2.1: Authority: my failures as a subaltern

It might have been better for me if I had gone straight to Combermere Barracks, immediately on receiving my commission, without having a spell of leave beforehand. For the leave which I spent (at Sturford and at Cowrie,) furnished me with a chance to brood upon my doubts about being a fit person to command others. I might think that I was happy at the prospect of going to Windsor, but there must have been a real dread in my heart in that my body managed to cook up a high temperature, psychosomatically, which certainly wasn't faked, but which disappeared miraculously after spells of a few minutes. My local G.P. was summoned on the eve of my departure, and could find nothing wrong with me. So I was left with no excuse not to present myself for duty at Combermere Barracks. This was in August 1951.

I encountered an instant warmth of acceptance within the officers' mess at Combermere. The percentage of Old Etonians was high, so I was already on friendly terms with a large number of them. Within recent intakes were James and Charlie Morrison, Michael Grimstone, Garry Patterson, Terence Goulder, Reid Wilson, David Stapleton-Cotton and Miles Burkitt - all of whom had been friends when at Eton. And there were a whole lot of others who had now signed on, formerly unknown to me perhaps, but distinctly well-disposed towards me - due not least to their vague acquaintance with Caroline, if not to reports about me being a bit of a character. There was Michael Naylor-Leyland for example, the brother of Vyvian who was once dating Caroline. And the list went on with names like Henry Montgomery-Charrington, Simon Galway, Victor Hoare and Christopher Phillipson. It was really not far from being an old boys' club for Etonians - even if the other famous public schools had their representatives there too.

The tone was definitely one of general friendliness, but this didn't somehow put me at my ease - even after I'd been to see the Colonel, who was equally welcoming. Colonel Ferris had been promoted to a Brigadier incidentally, and we were now under the command of Colonel Jackie Ward. He had a relaxed, gentle approach to everything, which I found calming in my present crisis. And it relieved me greatly to note that he was studying the report on my +22 grading over the course of this interview, rather than moving on to my ultimate -4 grading. I took a warm liking to him from the start, which I never had cause to reverse.

Colonel Jackie told me to report to D Squadron, along with Angus McNeill, where we would be under the command of Major (Nipper) Wordsworth, whose second-in-command was Captain Duncan Llewellyn, and the other officers being Christopher Phillipson, Derek Bartlett and Garry Patterson. My initial impressions of Nipper Wordsworth were none too favourable. He was by no means at ease with his subalterns, partly no doubt because of his diminutive size and youthful - almost gnome-like - appearance. He probably felt that, to increase his authority, he needed to hold himself aloof and to deal brusquely with us. But I could feel that he was just as highly strung as myself, which had the makings from the start of a dangerous relationship.

Garry, Angus and myself were put in command of three of the sabre troops, with each of them consisting of two armoured cars and two scout cars. I was to be in command of 4 Troop, and I was introduced to them. But Corporal-of-Horse Dodson - with three stripes that is to say - was away on a prolonged course. And this was disastrous from the viewpoint of any young subaltern when taking up his duties with the Regiment, in that I should have expected him to show me the ropes, initiating me into all my new duties. Much of the tale of woe which follows can be attributed directly to the absence of any such guidance at my side. And it was even more unfortunate for me in that CoH Dodson's absence from the scene became extended, long beyond what they had first envisaged it might be.

The man I had to rely upon to perform these duties was Cpl Alexander, who had none of the right attitudes to assist me in my tasks. This is principally because his loyalties were entirely with the men, rather than with his officer. He was shielding them from me, rather than the other way round, and many of my misfortunes were a consequence of this attitude over the following months. Then there was Cpl Guilliland, who couldn't be relied upon to read a map correctly - which was the main task that I required of any scout-car commander. And the others in the troop struck me as being a surly crowd - with the exception of Rose, who was a newcomer like myself, and appeared quite happy to accept me as he found me, without feeling that I was about to destroy whatever sense of unity that they had previously known.

