

© Bob
Cavill
C Company & Assault Pioneers
1st Tour |
 |
No man who passed
though the physical and psychological cauldron
of experience that seared the psyche of the
Combat Infantry in that place can remain unmoved
ever-after by the threat of a falling dark or
the slow silent promise of a morning light; for
this above all, will take him back to a place
where the distance between 'Stand-To' and the
wet green folding curtain of night could be a
lifetime.
In late summer cricket song veranda silences I
close my eyes and I see them—long corridors of
rubber trees perfectly spaced, arms uplifted
standing 'right dressed' dripping their liquid
white gold into the collection cups, and beyond
to the blood-red earth beneath. And my memory
calls me back to those tall proud soldiers of my
youth, the slouch hat that could bring them to
an average height of seven feet or better; the
leather creak and barrack room clatter of their
boots 'AB'.
And via some hard-wired long redundant
connection, I hear the order 'right dress!';
reach out to measure the distance; eye's right
over my shoulder, and there, as if it were
yesterday—see
the sun shine gold on the polished brass hat
badges of 'The Regiment'.
In the intense silent stillness of Stand-To I
hear them—see again the faces of those
immaculate ranks; feel that pride I felt then as
we stepped off and swung away to the sing song
call of 'left right left',
I hear a muffled drum and the rhythmic check of
boots 'AB' on the tarmac and a voice that barks
'pick 'em up!' comes drifting across all those
lesser years between.
ONCE WE WERE SOLDIERS |
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