As we rounded the corner at the doorway the flashlight beam fell on a
figure lying on his side, knees drawn up, and rear end pointed toward us.
What a sight. A hemorrhoid the size of my index finger protruded from his
posterior and he was covered with some of the contents of the blocked
toilet bowl.
We soon figured out what had happened. Tom, (not his real name), had
gone into the toilet, taken down his battle dress trousers, and had made
the mistake of sitting on a toilet that was plugged, full, to the brim!
His battle dress trousers, with their high waist and short suspenders,
unbuttoned behind, and up around the back of his neck, prevented him
from straightening up after he fell off the toilet.
figure lying on his side, knees drawn up, and rear end pointed toward us.
What a sight. A hemorrhoid the size of my index finger protruded from his
posterior and he was covered with some of the contents of the blocked
toilet bowl.
We soon figured out what had happened. Tom, (not his real name), had
gone into the toilet, taken down his battle dress trousers, and had made
the mistake of sitting on a toilet that was plugged, full, to the brim!
His battle dress trousers, with their high waist and short suspenders,
unbuttoned behind, and up around the back of his neck, prevented him
from straightening up after he fell off the toilet.
Tom was a drinker, and had no doubt stayed too long in the wet canteen
that afternoon. Obviously, in his semi-conscious state, he had fallen asleep
and had toppled off the throne, a definite unroyal unflush.
Lance and I gingerly picked him up, still unconscious, and carried him to
his bunk in Eighteen Platoon, heaved him up and covered him with his
blankets, clothes, hemorrhoid, effluent, the works.
Poor guy, he was unable to keep up on parade, largely because of an old
ankle injury. He was discharged in Sussex, for reasons of, "Not likely to
become an efficient soldier." He went back to his home town, continued
his drinking, and was found dead on the beach some years later not far
from his home.
that afternoon. Obviously, in his semi-conscious state, he had fallen asleep
and had toppled off the throne, a definite unroyal unflush.
Lance and I gingerly picked him up, still unconscious, and carried him to
his bunk in Eighteen Platoon, heaved him up and covered him with his
blankets, clothes, hemorrhoid, effluent, the works.
Poor guy, he was unable to keep up on parade, largely because of an old
ankle injury. He was discharged in Sussex, for reasons of, "Not likely to
become an efficient soldier." He went back to his home town, continued
his drinking, and was found dead on the beach some years later not far
from his home.
Drummed Out
One incident in my army life that left a lasting impression on me, was the
"Drumming Out" of a fellow soldier. "Drumming Out" is the most severe
punishment a soldier can get, short of the firing squad.
Pat, (not his real name), a fellow from a place not far from where I was
brought up, had joined the Royal Rifles about the same time as I had. He
was a bit of a maverick, and didn't take kindly to army discipline. He
spent an awful lot of time AWL, and most of the rest of the time in
detention barracks.
"Drumming Out" of a fellow soldier. "Drumming Out" is the most severe
punishment a soldier can get, short of the firing squad.
Pat, (not his real name), a fellow from a place not far from where I was
brought up, had joined the Royal Rifles about the same time as I had. He
was a bit of a maverick, and didn't take kindly to army discipline. He
spent an awful lot of time AWL, and most of the rest of the time in
detention barracks.
While we were in Sussex, in the fall of 1940 the powers that be decided
that Pat had gone far enough, and that his membership in the Royal Rifles
of Canada was no longer desirable.
At any rate, one dull, rainy Saturday morning, the whole Regiment was
assembled in a hollow square on the muddy Parade Ground. Pat was
marched in, and his crimes were read off. Then an officer stepped forward
and ripped off his epaulets, and whatever other insignia he wore and the
sentence was read, "Dishonourably discharged!"
What good did it do? I have always suspected that these same powers
were seeking some diversion, and reasoned that no further harm could be
done by Drumming the poor fellow out, rather than giving him a simple
dishonourable discharge. Pat, whatever personal shame he harboured for
the rest of his life, died only recently.
When I recently met my old Sargent-major, and mentioned the incident to
him, he told me that there had been no "Drumming Out" in the British
Army since the eighteen-hundreds. Maybe it wasn't a "Drumming Out" in
the conventional meaning of the term, but that's what we were told it was,
and the results were the same.
that Pat had gone far enough, and that his membership in the Royal Rifles
of Canada was no longer desirable.
At any rate, one dull, rainy Saturday morning, the whole Regiment was
assembled in a hollow square on the muddy Parade Ground. Pat was
marched in, and his crimes were read off. Then an officer stepped forward
and ripped off his epaulets, and whatever other insignia he wore and the
sentence was read, "Dishonourably discharged!"
What good did it do? I have always suspected that these same powers
were seeking some diversion, and reasoned that no further harm could be
done by Drumming the poor fellow out, rather than giving him a simple
dishonourable discharge. Pat, whatever personal shame he harboured for
the rest of his life, died only recently.
When I recently met my old Sargent-major, and mentioned the incident to
him, he told me that there had been no "Drumming Out" in the British
Army since the eighteen-hundreds. Maybe it wasn't a "Drumming Out" in
the conventional meaning of the term, but that's what we were told it was,
and the results were the same.