My real trouble was that I felt so utterly superfluous. This was a period during which we simply had to oversee that all the vehicles in our troop were in good functioning order. Yet despite my training as a cavalry officer, I had never even begun to comprehend anything about the mechanics of a car. I was supposed to check that everything was being done correctly, according to the book. But all that I could read upon their faces was a fierce resentment that I should spend so much time attempting to interfere with whatever they were doing. The headaches began to return, and the bouts of high temperature too. I took to my bed and the Medical Officer was eventually summoned, whereupon he took the decision to send me to the local military hospital for observation.

It is sometimes difficult to decipher what the body truly wants. I must accept that I was creating these headaches and high temperatures psychosomatically, and part of me must certainly have been hoping to be excused from all duties. But there was another part of me which was genuinely horrified to discover that I was being hospitalised. I think I realised how my body was teetering on the brink of nervous breakdown, and that this would be counted as failure on my general record. I needed to recover if that stamp of failure was to be avoided.

I was subjected to a whole series of tests, and lay waiting for the verdict on my health. Then someone came into my ward wearing pyjamas, with a battle-dress top with Life Guards' insignia, and a Corporal's stripes. He said he'd heard from the Colonel, who had apparently been visiting the hospital that morning, how a young officer from his Regiment had been admitted to this ward; so he'd come to look me up. He himself had a gammy leg, he confided, tapping it with his hand. So what was it that I'd come in for?

Somehow I sensed that I was under medical examination. Corporals don't come making social calls upon young subalterns, whom they haven't actually met. And I doubted if the Colonel would have the time to pay visits to the hospital - unless there was a matter of some urgency involved. I was being offered an opportunity to spin some yarn about suffering from a serious malady, which the Colonel might need to discuss with the doctors. And at the same time this Corporal, who was probably one of their psychologists in disguise, was probing to see how I might cope with the intrusive attentions of an avuncular NCO: whether I was capable of handling the situation, which would throw some light on whether I was fit to command.

It seems that I passed. Anyway I kept my psychological distance from him, telling him that there was nothing wrong with me whatsoever, and that they'd discover this for themselves from the results of the tests they'd taken. He looked at me long and hard, but I didn't add anything. So he withdrew from the ward. And I was soon informed that I could return to the barracks.

My absence from the scene hadn't really been noticed by anyone at all - which came as a relief to me. And I threw myself once again into the task of trying to appear in the guise of the perfect commissioned officer. When performing for the first time as the Duty Officer, I can remember the rigidity with which I marched across from the mess to the parade ground, almost as if I imagined that I was being filmed for text book instruction on the subject. One of the Corporal-Majors, who had refereed some of the bouts I had fought at Eton incidentally, commented dryly that it was clear for all to see just who was going to be the dominant figure in the Officers' Mess. But the charade had also been noted through a window of the mess, by Victor Hoare. I know not what he said on the matter, but I later got ribbed on the subject by some of my own friends. So realising that I was in danger now of making a complete fool of myself, I hastily reverted to a more casual step whenever marching to take up my duties on parade.

I also got back into the task of endeavouring to establish a workable relationship with my troop, although I quickly came to the conclusion that the only way of reducing the degree to which I was getting on their nerves was to keep my appearances to the minimum - concealing myself from everyone's view, for most of the time, within the privacy of my room. That was whenever we were back in barracks, that is to say. But quite frequently we were out and about for tactical practice, because we were in preparation for were the Brigade manoeuvres which were to start in October. Each troop had to practise snake patrolling and wireless communications before the squadron could get together for more collective exercises.

Nipper was so precise in his instructions that everything had to be done according to the book, and I did my utmost to see that we did things that way. But it was all so time-consuming. Just to see that our cars were properly camouflaged - with foliage or whatever - before they set off patrolling at the start of an exercise, was something that you could do quickly, or with care. I made the error of insisting that we do everything with too much care. But as a result of this, we were perpetually falling behind in the schedule that had been set for us. And the time had to be made up from out of the moments that were left to us - which meant skimping on the brewing-up and lunch breaks. And I soon had a bunch of thoroughly discontented troopers on my hands, comparing their lot with that elsewhere, where the tasks were performed with less concern about the detail, but where they had brew-ups on the hour appointed for them.

