Chapter 20: The Recruiting Officer

The Army Recruiting Office (ARO) in Reading was situated in a recently pedestrianized area of the town, near to the railway station. There were plenty of retail shops, restaurants and pubs in the vicinity, and as it was the run up to Christmas the place was crowded and bustling. With the Christmas lights sparkling the whole area scintillated with festive feeling. Unfortunately, I did not share the seasonal bonhomie. Soon after arriving in Reading I had rung home, to give my new address to my mother, and she had sounded distinctly off, as in pissed off.

"You coming 'ome for Christmas?" Her question was phrased in such a manner that a negative reply was clearly the hoped for response.

"Does Miriam want me there? I suppose you will be away with Vivian over the holiday?"

"'E's gorn back to 'is missus, and Miriam's got the flu ... bloody Merry Christmas I'm going to 'ave, an' I don't need you 'ere making it even worse!"

Well that explained her less than friendly attitude. I knew better than to ask what had happened to her relationship with Vivian, although he had lasted a sight longer than most of her men friends.

Shame about Miriam having the flu, but if she wasn't feeling up to scratch she certainly wouldn't want her husband – who she had sent off with a flea in his ear – joining the party with a mother-in–law who had just been dumped. I made my excuses and hung up the phone.

The ARO was manned by 10 members of the British Army, drawn from many arms of service, and 6 civilians, all female, and most were young mothers, who worked part time on a job share basis. The military were commanded by a Captain Plume, of the Royal Engineers - 'Sappers', as they are known in the army - who was nicknamed 'Nomdee', and it was several weeks before I realised why.

Nomdee Plume's 2i/c was a Staff Sergeant, Gervase Brazen, from the 17th/21st Lancers; the Death or Glory Boys. He still wore the famous death's head badge in his beret although the regiment had been amalgamated with another lancer regiment the previous year. There were three sergeants, one of them female and five corporals, of which two were female.

Although the ARO was a military establishment it was actually run by civilians. The army personnel were posted in for a two year tour of duty, so they were always the new kids on the block as the civilians stayed in post for years. The civilian Office Manager, as she was officially known, was a 50 something, tall, stately, light brown haired woman, who ran the office as efficiently and as rigorously as any Sergeant Major I had come across. Her name was Mrs Lorna Gordon, and no one messed with her. I had been introduced to her by Captain Plume on my first day in the office. It was clear that he knew who was in charge when he introduced me.

"Mrs Gordon actually runs the show, Corporal. Keep on the right side of her!" Mrs Gordon gave me a slight smile, a firm handshake, and a look that somehow made feel like a bullock at a cattle market.

On that first day Captain Plume had given me a wide ranging introduction to the recruitment policy of the army.

"Up until quite recently the recruiting office staff made the decision whether or not to enlist a volunteer. When you enlisted you probably took the Queen's Shilling in your local recruiting office?"

He was correct. The Recruiting Sergeant Major, resplendent in No 2 Home Dress, with a rainbow of medal ribbons across his barrel chest, and the Royal Coat of Arms displayed on his sleeve, actually gave me a shilling coin, bearing in mind that the UK's currency had gone metric at least eight years previous, and that the shilling was no longer legal tender. As soon as I had scrawled my signature on the enlistment papers he had taken my limp teenage hand in his massive paw, and shook it until I feared my hand would drop off. 'Welcome to the British Army, son'. My hand was still smarting from his handshake when he pressed the coin into it. 'This is from Her Gracious Majesty.'

I thought at the time, 'big deal ... its worth all of 5p; I couldn't buy even a box of matches for that.'

Things had changed since those times, no giving out coins, and many local offices had been incorporated into larger, regional, offices like Reading.

Captain Plume continued with his briefing."The army found that many recruits couldn't hack the training or the discipline, or both, and took the option of leaving the army, free of charge, during their first three weeks of service. This was a loss in both manpower and money, as resources had already been expended on them. It was decided that an enlistee's physical and psychological attributes would be tested, before they were actually inducted into the army, at a Recruit Assessment Centre. Recruiting offices are now information centres and first contact venues, and we are charged with just getting the usual information from an applicant: level of education, type of background, and that sort of thing, before passing them onto an Assesment Centre However, it was decided that each interviewer of a possible recruit should be able to give their assessment of him/her, the criterion being – would you want that person alongside you in a trench?"

