When I was in the Horse Artillery this weekend was probably one of the busiest week ends of the year. On the Saturday before the Armistice Parades on Sunday we sent two gun teams down to the Mansion house to take part in The Lord Mayor Parade. The parade wound it’s way through and around Fleet Street taking the new Lord Mayor of London to The Guild Hall in his state carriage. It was a great atmosphere but being in the forces we were bulling everything and everyone up three weeks before these events.
On The Lord Mayor Parade the horses and guns had to go up and down some quite steep (for horses and a two and a half tonne gun) streets. The team has no brakes except the two horses nearest to the gun (these horses are called ‘wheelers’ and are usually smaller and stockier than the other horses, because to slow the guns back from a gallop they needed great body strength and also a low centre of gravity). Anyway some of the streets were too steep to negotiate under normal condition, so each team had a brake man (in full uniform but on foot) for the occasion who’s job it was to wind on a mechanical brake on the guns to help the wheelers to hold the gun and limber back. This brake was very rudimentary, huge metal brake shoes engaged on each of the two gun wheels by winding furiously on a metal handle at the shield of the gun (near the barrel) to apply the brakes, whilst all the time trying to keep up with the ever increasing speed of the whole team yourself (there was many a slip ending with an embarrassed fully dressed gunner sprawled out on the road watching a disappearing team, thank goodness it was never me). If you were too early the team had to drag the gun and limber down the hill and it all looked rather ridiculous (and you got a rocket from an angry sergeant when you got to the bottom of the hill). Or you left putting the brake on too late whilst the poor wheelers had their harness and collars round their necks as they sat in their hind harness trying to slow down the whole shooting match (and you got a rocket from an angry sergeant when you got to the bottom of the hill). It was a ‘no win’ job and I got lumbered with it on two years in succession. However it was a good being in amongst the crowds in uniform, showing off just a little.
After the finish of the parade we got back to St John’s Wood for late tea, and then we had to clean up all the harness and the guns, overnight, so that they could turn out for the Cenotaph Parade in Whitehall on Sunday morning. Guns and teams turned out on Horse Guards parade to fire the guns to mark the start and end of the two minutes silence of the Whitehall church service. Also we turned out two detachments ( about twenty soldiers in each) on foot and in full dress, one for the Cenotaph Parade in Whitehall and the other for a parade at the Royal Artillery Memorial, which is at the huge roundabout at the bottom of Park Lane where it meets with Piccadilly Road and Knightsbridge Road (if I remember correctly). For mounted soldiers these two foot parades were dreaded for many weeks beforehand, because we were not used to foot drill and standing for long periods without a horse underneath us. I was on the Whitehall Parade for three years and the Artillery Parade for one year. We finally got back to barracks and cleaned up by early afternoon. If we were lucky we then had the rest of the weekend to ourselves (others had to do all night guard duty etc, etc)
In hindsight however, I have always been very proud to have actually taken part in such magnificent ceremonial occasions.
Just a topical note for today I thought.
Now back to a very lovely day in Spain. I think that we have seriously underestimated the number of almond trees that we have. I finished pruning (two falls and two submissions to the almond trees) a section of trees today, that I started a few weeks back, and then sat back and counted the section that I have pruned. There are thirty seven almond trees with short back and sides so far, just in this little section. There must be at least four times that amount of trees still to prune, should I feel that I want too. It really is hard and tiring work, the branches as they fall, and even just by looking at them, insist on poking you in the eyes, ears and up your nose or just generally getting tangled in the chainsaw wires or your clothing as they fall. They quite often knock your glasses off and flick them about four or five metres away, just because you want to give the trees a nice new haircut.
From Elayne:
Do I detect a hint of nostalgia for the ‘good old days’? Mind you he was quite a ‘looker’ in his uniform, and wasn’t the only proud one.
We had a lot of fun during our ‘Troop’ days, with some pretty wild impromptu parties, which ended with comatose bodies all over the lounge.
Thankfully they were pretty good at helping to clear up, the morning after.
Good days, good friends, and really good memories.