close to pay day and so, although it cost me almost a full ounce, my fears of this initial meeting, as described earlier, were dispelled. It's strange how things work in the army, and I wondered that night what the story would have been had I decided not to buy that tin at Waterloo Station three days earlier.
The platoon was full of great characters, each one adding their own unique contributions to the way in which we lived. I could fill another book just describing them all, so I will only describe a few to give you the general picture. The first guy I met was a Geordie called Pete Carr. Pete was a lunatic in his own right; he modelled himself on Bruce Lee and worshipped the Seventies. Pete was also of Indian origin, although he was unsure of his true birthday and some years later when we were going to Canada he discovered he didn't have a passport and it took a lot of time and effort on the army's behalf to get him one. How he ever got into the British army without one is beyond me. As a result of his wayward personality, Pete looked like an Indian porn star from China whenever he got dressed up for a night on the town.
Following closely behind Pete was his loyal but completely different friend 'Mac' McLeod. Mac was the sensible one; well at least he was the only one in the platoon still to have money left after the first weekend of the month. He was a fitness fanatic and spent hours in the gym and out running. He was also an excellent boxer, with many trophies under his belt including battalion champion, which was an achievement in itself considering the competition you get in a Green Jacket battalion. Yet to look at Mac he seemed the most unlikely boxing champion ever. But another lesson I had learned was never to judge a book by its cover and never underestimate anyone.
Mac once had a run-in with a giant of a man from the REME (Royal Electrical Mechanical Engineers) when he fell into Mac pissed down the town and started blaming Mac for spilling his drink. Ever calm, Mac suggested they didn't fight in the bar and get nicked by the army, but rather settled it in the ring back at the camp. That was it, the gauntlet had been thrown, and the REME lads were convinced their man would win hands down due to his size. I did warn them to go to the library and read about David and Goliath, but they just weren't having it. Anyway, the day of the bout arrived and, needless to say, Mac was all over the fat git, who didn't even get the chance to land one punch. Eventually his mates threw in the towel after Mac had made a bit of a mess of him, but once again another man had stood his ground and earned the respect of someone who was all set to kick the living daylights out of him. A man who had spent a week bragging to all and sundry about what he was going to do to this 'little prick' had to eat a bit of humble pie, when the swelling went down that is!
Then there was Kia Morgan, a wiry man from Dartford who had a mass of perfectly combed black hair and matching moustache. Kia, like most of us, did like a drink and spent most of his time pissed and slurring out his own personal views on life and the army. He was, however, a very good soldier who had the utmost pride in his regiment and staunch loyalty to his friends. You could always rely on Kia to help out if you ever got into any bother.
Finally I must introduce you to Paul 'Fred' (due to his uncanny resemblance to Fred Flintstone) Symcox, the platoon's secret weapon. What Fred seemed to lack in common sense he more than made up for in sheer size and strength. In fact Fred's appearance and apparently stupid nature hid a man who was actually very clever and had more 'O' and 'A' levels than the rest of the platoon put together. Despite being prone to the odd temper tantrum, when it was best to stay well clear, Fred, like the rest of us, was extremely loyal. He proved this on a number of occasions by bailing us out of many a scrape. I remember one night we were out and Fred was being
The platoon was full of great characters, each one adding their own unique contributions to the way in which we lived. I could fill another book just describing them all, so I will only describe a few to give you the general picture. The first guy I met was a Geordie called Pete Carr. Pete was a lunatic in his own right; he modelled himself on Bruce Lee and worshipped the Seventies. Pete was also of Indian origin, although he was unsure of his true birthday and some years later when we were going to Canada he discovered he didn't have a passport and it took a lot of time and effort on the army's behalf to get him one. How he ever got into the British army without one is beyond me. As a result of his wayward personality, Pete looked like an Indian porn star from China whenever he got dressed up for a night on the town.
Following closely behind Pete was his loyal but completely different friend 'Mac' McLeod. Mac was the sensible one; well at least he was the only one in the platoon still to have money left after the first weekend of the month. He was a fitness fanatic and spent hours in the gym and out running. He was also an excellent boxer, with many trophies under his belt including battalion champion, which was an achievement in itself considering the competition you get in a Green Jacket battalion. Yet to look at Mac he seemed the most unlikely boxing champion ever. But another lesson I had learned was never to judge a book by its cover and never underestimate anyone.
Mac once had a run-in with a giant of a man from the REME (Royal Electrical Mechanical Engineers) when he fell into Mac pissed down the town and started blaming Mac for spilling his drink. Ever calm, Mac suggested they didn't fight in the bar and get nicked by the army, but rather settled it in the ring back at the camp. That was it, the gauntlet had been thrown, and the REME lads were convinced their man would win hands down due to his size. I did warn them to go to the library and read about David and Goliath, but they just weren't having it. Anyway, the day of the bout arrived and, needless to say, Mac was all over the fat git, who didn't even get the chance to land one punch. Eventually his mates threw in the towel after Mac had made a bit of a mess of him, but once again another man had stood his ground and earned the respect of someone who was all set to kick the living daylights out of him. A man who had spent a week bragging to all and sundry about what he was going to do to this 'little prick' had to eat a bit of humble pie, when the swelling went down that is!
Then there was Kia Morgan, a wiry man from Dartford who had a mass of perfectly combed black hair and matching moustache. Kia, like most of us, did like a drink and spent most of his time pissed and slurring out his own personal views on life and the army. He was, however, a very good soldier who had the utmost pride in his regiment and staunch loyalty to his friends. You could always rely on Kia to help out if you ever got into any bother.
Finally I must introduce you to Paul 'Fred' (due to his uncanny resemblance to Fred Flintstone) Symcox, the platoon's secret weapon. What Fred seemed to lack in common sense he more than made up for in sheer size and strength. In fact Fred's appearance and apparently stupid nature hid a man who was actually very clever and had more 'O' and 'A' levels than the rest of the platoon put together. Despite being prone to the odd temper tantrum, when it was best to stay well clear, Fred, like the rest of us, was extremely loyal. He proved this on a number of occasions by bailing us out of many a scrape. I remember one night we were out and Fred was being
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