By Allan Douglas, Contributor
Soldiers doing their regular drill practice.
HAVING BEEN encouraged to continue contributing pieces after my last article, 'Military Memories', the thought of having this article titled 'Military Memories 2', was just too Hollywood-like for me! So, I have decided to recall certain significant happenings in my military career with the names of places and events to which readers may relate.
A new chief of staff of the JDF was appointed in the aftermath of a certain significant event of national and historical importance. He was a man of integrity and possibly one of Jamaica's finest gentlemen. Rumour has it that, as a young officer, he loved driving his sports car at high speeds, especially after downing a few drinks at the Officers' club. After one such evening while driving back to his quarters, a careless utility pole jumped into the path of his rapidly advancing car! He suffered no injuries, but this was too embarrassing an incident for his superior officers. So off to Newcastle, he was sent to "clear his head" - exile if you wish. The sojourn there obviously did him well, because he went on to become a very serious, professional officer who, apart from rising to the top, was also awarded the coveted and prestigious British decoration of the Army Flight Cross (AFC) for bravery.
Having therefore possibly remembered just how helpful Newcastle had been to his career, and realising that I was at a crossroads in my career at that time (whether to resign), he decided to send me high up in the hills of Newcastle, as the Officer Commanding the JDF's Training Depot. My love affair with Newcastle was instantaneous. The climate, the hills, the vegetation and, most importantly, the character and history of the place were intoxicating. Whenever I moved around that camp, there were constant reminders of its rich and noble history. Newcastle devoured my being and I threw my heart and soul into the job. Luckily for me, the colonel in charge of budgetary matters at Headquarters JDF also loved Newcastle and saw to generous allocations of funding for the badly needed, near-complete renovation of this hill station. This colonel's dynamic personality and his ever-willing support served as a great source of inspiration throughout my tour of duty there.
SASH WINDOW ATTACK
Although most of the buildings received attention in the renovation exercise, I made sure that the original architectural design was not altered. When the contractors wanted to change the sash-windows with louvers, I objected. They remained and were restored with new panes of glass and fresh paint. Unfortunately, nobody saw to the replacement of the sash cords that had withstood the dampness of the Newcastle air and, in many instances, had become rotten.
It was September 9, 1979 - the date that some Jamaicans interpreted (from certain writings) that some cataclysmic event would take place in Jamaica. The JDF was put on alert and Newcastle, being an outstation and cut off from the remainder of the force, was put on high alert. Taking no chances, although I thought the whole thing a bit of a lark, several measures were put in place. Having checked the preparations, I retired to my room at the officers' mess.
I hate sleeping in pyjamas. Therefore, whenever possible, I sleep only in my underwear. Taking no chances that particular evening, I locked my room door, pushed up my sash-window, and stretched out in my bed dressed only in my briefs. Having dozed off, I was suddenly awakened by what appeared to be the sound of a machine gun's, "rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat!" I sprung up standing in the middle of my bed with my finger pointing towards the window, from which the sound of the gun was coming. I stood in a John Wayne-type pose from one of his quick-draw, cowboy shootout scenes. When the sash window finished its downward slide, sending one or two window panes into splinters, I discovered that I was returning fire with my finger, dressed only in my briefs, standing in the middle of my bed, with my attacker being nothing more than a falling window!
Realising that the rotten sash cord and defective pulley mechanism had made a fool of me, I fell back on my bed roaring with laughter! I eventually fell asleep, still laughing.
SUPER MOUSE
Newcastle, despite restoration and renovation, still had many rats. They were invariably very large and would appear in all sorts of places. I am desperately afraid of rats, frogs and snakes, but somehow managed to keep that a secret (until now). Happily for me, one of the training officers at the time hated rats, but was not afraid of them. This officer was nicknamed "Red Beret." Red Beret did everything in his power to rid Newcastle of these dreaded rodents. He would attack them with his bayonet, rocks and every type of ingenious contraption that he could conjure up. Red Beret also hated the idea of females being soldiers.
