Chapter 9: Invitation to a dance

About a week after the Jazzer incident I attended a dance in the Sergeants Mess. The RSM of the Queen's Dragoon Guards (QDG), who were 1RGJ's partners in the battle group, was retiring from the army. A dance for all the SNCOs, and their wives, of the battle group was to be held in his honour; full mess dress and medals to be worn. Although I was not accompanied by my wife I was expected/ordered to attend, as all the unmarried /unaccompanied sergeants were expected to dance with the wives of the senior ranks (RSM CSM CQMS etc), whilst those worthies stayed at the bar.

As I've mentioned before, I had more medals than most men in 1RGJ, and the same could be said for those in the QDG. All eyes were on me as I jangled my way through the main room of the mess; miniature medals are worn with mess dress, but mine were full sized, as I was in No2 Home Dress, of khaki tunic and trousers. I hadn't yet bought my mess dress, and four full sized medals with their ribbons, and parachute wings, look good on a khaki background. I must admit I did have a bit of a swagger on me as I walked into the ball room.

It was a colourful scene. The QDG wore scarlet mess jackets – a short, bum freezer type of tunic – with rank chevrons in gold, dark blue trousers with a scarlet seam, and royal blue cummerbunds. The RGJ wore rifle green mess jackets and trousers - with a maroon stripe down the seam of the trousers, and maroon cummerbunds. Their chevrons were black, lined with silver, making something of a restrained contrast to the rather gaudy showing of the Dragoons.

I dutifully danced with a large jovial lady by the name of Betty, the wife of my Company Sergeant Major, and she asked me when my wife would be joining me. I made some noncommittal answer before taking her back to the table, where Bronco Horsefield was sitting with the Company Quartermaster Sergeant, Jonty Bloom. Jonty was divorced and was accompanied by a German girl who looked to be about 25 years old. She was a very attractive young woman, a teacher at the primary school on the camp, and Jonty wasn't going to allow any young, single, or unaccompanied sergeant, to get any where near her.

Bronco leaned over to me.

"Thanks, Dewey, that should keep the old woman happy for a while; anyway, Iron Rod wants you to waltz Mrs RSM around the floor, so best get over to his table smartish!"

I reported to RSM Chivers and his lady, who were sat with the retiring RSM of the dragoons, (his wife had already gone back to the UK). Iron Rod made the introductions.

"Duw boyo! There's impressive them gongs are." The QDG recruited mainly from South Wales, and the RSM had as broad a Rhondda Valley accent you could hear and still make sense of.

Iron Rod said, "Sergeant Desmond is also renowned for his fancy foot work, and Mrs Chivers is to be waltzed round the floor by our war hero."

I think Iron Rod was taking the piss, but I smiled and said, "If Mrs Chivers will do me the honour?"

Mrs Chivers smiled and got up, and I led her onto the floor.

"Rodney's a bit jealous of your MM," she spoke with a soft West Highland accent. "He just wishes he had been given the chance to show his bravery."

As we waltzed around the floor we saw Jonty wrapped around his young German girlfriend.

"That silly old fool should know better," Mrs Chivers sniffed her disapproval. "He's old enough to be her father!"

A bit later we came alongside Franklin and Celeste, who I had been sat at the table with before going to do my duty dances.

"Such a nice girl," Mrs Chivers enthused. "I believe you are a friend of her husband?"

I told her that we had been in the same squad at Junior Leaders.

"He has got himself a good wife there. She will be a great help to him in his career." Without the slightest change in tone she said. "I hear your wife won't be joining you on camp?"

Mrs Chivers had an intelligence network that would be envied by the CIA and MI5. How she knew that Miriam had refused to join me in Germany I cannot imagine; I had told no one, not even Harry or Franklin. She must have had the telephone kiosk tapped and listened in to my telephone calls home.

"That's right, Mrs Chivers, she is still in a state of shock over the deaths of her parents. I think it best she stays in Plaistow for the time being, where my mother can look out for her." We danced in silence for a few minutes, then she said.

"It's difficult for a wife to up sticks every few years and follow their husband to a new posting." She made a face. "I was born into it, so I know of nothing different. Oh, and do please call me Molly."

The band had stopped playing and we caught our breath before the next dance in the set started. Just as we moved off in a foxtrot Molly said,

"You were very young to be in the Falklands. How old were you?"

I told her that I 'celebrated' my 18th birthday while out in the Falklands (I didn't tell her I killed a man on that day).

She looked sad. "So young; my brother Denny had only just turned twenty when he was killed on Tumbledown."

I made sympathetic sounds, and asked, "Was he in the Scots Guards?"

The Scots Guards had as tough a time on Tumbledown Mountain as 3 Para had on Mount Longdon.

She nodded. "My father retired as a CSM when the battalion returned from the Falklands; Denny had been in his company, and the shock of his death killed my mother."

We danced in silence, both thinking of events on those far away islands.

"I'm sorry to have brought up the subject, Dewey. Seeing your South Atlantic medal reminded me of my Dad's medal. My brother died doing what he wanted to do; fighting for his Queen, country and regiment. When we join the army we must expect deaths and disablement. It comes with the territory."