CONSCRIPTION

When I turned 18 I was called up for conscription.

Now whatever you hear about the intakes of the Gibraltar Regiment
(GR), & also by its previous name, Gibraltar Defense Force (GDF), all
the stories that you have heard, half of them are untrue and the other
half are exaggerations of a possible truth. But most of the stories, fact
or fiction, make for good jokes over reminiscent drinks with old soldiers everywhere in the world.

If you have been reading the previous chapters you will know that I was a bad asthmatic as well as having a bad leg. Obviously when I went for my medical, I was pronounced medically unfit and excused conscription.

What!

My friends were going up to be soldiers and I was not?

No way!

I requested "Volunteer Status" and managed to get myself in with the 29th intake after signing waivers that were I to die, the Regiment would accept no liability for my stupidity. A couple of days later we were gathered at the boulevard (la muralla Hebrea), we were roll-called, counted, loaded onto to military lorries and taken up to Buenavista Barracks. Sixty guys, nearly all of us 18 years old and full of beans. Oh yes, and with many a Beatles haircut, or Elvis quiff which didn't outlive the next 24 hours!

Buenavista Barracks on a cold January morning, with an even colder wind slicing through our civvy clothes, looked very much like Alcatraz to me. In fact it was also known as "Stone Block" ..... cheerful, huh?

As soon as we got off the lorries, everybody and their grandmothers were shouting at us! We looked around like lost sheep and were huddled together and told to get into straight lines. The sergeants shouted at us... the corporals shouted at us... even the bloody cook was shouting at us (in one of the photos here you will see him next to me, a little guy with, at the time, a fearsome scowl)... what had we done to deserve this? We were placed in some sort of loose formation and marched to the barbers who had a field day with us. Off came the Beatles haircut the Elvis quiff, the long sideburns and everything except one-eighth of an inch stubble which barely covered our very white scalps. And it was cold… yes I know I told you that already, but after the devastating haircut … it was even colder! January at the Barracks, with a vicious Poniente blowing, and I remembered a story my Dad once told me.

He (Dad) was conscripted into the Spanish Infantry in 1930, having been born in Ceuta, Spanish Morocco, to a Spanish father. As a lance corporal he was placed in charge of new conscripts. Just for kicks, when he herded them to the barbers, he had the barbers use the hand clippers front to back and side to side. Then he’d send them off with a shaved cross on their heads. Obviously, Dad thought it was great fun! But Karma bites again! Here was me with not enough hair on my head to do a parting anywhere.

From there are we were rushed.... those first few days it was rush-rush-rush everywhere. Tranquilo man, que no pasa nada... left right left right double time ... up to the dorms on the first floor of the stone block. Two rows of 8 beds each and the green, metal locker that was to be our home for the next 4 months. There were 8 such dorms, but ours was a small intake of about 60 so half of them were left empty. Then again rush-rush-rush... we were formed into a straight line outside the stores. We went in one way and were piled with mattress 1, blankets 3, pillows 2, sheets 2, pillowcases 2 ... Left right left right double time, out the other side and back up to our dorms. We were kids, to 18 years old kids this was fun.

Until the sergeant and the corporal and the cook and everyone else shouted again and we had to rushed down to the stores. There we were loaded with work boots pair 1, best boots 1 pair, denim trousers 1, denim jacket 1, (no, not Levi denims, gentle reader. These were work denims in vomit-green cotton, nothing "chulo" about them) shirts 3, tie 1, beret 1....and rushed up to the dorms again.

I will not tire you as we were made tired from rushing everywhere. This, our first day, the only good thing I remember was the mess. Yes, yes, there was a mess in the dorms but this is The Mess where we were served our first military meal. Nothing like a pint of hot tea and generous portions food to bring a smile back to our faces. In all fairness, despite we four Jews having to go through a few intricacies seeking out the more kosher foods available, the Regiment’s  Mess served good and wholesome food always.

