Had to buy new boots?
A message for the small but vocal minority of our armed forces who give the profession of soldier (or sailor or airman) a bad name: "Shut up. Just shut the *&*& up!"
First we heard non-stop moaning about having to buy your own boots. Are you telling us you were never issued with boots? Did you do all your square bashing in those lovely trainers? Or did you not fancy the boots you were issued because the Yanks you were serving alongside had "the Gucci kit"? Do you think there is no other generation that has done the desert bit before you or did someone tell you that you were the first soldiers in the Army to go somewhere hot?
Well, let me tell you they were wrong. When I was told my first posting, a lot of my mates laughed their heads off and couldn't stop saying "Sand, shit and flies!". Fair enough, that wasn't a bad description of Aden but they had overlooked the other elements involved; "RPG, mortars and Kalashnikovs" (oh, and hand grenades).
When I reported to stores to get my kit, I found I was going to have to wear some rather baggy shorts, longs in the evenings after sunset and God help any man who is in the wrong trousers either side of that time, along with a rather natty little number in khaki cotton bush jackets. As for boots, well we just had to soldier on with the same old boots that you had brought with you from England. In my case it was a pair of ammo boots and a couple of pairs of "Boots DMS". To go with the shorts (remember, only after sunrise and before sunset!), we were given the strangest pair of woollen socks you had ever seen; they had no feet! Hose tops was the official name for these things and they were worn from the ankle upward. The boots on your feet, along with either gaiters or puttees round your ankles, made them look like dark blue school socks.
What spoiled the whole thing was the dhobi wallah using half a bucket of starch for every jacket he washed and ironed. Oh, they looked smart enough when returned from the dhobi with every crease looking lethal in its sharpness and they could be stood in the corner of your locker until needed. Putting them on was not a comfortable task and was absolute murder if you happened to have been sun burned recently. Still, once you had stepped foot outside the billet, the sweat made them nice and soft and pliable again, even if they did stink a bit by the time you got to work. another nice touch was the addition of webbing. In the case of my regiment, it was 1937 pattern which was scrubbed and blancoed to a parade ground standard with the result that, when going out on patrol at night or when doing your stroll around the camp perimeter fence on guard duty, you had a brilliant white cross right in the middle of your back. I have to say though, in defence of the old style webbing, the ammo pouches were of just the right size and shape to carry a tin of Tiger!
Oh, and one other thing; it was hot. Hotter and more humid than you could imagine. And I don't want to hear that it is hotter in Iraq. I have been there (and Aden and Oman and Dubai and Abu Dhabi and Jeddah and Riyadh and Bahrain and Damascus and Amman and Dhahran and Qatar and last but not least, Kuwait). Believe me, Aden was the worst.
Now, back to those boots (oh, I almost forgot, we were also issued with "Boots, Jesus" but nobody ever wore them as far as I can remember). Our boots didn't cause mass purchases of replacements. We wore them, we polished them and we powdered our feet and changed our socks regularly and my couple of pairs lasted more than a couple of years.
So what was wrong with yours?
Second; Accomodation. Oh what a contentious topic! I actually heard someone calling a radio programme recently to complain that her son said that when he lies on his bed and stretches his arms out on either side, he can almost touch the walls of his room.
Hang on! Did she say "His room"? Is he the RSM then? No, of course not. He has one of these recently built or refurbished barrack rooms that comes with quilt and built in ablutions etc.
No doubt some misguided person in authority somewhere thought that what the troops need (perhaps to take their minds off their boots) is some "4 Star" accomodation. That would be nice, little single rooms with built-in khazi, just like Holiday Inn.
Well, that was a cock up in someone's thinking.
Single rooms with all mod cons might sound a good idea but I am sure that, one day, some highly paid psychologist or sociologist will work out that what would really be excellent for the morale of the troops would be to have large barrack rooms with lots of men in together. Just like the old days, in fact. I see the government has just finished spending an arm and a leg refurbishing the old Vimy blocks at Catterick. To any of my readers who have spent any time there recently, think back to how the blocks look as you approach from the modern gate. The first block was known as Vimy C. The first room that you see on the ground floor on the end nearest the gate is where I spent a couple of years, living with 13 other men. Next to that room was a small room which was officially designated a study room. The use to which it was actually put was as a convenient place to play cards and scoff the leg of lamb you had just nicked from the cookhouse at 01:00. The point I want to make about the barrack room however is that it served a purpose other than giving you a bed with a roof over your head. Being stuck in such close confines with a bunch of your workmates, there was a spirit of camaraderie which made you more of a unit than a mere collection of soldiers. You soon got used to the non-stop farting and the smell of someone else's boots permeating throughout the barrack room. (Ventilation didn't work in those Catterick winters as it consisted of two options only; Window Open and Window Shut). You quickly learned to get on with each other and become a part of a team, particularly in the mornings when trying to get the place looking good enough for the SSM's inspection. I know it is typical of a grumpy old fart to say "it was character and team building" but it was and there's an end to it.
I suspect that a lot of today's whingers (I don't make the mistake of thinking that the Army is permeated with whole battalions doing "whingeing by numbers") would have positively crapped themselves if they saw the accomodation I was given in Botswana.
While the infantry detachment there had taken over a school and lived in the classrooms, I and 3 other mates, had to make do with the school's pig sty. I kid you not. It was a pig sty made up of 6 vertical poles stuck in the ground in two ranks and some timers along the top to make what was essentially the frame of a building. The roof was straw and was full of gaps. There were no walls. And when I arrived there, it was raining for the first time in 7 years. Everywhere was knee deep in water, including our little shack. We improvised walls and roof with canvases pinched off a couple of Bedford three tonners. Unfortunately, this wasn't enough to stretch to 4 walls so the entrance wall/door was two army issue blankets that were literally nailed to the timber lintel over one end. I was living in that for 5 months and have no complaints at all. After all, I only caught malaria once!

To provide a little balance here, regardless of what I think of the current complaints culture, I have to say I have some sympathy with the blokes in Iraq.
The government had no right to send you there, with or without the "right kit".
Afghanistan is a slightly different story and I think it is right that we should go and sort out the loonies over there. Just think, if the dip sticks in London had not squandered so many people and resources in the pointless and illegal invasion of Iraq, perhaps the job in Afghanistan would be over by now and you could all be down the boozer before last orders!
To the lads (and lasses) serving their country quietly and proudly, from one old soldier, hats of to you and we are all proud of you.
To the malcontents that have discovered this new sport of running to the press with your gripes, petty or large, real or imagined, shut up. Get out of the mob and let the professionals get on with their job. You will be doing your country a service.