11th Hour of the 11th Day of the 11th Month

Sometimes these blogs are amusing, sometimes they have a little too much swearing (according to Mum) and sometimes these blogs may give you something to think about – this week I am hoping to combine all three to provide a thinky amusing sweary blog. Of course, as per usual, there is no guarantee that this week’s blog will be anything apart from a word jumble with a minor semblance of coherency but that is par for the course – and if you have ever seen me play golf, Par and I are not friends.

It was a pretty well known fact back in 1988 in Dunedin that the cheapest beer in town was at the Army Territorial Mess but unfortunately the only way to be able to get in there on a regular basis was to sign a piece of paper committing to serve as a weekend warrior for a country with an incredibly proud military history for such a small nation. It was a tough choice but the price differential was pretty substantial for a student with limited access to funding and the chance to run around occasionally in DPMs and shout 'bang' at people just seemed like a whole lot of fun at the time, so I told a little white lie to the medical people and suddenly I had access to $1.40 jugs of beer – perfect. They let me do a few weekend training exercises before sending me off to Waiouru Military Camp for Basic Training at the end of the University year. Sure it might not have been the best place to spend the summer (definitely not a fun place to spend the winter) but that was the price you pay for $1.40 jugs of beer.

I really enjoyed Basic training for a while - not sure that was the point but I was having fun anyway. People yelling at you for running too slow, or running too fast or for running instead of walking wasn’t so bad. They picked me out of the crowd pretty quickly, as I am so quiet and reserved, so I got extra special attention from the NCOs (the guys that work for a living). One of my favorites was that when anyone swore in my troop I was requested to do 20 push-ups – no matter how far away I was standing from where the actual offense happened. All day long it was “Roberts give me 20” and quite often this was expressed from 200-300 meters away (we are a metric military – just like the ordinance we sent down range). Suffice it to say I did a lot of fucking press-ups, and folks, that type of language was the reason why.

Anyways, after a couple of weeks of running, shooting, potato peeling, rock painting, running some more, marching, drills, running with packs and just a few thousand press-ups my little white lie that got me past medical decided it had had enough. I know many of you reading this that know me are presuming that my predilection for wearing halter tops, daisy dukes and high hells on a Friday night was the reason for my being requested to leave Waiouru (this was before ‘If you don’t ask then I sure as hell won’t tell’) but it was not. The bony thing that connects my head to my butt had been broken a few years previously and decided that mega intense pain and temporary paralysis was the thing I needed most that summer, not running around shouting 'bang'. So they thanked me, stamped “Rejected” on my forehead (I think they were aiming for the paper but it was an officer so pretty much a crap shot anyway), put me on a bus and sent me on my way.

So that was my brief and amusing military thing, sure as hell cannot call it a career (and it is one) but I did sign on the line back in the day. The freakiest part was the doctor looking for identifying birthmarks during my medical and saying the ones on my face were not of any use – they needed to be on the body. Oh, that and hearing the crack of rounds over your head when you are at the wrong end of the range raising and lowering the targets.

I now live in a state with one of the highest commitments to the military in the US and with an incredibly strong tradition of pride in that calling. Previous employers have had great representation from the Armed Services in their staff, heck my accountant has a daughter who was in the Air Force and is now doing a Law degree whilst his son is a more about Sea, Air and Land. One of my favorite friends was asked to join the Navy by the NSA and that is about all he can tell me about his service J. I have been fortunate to meet one of the founders of Delta Force who has laid a wreath in Hereford (the old home of the SAS), shake hands with men and women who had just returned from the Sandbox, have my kids climb into an Apache Longbow at the local Reserves base here and shoot long 22s at spinning targets with a buddy who has a Purple Heart, a Bronze Star and some stuff he can’t talk about.

There are many here that are active duty and plenty more that have been, and the thing they all have in common is that they deserve our respect and thanks not just today but every day.

However, as usual, I can’t just finish there J Whilst thinking about writing this post this morning I also thought of some others that have signed up for something that many of us would never do, the list is long and complicated but the simple version of it (to me at least as you can’t thank everyone) includes First Responders, Nurses, Non-elected Civil Servants and Teachers. They don’t have a day that recognizes them that I know of, but then again I am too lazy to search via Bing to see if I am correct, but they do deserve our thanks and respect. Please note I am not detracting at all from one of the most important days in the world (that’s right, it is not just America’s Veterans Day – it is Armistice Day and Remembrance Day depending where you are on this spinning round thing) I am just writing what I am thinking and thinking I have written enough. Well almost J, there are people out there that deserve our thanks and saying it out loud whilst looking them in the eye and shaking their hands, well that is a pretty good way to express it.

Usually there is some lighthearted disclaimer here about the word jumble preceding this sentence but this week there is not.

In Flanders fields the poppies grow,

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place: and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing fly

Scare heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders Fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

 - Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae

Work hard, play hard and earn your inspiration           

Happy Veterans, Armistice and Remembrance Day

Thank you