That first week was hectic and tiring. We had gone in "los niños guapos y  chulos" and one week later we had been broken down and were being rebuilt gradually into men. Looking back, I am very grateful to have been enlisted in the Regiment. I met other Yanitos (Gibraltarians) I had never seen before, and made friends with them, and marched, and learnt something about loyalty, comradeship, and yes .... making war …making love was for the cherished civvies week-ends later ….if we survived. By the time we were demobbed four months later, we all knew how to take care of ourselves and could count on our new friends as needed. We definitely knew how to shine boots! The fact that shining our boots to that high gloss is called "bullshit" is neither here nor there.
Other than those we knew before conscription, I made very good friends with Roberto Gerada who later joined the Fire Brigade,
Joseph Luis (Pepin) Baldachino, a successful politician,
Mac Mascarenhas, a very tough and older guy who stayed on and has since passed away. He and I once "polished off" all the dog biscuits and tea for our platoon, by ourselves!
Joseph Macedo  later of the GPO and who could outrun us all in the many road races we had to endure
Leslie Zammit .. whom I knew from Grammar School, a great guy
Johnny Ritchie … oh Johnny …. what great times we had, he also stayed on and made Major I think … both threse last two have also left us.
Douglas Reyes too nice a guy to be a soldier.
Douglas Ryan who had studied in Rome for the priesthood

….aaahhhh my memory fails me … so many … so so many great guys. I hope if any are reading this, they will forgive me for not remembering everyone’s name … the photo is there…..Thank you all (yes even a few of the bastards too – there are always one or two  LOL) for a great intake.
And the officers …
Col.Collado, Captain Carreras, Captain … (or was it Major?) Fofi Casciaro…
The Sergeants:
RMS Morris, one of the “B”s ….  
Sgt Bob Randal … (the first to arrest me and get me 7 days Restrcted Privileges (RP) in punishment)
Sgt  Morris (he was the 2^nd to arrest me … another 7 days RP…made me sweep the whole parade ground on one occaison …think about it!)
Sgt Collinson, smartest man marching and a fair man indeed
Corp Bray (my 3^rd 7 days RP arrest)
Corp Carter ("I’ll put my prick in your ear and fuck some sense into you!”)
Corp Harry Ward (he’d bullshit your boots in exchange for a new issue of Playboy)
Corp Ghio - so thin we nicknamed him "Mal", short for malnutrition
Crop Montero in the Armoury. It is to hiinning thr covetted Carghill Shootng TRophy +  It is to him I owe my winning the Carghill Shooting Trophy. When I went to collect my rifle (SLR 762mm) he said:
“Toma, Bentata, coge esta que ha llegado nueva de fabrica y veras!”
I got 96/100 with it and clinched the trophy
Though we bitched and complained and swore and cursed them one and all …. they made men out of us “chulo” boys.

Natural abilities within each of us became apparent. Some were born leaders and became Lance corporals and platoon commanders. my close childhood friend, Toby, prominent among them and possibly the smartest soldier in all the intake. Others were good with radio equipment and they were trained as radio operators. Brawn was well rewarded as there was a lot of equipment being transferred from one place to another as we did exercises up and down the Rock. Some of us were even trained as "nuclear specialists" and I was one of them. The horrors of nuclear war were shown to us as well as the plans for fall-out protection and refuge for citizens in the unfortunate case of such a war ever exploding. I was in those lectures and till today I am still scarred by the films and information that we had to take on.

And then, there were the eternal, unending parades!
We learnt to march as individuals, as platoons and as the whole intake. Simple, one would have thought, after all we only have two legs, and yet we managed to exasperate all the sergeants and all the corporals before we got it right in the end.
“Hassan, get in step for fuck’s sake!” shouted Sgt Morris
“Which one, Sir?” We had three, David Hassan, Moses Hassan and the late Mark Hassan.
“ALL THREE OF YOU!”...and no, they were not related at all. It was not a family thing!
Pride was instilled in us in those days. We became proud to be able to match in perfect formation up and down the bloody Square. Quick March! Halt! Then Port Arms, Stand at Ease and march up and down and up again turn right, turn left, halt, quick march … (I bet you are singing “Oh the famous Duke of York” to yourselves now LOL) …..and even that very elegant slow march that looks so good when properly executed.

