I Was A Soldier Once

Hi All,
This was passed on by a friend I play music with, an old CWO/RSM.
I do not know the name of the author but it was cetainly written by someone who was in the Canadian Army Regular as we used to say. I don't think it matters what country so much, but a soldier is a soldier regardless. Probably served between 1960 and 2000.

I was a soldier once

I liked the idea that as the commercial said; we did more by 0700 than most people did all day. I loved as range safety officer getting shots down range by 0800. I loved the brutality of route marches because they set us apart from my civilian friends, as most of them could never have hacked the pace. I liked standing in a United Nations observation post just before dawn in a far away land, realizing that I and other soldiers in my unit were doing something very special by representing Canada and the Canadian people, undergoing physical and mental strains that many could not or would not face to keep our country safe and ready. I loved climbing up cargo nets in full battle order and repelling down cliffs. I loved running the assault course. I liked the early morning runs and the late night polishing before a parade.

I liked the smell of the quartermaster stores, an odd mixture of gun oil, canvas preservative, leather, hemp rope and cigarette smoke. I liked the racks of rifles and sub machine guns and I loved the gun sheds and tank hangers where the vehicles and weapons of war gleamed dully and exuded strength and capability and the power to “git ‘er done” if need be. I loved the name of the equipment when I started off, Sherman, Fabrique Nationale, Sten and Bren because they spoke to me of the proud days when our Fathers used them successfully in WW2. Our #36 Grenade was the same as our grandfathers used in WW1 for God’s sake! I also loved when the 105 mm and the M 109 gave way to the M 777 and the guns could shoot accurately over 30 kilometres. I loved it when the old lady “the duce and a half” was finally replaced by the modern MLVW. The Centurion tank gave way to the Leopard and within weeks our tankers showed NATO they were the best.

I liked our soldiers, from all parts of the land, from cities of upper Canada , small towns of Nova Scotia and Newfoundland . They came from the mountains and from the prairies from all walks of life. I trusted and depended on them as they trusted and depended on me for professional competence, for comradeship, for strength and courage. In a word we were “soldiers”, then, and forever. I liked the surge in my heart when word was passed that a unit was deploying, and I loved the infectious thrill of riding homeward in convoy waving at the cars we passed and at pedestrians who I was sure looked at us with envy as we rolled through their villages on our way back to Base. I loved waving from the back of a truck at the kids in cars that would trail us for a while before finally passing.

The work was hard and dangerous; the going rough at times; and the parting from family painful, but the companionship of robust army laughter, the “all for one and one for all” philosophy of the military was ever present. I once enjoyed the best 2 hours sleep in my life laying on the ground at a rest halt while doing a patrol. The weather was overcast but warm and a slight drizzle did not deter my snoring, which could be heard 4 men down the line. Another 4 or 5 hours would have been nice, but there was work to be done.

I liked the fierce and dangerous activity of the Infantry Rifle Coy as we began an advance to contact. I liked doing the recce for a harbour where I had to hide up to 40 pieces of wheeled and tracked equipment from the enemy. I hated having to run ahead of our vehicles in complete darkness and trying to be quiet as the drivers and co-drivers tried to back vehicles and trailers into a black hole as quickly as possible so others in line could pass and find me and also be properly positioned and put away. One could hear cursing and unmeant bitching as crews stumbled in the dark to erect cam nets and digging in for protection from an enemy attack, we cut and poked branches holding up the nets to break the vehicle outline so as not to be recognised. The lucky ones had a relatively small vehicle, others, a two and a half or a 5 ton to cover that even in day light would take an hour or more. At night it was dangerous, demanding and extremely hard work. In the rain or freezing snow this necessary chore was brutal.

Watching my fellow soldiers as they took down the cam nets, loaded fuel, ammunition and rations for yet another long day, feeling truly exhausted and knowing it was going to get a lot worse before it got better, actually added value to the experience. We were soldiers and this is what it was like.

I loved the name and the history of my Regiments;

“The Black Watch (Royal Highland Regiment) of Canada ”

“The Royal Canadian Regiment”

“The Royal Canadian Electrical Mechanical Engineers”

“The Royal Canadian Engineers”

“ The Royal 22 ième Régiment”.



I loved the parades, the colours on parade and the guidon presentation, the march past, the roll past, the advance in review order and the sound of my hand slapping the stock of my rifle during the Present Arms. I could feel the National Anthem inside me while the band played it. Some liked “The Queen” or “O Canada ”. I loved “The Maple Leaf Forever”.