Although he was a very intelligent young man, he was very dogmatic and would not relent on the concept of female soldiers. As fate would have it, a female was selected for officer
training. She was sent to Newcastle to receive her basic training. I decided to prove Red Beret wrong. I had worked with female officers and soldiers before and, in many instances, they were as good as or even better than their male counterparts were.
G.I. JANE
When the young, petite potential officer reported for training, I almost reversed my earlier decision to have her train as a member of the male intake already in training. However, she appeared to be very sure of herself and determined to prove herself in this male-dominated profession. So, remembering a saying I had heard before, "A woman is like a teabag. You only know her true strength when she is in hot water"; I stood by my decision.
Red Beret fumed and objected to my many exemptions for the training of this potential officer. "Why should she not use the same showers as the men, sleep in the same quarters, run the same distances in the laid-down time?" He would grumble on and on. "After all, she wants to be a soldier," he would pontificate. However, I overlooked one detail and Red Beret seized the moment.
The entire intake of three platoons was formed up on the parade square. They were dressed in an order of uniform that required the men to wear bush jackets and slacks carrying an SLR as the sidearm. The equivalent dress for the females was a skirt with blouse tunic and the much lighter and smaller SMG, as a weapon or sidearm. I strained my eyes to try to find the lone female but could not locate her. Was she sick, had she deserted, or did Red Beret finish her off with his bayonet?
I beckoned to Red Beret and inquired about her whereabouts. He turned and shouted, 'Potential Officer X!' From the centre rank came the screaming response, 'Sir!' Only then did I recognise her. Red Beret had seen to her being kitted out identical to the men, as well as providing her with a recruit-type haircut! I was not amused, but I sensed from the determined look on her face that she, too, was going to prove Red Beret wrong. There were to be many encounters with Red Beret and his excesses. I intervened regularly and she continued to excel in her training. She never complained and I sensed that she saw in me some sort of protector and a hero-type figure capable of standing up to the big, bad Red Beret.
HERO WIMP
That, however, was all to change one Saturday afternoon. At the officers' mess, I was awakened by a knock on my door. I opened it and standing in front of me was the female potential officer. She looked frightened and gesticulated wildly toward her bunk. I quickly moved past her and in my state of panic could only imagine that she had done in Red Beret! Getting to her bunk she then pointed to the bathroom door. I opened it and saw in the empty bath the largest rat I have ever seen. It was trying, without success, to get out of the bath. My jawbone fell into a free-fall in shock. I turned and muttered to the bewildered female potential officer that I would have a mess orderly deal with the problem.
STEEL HANDS
Several years later, I met her again. By then she had left the JDF, had got married, and had children. She candidly confessed to me that it had been a letdown that Saturday afternoon for her to see her hero whimper away at the sight of a rat!
There were to be other embarrassing moments at Newcastle, but none so awful as my effort to assist a female who by mistake had locked her car keys in her car while staying at nearby Hollywell. The lady came to me for assistance in getting her car open. Now, every military base has a 'Mr. Fix It'. Newcastle's was a corporal nicknamed 'Grabber'. Grabber had the largest pair of hands you could imagine and was extremely hardworking. That day, I summoned Grabber and instructed him to assist the lady in distress.
After about 30 minutes, I observed the lady driving through the camp in her car. I found it strange that she did not stop to at least express appreciation. I found it equally strange that Grabber had not reported back to me on the success of the mission. I summoned him and asked for a report. "Well, Sir," he started, "I went to Hollywell with the lady and I used a straightened clothes hanger to get to the keys that were still in the ignition," he said. "Sir, I hooked the key with the metal hanger, removing it from the ignition and as I was pulling it up, I reached to grab a hold of it, forgetting that the window was still closed, and in the process broke the window!" he concluded with a look of disappointment. Grabber's hand was without a scratch!
Allan Douglas is a retired colonel of the JDF. E-mail alldouglas@aol.com.
