IT`S THAT DAY AGAIN...

Comes round quicker each year - February 4th. On this day 49 years ago I began my 731 days of National Service by reporting to Bourlon Barracks, Catterick, North Yorkshire; the home of the 4/7th Royal Dragoon Guards, the `training regiment` at the time.

And what `basic training` it was. For six weeks we learned how to march up and down, turn left and right and even turn around. When we weren`t marching, we were shining our kit, doing PT, doing fatigues and all the while counting the days, if not the hours. We were a mixed bunch thrown together from all parts of the country and all conceivable backgrounds.

As our training progressed, we began to support each other against the onslaught of military discipline, prejudice, intellect and practice. One of our group was, sadly, one of life`s unfortunates. A pleasant, mild natured, inoffensive chap called Newton, who came from somewhere like Retford in Nottinghamshire. However hard he tried, he simply could not come to terms with the marching drill. He was naturally ungainly and it wasn`t his fault that he could never look tidy, but that had singled him out for special (mis)treatment by the drill corporals. The rest of us did what we could to help him - polishing his brasses, shining his boots, ironing his shirts - but we couldn`t march for him.

One in every squad

Things reached a climax one day when the drill corporal`s patience finally ran out. The barrack block was a very big building on at least three storeys, mounted with a clock tower in the centre of the roof. After yet more of Mr. Newton`s marching incompetence on the parade ground, the drill corporal`s`conversation` with him went something like:-

Corporal : "Newton, do you see that ******* great building there?"
Newton : "Yes, Corporal."
Corporal : "Do you see that door in the middle there?"
Newton : "Yes, Corporal."
Corporal : "Right, Newton. When I give the order for you to march, I want you to move smartly to that door. When you get there, open it and go inside. You`ll see a flight of stairs that goes all the way up to that clock tower. Still with me?"
Newton : "Yes, Corporal."
Corporal : "Right. I want you to climb those stairs, get to the top, come out onto that balcony and jump off. And before you hit the ground, I want you to shout out `Here comes f*** all.` Got that, Newton?"
Newton : "Yes, Corporal."
Corporal : "Right, Newton. Quick march!!"

......and off he went in the direction of the door. When he got there, he didn`t hesitate and disappeared inside, which left a now concerned drill corporal to run after him and haul him back into the sunlight.

It changed things. We helped him more and more and so, remarkably, did the drill corporals, whose attitude, either borne out of fear or admiration, changed into an almost benign encouragement which lasted until Mr. Newton and the rest of us `passed out` a few weeks later, after which I never saw him again.

I went back to Catterick some years ago and was relieved to see that the barracks and its clock tower had been demolished and I wondered whether the world was smiling any more kindly on our ungainly colleague. I hoped it was.