I loved walking through our position in complete darkness checking the welfare of my men and NCO’s and assuring them that they were not alone, as we stood in our trench at first light, on stand to. I liked the weight of my steel helmet on my head and the embrace of my webbing. It made you feel like superman though in your heart you surely knew you were not. I loved the weight of my rifle or pistol and knowing I could outshoot a lot of my men. It was an ongoing competition during range practice to out do your friends as well as your superiors. There was pride in self and country; and growing mastery of the soldier’s trade. An adolescent could find adulthood. A man could find fulfilment and an old man finds great joy. I will never forget that I was once a soldier. There is no higher calling. I would do it again in a heart beat. I liked the traditions of the Army and those who made them.



I was a soldier once………….

Author Unknown










-

I guess it is good to like your job.

Bob,

Thanks for posting that.
I guess you had to have "Been there done that" to truly appreciate it.
Been there done that a looooong time ago on the other side of the world.

1952-1954 Korea.

Still proud of the fact that I "was there and done that" AND got home safe and sound.
But as I said, that was a loooong time ago.


Thanks again
George Herschell

Bob, there is a book written by Lt. Gen. HAROLD G Moore by the name of WE WERE SOLDIERS ONCE! It is about the battle of the Ia Drang Valley battle with the 1st Cav. Div. A very good read

George, Thanks for your part in 'The Forgotten War'!
I'm old enough to remember it...you guys were my heros.
You wrote:
"1952-1954 Korea.
Still proud of the fact that I "was there and done that" AND got home safe and sound.
But as I said, that was a loooong time ago."

Saw the movie starring Mel Gibson. Truly riveting.

Bill,

Thanks for that note but I don't consider myself a hero, but rather
just someone who went when called got out alive, and all in one piece.

Thanks again,

George

I wrote "I was a soldier once" -and gave permission to publish it to several organizations including the Black Watch publication Red Hackle and the Montreal branch of the Canadian Aviation Historical Society. In each case proper credit was given -so it is hard to understand how somebody "borrowed" and modified the piece to reflect his own regiments etc without knowing my name (Author unknown???)

I am pleased to see units that do not always get suitable credit -get it -the RCEME and RCASC are classic good examples of this. But as a writer who partially supports himself through his writing -I would point out that giving credit is vital. It is even more annoying when someone who steals an article also degrades it with spelling and grammatical errors.

Nonetheless -I am pleased to be in an MG publication. The first car I ever owned was a 1953 (I believe) MGTC -or maybe it was an MGTB. Sadly the wing fenders h

had been replaced with motorcycle fenders which decreased the magic. My parents made me sell it back so that I would concentrate on my schoolwork -didn't work!

Here is the original piece.

I Was a Soldier Once

I liked standing on a hillside in freezing rain just before dawn and realizing that I and the other soldiers in my unit were doing something very special for our country, undergoing physical and mental strains that many would not and could not face to keep our country safe and ready. Watching my fellow soldiers preparing their tanks and trucks for a move, taking down the cam nets, bringing the guns out of action, loading fuel and ammunition for this new long day, hearing the rough laughter and frequent unmeant bitching, feeling truly exhausted and knowing it was going to get a lot worse before it got any better actually added value to the experience. We were soldiers -and this was what it was like. We were the sheepdogs on watch against the wolves.
In those days some said there were no wolves. We knew better.

I liked the smell of the quartermaster stores -an odd admixture of gun oil, canvas preservative, leather, hemp rope and cigarette smoke. I liked the racks of rifles and submachine guns and I loved the gun sheds and tank hangars where the vehicles and weapons of war gleamed dully but exuded strength and capability and the power required to "get 'er done" if need be.

I loved the names of the equipment when I started off, Sherman, Lee Enfield, Sten and Bren because they spoke to me of the proud days when our fathers used them successfully in WW2. Our #36 grenade was the same as our grandfathers used in WW1 for God's sake! I also loved when these morphed into the Centurion, C1 rifle, Stirling submachine gun. The immortal 25 Pounder gun/howitzer gave way to the 105mm C2 and eventually the M109 gave way to the M777 and the guns could shoot accurately over 30 kilometres. The Centurion gave way to the Leopard and within weeks our tankers showed all of NATO that they were the best! Even we fighter pilots, which I had become by this time, were exceedingly proud of "our Dragoons" on that wondrous day!

We were growing stronger!

