QARANC AND ATTEMPTING P COY - PART TWO by Rod Eldridge

Part one described how I passed pre para, also known as "beat up"!  If successful at regimental level pre para, you then go to Catterick for the all arms Parachute Company "P Coy".  Part two is all about attempting P Company.

It was only a few days after passing pre para and still feeling sore, it was off to a bleak Wathgill Camp N Yorkshire with 5 other 16 CSMR unit members.  This would be our home (house of pain) for the next 3.5 weeks. 

As with all things Army it was up at a ridiculous o’clock, eat a hearty breakfast, kit up, collect weapons and then get bussed to Vimy Barracks. It was November 2003, it was cold, wet, and foggy! Just lovely for doing extreme constant phys! The idea was to be the grey man, which wasn’t difficult as I had grey hair, but being the most senior rank and given the number 1 to write in white on my lightweights it made me stick out rather more than I wanted. 

Day one is a full-on assessment/screening with a BFT which must be completed under 8.30 mins, the high air assault course trainasium and lastly 8 (very quick) mile tab. We numbered 106 at the start we were down to 76 after day one! As an officer you are always pushed to back at the start of events, whilst not proud of myself, but being so keen to pass I pushed many a body out of my way to ensure I made the cut. I had made it and so I was officially on the course, every day we had to undergo at 2 least and sometimes three grueling training events, including, 10 milers, 20 miles runs and tabs, CFT, Stretcher races, log runs, gym work, swimming tests, hill reps, day, and night nav exercises, sections attacks, assault courses and a steeplechase. Over time we were eventually reduced to 42 with only one other 16 CSMR colleague remaining with me. We were given presentations to do, and if we were picked up on our kit, weapons or not having totally filled water bottles we given show parades “show cleans” most evening just to keep them tempo of pressure. Evenings were about kit prep and personal admin, treating blisters, aches, and pains etc. being the “medic”, I was always asked for advice, treatment, and medications if appropriate. It struck me to what lengths folk would go to keep going and pass P Coy, even if they were in severe pain or had suspected stress fractures, they wanted to medicate up and keep going this was not what I couldn’t endorse. It was better to stop, recover and try again. I recall on 26th November which was my 40th birthday, we did a ten-miler tab, with weight and weapons to the aptly named Land of Nod! We stooped at a hill and were made to run up and down the hill 20 times, at the end when we reached the bottom. We were marching on the spot when my name was called out congratulating me on reaching my 40th birthday and I was made to do another rep of the hill whist the rest of squad were kept marching on the spot whilst singing happy birthday Maj Eldridge (airborne humour).  Not one of my best birthdays presents but one I’ll never forget!

So having endured 2.5 weeks of thrashing you are entering into test week, one more week of hell that includes eight tests and it’s done. Steeple chase, CFT, stretcher race, Log race, 10 miler quick tab under 1.50 hr, 20 miler, milling and trainasium. You must get 45 points to pass as I recall some events are worth five point and some 10 points, the bottom line is it’s best not to fail anything. I struggled in the milling I was pitched against a very large and muscular Welsh Sapper who was looking forward beating up an officer. I gave as good as I could knocking him down and he returned with the same, apart from the bout being stopped to due to my use of inappropriate language deemed unbecoming of an officer when over we drew, so it was 5 points in the bag much better than losing and having no points at all. The other events whilst tough were OK, I didn’t mind the infamous log race, it was extremely tough, but the stretcher race was horrendous, keeping the heavy stretcher above your shoulder whilst moving at pace with little respite when swapping out, nearly caused me to quit but a little voice said no way you have come too far, and this was the final event. The P Coy CSM gave words of encouragement! and pushed me down the last hill and it was done.

I passed all the events and thought I’ve had made it, but it was most reassuring during the pass-fail parade that afternoon, when I was called to attention on hearing my number, No 1, I stood to attention and I replied yelling out :539939 Major R Eldridge QARANC 16 CSMR, a most welcome reply said “pass”. I was so relieved and elated it was hard to stand at attention whilst they read out the other 36 passes and 3 stand up fails.  The latter are cruel because you have made it to the end having endured so much, but didn’t quite meet the standard to undergo parachute training and join airborne forces.