Nipper lacked patience with me, in that my troop was always lagging behind the others in the completion of the day's work. Nor was it only because of the detail in which I endeavoured to do things correctly. There was also the question of it being our vehicles, more frequently than those of other troops, being the ones to break down. Or it seemed to be our wirelesses that went off the air at crucial junctures in an exercise. It would have been a lame excuse to put it all down to faulty equipment. The poor maintenance of that equipment must also have had something to do with it. So Nipper was for ever coming up on the air to chide me for my negligence, and to tell me to get a move on too. But the more I got a move on, the more things fell into confusion. And it didn't take long before we were all detesting one another all round.

I did gather my troop together, after a squadron exercise, to try and analyse what was going wrong for us. And I did take the responsibility upon my own shoulders, while urging them all to bear with me while I found my feet in these matters. I promised them that it wouldn't always be like this, but that it might take a little while before I got the knack of things. Someone came up with the bright idea that I ought to sit back and watch how Cpl Alexander handled the troop, on my behalf, until I had acquired more experience. But I wasn't having any of that, so we were back where we started, without any of us feeling that there was a solution in sight.

Cpl Alexander approached me at one point when we were back at the barracks, to warn me that I had best keep away from one particular trooper - who boxed for the Regiment incidentally - in that I was getting so much on his nerves that he was liable to bop me one. I let that comment pass when I shouldn't have, perhaps. But it was indicative of the way that Cpl Alexander appeared to feel that a warning should be given to myself, rather than to [G], who was the man in question. It was very much Me against the rest, in those days.

It did occur to Nipper that my problems might stem from the fact that I didn't have a Corporal-of-Horse in the troop, so he supplied me with one on a temporary basis for the Brigade manoeuvres, which were now due to take place. This was CoH Bobitt. But it didn't resolve my difficulties. The armoured-car which I had allotted to him was breaking down even more frequently than my own, and he was left for hours on end, waiting - in the bitter cold and pouring rain - for the recovery vehicle to arrive. I had promised to get it sent to him, but Nipper was most unresponsive to all my pleas to give his attention to the matter. And when there was a repetition of this neglect on the second day of the scheme, CoH Bobitt's morale was cracking, and he was giving voice to all the criticisms about myself that were already being murmured by the rest of the troop.

I was experiencing my own problems too, of course. We had umpires from a different regiment attached to each Squadron, and my own troop was accompanied by a young lieutenant in the Hussars. He was well disposed in friendliness towards me at the start. But there came a moment when I had taken up a defensive position to one side of the road, and then received an abrupt order to advance - "and quickly too!" I advanced so quickly that I only just had time to unhinge the locking device on my two pounder, which had been aiming at an angle down the road from just behind a telegraph post. So in advancing, the gun's barrel struck the telegraph post and, released just in time from its locking device, spun swiftly round with some force, and most unfortunately caught the young umpire on the side of his head - since he had perched himself on the rear end of my car. I caught a glimpse of him upside down, in mid air, before falling into the road behind me.

I scrambled down from the car's turret to investigate whether he was alive or dead, and was greatly relieved to see him climbing shakily to his feet - in a state of outrage against myself. In fact he swung a couple of punches at my head, but was so unsteady on his feet that they were wide of the mark. Nonetheless he declined to have anything more to do with my troop, and was hastily dispatched elsewhere.

When it came to the time for post-mortem analyses upon the scheme, CoH Bobitt made it clear to the Squadron's Corporal-Major that he would mutiny rather than to serve any additional spell under my command. In fact he went further than this - as I was to learn some while later - in saying that I was useless as a sabre-troop leader, and that I always would be useless. One of the two of us must be replaced. And fortunately for my own sense of dignity, it was decided that he was the one to be transferred to the HQ troop.

I did take the opportunity at this post-mortem analysis to get [G] replaced. He had managed to overturn his scout-car during this scheme - quite apart from being surly in his attitude all round. And I also got one relatively harmless trooper replaced, on the grounds that the others disliked him. But I had my doubts that I was really getting to the heart of my problems in these changes. Nothing could really go right until I got myself sorted out. And there was little sign that such a state had yet been achieved.