I liked the idea that as the commercial said; we did more by 0700 than most people did all day. I loved as range officer getting shots downrange by 0800 and I loved working for more than 24 hrs straight even though it pained. I loved the brutality of route marches because they set us apart from our civilian friends, most of whom I knew could never have hacked the pace. I loved climbing up cargo nets in full battle order and rappelling down cliffs, I loved running the assault course. I loved the early morning runs and the late night polishing before a parade. I loved the horseplay, the contests of strength, the intense feeling of truly being alive. I knew we were fit, fitter than most anyone on earth and ready for anything that came along. I confess that sometimes I almost wished it would...although in my heart I knew better.

I liked the soldiers, officers and enlisted men, from all parts of the land, from cities of Upper Canada, small towns of Nova Scotia, somehow especially those from Newfoundland, from the mountains and the prairies, from all walks of life. I trusted and depended on them as they trusted and depended on me for professional competence, for comradeship, for strength and courage. In a word, we were "soldiers"; then and forever.

I liked the surge of adventure in my heart, when word was passed that a unit was deploying, and I loved the infectious thrill riding homeward in a convoy waving at the cars we passed and at the pedestrians who I was sure looked at us with envy as we rolled through their villages on the way back to base. I love watching from the back of a truck while the towed howitzer without any form of cushioned suspension bounced along behind. I loved waving at the kids in cars that would trail us for a while before finally passing -and I knew in my heart that the drivers and their wives yearned for the joy and excitement that we were experiencing as opposed to their lives of quiet desperation. OK, sometimes maybe I deluded myself.


The work was hard and dangerous; the going rough at times; the parting from loved ones painful, but the companionship of robust Army laughter, the "all for one and one for all" philosophy of the military was ever present. I once had the best two hour sleep of my life sprawled across the hood of a ¾ ton troop carrier. The warmth of the engine created a zone of comfort that was perfect for one exhausted infantryman. Another five or six hours would have been nice, but there was work to be done.

I loved stepping out of the Officer’s Mess after breakfast on a bright cool summer morning, ready to start another day of the best job in the world, and hearing the faint sounds of drill in the distance as my platoon/company/battalion formed up for its first parade of the day.

I liked the fierce and dangerous activity on the gun line, in an APC or recce vehicle in the advance to contact. I loved commanding a tank and firing the best sniper rifle a guy ever had when we turned loose first that '76 on the Sherman and finally the '105 in the Centurion and Leopard. I loved loading the rounds and pulling the lanyard, I loved doing the recce for a night occupation and then seeing the guns roll into place and into action seamlessly

I loved the names and the history of the regiments I served in and with as had my father before me, and as do my sons after me! The Royal Canadian Regiment, the Royal Canadian Horse Artillery, the First Hussars, 30 Field Regiment, The Scots Fusiliers. There is a richness to the names and an unparalleled history just waiting to be read. I loved the parades, the colours and guidon presentations, the march pasts and roll pasts, the advances in review order and the sound of the slap of gloves against the rifle sling on the Present Arms. I loved the sword drill when I was honour guard commander and take pride in the often legendary people I got to walk up to and invite to inspect the troops. I could feel the national anthem inside me while the band played it. Some may argue as to whether it should be "The Queen" or "O Canada" and some even favour "The Maple Leaf Forever". I could care less. I love them all and they can sometimes be topped in the memory of my heart by "Land of Hope and Glory". My God that song will move a man!

I loved walking about the position at night without the aid of a flashlight and somehow (usually) not falling into a slit trench or worse. I loved the weight of a steel helmet on my head and the embrace of my webbing. It made you feel like a superman, though in your heart you surely knew you were not. I loved the slap of a pistol holster on my hip and the weight of a rifle in my arms. I loved knowing that I could outshoot my soldiers most of the time and was incredibly proud when and if they outshot me, because it was an ongoing competition that added to our warrior skills and made us all the better for it. I shoot still today, sadly more than most of our soldiers. I can buy my own ammunition and am more generous than the government.

I remember fondly the high quality of instruction that we received. There wasn't a single corporal/instructor I ever had who wasn't head and shoulders above most of my university professors when it came to instructional technique." Aim, Motivation, Outline, Link" what a magical and obvious way to teach! Too bad most universities still have no school of instructional technique!

I had one instructor who wore an unusual khaki ribbon with an oak leaf among his other ribbons. I asked him what it represented. He told me it was a Queen's Commendation which was the peacetime equivalent of the "Mentioned in Dispatches" in wartime. He had, having discovered a tank hangar fire, driven a tank through the closed hangar door to save it. Initially he was due to be court martialled for destroying the door! Eventually wiser heads prevailed. Fourteen other tanks were destroyed. The Canadian Forces eventually, slowly, got smarter! This same instructor could cook a prime rib roast of beef to perfection on the exhaust manifold of his pickup. He knew the exact time and mileage required and arrived with a prepared meal ready to serve.

