The 5th Brigade, commanded by Brig R B Trant, had three infantry battalions under command, 1 RWF in Lucknow Bks, Tidworth, 1 Queens at nearby Bulford, and 1 RGJ at Dover. As ‘field force’, 5 Bde needed no further enhancement or reinforcement before deploying for combat and, with 19 (Airptbl) Bde, Colchester, and 24 (Airptbl) Bde, Shornecliffe, formed the bulk of 3 Infantry Division, HQ at Bulford. I’d served most of my military life overseas in exotic locations and here I was, a substantive WO1, almost 36, six years married, two toddlers and about to roll up my sleeves and dig my own slit trenches. At least my personal weapon was a user friendly Browning 9mm Hi-Power automatic pistol.

Situated on the Hampshire/Wiltshire border Tidworth garrison was blest with four police forces: Hampshire Constabulary, Wiltshire Constabulary, Ministry of Defence Constabulary and the Red Caps of 150 Provost Company, RMP. On the personal (military) level with me in HQ 5 Bde were SSgt Neil Drysdale, Sgt Ken Ward and Privates Charlie Bowden and Richard Dawson, all RAOC, while on the personal (personal) level child No 3, Susannah, was born on 23 January 1975, the third of my children to have been born on the 23rd of their months, Alison August 1969 and Mathew September 1971.

WO1 Norman Ladds, RSM 225 Signals Squadron, our Bde HQ comms and admin unit, was my first first-name-terms RSM. We had regular ‘cosy ½-hr’ chats and I got on as well with his 1976 replacement, Gerry French. Other recurrences, between six and nine times a year, were weekend ‘Alarm Clock’ Command Post Exercises (CPX) laid on to test comms and procedures and just to annoy us. Every now and then a Division CPX would be held and hundreds of us in our vehicles would charge around the countryside wasting all that expensive petrol. I suppose someone had to do it. Neil Drysdale and I travelled in the front of the ‘G’ ¾-ton Land Rover on the many deployments, and even more frequent ‘crash outs’ at 2, 3 or 4 a.m., and used to look longingly at the neat country bungalows and 2-up-2-downs of suburbia as we hurtled passed. Oh, to ‘live normally’ eh, Neil?

One CPX involved a 10-day deployment by C130 Hercules to Itzehoe, North West Germany near the Danish border. Although a 3 Div CPX, we in 5 Bde played hi-con to 3 Div’s low-con which made sense to someone. There was a verging on pointless 3 days/2 nights 250-miles 3 Div Rd Mov exercise through seven counties from Stamford to Salisbury Plain. None of the police forces had been alerted and we had to negotiate with Bobbies in four distinct (indistinct) dialects. Another CPX had us travelling in the rain to soggy Dartmoor and erecting our Ops tents in the rain and hanging around - did I mention the rain?, only it lashed for 168 consecutive hours - in sleepless damp conditions on boggy ground and with water in our mess tins for seven days.

It was all a lot of fun, I’m sure, but not for me. I was getting too old for this game, so was happy when 2ic 225 Sig Sqn told me my time as a fighting soldier was running out. Time was running out even faster for 5 Bde and on 1 April 1977, after a 200-year history, it became 8th Field Force with half its strength coming from the TA. Labour Governments, who needs them? They’re just as bad as the Tories. In March 1977 I said goodbye to the new Brigade/Field Force Commander, Brig MacGregor-Oakford, and to Jellalabad Bks, and drove the few miles to Wilton, where the carpets come from, and joined the staff of HQ UK Land Forces for my last 18 months.

Before going, a tale of RSM Gerry French, an Army Hockey Referee, who went to ref a game at Nettley Forces Mental Rehabilitation Centre. He arrived in his smart slacks, blue blazer and R Sigs tie, was welcomed and his host ushered him into the communal dining area. Gerry enjoyed his meal and carried his used plates and cutlery towards a gap in the partitions where “a great big geezer wearing a white coat” asked him where he thought he was going. Gerry had sat in the wrong ‘zone’ and the warden wouldn’t believe it when told he was there to referee a hockey match. Gerry indignantly maintained he was a Regimental Sergeant Major in the Royal Corps of Signals whereon he was rough-handed into a padded side room, and spent a fearful half hour waiting for his host to rescue him from possibly permanent confinement!