Being a Boy in JLRRA

Andy Lamb
Andy Lamb
Aug 28, 2017 · 4 min read

DODGING THE ISSUE

I suppose it is now time to look at how us boys got along together.

I have been reading Keith Reeve’s excellent account of when he was a Junior Leader in the late 1950’s (shortly after I was born). It includes lots of stuff about how some of the nastier kids would prey on the rest of them. Borstal-boys targeting other kids. I know this is an uncomfortable subject, but we really have to look at it square-on. And now is probably as good a time to do it as any other.

When I went to the Bramcote Open Day last month, Ex-Regimental Sergeant Major Sandy Frew told us a few anecdotes about how we used to torture each other.

Torture No #1: The Regimental-Bath.

If a boy was not particularly hygienic, which is to say a complete minger, the chances are, the rest of his troop would gang together and give him a ‘Regimental-bath’. You would strip the boy naked, throw him into a bath full of cold water, bleach, brasso, piss and whatever you could think of. Then kids would scrub him with a bass-broom.

When I was going through my most down phases I stopped looking after myself properly. I didn’t wash or do any laundry. I am amazed I never had a Regimental Bath. I almost certainly deserved one.

The one thing about this, that has been preying on my mind, is that some of the other kids must have been equally minging. So, how did they single out the victim?

Good question.

Torture No #2: The Kangaroo Court.

For whatever reason, some of the Mustering-Gunners would take exception to one of the NIGs. They would convene a ‘Kangaroo-court’, arraign him for any imaginary offences, find him guilty (foregone-conclusion alert), and then, ritualistically, beat him black-and-blue.

If he managed to recover from this he would need to keep a low profile for a while. Keep his head down.

His next task was to keep his mouth shut on parade the next morning.

Torture No #3: Hanging.

The Mustering-Gunners would target a kid, for whatever reason, and sentence him to hanging. They would stand him on a chair in the vestibule, tie a rope around his neck and affix it to the upstairs balustrade. Then they would kick the chair away.

The big joke was that the rope would be fixed to the balustrade with a length of cotton thread, which would break, and the kid would fall safely to the ground.

Nothing could possibly go wrong with that one (Oh yes-it-could).

Torture No #4: The Red-Hot-Iron.

They would get a NIG in the laundry-room. They would plug the iron in to heat it up. They would strip the boy and blindfold him. Then, they would hold the red-hot iron close to him and, at the last minute, whip it away and press an ice-cold mess-tin to his flesh.

What a hilarious prank.

I never suffered any of them. Thank Christ.

Despite that, I did come in for some bullying. There was one Mustering-Gunner who targeted me. He stole my watch, broke into my locker and stole my money. Then he tried to force me to bull his boots. I threw them out the window and he beat me up. I did nothing at the time. I just stored it all up in an unhealthy way.

Many years later, I was a Bombardier in the Depot at Woolwich. Guess who was posted-in to undertake some menial role? That ex-Mustering-Gunner arrived, still a Gunner. You cannot begin to imagine how much stick he came in for. Not just from me, but from all my buddies. Extra-Duties? That was the least of it. He had become a fat-fuck. He couldn’t manage one press-up, let alone twenty.

You could say that he suffered for his sins of the past. And how.

Ha-ha-ha!

Same thing when I was serving in Northern Ireland. I met with another bloke who had been giving me grief back in Brats. By that time I was a Lance-Jack, and he was still a Gunner. I didn’t say or do anything but the mere fact that I had out-stripped him obviously caused him any amount of anguish. Every order I gave him plainly destroyed yet another tiny shred of his self-identity. Drip-drip-drip. The minuscule erosion.

Ha-ha-, etc.

On the other side, I made some great friends. A lot of kids were honest, open and loyal. God bless them. I was proud to meet a couple at a recent Regimental Reunion in Germany. 40-odd years later. Great friends.

The lads in the fanfare-team stuck together and helped each-other out. Some of the lads in the Troop, likewise. It was enough to keep me bouyant. My problem has always been that I have terrible social-skills. I can offend as easily as I can make friends.

The unique journey of the ‘Hostile-Loner’.

At that time, back at Bramcote, I just sucked it up. However, I am a Scorpio. I would never forget any of that. Revenge is a dish best-served very cold. And, me having become a Complete-Bastard, was happy to apply any amount. Of a legal variety, of course. Those lads who meted it out, got it back in spades.

And I didn’t have to lift a finger.

)

Written by

Andy Lamb

As a youth Andy Lamb Served in the British Army. He is now a museum curator and studies musical instruments.

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