WRITING GALLERY - MAY 2024

‘By the left, Quick March!’ shouted the Sergeant.

‘Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, Right,’ he bellowed, singing out the pace at which he

wanted us to march.

‘Arms up to the belt in front of you,’ he shouted, ‘Left, Right, Left, Right.’

This was our first day on the Parade Ground at Woodside army camp. We had just begun our National Service.

At that time, all Australian males had to enrol for National Service when they turned 18. I was a few months younger than my Teachers College mates, but when they enrolled, I decided to join them. I had been in the high school cadets, so I thought I knew what to expect.

What I didn’t expect was meeting and working with lads from every segment of society.

The group included tough guys who liked to fight, mummy’s boys who had never been away from home, thieves, troublemakers, sports champions, intellectuals, musicians. Suddenly, with the stroke of a pen, we were all lumped together and subjected to tough

discipline.

The guy in the bed next to me worked in a circus and he was constantly doing card-tricks or telling people’s fortune. He told me I would die at 42. I was amazed. My father had died at 42. Was he reading my mind?

Over the three months of basic training, most of the rough guys were sorted out, many of them becoming acceptable citizens. The discipline worked wonders for most. To begin our induction, we were made to strip. We were lined up naked for a compulsory

medical inspection. One of the tests involved a nurse placing his or her finger under our genitals and pushing hard. Then we had to cough.  What that tested I have no idea, but it wasn’t pleasant.

Once through that, we were given our new uniforms. The uniforms and boots were stiff, so we quickly developed sore spots. One of the orderlies who handed out the boots advised us to wear them in the shower to soften them. It turned out to be good advice.

Next, we were led to the hairdressers who shaved our hair very short. Some lads lost hair that had grown down to their waist. I saw a tear or two.

Next, we were formed up in a platoon formation of three lines and told to keep in line with the two others in our row. I had been in the school cadets, so I knew the drill.

‘That turkey on the left in the third row. Why are you out of step with the rest of the platoon?’ the sergeant shouted in his raucous voice. ‘Do a skip and change feet. Do it NOW!’ he roared.

The poor lad was so embarrassed that a red blush began at his neck and travelled up his face. He made an ungainly hop, step and jump, finally managing to change step.

‘Next time,’ shouted the Sergeant, ‘begin marching with your LEFT foot!’

‘Yes, Sir,’ muttered the poor lad.

‘Don’t call me “Sir”’, he shouted. ‘I am “Sergeant”. You only call officers “Sir”. Do you understand?’ the Sergeant bellowed.

The poor fellow who was shaking in fright answered, ‘Yes, Siiiiiiiiargent.’

We all smiled, glad that it was someone else being picked on.

Woodside army camp was a large country site with rows of long tin huts, each containing up to 30 or more beds. Every group of three huts plus a sergeant and a ranking officer, normally a lieutenant, formed a platoon. Three platoons formed a company, based on the old Roman tradition of dividing its armies into groups of 100 troops, the leader being a Centurion i.e. leader of 100 men. In our army it is a captain.

This camp had many companies, huge eating messes, numerous shower and toilet blocks and a large parade ground as well as many acres of previously farmed land. Through the centre ran a large and deep creek that we had to sail across on a long, thick rope a few days later.

One evening the sergeant called me out of the hut.

‘Day,’ he shouted. ‘To me!’

I grabbed my hat and ran from the building. I slammed the hat on my head, came to Attention and said, ‘Yes, Sergeant?’

‘At ease, lad,’ he began. The Lieutenant and I have been watching you.’

I gulped, wondering what I had done to draw attention. We all tried not to draw the sergeant’s eye our way. It was called self-preservation.

‘We think you exhibit more maturity than the others, so we are promoting you to Corporal. Here are your stripes,’ he said, handing me two sets of stripes to be sewn onto my shirt sleeves.

My jaw dropped.

‘W….What do I have to do, Sergeant?’ I asked tenuously.

He listed my duties. ‘Keep the peace in the hut, and make sure they all get to sleep at a decent hour. Get them out of bed on time in the morning and ensure they make their beds in regimental style before my inspection each morning. Call them to attention when I enter the

hut.’

‘Aye, Aye, Sergeant,’ I answered, still struggling to accept that this was really happening.

‘One more thing,’ he added. ‘You had the best score on the rifle range the other day so I’m making you platoon marksman.’

‘What does that mean?’ I asked. My father taught me to shoot when I was seven. He had been a marksman during the training for the last war.

‘It means, Son, you get to represent the platoon in all the shooting competitions with 303 Rifle, Bren gun and Owen. You might even get to try shooting with a Service revolver.’

‘I’ll enjoy that, Sergeant,’ I said, a wide smile beginning to spread across my face. ‘I’ll try to bring back some trophies.’

‘Make sure you do,’ he replied, a slight grin beginning to tease the corners of his mouth.

‘At ease, soldier. Time to begin your new duties.’

He marched off leaving me to announce my promotion to the other platoon members. Some were pleased for me, some jealous and the rest accepted the change as just another way the army had of imposing its discipline on everyone.

After three months basic training, I was the fittest I had ever been. Running around a paddock poking a bayonet into straw dummies did wonders for personal fitness.

My two years of National Service taught me to meet and work with people of all types and from every level of society. I learned to look after my mates and work together with them to achieve a common goal. It helped me develop a stronger sense of self and and built the

belief that I could do anything I set my mind to.