He gave a slight snort of amusement. "Of course, it is not just at The Sharp End that we need a constant stream of recruits; administration, catering, mechanics, electricians, et al, all are required, and they are not the usual professions that would normally be found in a trench. Be that as it may, the fact remains that every member of the British Army is trained as an infantryman, and might one day be standing in a trench fighting off an assault."

He lit a cigarette, after offering one to me. "Still, the greatest numbers of recruits will be bound for the 'teeth' arms of service; infantry, armour and artillery, so the trench worthiness test is probably as good as any for the most part. Before you are put on interviewing you will need to do the psychology course. It's only of four days duration, and just introduces you to the usual body language tell- tales that let you know how the applicant is really responding to your questions. The course is designed to give the basic skill of determining the trench worthiness of the applicants, although someone with your experience will have a built in instinct."

He smiled. "I suppose, like most squaddies, you have an inherent unease around trick cyclists and their ilk, but this course is run by a civvy management consultancy team in Aldershot. I throughly enjoyed the experience, and so does everyone else who has attended. Have you any questions on anything I've said so far?"

"No sir. It all seems fairly straightforward." I was pleased to learn that I was going to be in Aldershot for a few days; it would be a good chance for me to look up Wurzel Colcott.

Captain Plume stubbed out his cigarette and continued. "After tours in Northern Ireland, Bosnia and the Falklands you might find it rather dull here, but we do have our moments. Another task of the ARO is to liaise with the Territorial Army (TA). The HQ company of the Fourth Battalion (TA) of the Wessex Regiment is based at Reading Barracks, besides a TA Field Ambulance company, a transport company and a training team of the Army Catering Corps. Many TA soldiers decide to join the regular army after a few years in the 'Terriers'. We also make visits to schools and colleges, to make tenth year students aware of the career opportunities in the army. Of course we are in competition with the Royal Navy and the Royal Air Force when it comes to that. There is an Officers Training Corps at the local university, and we often get members of the Corps deciding on an army career. All in all we have a busy schedule, but of course there are no guard duties, or orderly corporal, or fire piquet, or any of those other commitments you find in the army. We work from eight am to five pm, Mondays to Saturdays, but can usually sort out a rota that allows everyone to manage a weekend home at least twice a month."

He looked at my documents on his desk. "I see that your home is in Plaistow? It is not unknown for members of this office, with homes in London, to commute to work; against the flow of traffic so to speak, as naturally there are plenty of commuters travelling from Reading into London."

"I will be living in the barrack accommodation, sir. In fact I will not be going home for Christmas and so will be available for extra duty over that period."

He looked at me warily. "Trouble at home, Corporal?"

"Let's just say my wife and I are working through some issues, sir."

He smiled with relief. "Well I know that your offer of doing extra duties over the festive season will be most welcome. The barracks are actually rather good, accommodation wise. Staff Sergeant Brazen is single and lives in the barracks, he seems happy enough with his billet."

I had already sussed that Gervase Brazen was a ladies man, and that he was playing hide the lance with the female sergeant, a bonny, full figured Scottish girl from the Royal Artillery, known as Mons Meg. In fact Gervase was known in the office as "Lance a Lot", so I would imagine Meg was not the only recipient of his lance.

I attended the course to train me up in interviewing techniques in Aldershot a week after joining the ARO, and stayed in Montgomery Lines transit block.

As soon as I was able I visited Wurzel Colcott, who had been living in Cindy's house since marrying Mandy. He had put on a bit of weight since I had last seen him, but still maintained that same deadpan humour and West Country drawl. We had a night out at his local pub, the Three Feathers, which was frequented by many of the ex-squaddies who had settled in the area after their service. It was obvious Wurzel had many friends, and I was glad to see how well he had made the transition from military to civilian life, but of course he had not joined as a boy so had previous experience of Civvy Street.