It also seems evident that Nipper had requested the Colonel for a replacement for myself. I would have been given some desk job in Headquarters' Squadron, if that had occurred. But Col Jackie must have replied that he would like to see for himself if I was really that useless as a sabre-troop leader, so Nipper told me to prepare my troop for a day's exercise, when he came along himself - with the Colonel and the Adjutant accompanying us. I knew that I was being tested, but this didn't throw me into a panic. In fact I rose well to the occasion, eager to let the Colonel see for himself just how difficult it was to serve under Nipper when anxieties began to inflict him. And he gave ample example of this, snapping orders at me over the wireless, then repeating them or modifying them with unnecessary precision. Anyone could see that he was a pain in the neck to his subalterns, and that I was coping as well as could be expected under the circumstances.

But Nipper wasn't the only one to want to get rid of me from D Squadron. The men in my troop knew as well as I did that this outing was crucial in some way, and that if things went wrong, then they might well expect to be furnished with a new troop leader. So they did their utmost to try and make it work out that things did go wrong. I shall never know for certain if the leading scout-car really did fail to see the armoured-car that was waiting in ambush for us beside the road up ahead, but in any case he gave me no warning about it and. snake patrolling though I was, all the vehicles in my troop were out in the open when the enemy opened fire. And then each individual driver made it his business to endeavour to reverse his car into the nearest ditch.

Under the circumstances, I coped quite admirably with the situation. I remained calm in the delivery of my commands, despite Nipper coming up on the air with his superfluous criticisms; and all in that shrill, high- pitched tone which he employed in moments of agitation or excitement. It may have taken a little time to sort things out, but sort them out I did. And Col Jackie's comment to Nipper, delivered in my presence, was that I'd been handling the situation correctly, and that my error was in not sending my leading scout-car well up in advance of myself when snake-patrolling, to avoid the danger of ambush - even if it involved a greater risk for the scout-car. I was happy to digest that piece of advice, and Nipper was obliged to accept that he would now be lumbered with me, perhaps for the duration of my National Service.

For my own part, it might be said that I was still in troubled waters, for things were to get worse. I was becoming unpunctual in my appointments, and had already picked up about three extra Duty Officer parades as a punishment from Nipper. But I now had the humiliation of being reported late on parade by Cpl-Maj Radcliffe, when I went to inspect the Guard on one such occasion. He did it because it was by no means the first time that I had kept the Guard waiting for their inspection. So there was probably an accord between the Corporal-Majors that the next time it happened, the matter must be reported to the Adjutant - who agreed with them, and added one extra Duty Officer parade to my score.

Another indication that I had lost the respect of the Warrant Officers came when I was failed for my driving test by Cpl-Maj Roberts of D Sqn. But this needs a word or two of explanation.

It was forbidden for any Life Guards officer to be seen riding a motorbike, so a car it had to be. I made plans for buying a second-hand London taxi, which in those days would have cost a mere £40, but I eventually persuaded Henry to let me have an old Land-Rover, which was to be discarded from use by the estate - Roger the Rover, as it came to be known in the officers' mess. The passing of my driving test for a car then became a matter of some urgency. I had been able to drive for some while, (virtually since childhood in effect,) but whether to the standard required for the test was something that remained to be seen.

It was Angus who discovered that Cpl-Maj Roberts was entitled to pass anyone for a driving licence - after a suitable examination of course. But as soon as I discovered how Angus had acquired a licence in this fashion, I made my own approach to the Corporal-Major - but with a different result. He took me out and failed me, for some technicality which was really quite trivial. I knew damn well that he was failing me for no better reason that he didn't like being imposed on in this fashion, unless such an offer were to come from himself - as indeed had been the case with Angus. But my general standing in the squadron wasn't such that he wanted to do me any similar favour.

In all the complexity of the way army relationships work however, the officers' mess was disconcerted at the way a mere Corporal-Major was telling us all that one of us wasn't fit to drive a car. So Tony Cheeseman who was the Technical Adjutant, came and told me that I'd better let him take a look at my driving ability for himself. He took me out in an army truck, which I handled with all due competence. So I was promptly issued with a driving licence - virtually as a rebuke to Cpl-Maj Roberts.

