First thing on the morning after our enrolment at the Police Training College... after spending a pleasant evening in the bar, where many of the drinkers were imbibing pint glasses of cold milk... we half shuffled out on to the parade ground to the tune of Colonel Bogie. The other four classes... two for each month of training... marched out as if they were part of the Scots Guard, as many of them and the instructors were. It didn't take long to realise that even a third of our own intake were ex-military, mostly serving some ten years in the armed forces. 'Me and old Dickie Palmer were in for some fun,' I sarcastically thought.
After being introduced to our instructors... ours being a very decent chap whose name now evades me... we were hustled out on to the parade ground for our rights-of-passage into square-bashing. Being the tallest in our class, I was always positioned on a corner of the squad.
And if anyone was going to make a mistake at the harshly barked orders of the drill sergeant, it was going to be me... as I couldn't slightly hesitate to see what the instructor was shouting before making my move. Many an occasion, I had to run in full uniform with great-coat the mile up the drive, then back to the squad and carry on breathlessly with the others as before.
When we were assembled for unarmed combat training on the quadrangle, the short, bumtious drill sergeant, who had spent fifteen years in the Royal Scots Guards, stepped forward and ordered a volunteer to attack him. He looked at us ranged in front of him in a line and pointed to me, seeing that I was the tallest. "You!" he shouted at me. "Attack me!"
I could see this was a set-up, just so he could bumptiously show off his skills in unarmed combat to the rest of the class. There was no point in objecting to his command regarding asking for a volunteer, so I stepped forward to engage with him.
He was ex-military and super-fit, and no doubt trained to the hilt in his martial art. He was expecting this young country boy... in his eyes, anyway... straight from the wilds of Suffolk, to throw him a punch. And then, in double-quick time through several karate moves, I would find myself on the ground with my arm bent up my back.
'Right, you smart git!' I thought to myself. 'Just you wait and see.' I'd been dealing with short, bumtious fools like him all my life. Talk about short person syndrome! I moved in front of him and raised my right hand in a fist ready to punch him in the face, then stepped forward.
He came at me as if he was Bruce Lee in one of his films... low and fast... ready to put me in a Judeo grip and throw me to the ground. But I enclosed him in my arms and picked him off the ground. All his Judeo holds and training were of little use to him now, as he couldn't use his strength to overbalance me.
He was flailing in my arms... his arms and legs whirring about like a windmill ... but it did him no good. I dug my thumbs into the arch of his back each side of the spine and gripped him even harder. I could tell from his red face that he was having trouble breathing.
"Put me down, you bastard!" he shouted at me. "Put me down this minute!" He was openly panting for breath, as I was crushing his lungs in my grip.
When I thought he'd had enough, and that my point had been made clear to him and all the students, I bent slightly forward, bending him backwards, then thrust out my stomach and let go of him at the same time.
He hit the tarmac parade ground on his back with a thump, then bounded to his feet again as if spring-loaded. "I'll get you for this!" he shouted at me. "Just you wait... you bastard!" He brushed himself down, then picked on a smaller student to dishonour in front of the class. He never picked on me again... nor did anybody else, for that matter.
I glanced up at the Commandant's balcony, seeing some movement out of the corner of my eye. He was watching us, alright, dressed in his full Commandant's uniform. 'That will give you something to think about,' I thought to myself. To be continued. All the best, Cpt Dick Brooks.
After being introduced to our instructors... ours being a very decent chap whose name now evades me... we were hustled out on to the parade ground for our rights-of-passage into square-bashing. Being the tallest in our class, I was always positioned on a corner of the squad.
And if anyone was going to make a mistake at the harshly barked orders of the drill sergeant, it was going to be me... as I couldn't slightly hesitate to see what the instructor was shouting before making my move. Many an occasion, I had to run in full uniform with great-coat the mile up the drive, then back to the squad and carry on breathlessly with the others as before.
When we were assembled for unarmed combat training on the quadrangle, the short, bumtious drill sergeant, who had spent fifteen years in the Royal Scots Guards, stepped forward and ordered a volunteer to attack him. He looked at us ranged in front of him in a line and pointed to me, seeing that I was the tallest. "You!" he shouted at me. "Attack me!"
I could see this was a set-up, just so he could bumptiously show off his skills in unarmed combat to the rest of the class. There was no point in objecting to his command regarding asking for a volunteer, so I stepped forward to engage with him.
He was ex-military and super-fit, and no doubt trained to the hilt in his martial art. He was expecting this young country boy... in his eyes, anyway... straight from the wilds of Suffolk, to throw him a punch. And then, in double-quick time through several karate moves, I would find myself on the ground with my arm bent up my back.
'Right, you smart git!' I thought to myself. 'Just you wait and see.' I'd been dealing with short, bumtious fools like him all my life. Talk about short person syndrome! I moved in front of him and raised my right hand in a fist ready to punch him in the face, then stepped forward.
He came at me as if he was Bruce Lee in one of his films... low and fast... ready to put me in a Judeo grip and throw me to the ground. But I enclosed him in my arms and picked him off the ground. All his Judeo holds and training were of little use to him now, as he couldn't use his strength to overbalance me.
He was flailing in my arms... his arms and legs whirring about like a windmill ... but it did him no good. I dug my thumbs into the arch of his back each side of the spine and gripped him even harder. I could tell from his red face that he was having trouble breathing.
"Put me down, you bastard!" he shouted at me. "Put me down this minute!" He was openly panting for breath, as I was crushing his lungs in my grip.
When I thought he'd had enough, and that my point had been made clear to him and all the students, I bent slightly forward, bending him backwards, then thrust out my stomach and let go of him at the same time.
He hit the tarmac parade ground on his back with a thump, then bounded to his feet again as if spring-loaded. "I'll get you for this!" he shouted at me. "Just you wait... you bastard!" He brushed himself down, then picked on a smaller student to dishonour in front of the class. He never picked on me again... nor did anybody else, for that matter.
I glanced up at the Commandant's balcony, seeing some movement out of the corner of my eye. He was watching us, alright, dressed in his full Commandant's uniform. 'That will give you something to think about,' I thought to myself. To be continued. All the best, Cpt Dick Brooks.