I was absolutely chuffed, but hadn’t given too much thought to parachuting, I’m not keen on heights and it wasn’t easy but once you’ve passed P Coy you will do the jumps. I was caught off guard when returning to the unit as I was greeted like a  hero for my achievement. Once back from P Coy I could legitimately wear a parachute smock, so I made a B line for the QMs clothing store. You are called a penguin until you get your wings, so I went to Brize ASAP for the next jumps course. I did some jumps with recently qualified SAS which again was interesting as they still have to undergo the basic parachute course.

This was my first all arms course and it gave so much more than a badge and the meagre para pay, I met and trained with other arms and services and gained insights into their roles, some of these I worked with back at brigade and later on when deployed. So, for me it was a change to day to day running of a DCMH or MH Nursing and it helped me feel included and others who were badged felt they could approach me, this had a definite impact clinically as we saw an increase in referrals. The doubters are for me those who know deep down they are not able to pass this formidable and arduous course and it’s their way to rationalise this realisation. So, for me yes it was worth it on my levels and it’s an important achievement in my life.


Lt Col (Rtd)  Rodney Eldridge 

QARANC AND PRE PARA COURSE- PART ONE by Rod Eldridge

 

PART ONE

Why do Pegasus Company (P Coy)?  And if successful why then jump out of a perfectly serviceable aircraft? 

It’s like most worthwhile challenges it’s because it’s there!  And it is indeed worthwhile, for the doubters the following may offer some insight to support my personal assertions. 

When I joined the Army in 1986, I became extremely fit in basic training, gaining the best recruit and best recruit PT awards on passing out. 23 Parachute Field Ambulance (PFA) came on a visit (sneaky recruiting I thought) to Keogh Bks and tried very hard to coax me into their unit. I was a qualified RMN and destined for QEMH, and as there was no established role for me at 23 PFA, I’d be employed as a CMT 3 painting boxes and erecting tents.  Not for me, as I wanted to nurse and join my brother Malcolm who was then a Serving Captain in the RAMC at the QEMH in Woolwich.

This experience and subsequent meetings with 23 PFA, mainly at sports competitions and events, not only planted a seed but further sparked a curiosity in these fit, capable, and confident guys.  Once dual qualified I subsequently commissioned and I then sought to join 23 PFA as Training Officer.  I applied and submitted numerous posting preferences, but records came back with some reason why it was not possible at this stage of my career.  There was a sense at the time that being a QA serving in the field army was frowned upon and not the best career move, thankfully this is no longer the case.  My service career path had very much leaned to the mental health setting rather than general nursing. Whilst I never gave up on the idea of doing P Coy, I got on with my mental health nursing. 

It was when attached to 23 PFA on operations in KOSOVO in 1999 and then then 16 CSMR during the Iraq war in 2003 I joined in with the unit PT and extracurricular training and not only did I keep up, but often beat some of the fit guys. They said I should do P Coy, I said I wanted to but my current posting and likely future appointments had no requirement for a RMN military Parachutist.

It all changed when posted to 16 CSMR Colchester in 2002 the home of 16 AA BDE and on the held strength with a parachutist PID.  The only issue was, I was 39 yrs of age and the cut off for volunteering and attempting P Coy was 35 yrs of age. I was given dispensation by the CO and was passed medically fit. So this was it, I had finally got the chance to earn my wings or BBC! (Blue Badge of Courage). I always believed you should be trained for your role, and it seemed logical to attempt and pass P Coy if you were in an airborne unit. I wanted to lead by example, but also fancied the personal challenge.

I began training in earnest with watching my diet, stopping drinking, and planned 3 months of gradually increasing exercise in preparation for the Pre Para course to be held in Aldershot. I worked on speed, endurance and carrying weight in my bergen etc. I did something every day; sprints, hill repetitions, long runs, long marches, gym work and swimming. This prepared me well and I passed Pre Para without difficulty. I was however the butt of many jokes being the old timer, but those much younger than me were challenged not only physically, in that I kept up with and on occasions beat them on events, but also psychologically, thinking I can’t let a crusty old Major (nurse) beat me. Our CO loved it and used my age as an example to many who had sat on the fence with attempting P Coy.

Look out for part two next week and attempting P Coy!

Lt Col (Rtd)  Rod Eldridge 

We Will Remember Them - A Weekend of Remembrance 2023 by Domini Barrett

 10th -12th November 2023

I am known to keep myself busy, but this year’s Remembrance Weekend held more commitments than normal. All very different, but each one an important part of my life as an Army Reservist and National Health Service Nurse.