Disrespect for me was taking deep root however, and the incident which springs to mind was an occasion when I went to the bar in the officers' mess to get myself a gin and tonic. No other officers were present. But while I was sipping it, I observed how the barman was standing there with an insolent expression, sucking the top of an unopened bottle of tonic water. I daresay he was just testing me for a reaction, and would have found it easy enough to sidestep my criticisms if I had seen fit to voice any - saying that it was a bottle he had already paid for, or whatever. Yet what he was really telling me was that I might be an officer, but I'd get served up with troopers' spittle as the price for the imposed servitude he had to offer to the likes of me. I knew in my heart how my brother officers would have spoken sharply to the man, if not a lot worse. But under the present circumstances of my general standing in the Regiment, I preferred to pretend that I had not observed what he was doing.

And within my own troop, I had lost the feeling that I had any true authority over them. I was unable to count upon Cpl Alexander for support, and I was having difficulties enough with [H and I], who were the crew of my own armoured car, for they were becoming increasingly cheeky in their attitude towards me. They still had this idea that, if things could go just a little bit more wrong in the collective performance of the troop, then I would be removed from their command. And I remain convinced that it was with this in mind, that they presented my car for two pounder firing practice on the range at Lulworth with the mechanism rusted together so firmly that we could not even open the breach to insert a shell.

Now of course it was my fault - as the officer in charge - not to have inspected the unit beforehand, to establish that the gun was in good working order. I had merely taken their word for it, when checking that all the tasks required of them had been carried out efficiently. But to discover in the event, that the mechanism had actually rusted into an immovable unit bore all the indications of deliberate sabotage. They may even have pissed on it, in their contempt for me. But they were miscalculating if they thought that Nemesis would fall on my own head, and upon no other. All right, I was lumbered with ten additional Duty Officer parades to attend. And Duncan Llewellyn who had temporarily taken over the command of D Squadron while Nipper was on leave - making good headway in his courtship of a lady called Maureen, as ultimately became common knowledge - warned me that the final indignity of replacement would indeed be inflicted upon me if such dereliction of duty were to recur. But [H and I] may have been surprised to discover that they received even greater penalties than myself, in the form of punishment parades.

Shiftily glancing to left and to right, I hobble
the cobbled street, noting the sight of grimacing
faces, peering from upper windows, with sills
filled with rotten fruit - ready to fling.
Clinging to final shreds of clotheing, I climb
sublimely on a public stage, to wage war
with my own toes, stubbed in demeaning dance,
as I prance with parrot-footed disability.
Shrill piping calls for rescue all
unheard, I gird my loins for the desert trek,
checking the chart for a non-existant oasis,
and placing dwindled faith in sheer grit.
Of all the vessels that were ever made,
am I to be this ship for life's crusade?

The Regiment was due to move to Germany early in March next year, and this final month of 1951 was given over to some inter-squadron schemes. Nipper had obtained permission to take his own Squadron down into the vicinity of Midhurst in Surrey, where his lady-friend Maureen resided. It was to be his ultimate act of courtship - arriving on her doorstep, at the head of this contingent from the Household Cavalry - to sweep her into matrimony, and to take her out to Germany with him. In fact we were all invited over to her house for drinks one evening. And it was quite an eye-opener for me to see Nipper in the presence of the woman he loved - all giggly and uncertain of himself: far too busy with the task of trying to please Maureen, than to worry about retaining any dignity in the eyes of his subalterns.

But the tale of my misfortunes was still in the making. There was a particular scheme when D Squadron was doing a defensive withdrawal, against C Squadron's advance. And it so happened that [J] was the officer in charge of the troop that was advancing upon the same axis as my own. After firing on him, we spent a minute or two viewing one another through our binoculars and, with my general standing in the Life Guards being so low over this period, I expect that [J] rejoiced in recognising myself as his opposite number. And he probably imagined that he could get away with some hassling tactics.

Half anticipating this, I made a feint of withdrawing, just pausing for a few seconds before re-emerging in my former position. And I caught him out there in the open, with his troop belting after me without any cover. If an umpire had been present, his leading two cars would inevitably have been declared to be out of action for a while. But in the absence of any umpire, they merely withdrew in confusion.

