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That a man such as RSM (‘Harry’) Hooper should make such a lasting impression in a young man’s mind is quite remarkable. During a moment of idle curiosity some 30 odd years since IJLB I typed his name into my search bar & found this site.

My most enduring memory of OS (70-72) (and my first encounter with the RSM) occurred whilst in Montgomery Platoon, Z Company. We were drilling on Butler Square under the tender care of Pl/Sgt Sandison, Grenadier Guards. (I recall that we were reasonably foot-drill proficient by then and knew that if we made a mistake, not to try and correct it as “you will only draw attention to yourself”.)

Marching in threes, by the left, and directly away from the armoury side of the square the order “Platoon will advance............ Left Turn!” was given and as one, all but one of the platoon executed a crisp left turn and advanced toward Sgt Sandison (Where is he now I wonder) . As the one exception, I executed a crisp right turn, didn’t correct the mistake in case I drew attention to myself and thus exited the ranks and marched smartly off in the opposite direction.

Unfortunately, (for me), I clearly didn’t understand the gravity of what I had done and even as I marched away in glorious solitude it struck me as hilariously funny and brought on the uncontrollable giggling fit, made worse by the next order given.......................... something along the lines of: STANDSTILL-STANDSTILL-ASYOUSHAGGINWELLWERE-STANDSTILL-YOUGETYOURSELFOVEREREATTHESHAGGINDOUBLE-KEEPEFFINQUIET-STANDSTILL-SHUTUP-MOVEYERSELF!

I have no doubt that it was the longest single word of command ever given and still I giggled. The long suffering sergeant clearly had no alternative but to stamp & shout, scream & holler and wave his pace stick dementedly at me but I am sorry to say that his display of rage simply enhanced the comedy factor. When he could stand my hysterical giggling it no more he ordered me to get away sharply to the guardroom and lock myself up. Not as politely as that admittedly and the pace that he called for me to march away to was frighteningly fast.

On arrival at the guardroom I politely informed the RP through the window(Face remembered, Name forgotten) that I had come to lock my self up. Probably not the done thing to go round casually locking oneself up because after a few questions by the said RP and his pal (both CPLs?) to establish why I might be placing myself under close arrest I was invited to ‘get inside get inside now’ at full volume (them) and at high speed (me) to meet the Provost Sergeant, one Sgt Eastwood who as memory serves was another Grenadier.

Now, unbeknown to me and quite remakably, it seems that Sgt Eastwood personally knew my parents, all of my relatives and most of my civvy street friends. He went to some lengths, with his face a full quarter inch from mine, to tell me how much shame I had heaped upon them all, mother, father, brother, sisters, the whole lot of them by my actions and thoughtlessness and about how they could barely face the world knowing how terrible I really was and how they had entrusted the Army with instilling something decent in me and my completely worthless existence and how I had failed not only my parents, all my family, friends and school but the army, my country and Her Majesty the Queen (who was apparently paying my wages and up until then, had been taking a personal interest in me and my military career). In fact, I was so bad a soldier, according to Sgt Eastwood that there was no place in his fine guardroom for the likes of me and my ilk (no pets allowed for Junior Solidiers? No that's an elk) and only the RSM could and would deal with such a heinous flouting of military law. He (Sgt Eastwood) had, God knows, done his very best for me and I had thrown it all back in his face and he didn’t know why he had bothered with me in the first place because I was always going to a ne’er do well and blah blah blah.

By now crying like a baby, tears and all because I was so worthless and had upset so many people in my fairly short life and worse still, had no chance of improving myself or making good, I was rifted vigourously the few dozen yards along the road to the RSM’s office, marched in and..................

RSM Hooper simply told me to let it be lesson learned, sort my self out and march back with my head high, shoulders back and ask Sgt Sandison for permission to rejoin the platoon, march away smartly now, about turn, quick march.

Of the five permanent staff, (two sgts, 2 cpls and an RSM) involved in the whole incident, the RSM was the only one who demonstrated a balanced and rational approach to a 15 year old boy who made a silly mistake.

A long ramble for which I aplogise wholeheartedly - life is too short for long rambles but I have borne this memory in photographic detail for many years. In the interests of fairness though, I should say that I developed a healthy and lasting respect for Z Coy Pl/Sgts Sandison & Smith RRF (despite often having to eat cigarette ends washed down with vin de firebucket) and almost all of the permanent staff that I came into contact with during OS –Z & D coys. I am sure that they all played a part in shaping my adult life.

Happy memories then, some crystal clear, others hazy and yet still more submerged in the mists of time but coming back to life as I read through the various posts here.

Lewis Ruff