Over a pint or two we exchanged news of what we had been up to since we last met. He was interested in my time in Kenya and Bosnia, and commiserated with me on my loss of my sergeants' stripes, although he said. "Fair play, Dewey, you knew what you could be letting yourself in for when you went sniffing around that married Welsh piece. I hope she was worth it."

On reflection I suppose Ffion Probert came at a very high price, but I was now back on the track to becoming promoted to sergeant, and as long as I kept my nose clean, and more especially my todger out of women married to squaddies, I should be OK.

"So how is it now, between you and Miriam ... any chance of a reconciliation?"

I finished my pint. " Possibly – probably – given time; we're back and forth like the tide at Southend. It has been over six months since we last spoke to each other, so I expect her to be getting back in touch soon."

"You're not going home for Christmas?"

"No, I've volunteered for duty after Boxing Day up to the day after New Year's day." I grinned. "I'm after as many Brownie points as I can, and getting good reports won't hinder my promotion prospects."

"Come and spend Christmas Day with us. Mandy and Cindy will love to see you, and we've got a spare bedroom."

I was tempted; Christmas Day on my own was not something I had been looking forward to. "Well thanks, Wurzel, I really appreciate the offer." A thought suddenly struck me. "Will Mandy be doing the cooking? Isn't Cindy living with her old man in Basingstoke?"

Wurzel looked a bit embarrassed. "Yeah, she was ... get the next round in and I'll tell you all about it when I get back from having a slash."

With fresh pints before us Wurzel explained the set-up 55 Lonsdale Road, Aldershot.

The first three years of his marriage to Mandy was everything he could wish for. He had found his own sexual paradise, and visited that sublime venue several times a night, and several times during the day, practically every day, of those three years.

"I used to get to work each morning completely knackered; how the fuck I managed to drive the bus and keep awake is a mystery. Mandy wanted an early morning fuck, then a later morning fuck, and as soon as I got home she wanted a welcome-home fuck. That was before the after-tea fuck, and then the several times during the evening and night fucks. Matter of fact the day after she went up to Oxford University was the first time I had a full night of sleep, and probably drove the bus safely, for three years. Mind you, she had fucked me stupid before she left. With all the energy I was burning up I was as skinny as a rake. Weight Watchers should take up the idea of non-stop shagging as a slimming aid." He patted his belly. "I've put a bit more on since Mandy went to uni."

A few days after Mandy left for Oxford, Cindy had turned up on the door step of 55 Lonsdale Road. She and her husband had split up – again, and it wasn't long before Wurzel and she were sharing a bed, and bodily fluids – again.

"Mandy was among boys of her own age, with the same sort of intellect as she had, up in Oxford. It was natural that she, being a very passionate girl and not getting the daily infusions of hot throbbing cock that she was used to, would start shagging what was available at the university." Wurzel drank deeply from his glass. "I wasn't surprised when she told me she had been shagging other men – Mandy has always been completly honest with me. I knew that she didn't love them like she loved me, but they were there and I wasn't. So we came to an agreement."

Mandy and Wurzel had an open marriage. When she was at Oxford she shagged who she wanted to, and Wurzel shagged her mother; when Mandy came home on holiday she shagged Wurzel, and Cindy had to wait until Mandy left before she could join Wurzel in his bed. A strange relationship, but it seemed to work for them.

I stayed at Wurzel's place over Christmas, arriving after finishing work on Christmas Eve. I was a bit concerned that with Mandy in Wurzel's bed I would be expected to warm Cindy's, but there was no hint of anything like that. Mandy, now barely 20, looked gorgeous, and it was obvious she adored Wurzel. Cindy seemed quite content to see her daughter wrapped proprietarily around Wurzel, and for the energetic shagging they enjoyed, quite loudly at times, at night.

I managed to hitch a lift on Boxing Day afternoon with an army vehicle returning to Reading Barracks. It had been an interesting visit. On Christmas morning Cindy had cooked the dinner – the Full Monty of turkey and all the trimmings, and more variety of vegetables than on a costermonger's barrow. After dinner I fell asleep on the settee, stuffed as full as an egg – both me and the settee. Mandy went to see some friends from school, and the cook got a Christmas stuffing from Wurzel. In fact it was Cindy's cries of pleasure that woke me from my postprandial slumber.