Friday

I love being a member of the Middle Wallop & Andover Military Wives Choir (the seventh one I have been part of as different postings have taken me to different places). I not only get to sing with a group of like-minded women, wives and those with a military link, but enjoy the camaraderie, friendship and support this gives me as a military wife and Army Reservist.

The choir had a wonderful evening performing a Remembrance Concert at the Army Flying Museum in Middle Wallop. We sang not only songs that are part of our core repertoire; but linked to remembrance, as well as some more lively pieces. We interspersed these with poems, readings and sharing our experiences of being military wives and the challenges this brings especially when your partner is on operations or long military exercises. This includes for me, having had 9 military moves in 14 years and having gone through periods of separation.

The venue was full and we were very well received. A wonderful, memorable and moving evening.

Saturday

As a paediatric nurse working at Salisbury Hospital with long waiting lists we had an additional day of surgery. 15 children needing dental treatment under a general anaesthetic. Working a full and busy 13 hour shift in the Day Surgery Unit it was impossible to observe the Armistice Day, 11 o’clock, 2 minute silence, but I managed to take time and reflect over my lunch break of those who had gone before us and made the ultimate sacrifice. I wore my poppy with pride. I have also just completed a course at the hospital to be an ‘Armed Forces Advocate’. This involves wearing a nice badge (!) and supporting and signposting those who are linked to the Armed Forces, including veterans.



Thankfully I was home in time to watch on television the Royal British Legion Festival of Remembrance from the Albert Hall. It is always such a special occasion.

Sunday

The choir rehearse every week at the Middle Wallop Station Church in Hampshire - this is one of the bases for the Army Air Corps and is where many learn to fly the Apache Attack Helicopter. Each year therefore, the choir sing in the main hanger at the Service of Remembrance taken by the Station Chaplain for those serving, their families, veterans and guests. This is followed by the Act of Remembrance at the War Memorial close to the camp entrance. This part of the morning included a fly past. It was an emotional and sad time as I reflected on the operational tours I have supported in Afghanistan and those who lost their lives there.

It is an honour though to be involved in this event and I am always so proud to be in uniform to represent the Reserves as a Nursing Officer in the QARANC.

Major Domini Barrett

Memories of being in the Territorial Army - 219 Wessex Field Hospital by Jan Westbury

 Before I joined the regular army I was in the Territorial Army and have fond memories of my colleagues, the drill nights, weekend exercises and two week camps.  In between I took advantage of anything on offer, such as sailing and earning my competent crew certificate.  I think back to camaraderie and fun.  Here we are at the pub for some well earned refreshments!  I seem to have a lot of photos from my army days where I am snapped eating.

As we expanded and developed, in April 1988 we officially became the Gloucester detachment with a grand opening.

On parade prior to the grand opening.  Not everyone had uniform!

With my surgical trolley, scissors at the ready, for the cutting on the ribbon

It was great to be part of a team that won the Nutbeam Shield that year for our military skills.  At that time our colleagues in the regular service did not necessarily appreciate the skills we had and we seemed to be the butt of many jokes, usually called weekend soldiers.

                                                                                                                                                                                           

I like  this photograph of two Captains,  Sally and Elaine, as their marching looks so synchronized. There is something about marching together that makes you feel proud and even better if you have a marching band to help you along.

Happy Days!

Proper War Stories - By Bob Price

Seated with a pint, down at the legion, amidst army veterans of several eras and regiments, you might feel just a tad under gunned when, inevitably, the war stories get rolled out again. Look, if you were armed with a syringe, there are going to be limits on the war stories front aren’t there? You might even feel a different sort of veteran altogether, having been part of the ‘little army’, rather than the ‘big army’, the teeth arms (no, not the dental corp). But in support of you all, keeping the side up I want to assure you that I did once try. Down at the legion I trotted out some of my war stories, about the tour I completed in west Belfast with the Scots Guards. That should impress I thought, you know, the Guards division. 

