Learning to March
The first walk to breakfast was unremarkable.
The new recruit simply walked out of the gate in formation and along the Lower Hardings road with plastic mug in hand and wondered what the day might bring. Talking was strictly forbidden. The Junior Leader of each mess kept pace and made a noisy attempt to compel an organised pretence of conformity.
"Left", "Left", "left, Right, Left."
None of them yet knew how to march.
By the time they returned from breakfast, that was about to change.
The parade ground became the centre of life at the Annexe. Whatever the weather, the routine remained much the same. Lines were formed, instructions given and movements repeated over and over again until they could be performed together rather than individually.
At first the movements seemed deceptively simple.
Stand Easy ... Stand to Attention ... Left Turn ... Right Turn ... Left Wheel ... Right Wheel ... Forward March ... About Turn ... Move to the Left in Threes ... Move to the Right in Threes ... Into Line, Left Turn ... Into Line, Right Turn ... Mark Time ... Class Halt ... Dress the ranks ... Swing the arms ... Keep in step ... Thumbs along the seems ... Thumbs crossed behind your backs ... It went on and on.
Each instruction could be demonstrated in a matter of seconds. Learning to perform them instinctively was another matter altogether.
Some recruits appeared to possess a natural sense of rhythm. Others improved steadily as the days passed. Every class, however, seemed to acquire one recruit who simply could not persuade his feet to cooperate.
One such lad became something of a legend within his own intake.
He deserves the anonymity of a pseudonym because his story was never really about him. In every other respect he was regarded as a good lad and a capable recruit. His difficulty lay entirely on the parade ground.
No amount of encouragement appeared to make any lasting difference. Friends quietly prompted him. The Junior Leader impatiently remonstrated him and movements were demonstrated time after time. Instructors corrected him with increasing exasperation but, somehow, his feet always seemed determined to obey a different set of commands from everyone else's.
The harder everyone tried, the more memorable the struggle became.
Eventually it turned into one of those stories every mess seemed to acquire. Asked one day whether he was doing it deliberately, he smiled and quietly replied that he was not. His companions were never entirely convinced, although no one doubted that he was trying.
The Junior Leader in the Annexe probably understood his predicament better than most. He too had stood on the same parade ground only a few months earlier. Having completed his own training, he had been retained because he had shown particular promise. Now, only a little older than the recruits he supervised, he occupied the curious position of enforcing standards he himself had only recently been struggling to meet.
The joke followed him into the main camp.
By then the intake had been split up and posted to different messes throughout HMS Ganges, but his reputation travelled remarkably well. From time to time familiar voices could still be heard on the distant parade ground as another Divisional Officer, Chief Petty Officer, Petty Officer or class leader attempted to achieve what no one at the Annexe had quite managed.
For everyone else, drill became an accepted part of each day. There were no shortcuts. Movements were repeated until they no longer required conscious thought. The hours sometimes felt endless and few recruits claimed to enjoy them, although one former Sea Cadet seemed to take genuine pleasure in every minute. The rest regarded his enthusiasm with affectionate suspicion, convinced that previous experience gave him an unfair advantage.
Weeks later, when the Annexe had done its work and the recruits moved into the main establishment, they no longer walked across parade grounds as they had on that first morning. Without really noticing when it had happened, they marched instead.
No Longer Civilians part 3 - One Man's Mistake
Annexe 118 - Primary source: RN-011
RN-E-147
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