IT`S THAT DAY AGAIN....

It seems that not much happened in the wider world on 4th February 1960 but for me the date sticks in the memory as the day when I made the perilous journey to Catterick in north Yorkshire to begin my 731 days of National Service.  It`s all of 59 years ago now and over the years I have been scribbling away on this blog I have made a habit on this day of all days to recall some of the more memorable but less agreeable moments from my military career.  On this occasion, however, I think it would redress some of the balance by recalling a more lighter aspect of my enforced conscription.

Now in 1960 National Service was coming to an end - I was called up in February and I think the last NS man of all was called up a little later that year, so I just got caught by the system and after what was billed as `basic training` I had been posted to a proper regiment, the 10th Royal Hussars, an armoured fighting regiment intent on defending western democracy from the threat of a Communist invasion.  And finding myself in the depths of BFPO 16 in what was then West Germany I quickly became aware of the differences that existed between conscripts like me and the majority of the regiment`s force of volunteer professionals.

Now those differences showed themselves in different ways - some subtle, some less so - but there was never any suggestion of any sort of dismissive attitude shown towards us few remaining NS men.  Nevertheless, the few of us were different - we had been conscripted rather than volunteered; there was a pay difference between the two `camps` and so we tended to keep largely to ourselves and develop our own `culture` that might be described as reluctant acceptance of our situation. 

The 10th Hussars were very keen on football and a series of competitions between the various Squadrons was a regular feature of the fixture list.  Three of us NS men were selected for the HQ Squadron team and we saw this as perhaps a chance to make our point by creating a National Service goal.   There was myself along with two corporals from the Pay Office - Alec Craig and Gordon Watson - and at some point in the proceedings I got hold of the ball in the centre circle and arrowed a raking pass out to Alec on the right wing (we had wingers in those days.)  Alec produced a glorious cross for Gordon to meet it and plant the ball beyond the despairing clutches of the opposing custodian for our memorable National Service goal.

We kept our on field celebrations to the minimum - the odd handshake and pat on the back - falling far short of the hugging and kissing you see today (military retribution would surely have followed,) but we had made our subtle point and although it may have gone unnoticed in the annals of military sporting history it was a special moment for us.