It started very well. The medical team consisting of a very experienced Colour Sergeant who had been with them since they tackled mammoths, a lugubrious Corporal Gibson (Gibbo) and an eager guardsman who had trained up in first aid were in place already. I commanded one Saracen armoured ambulance and the Colour Sergeant the other. Within days I had my first proper casualty. In the ambulance we monitored both the civilian ambulance network and our battalion one. I think we muddled to two up. So, when I heard that there was a major casualty in the White Rock community centre Gibbo and I were straight there. The guy had been knee capped, and I got a tourniquet on the leg where he was bleeding from an artery. Off to the Royal Victoria Hospital we went, quick step, to the applause of onlookers who were astonished to see the army picking up a civilian. Afterwards, I got roasted by the CO. I hadn’t waited to get a platoon in place, to cover our evacuation. He reminded me that (logically) it could have been a trap. But there was a certain kudos afterwards. It was said on the street, that the new battalion couldn’t be such a bad lot, if we showed that amount of compassion for a local. Our guys reckoned in retrospect it was a useful (if ill planned) move. We finished the tour without one soldier being shot in West Belfast. 

Saracen Armoured Ambulance
Curtesy Army Medical Services Museum

Conflict can be dull they say, most of the time, and so it was for us. I completed public health inspections of the various camp canteens and shops and a daily sick parade. Then though (the legion men waited with bated breath) I collected a guardsmen from the basement of a block of flats who had broken his ankle, searching for stashed arms. We reversed the Saracen in, almost beneath the overhang, to limit the risk of being shot at. The casualty retrieved; we were about to move off to the military wing Musgrave Park Hospital when there was an almighty bang! I thought the opposition had shot a shoulder launch missile at us. Travelling at pace down the Falls Road the radio came up, ‘Hello 83 (our call sign) this is 0 ( battalion ops), do you realise that you have a calor gas cooker on your roof?’ They’d dropped it from the top of the flats and the door had caught on the Saracen railings. Now it flapped like a dog’s lop ear as we retreated to hospital. How astonishing were the traffic cameras, that they could tell it was a calor gas model. Must have been the trailing piping. 

Complete blank expressions. I hadn’t moved the veterans a jot! For pete’s sake, what did it take? I’d been under fire, hadn’t I? ‘Cooking on gas?’ one of them asked cynically. Right, I thought, share the camaraderie humour memoire, that will please. It was customs in the guards division for the men (out of direct earshot) to refer to their commanding officer affectionately by his rank and first name. So, our CO was Colonel Johnny. I struggled with it at first, having spent some time working in a venereal disease clinic you see. Anyway, the Colonel was hugely popular, greatly respected, and I thought, goodness, wouldn’t it be good for me to have a nickname used amongst the men? But it wasn’t going to be won checking sweat rashes, was it? Nor would I win it for completing a pre and post interview medical check when the authorities’ interviewed suspects, some of them subsequently very famous. 

Then it happened. By chance I overheard one of the platoon commanders assure his men that ‘Doctor Bob’ and his ambulance would be in close attendance when they went to check out a disused factory building. Doctor Bob….I’d arrived! The men loved me! Gibbo smiled. Yes, he assured me I was popular with the troops. I taught in a ‘weird way’ and I was diligent responding to concerns. I glowed for the rest of the day. That night Gibbo put me straight. ‘You do know sir, where Doctor Bob comes from don’t you?’ I shook my head. ‘He was a mad surgeon in the Muppets and Miss Piggy was the theatre sister.’ 

You’d better get the next round in mate,’ said one of the proper veterans at last. Look, I tried, I really did. 

Bob Price did one RMO(A) tour in Northern Ireland, some of you did many more. Yet he ventures that such tours made a real difference, to health, morale, as well as humour.

POSTINGS (tongue in cheek) by Bob Price

There came a moment the other day, over the marmalade and toast don’t you know, when I pondered postings. You might naturally recommend that I get out more, but bear with me. Stop to recollect this process, that which shaped many of our memories of service. Postings are sometimes how we catalogue the remembered career. We had good postings and bad postings. There were better places to be posted and terrible places to be sent. Taken quite literally it can make you feel as if you’re something passed inelegantly through the Royal Mail entrails. It started with the posting order, probably handed over to you with a smile or a look of grim determination. I remember after qualifying as a nurse (yes, a product of our own system) in 1975, I was sent off to the Military Wing Musgrave Park Hospital, Belfast and for two years. Initially, that seemed like an invite to the trenches. I arrived there as a wet behind the ears staff nurse cynically received by an established team who weren’t sure that they needed me thank you very much. I wonder if you ever harboured the thought that postings were sometimes handed over with a sense of glee?

