assault course in the Park. Swinging from platform to platform in the tree— tops, Tarzan like, crossing the lake on a single rope bridge whilst having thun— derflashes chucked at us and braving the fixed field of fire (hopefully) Bren gun firing live rounds. We were thoroughly aware of our proud tradition from the
Regimental History lectures on Friday afternoons. Not only were we told why the Blues had the dubious privilege of saluting without their hats on, had black cap badges and white lanyards, why NCOs wore their stripes on the bottom of their greatcoat sleeves and such like, we were also made aware of our superi-
ority and had it made quite clear that We did not consort with members ofinferior regiments in public whilst in uniform. At last, passing out parade and 10 days leave. We had finished basic training, we were going home for a visit. We swaggered off, we were SOLDIERS » lit-
Obviously this top—secret exercise had not been rehearsed so it was ‘off the cuff” so to speak, just one hundred yards to go what could go wrong? The stable yard came out to view the scene, ‘Slumber’ suddenly spotted that her stable door was open; she carried out a very com— mendable ‘half passage’ to her right, at
Excerpt From ”Twenty Two Years On The Trot.”
some very unpleasant language was heard from beneath the white festive beard. It was alleged that a small child
asked her father, “What did Santa say daddy?” the clever reply being, “I don’t know darling, it must have been Icelandic.” All’s well that ends well, no bones or toys were broken while ‘Slum« ber’ meditated in her stall, “what a stupid bunch the human race is.”
Changing Times at Knightsbridge 1947-48
By Mr (ex Famer Stafir Corporal) PF Smith, formerly The Blues and Royals Corporal Bullock the trumpeter is sitting astride a grey horse with the farriers and
the same time Santa fell out of the side door; the children let out a gasp while the troop rooms were in hysterics. Santa tipped over showing a vast khaki covered posterior under the red cloak and
Photographs from Mr MP Shepherd, formerly The Life Guards, who now lives in Canada
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covers at the rear, close by is Corporal of Horse Don Yorke (hands on hips), no doubt wondering how many piles of droppings will be left to sweep up after the horses have left. On the veranda above, Farrier Corporal of Horse Welby appears in earnest conversation with Corporal (Phyllis) Wright of Three Troop the Blues. The metal staircase goes up another two floors to the cook—
house, if you were not hungry when you started you were when you reached the
top. Beyond the escort is the exit to Hyde Park with Three Troop Blues behind Jim Fisher’s clipping department where all rumours are alleged to have started. The grey horse is tied up outside Two Troop Blues Squadron office with the corner of the Colonel’s office jutting out and the RCM’s and Orderly Room alongside. The dark hole at the end was the domain of Captain Jackson, Corporal Major “Jock” Ferrie and his rough riding sub— ordinates.
The large clock on the Officers’ Mess over the riding school is showing twenty past eleven, this meant we were in plenty oftime, as Her Majesty didn’t need to be at the station until twelve thirty. As one can see, there are not too many ‘spare files’ about, once the mounted party had departed, the most I suppose would be in that quaint area affectionate— ly known as “Happy Valley”. Also one year when the Miss Worlds paid a visit to the Household Cavalry, Miss Siam went
missing. She did however turn up, with
, The o/d Knightsbrrdge Barracks: Severe/go‘s Escort war'tr'hg for the Officers to form the Escort for Pres/dent De Gaul/e. the Hyde Park exit was always interrupted by halting halfway across, then turn to the right or left and ‘carry swords’ for
whoever the officer was at either end of the yard. The route is continued to halt at the gate, on occasions one was approached by one of the ‘ladies of the night’ who in those days paraded their wares quite freely, but not to the sentry directly you understand. Then there was the muck trolley. For the Blues it meant the long trek of three hundred yards to The Life Guards end of the yard rain or shine and not drop-
ping any on the way, or suffer the wrath of whoever’s section of yard it drops in. Personally, I remember RHG l9 Tudor, the times he dragged me to the other end of the square when taking him out to water at the metal trough by One Troop is nobody’s business.
a smile on her very happy countenance. The photograph itself no doubt will conjure up memories to some ‘old sweats’; here are one or two that I can recall. Before the invention of the regimental policeman, having completed four Queen’s Guards, a twenty-four hour Barrack Guard had to be endured. During the day, pants, puttees, spurs, sword slung, one’s route from the guardroom to
Night stable guard, four stables, one hundred horses, all on your own for two hours, keeping the rugs straight and picking up droppings. The crossing of the yard did give some relief to the nostrils from the deep stench of ammonia in the enclosed stables. Walking quietly from stable to stable to hear the familiar chink ofa metal chain on the stone floor, as another ‘Houdini’ attempted to go for a moonlight stroll. Occasionally one had
to be extra careful if it was a horse that you personally were not familiar with. The likes of ‘Fougasse’, ‘Assassin’, ‘Satan’, ‘Demon’ and others, well the names themselves conjure up the type of reception you would receive. Often the stable relief could find a stable in chaos where some poor stable guard had taken refuge on top of the straw bales with the large figure of ‘Pompey’ the drum horse staring up at him.
L" The lighter hearted moments also come to mind, like Christmas. Picture the scene the Band playing typical festive music in the yard, children with their parents outside the NCOs’ Mess await» ing the arrival of Father Christmas. All eyes were on the large doors to the Rid» ing school that were closed, although one could see that the lights were on as there was obviously last minute points to be adjusted. After a few minutes the doors open - the Band strikes up Jingle Bells and out plods ‘Slumber’ one of the Band’s most reliable horses, with a pair of antlers balanced on her head. Sitting on top ofthe decorated muck trolley that was in tow sat a petrified red cloaked fig— ure, it was dear old Buster Martin from The Life Guards store, not cavalry trained as he constantly told everyone after he had been delegated this duty.
Approaching Horse Guards Parade 7947. (Short Guard).
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