I was sitting pretty in this position, with open fields on either side of the road down which he would have to advance. My rear too was defended, by a scout-car keeping watch a couple of bends further down the road. So I remained where I was, waiting for my Squadron-Leader's order to pull back. But there were dirty tactics afoot, in that [J] stopped a civilian lorry, and requested the driver to transport the members of his infantry support section, and unload them at the bend in the road just behind my own armoured-car: not even within sight of my scout-car, as it turned out. So I discovered to my amazement that I was being captured by a handful of infantry, who had cropped up from I knew not where. And then [J] came tearing down the road in his own armoured-car, to chortle in his moment of victory. So there was nothing left for me to do but to capitulate with good grace.

Well that's what I did. But then the truth emerged as to how he had managed to infiltrate infantry behind my position, and I suddenly felt furiously indignant at the idea of how he expected to get away with such cheating. So I announced quite simply that I hadn't, after all, been captured and that I would now withdraw to my next defensive position. And this in turn infuriated [J], who deemed that I was cheating in not accepting my fait accompli capture. So when I started to transmit a message to Nipper, informing him that I was still alive and well, [J] jumped on to the back of my car and tried to wrench out the aerial fittings: to which I responded by telling my driver to move off - with [J] still standing there to one side of the turret.

We were now entering the outskirts of Midhurst, and this produced an interesting situation, with the captor suddenly turned captive.[J's] response to it was to draw the Verey pistol which was in his holster, and to thrust it through the driver's hatch, threatening to fire. This was blatantly dangerous, so I responded instantly by shoving him sideways from the moving vehicle, and he fell into the road. Jumping to his feet, he took a pot shot at me with his Verey pistol. I watched the trajectory of the flare curl downwards from the line of my face, and then ricochet from the engine cover towards a house that we were passing. Nobody paid much attention to this at the time, but [J] was left standing there whilst we made good our escape.

When I got back on the air, it seemed that everyone was furious with me; both Nipper and Duncan Llewellyn, who had just been promoted in rank to lead C Squadron. Nobody supposed for one instance that it could be anyone else's fault than my own, that the scheme had been thrown into chaos, with no one now knowing where the exact lines of battle were to be drawn. I was ordered to report back to base and, on the way there, my troop was halted by a civilian policeman who wanted to show me the damage caused by that shot from the Verey pistol. He took me into a house, and revealed how the shot had entered a bedroom window, and burnt itself out beside a baby's cot. The parents were politely outraged at what could so easily have turned into a fatal accident, and - incautiously perhaps - I apologised on behalf of the Regiment.

That wasn't the end of the matter, of course. There were official complaints, and a military enquiry as to what exactly occurred. Curiously, I was never called to submit my evidence to this. But I was given to understand that [J's] own evidence set him clearly in the wrong, so that he received a reprimand of some kind, without it being necessary for me to say anything at all. But there remained a feeling in the air that disasters were liable to strike, whenever I was on the loose.

Early in the New Year came the death of King George VI - with his funeral ceremony, which culminated in St George's Chapel at Windsor Castle. We all had to participate to some degree, although my own duties were limited to lining the steps which led up into the chapel. I had arrived back in barracks in the early hours of that morning, and then missed out on having any breakfast - combined with the misfortune of wearing riding boots which had formerly belonged to Henry, whose calf measurement was distinctly more slender than my own. The net result of all this was that I was feeling terrible with a hangover, and had the blood supply to my brain cut off by the tightness of the boots. It was all right when I could keep moving, but when standing there to attention as the coffin was carried up the steps, with television coverage of the scene, I came within a whisker of falling down in a fainting fit, in full view of the cameras. That would have been the ultimate misdemeanour in my military career, which might have had dire consequences. As it was, nobody but myself knew just how close I had come to such public disgrace.

After this however, we remained in barracks for most of the time, getting our vehicles into readiness for our transfer to Germany, and the British Army of the Rhine. I was maliciously informed how CoH Dodson had been applying to take even more courses, so as to delay for as long as possible the moment of taking up his duties with my troop. In fact no one at all displayed the slightest enthusiasm for serving in my troop. But I did feel personally that part of the blame could be attributed to the spirit of non-co-operation that I was encountering. So I had taken the opportunity of the recent post-mortem analysis of our schemes to request the replacement of both [H and I]. And since others were due for their demobilisation before we transferred to Germany, it meant that I was furnished with a new deal in the personnel of 4 Troop during these final weeks at Combermere. But any description of the relationships which then began to evolve belongs to the next chapter.

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