Being a Boy in the JLRRA Band

Part 4. I am sick-as-a-dog.

Previously in this blog: I am now a trumpeter in the band of the Junior Leaders’ Regiment, RA. I have been issued with my band kit and been out on my first public gig. I should feel happy-as-Larry. But I don’t. I feel ill.

Now read on…

I tried to visit the medical centre that Sunday after the church parade, but the duty NCO thought I was faking-it and wouldn’t let me. I spent the whole of the rest of that day in abject misery. My head was throbbing and my poor guts were cramping in agony. It was only on parade the following morning, after I had thrown-up on the kerb outside the billet, that Sergeant Cage ordered me to report sick.

I was supposed to pack a haversack with washing kit, a change of socks and underwear, but I was too ill to do anything.

Actually, I was feeling a bit odd. I had it fixed in my mind that Trumpet Major Timmins was chasing Junior Gunner Johnson around the square and throwing pieces of sponge-cake and molded ceiling plaster at him. Somehow I don’t think that can be quite right, but that’s what I remember. Luckily for me there were more alert people around. Jock Grierson packed my band-kit and promised to take it back to the band stores while I was away, which was very generous of him. He also promised to hand my bedding in. We couldn’t trust any of the the junior NCOs to do something basic like that. They were too busy trying to impress the permanent staff with their leadership skills.

I found myself lying on a trolley in the medical centre while the insane medical officer poked his finger up my bum. He made a special point to take time-out so as to pass disparaging remarks about my underwear. At the time I was outraged but too ill to say anything about it. Sometime later I witnessed him doing something similar to another lad, so I guess he was just a deranged nut-case who got his kicks by humiliating sick people.

The ambulance took me to Nuneaton General Hospital. I had spent the previous day throwing-up and hadn’t eaten anything in 36 hours but I was still ‘nil-by-mouth’ for another 24 hours before they operated.

I occupied a bed in a long ward with another 20 or 30 male patients. A nurse came along to give me a bed-bath. In actual fact, she was there to shave my modest thatch of pubes in preparation to have my appendix removed. I can tell you, I didn’t know where to look. She was all ‘brisk-efficiency.’ No-nonsense. There is nothing to be embarrassed about. Nothing I haven’t seen before.

That’s easy to say if you aren’t a nervous, shy, teenaged boy. I was very embarrassed. I think I may have blushed pink!

Since those days I have had any amount of medical professionals examining my bits. But it isn’t the same. That first time was special.

Eventually they gave me an injection and I passed-out. When I woke up I felt terrible, but in a different way. Instead of acute stomach cramps I felt groggy and completely out-of-it. I think the anaesthetic in those days was a bit extreme.

I was very parched and needed something to drink but I wasn’t allowed for a couple of hours. Instead, the boy in the bed next to me offered to show me his scar if I liked. I thanked him very much but declined. I had spent the previous days throwing-up and didn’t feel like repeating the experience.

I was on the ward for a few days while they took blood samples and waited for me to pass a motion. Given that I hadn’t eaten anything for ages I thought that was probably being a bit optimistic. But they weren’t going to let me leave until I had ‘done my duty’.

I finally managed to get it all out of me. If you want to know the truth, it had to be the most painful crap I had ever taken in my life. I got transferred back to the Bramcote medical centre for another week before they sent me home to recover.

When I returned to Bramcote a fortnight later everything was busy-pandemonium. We had a full programme of activities for the rest of the summer term, plus inter-battery competitions, drill rehearsals and trade training.

We went to the Brecon Beacons for a fortnight for small-arms training. When we got back from that us boys-in-the-band went down to Woolwich for the “At Home.” We spent a week down there, billeted in the Depot. It was the first time I had been on a big military show event and I was almost squeaking with excitement. They had taken over most of Woolwich Common and set up marquees, arenas and stables for the King’s Troop.

I met my mum and my dad there on the Saturday. They came down to see me in the band. This was the first time they had shown very much interest in what I was doing and I felt pleased-as-punch. My dad even took me and another lad into the beer tent and bought us a pint each, even though we were under-age. I don’t think it could have got any better than that.

When we returned to Bramcote we had about two days before we were due to go down to Larkhill. The band had been booked to participate in a massed-bands event outside the officer’s mess. There would be the RA Mounted Band, the Band of the Ghurkas, the WRAC band and ourselves. We had to learn a new march so that we could participate with the rest of them: Fehrbelliner Reitermarsch by the German composer Henrion. It was completely unlike any of the other marches we played and was quite tricky to get together. But we managed.

Our solo set-piece for that event was that the drummers should perform the “drummer’s call” and then us trumpeters would play “retreat at sunset”. We were well rehearsed and did the thing without any flaws, which was truly amazing.

I could barely believe how happy I was and how much being in the band meant to me. It may well have been the most important thing in my life at that time.

To be continued…

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