Eventually I transferred to the Air Force and became a fighter pilot, and loved it! I wouldn't trade it for a thousand years!



Nonetheless...I will never forget that I was once a soldier. There is no higher calling. I would do it again in a heartbeat.

I liked the traditions of the Army and those who made them. I liked the proud names of army heroes whom I came to know myself, Radley-Walters, Leo Gariepy, Bill Little, Joe McNeil, Brandy Conron, all comrades-in-arms. There was pride in self and country, and a growing mastery of the soldier’s trade. An adolescent could find adulthood. A man could find fulfillment. An old man now finds great joy.

When all soldiers are finally all home from the field, we will still remember with fondness and respect the regiments in which we served, the wretched conditions that brought us together in adversity, the high level of skills that we proudly developed against all odds.

Remembering this, we will stand tall and proud and say "I was a soldier once!"

Jock Williams

Jock,

Funny how these sorts of writings get bandied about. I thought it was reasonably well written in spite of occasional grammatical errors, and certainly deserved to be placed here. There's a lot of old soldiers hanging about the place.

Had I known that it was not public domain I wouldn't have posted it here.
I will talk to my old friend and tell him what's up. He also got it from elsewhere. To be fair, he didn't know where the credit was due either.

How do you wish me to proceed?

Oh, just so you know...those weren't my units as I was air force for 36 years and have no association with the army.

Bob

Jeeze, second edit. Jock, I'm reasonably sure that your short writings will continue to show up with many permutations. When somebody finally has the gall to put their name to it, that will no doubt be the final straw.

Bob



I have no intention of proceeding anywhere -I was just pissed off!



I was Army for 5 years, Air Force for 21, Army for 5 ,and then Air Force for the 4. I can explain this if you are interested.



Glad to hear from you.



Jock

PS

This is only the second time in about 40 years an article of mine was "stolen". Last time it was the Toronto Star Weekly -easy for me to "prove" since the original was published in "Flight Comment" -I was the editor at the time.

I got a lawyer -and he assurred me we would win -but the award I would get was less than his fees would be.

Amazingly, (?) I decided not to pursue it...

Just annoyed!

Jock

You've a private message but it states pretty much what I've said here.

I've contacted my source, a very honourable old soldier, you know the type all red faced and blustery and honestly apologetic. I've asked him to retreat back down the line so those responsible at the other end will reconsider posting and emailing unfamiliar writings. I've certainly learnt my lesson and I'll wager others on this board have too. I'll bet it's been floating around for quite some time.

I've looked you up. Cool credentials. I've a soft spot for the Lanc as my dad was a Hally and then Lanc fitter with 434 Sqn from '43 to '45.

Edited for spelling.

It is just another example of why we need MORE and not LESS protection of Intellectual Property now that we have the Internet.

Just because it is THERE and it is EASY TO STEAL doesn't make the stealing right.

Ask the music industry about that... but authors of all sorts are suffering.

Bob

I have no intention of proceeding anywhere -I was just pissed off!

I was Army for 5 years, Air Force for 21, Army for 5 ,and then Air Force for the 4. I can explain this if you are interested.

Glad to hear from you.

Jock

PS I cannot tell if this got to you earlier or not. If it did -sorry for the repetition. If it didn't -maybe you would like to publish a statement regarding this for your audience. Like you said -it is being recognized as an ongoing and growing problem.

In the meantime I look forward to reading more of your publication. Like I said -an MG was my first car ever! My Dad flew the Lanc - 56 years before I did -but he was a Flight Surgeon -at various 6 Group stations. Likely met your dad!

I joined the RCAF in 1966 -transferred from the Army which I joined as a highschool student in 1961 and later as a university student (Western 1965) -and finally retired in 1996 -had been flying Kiowas in Montreal in the reserve -but also CF100s, CF5s, CF104s and a host of others. Have owned a Tiger Moth for 43 years and commanded 1 Battery of 30 Field Regiment RCA 1987 -1991.

Jock

Thanks Jock,

I believe this thread will serve as my statement to future readers.

Bob

A good book that provides a hard look at the sacrifices some soldiers make and the discipline they must possess is [i]Walkout: With Stilwell in Burma{/i] by Frank Dorn (General Stilwell's aide during that period). The book chronicles the escape of General Stilwells party through the jungles of Burma, across the mountains and into India to escape the advancing Japanese. They made it out with over 100 people - many civilians - without the loss of a single person. The book seems to be out of print now, and may be hard to find, but well worth a search if you're interested in military life and particularly in WW2.