Bleary-eyed and daydreaming about sleeping, we stumbled to lectures. Signals, not the most stimulating subject at the best of times, left us with sore necks: dozing off in mid-sentence before snapping back to consciousness with a nearly audible crack, this cycle would repeat itself with alarming regularity. In exasperation, and in a gallant attempt to keep us awake, our instructor sent us out for frequent breaks in the bracing air outside. Our brief respite over, we would retake our seats, only for the warmth of the classroom and the monotone of the instructor’s voice to beckon forth the sandman once again.
On the horizon loomed our first real exercise. The aptly named Exercise VIRGIN SOLDIER had been concocted so as to provide a gentle introduction to life in the field. The promised good weather, which the College Regimental Sergeant Major had booked months in advance, was not forthcoming: God was going to be in big trouble.
The gloomy drizzle would have set the tone for the whole exercise if it were not for the undampened spirits of the platoon. The overseas cadets, used to warmer climes, bore the persistent precipitation with an almost British stiff upper lip. The British, in an effort not to be outdone, smiled and joked throughout.
The lesson on how to erect a poncho over one’s shell-scrape was listened to intently – no one fancied waking up to find themselves lying in a swimming pool – and the improvised shelters were constructed in no time at all. Food, a matter very close to my heart, is not exactly of four-star standard in the field. The General Purpose (GP) rations certainly have the calorific value needed by an active soldier, but their taste is nothing to write home about. Should you find yourself in urgent need of writing home in the field, you could make use of the Kleenex Writing Paper provided in the box – at least that’s the only purpose I’d like to put it to.
Basic Infantry Tactics were introduced at this stage, too, but nothing was covered in any great depth. We were asked to cast aside anything we had learned in the Officer Training Corps or in the Territorial Army, and to start afresh. This is not as easy as it sounds, for bad habits are difficult to get rid of.
Brains chock-a-block with new ideas, we returned from the Barossa Training Area to showers and dry clothes. Bliss!