3:45pm Monday 15th February 2010
AS an exercise in logistical planning, it fell some way short of the standards of the military event photographer Ted Pitt and I were being dispatched to cover on a February day in 1970.
The pair of us had been assigned the amalgamation ceremony between the Worcestershire Regiment with the Sherwood Foresters, and the historically important occasion was to take place at Bulford Camp, Wiltshire.
For those of a non-military bent, the camp is on Salisbury Plain, a place where in winter it is advisable to have the thermo-insulating qualities of a polar bear or at the very least a yak.
The parade was due to begin just after 11am, but of course, everyone had to be in their places long before that, suitably protected against the razor sharp wind.
Studying the order of the day, the editorial hierarchy of the then Worcester Evening News were faced with a tricky choice. Should they B&B their hack/snapper team overnight in a nearby hotel, thus ensuring they were on parade on time, but needing a nod from accounts. Or should they take a punt on Pitt’s Humber not spluttering to a halt somewhere along the A46 and tell them to go down on the morning.
Eventually the decision was made to cough up for a room, but it had taken so long when the editor’s secretary began telephoning, she discovered all hotel accommodation within a day’s march of Bulford had been booked. There were, after all, more than 2,000 spectators expected to attend. The only place available was a country pub on the edge of the plain, which was where Ted and I arrived in the dark the night before.
If it felt like Joseph and Mary turning up at the inn, then we weren’t all that wide of the mark. Except we were spared the stable, but shown to the hostelry’s one and only bedroom, strategically sited right above the public bar.
After a supper of mash and bangers, which looked like, and could easily have passed for, something else, we retired to our room hoping for an early night.
Almost inevitably, in view of the room’s location, that didn’t happen. Through the floorboards permeated the overpowering smell of fags and booze, accompanied by a volume of chatter, laughter and music which, if you are part of it is fine, but if you’re not is desperate.
Like many country pubs in the middle of nowhere, the licensing hours appeared non-existent and it must have been about three in the morning before the last car door slammed and a happy but inhebriated soul made their way home. By that time I had long given up any hope of sleep on a bed that creaked whenever you breathed and was wide awake when the totally fatuous alarm went off at 6am.
Two hours later Ted and I had dressed, breakfasted, made our way to Bulford, passed muster at security and found ourselves in the inner sanctum of Kiwi Barracks ready to interview assorted officers and men of the Worcestershire Regiment about what it felt like to be part of this momentous day.
It was mind numbingly cold. I wrote later that “snow flurries swept the parade ground”, but that doesn’t really convey how bitter it was. Or maybe it was just that we hadn’t slept the night before. Anyway the Army handed out blankets for spectators and the old soldiers on parade showed what a load of whimps we were by marching true and straight backed in their regimented lines without even a shiver. After all, when you’ve faced the bullets then a chilly day at Bulford is a walk in the park.
Having said that, temperatures were raised considerably by the sight of the guest of honour. In 1970, Princess Anne was an attractive young lady of just 19 and she had accepted the position of the new Regiment’s Colonel-in-Chief. In that role she caused a stirring in the ranks by inspecting the troops dressed in a mini-skirt several inches above the knee and wearing black leather boots.
Steady the Buffs!
Her only concession to the weather was a short camel coat and neat pillbox hat. Had it been the middle of summer, there could have been faintings on parade.
All this leads me to a just-published book that takes you back to February 28, 1970. It’s called Firm and Forester and is the history of the new regiment which emerged at the end of the day.
The Worcestershire and Sherwood Foresters Regiment (29th/45 of Foot) didn’t last that long in historical terms, just 37 years until it became part of the new Mercian Regiment in 2007. But much happened along the way.
For those who were part of it, for their families, relatives and friends this will be an invaluable addition to the household.
It covers everything from the deployments to Northern Ireland at the height of the Troubles, including the Maze and Magilligan prison riots in 1974, the firemen’s strikes in 2002, operations in Bosnia and Afghanistan, time in the Falkland Islands and Palestine and much more. There are accounts from officers and men all put together by author Tom Blyth, who took a year-long sabbatical from editing a magazine to write the book.
During its relatively short life, members of the Worcestershire and Sherwood Foresters earned more than 780 honours and awards. The Regiment lost 16 men on active service in Northern Ireland and Afghanistan, nine of them during the last tour in 2007. They are all remembered.
Firm and Forester is a big book, nearly 400 pages with a comprehensive Roll of Honour and more than 400 illustrations. A fitting tribute to a big regiment. And we were there at the start. Albeit frozen to the bone.
l Firm and Forester by Tom Blyth costs £21 and is available from Worcester Museum and Art Gallery in Foregate Street, Worcester, Regimental HQ, Norton, near Worcester or Mercian RHQ Chetwynd Barracks, Chilwell, Nottingham.
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