with the incentive of getting three weeks leave from the green hell of BFPO 16 and an increase in pay to that of a married NCO which, for National Servicemen, rocketed to something like £3.50 a week. No, no - nothing like that, for the real reason for my proposal was the dreadful prospect that if I didn`t ask her, then there were plenty others back in her home village who would.
But thank goodness for my cinema projectioning, which paid relatively handsomely, such that when I finally managed to escape the clutches of Her Majesty`s pleasure, Mrs. Snopper and I were able to buy a houseful of furniture on my nocturnal earnings - not the house, just the furniture. And I got to see a lot of films too, but very few of which were as funny, entertaining, dramatic and simply memorable as my time defending western civilisation from the communist hordes.
On the positive side, I had risen to the dizzy heights of Lance Corporal; I had become part of the Regimental football squad and, most importantly, had cemented my part time role as a fully trained projectionist in the garrison cinema. I had long been accepted as a member of the PA Club, following my downing of the entry level eight litres of Fritz`s finest in one go and I had also been accepted as a member of the National Service Ticking Association, whose role in life was to tick (a mild but constant form of grumbling) about anything remotely military, especially barking.
So, I faced the second half with renewed optimism, knowing that each day would bring me a day closer to release from this conscription. There were, therefore, things to look forward to, not least the prospect of getting married to the fragrant Mr. Snopper in July, 1961. So this year, 2011, we have our 50th wedding anniversery - a long and winding road and one which absolutely did not start out with the incentive of getting three weeks leave from the green hell of BFPO 16 and an increase in pay to that of a married NCO which, for National Servicemen, rocketed to something like £3.50 a week. No, no - nothing like that, for the real reason for my proposal was the dreadful prospect that if I didn`t ask her, then there were plenty others back in her home village who would.
But thank goodness for my cinema projectioning, which paid relatively handsomely, such that when I finally managed to escape the clutches of Her Majesty`s pleasure, Mrs. Snopper and I were able to buy a houseful of furniture on my nocturnal earnings - not the house, just the furniture. And I got to see a lot of films too, but very few of which were as funny, entertaining, dramatic and simply memorable as my time defending western civilisation from the communist hordes.
4 comments:
Surely Snopper deserves a bigger audience for his 'ramblings'. Another excellent piece. And surely Mrs Snopper deserves a break after 50 years. Make the milestone, then set her free, for surely she deserves it.
Many thanks, Slightly, In fact, the stats counter on this page is deceptive, whereas if I look on the details of the google stats it shows, for example, that in the last 24 hours, there have been 144 `views` from the USA, 66 from the UK, 21 from Holland, 14 from Moldova, two from Mexico and one each from Canada, Germany, South Korea and Russia. So I`m a bit circumspect in what I post, although of course I hold no responsibility for any comments received;-)
Now, I`m pretty sure most of these `views` are mistakes - they`re probably googling `Snooper,` which seems to be a listening device of some sort, or `Snopper,` which is an anti-snoring device (go on, have a google.)
As for Mrs. Snopper`s release date, sorry but she`s much too useful - dog walking, washing, ironing, cooking (yesterday she made a devastating sponge and fruit cake,) cleaning, shopping....and she likes football (she could even run the line in an emergency.) So please don`t go giving her ideas!
Maybe, just maybe, Mrs Snopper is so useful she should be put forward as a community asset or big society; words that in the near future I predict (and hope) will be among the most hated across the land.
Tell me more about that sponge ............
I`m sure she will relish the prospect of contributing to the multicultural big society community wellbeing of our locality - NOT!!
As for the sponge, picture if you will a light, fluffy sponge with a generous layer of succulent buttercream entwined with the delicate tang of apricot conserve, topped off with a sprinking of icing sugar. What more could a man desire? - apart from not letting a two-goal lead slip twice in the same match.
If there`s any sponge left later this morning, I`ll try and smuggle you a bit.
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