Your next memory might relate to the MFO box. Nearly everything you owned went into that. It sounds like a joke about remembered poverty, doesn’t it? ‘When I was young, I lived in a two up two down hovel’. ‘Oh, that’s nothing, I lived in a bed sit’. Trump it all with the MFO box. I (or at least all my worldly possessions) existed in an MFO box. There came the day in BMH Rinteln where colleagues had to pack their MFO boxes to go off to the war in Iraq. As you weren’t allowed to include opened bottles of alcohol within the box, we had a goodbye drinks party. There was this bottle of Tequila (truly vile stuff), ‘fat wallet’ the civilian hospital accounts manager, my future wife and I who made the final of the slamming competition. The next morning it felt as though my head had Moved Forward Overseas.

I suspect something happens when you live and work within a system where you can be readily posted. There is a perverse mix of eager anticipation and horror as you anticipate imminent change. Here’s how I think it works. On the upside you think of the new posting in terms of locale. Clearly, Hong Kong (back then), Cyprus and exotica places like Brunei had much to commend them. You flick through the holiday brochures that link to the favoured new locale. But then, inevitably, you realise that postings were never just about locations, they were about people. Someone in MOD was playing a crazy game of reassemble the village community. It was as if you were injected into a long running series of the Archers, and whether you liked it or not you would live with Peggy, Jazzer, Dan and the rest. For goodness sake, when I was posted to one of our hospitals, no one advertised it as a Pyjama Dash exercises resort, that designed to counter the IRA, everyone drawn up on the car park at midnight, in your pyjamas, with your teddy bear in hand. Postings were about people, and you landed amongst the joys, suspicions and tensions that existed there. Was there really a witch in the attic, and if so, did you really wish to be posted there?

This is the point, isn’t it? Really, we were all victims, subjects in a social mix experiment. You were probably a victim weren’t you- just think about it. How many others, in different walks of life, get ‘posted’. In sharp contrasts to battalions (who were sometimes posted together, with the familiar comrades, as a family) we were posted individually. You might as well have been issued with a gas mask, a label describing your name rank and number, a consoling bar of chocolate and sent off to the countryside whilst the war carried on. No one explained the slightly bizarre family that you were about to be inserted into, the one that had a dozen grates to clean.

If you were lucky though, if you were very fortunate, you landed in a wonderful place and amidst some astonishing people. One such was the Army Medical Services School of Nursing. Oddly, it wasn’t one location (though the brochures about Woolwich on Thames were entirely beguiling). 

The school comprised a group of people, with significant talent and a clear commitment to training some of the very best nurses, those who went on to forge considerable careers in the Corps, and civilian life. People who worked here offered the most astonishing humour (‘Price, there is only one problem you face, you suffer from delusions of adequacy’).  

Gestetner machine for producing
 copies of handouts

They helped the neophyte teacher to plan education that was not only professionally sound and workable, but which seemed enjoyable to learn as well. For goodness sake, they taught me how to work the gestetner handout machine and the overhead projector. I won’t name names, you know who you are, and many others knew who you were. Of all the mats that a package could land upon, after traversing the system, this was surely a great one.

Bob Price served in the AMS between 1972 and 1990. He taught nurses in the Cambridge Military Hospital, Queen Elizabeth Military Hospital and in BAOR. The habit persisted afterwards, at the Royal Marsden Hospital, the RCN and the Open University. He is now making more toast, the last went cold.

Remembering the Queen Elizabeth Military Hospital by Tom Barry

 I started my career as a CMT from 1983 at 1 AFA then 19 Fd Amb. In July 87 (shortly after completing my CMT 1 course) I started nurse training at the QE. Absolutely loved my time at Woolwich and met my wife while there (she also did her nurse training at the CMH / QE). I qualified as a registered nurse in 1990 then did a tour of NI followed by a stint on St Kilda. I finished off my time in the army with a couple of years at BMH Iserlohn before leaving in 1994 for life as a civilian.

I recently returned to the former Queen Elizabeth Military Hospital (QEMH) to have a look round. It had been opened as a military hospital by the late Queen Mother in 1978, but closed in 1995, due to defence cuts and changes to army medical services. The main hospital was rebuilt and opened by Queen Elizabeth ll in 2001 as an NHS hospital. 

However, there were still many of the old buildings in the photos below that brought back many memories.

The Old Accommodation Blocks

The Old Officers Mess (tall building) with School of Nursing Opposite

Remember nights out?

By Tom Barry