Again, those with natural abilities for marching, as well as the smartest in uniform, were handpicked for special duties. These were treasured prizes in themselves. One such duty was at the Frontier where UK regiments would stand guard, more ceremonial than anything else. But for one week of each intake our regiment would take over. Just across the frontier fence Spain had its own version and if you want to know what that look like you will best understand it if you remember that their nickname, "Sloppies", came from their display when they did the guard duty on their side. We were proud to be the better soldiers then.
And then, la creme de la creme did Guard Duty to the Governor at the Governor's Residence, called The Convent because the building itself used to be that when Gibraltar was Spanish.
This was doubly rewarding. Firstly because of the sense of pride instilled in us to be chosen for such an honour. But far greater than that, vastly more so if you ask me, is that we did Guard Duty at the Convent opposite the Loreto Convent Girls School (el Convento verde)!
That you were chosen by the Sergeant Major was wonderful.
That you were a huge source of joy and pride to your parents and family was wonderful. They would come to see us in our finery and our mothers would drool.
But being on duty at 12:30 and at 4:15 when the girls came out of school and thy'd smile and tease and flirt while we had to remain stern and serious .... WOW …. what more could a red-blooded GR Soldier wish for!

Another aspect and a very exciting one for me, was learning about the weaponry that the army used. This is something I looked forward to immensely since from the age of 7 or 8 Dad had bought me my first air rifle and shooting came almost as second nature to me. To then use the "real things", the Bren gun, the SLR (Self Loading Rifle), the Sterling and the Rocket Launcher (never, ever to be called the "bazooka", that was for our American cousins, not for the British Army!) I was in weaponry heaven. So much so that I even won the coveted Carghill Shooting Trophy, as my older cousin Isaac Abudarham, had won in his intake several years before. Isaac was like an older brother to me and very proud of having won that.  Imagine my pride when I told him I had won it too!

I am convinced that my four months in the Gib Regiment were pivotal to my development from brash teenager to responsible young man. I am not certain whether conscription per se is that good. Not if you're raising an army to conquer the land of others. Making war is a "normal" part of human history but definitely not a necessary one. I can well understand a defensive army being required, under given circumstances, so as to avoid being conquered by others. But the history of humanity leapfrogs from war to war, conveniently downplaying the millions who die ignominious deaths and the many millions more who are maimed and wounded forever, having the horrors of such a conflict branded onto their brains.
The first book I read after being demobbed was "All Quiet on the Western Front" novel by Erich Maria Remarque, a German veteran of World War I.
To everyone that sees glory in war I commend this book and it will touch your soul.

However, harnessing the energy of youth and its rambunctiousness at the age of 18, teaching them to fend for themselves under hard circumstances, to rely on their comrades and be the one on whom they, in turn, rely, to be torn away from home comforts and learn to live on basics and by your own wits .... what can I say?
Thankfully, even many of the less fortunate among us, though we must never forget there some still in great need, most of us have more then we need and do not appreciate it. It may be politically incorrect to say this but blocking 18-year olds from their comfort zones and teaching them real life can only make them more responsible adults, something so badly needed in our Society of millennials.

But where are the jokes?

Where are the "cachondeos"?

They were there.
My efforts at having fun cost me a total of 4 blocks of 7 days RP each, 28 days of Restricted Privileges! No pass to dress in civvies (& no pass to cross the frontier either) plus several other perks that were summarily cut off.
There was one Private Reyes, older than us, who had just finished conscription in the Spanish army and came to Gib to live. Though his English was poor he made it out to be even worse and his “no entiendo!” confusing all the marching commands, to the frustration of every one of our NCO's. He kept the same socks on for so long that when he finally took them off, they stayed standing stiff, like another pair of boots!

In another incident, during exercises up the Rock, we were taught how to camouflage ourselves. One soldier (Pte Galliano but whom for some unknown reason we called him Montegriffo) camouflage himself so well that we forgot him and marched all the way back for lunch at the Mess leaving him stranded somewhere near Signal Hill.

Those ogres of the first days, the screaming corporals, always angry sergeants, the fearful officers.... all mellowed to become excellent instructors on warfare, marching drill, dressing elegantly and infusing pride in our Regiment and in ourselves. And such good friends I would never have met otherwise. I know I am leaving too many out ....

Guys .... THANK YOU one and all.