The Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders (Princess Louise's)

Aldershot 1939 © Tom Barker

"With clearest eye and nerves of steel,
With gentle touch, the trigger feel."
H Marshall

I did my training in Balaklava Squad and remember the day we left Stirling Castle having completed that training. Sergeant Hutchinson who had been our drill Sergeant and Instructor was as full as a boot and had tears in his eyes as he waved us farewell as we marched out of the Castle for the last time.

People who were walking the streets of Stirling town paused during their shopping and lined the pavements and waved as we marched, led by the Pipe Band, to the Railway Station. One could almost read some of the expressions on the faces that were watching us march through the streets that day, some were smiling, but some expressions possibly indicated the person was pondering, “Aye, good luck tae ye lads, but hoo many of ye will return ti us?”

At the Railway Station we boarded a special train and my last memory of Stirling was the Argyll’s Stirling Castle Pipe Band, as the train chuffed out of the station and took us to Aldershot, where we got off and marched to Wellington Barracks where the coming and going of soldiers appeared to be an every day mundane affair.

Having arrived and got settled into our new home, we were issued with rifles that were covered with heavy grease and had a firing pin that had not been removed, like the practice rifles at Stirling Castle. We also had a bayonet that was not rounded off at the end like the Stirling Castle drill bayonet, because this one had a very sharp eighteen inch flat fluted blade that ended in a very sharp point. It too was covered with grease. The barracks were one up and one down and heated by steam and the blokes who lived up the stairs had to climb metal stairways to get to their quarters.

It was the day when we went down to the rifle range that I became known as the Robin Hood of the Squad, so to speak. A Geordie bloke named Hawkeshaw, among others from an older squad, noticed my shooting score and it wasn’t long before he was informing me he was the best shot in the Regiment, and had been for a long time.

My comment of “Good for you” did nothing for his ardor and it was not long before he was challenging me to a shoot-off on the miniature range. Since most of us that had spare time in the evenings would spend some time on keeping our kit spotless or writing home and could usually afford one night per week at the local cinema, and since we had spent most of the day on some exercise or other, the thought of spending a whole evening at the .22 practice range was about as attractive as going to the dentist to have all ones teeth drilled.

But every time our paths crossed, Hawky would have a new taunt to greet me with, and the Geordie bloke that I was walking to the N.A.A.F.I. with one mid morning break for char and a wad said , “Yus jist canny get through ti some o’ they thick buggers, why divvant ye poot hem oot o’ hes misery an ‘ tek ‘im oan man? Mebbies then ya’ll ger a bit o’ peace! An even if yu don’t beat ‘im, at least that’ll get the pillock off yer back”

Then someone casually mentioned one day one could get a prize, like ten Bob or even a Quid on a good night, and suddenly I was all ears.

The Miniature range was a place where anyone interested could go on a Thursday evening and pay sixpence to enter and practice shooting at targets that resembled the huge targets on the big range. The miniature range used .22 ammunition.

Since Hawkshawe had been the champion of the miniature range for about three years now, any newcomer who was likely to de-throne him was welcomed with open arms by a lot of shooters who had challenged Hawky, but Hawky had pocketed the ten or fifteen Bob prize money every time. The amount of prize money depended on how many blokes attended the range on a given night.

So it was when word got out that evening in the N.A.A.F.I. that Hawky had thrown down the gauntlet and yours truly had picked it up.

Thursday evening eventually came round as we hoped it would, and the miniature range was packed. It was bandied about that the prize money that night at sixpence a head could be in the vicinity of a 'fiver'. The place was blue with tobacco smoke and the hum of conversation made the place sound like an electric power station going flat out to keep up with the demand.

There was a sprinkling of Officers chatting in one corner and some blokes from other Regiments were champing at the bit, or having bets on the outcome.

Then like a champion boxer coming out of his corner to the cheers of his supporters, Hawkshaw stepped into the light and then lay down at the firing point and loaded his .22 rifle. A hush suddenly fell on the assembly and one could hear the clock on the wall ticking as the Sergeant at the firing point was beckoning to me to come forward and take up my position, where one placed a twelve inch target made of stiff cardboard into a clip and wound a handle and the target traveled down the range like me Mum winding out some wet hankies on a line to dry on a wash day. When the winding stopped, the target looked like a postage stamp in the distance.

Meanwhile, a Sergeant Instructor stood up and addressed the now silent assembly. And like the referee at an old time fencing duel he warbled, ”Gentlemen” and his eyes were scanning the restless, but now silent mob, where mutterings of, “Cut the crap an’ let’s ger on wi’ it!” could be heard. Ignoring the comments, the Sgt imitated a town crier and warbled, “Our friend Pte Hawkshaw has been on this range many times before and emerged the winner at the end of the evening, but is once again going to test his prowess against a new challenger, Pte Barker of B Coy, who has joined us this evening, so let's hear it for these two lads.

After the cheers, hoots, whistling, and hand clapping died down the Instructor pointed to the two sand-bagged firing positions, while glancing at the two and pointing at the rifles, declaring, “Both rifles have been tested and the contestants will each in their own time fire five rounds per target when ready. Then they will clear the breach of the rifle and leave the bolt open before leaving the firing point”

This we did, and the targets were wound back in and scrutinized, now punctured with a tight bunch of holes that were so much alike and had indeed removed the bull’s eye out of each target. The Instructor decided we had to do a re-shoot but the result was the same and the audience was getting a bit restless until some bright young Officer leaned over and whispered to the Range Sgt, “Hoo aboot we try somethin’ a wee bitty different?” and he put a silver three penny piece, that measured about 15 mm across, in one of the clips and wound it out and the Range Sgt roared and gestured to it, “Yus get yin shoat each until the ferrst yin hits et O.K.?” We agreed.

Some of the audience protested that they could not see the small coin in the distance, as Hawky’s shot rang out and the coin stayed put. I looked at the coin and noticed the arc of light on one half of the rim making it appear like a tiny new moon in the gloom and I mentally traced a line from the top point of the tiny moon to the bottom point and aimed at the center of that line that was slightly right of the crescent moon. When I fired the coin went spinning and the hut erupted.

The coin was retrieved and the dent was spot-on for the middle. Hawkeshaw was disappointed but protested he couldn’t see the target clearly but then was asked by the Sgt, “Then why did you fire at it?” Hawkshawe shrugged, but shook my hand and gruffly admitted defeat.

The Armourer Sgt grinned and warbled, ”There is nae doot aboot it laddie, yer a good shot indeed, an’ ye must poot in fer yer crossed rifles an’ collect anither three pence a day in yer pay."

Unfortunately for me, we got moved to Palestine before I could accomplish the task and missed out on the three pence per day for the rest of my 12 years service. I always considered the holiday abroad was worth the three pence a day I never got. But I did notice, when they wanted a Sniper on Crete, I was chosen to do the job.

On browsing this, I ponder why I never learned to play the bagpipes!