Our Lad Ricky

Michael Ruston

Format ISBN Price   Paperback (5x8) 9781434398635 $ 11.00

There are countless books currently available which highlights the tragedies and hardships of service life. This book is a tongue in cheek look at the lighter side of military training.

It cover's my enlistment into the Royal Engineers after four previously unsuccessful attempts resulting from ill health. My subsequent 19 weeks training as a Sapper in southern England. I found myself caught up in many hilarious and outlandish situations, from my arrival to my passing out parade. The book will delight those who enjoy humorous light reading.

For many years my family and friends have tried to pursuade me to put pen to paper and write my autobiography. They have witnessed first hand the humorous and often hillarious stories I would tell over a glass of red wine or an ice cold beer. Forced to retire in August 2007 to care for my wife who suffers from acute bi-polar disorder I finally had the opportunity to do as they wished.  Provided with a 'steam driven' lap top by my daughter I sat down and wrote 'Our Lad Ricky'. 

I was born in Smethwick, West Midlands and raised in Whittington Barracks, Lichfield in Staffordshire.  As my father also served in the Royal Engineers and  I did not see him until I was going on seven years of age. He served in Korea and in Christmas Islands. 

When my father left the army in 1955,  I went to live in West Bromwich in the heart of the Black Country.  In the 1950s and 1960s this part the country was Englands industrial heartland, the steel and motor industries in particular.  As a result of the huge amount of air pollution prevalent during those years I suffered badly with asthma and feared that my life long dream of following in my fathers footsteps would be denied me.  However, with a little trickery, and the support of a close school chum, who sat my enlistment medical on my behalf, I did eventually succeed in enlisting.  During the 24 years that followed I served all over the world in a variety of capacities.  I even, to the amazement of those who remember me as a child and as a scrawning seven stone teenager, succeeded in obtaining by sheer guts and determination the coveted Green Beret.

I came to a large barbed wire fence with a sign, which said ‘WD Property Keep Out‘.  About a hundred yards further on I saw a floodlit area and the gate.  When I arrived at the gate, a man not much older than I emerged from a sentry box.  “Just arrived,” I told him needlessly.  He nodded towards a long low building off to one side “Guardroom” he said indicating that is where I should report to with a jerk of his thumb. 

 

Moving around the barrier, I mounted the steps to the Guardroom and knocked on the door. A man was sitting at the window reading. He looked up and then, ignoring my presence, continued with his book.  I waited for a minute or two then knocked again, a little louder.  The man looked up, slid the window open. 

“You knock that bloody door again and I’ll rip your bloody arm off”.

I stepped back aghast.  He had sworn at me.  I never swore!  I could not believe what I had heard and could feel my indignation and anger rising.  How dare he talk to me like that!

 

The young man emerged once more from his guard hut by the gate.  He pointed at the door and drew an imaginary square in the air and pointed at the door.  I turned and looked again at the door I had been knocking at and for the first time noticed small white piece of paper attached to it with a couple of drawing pins.  I walked back up the steps to the door and in the dim light read:

 

“ALL ENQUIRIES AT THE WINDOW”

 

Below the sign was an arrow pointing to the man in the window. Nervously I went up to the window and was just about to knock on it when the man, without looking up from his book, pointed down to where there was a little white button with the word “PRESS” on it. I pressed.  The man looked up smiling sweetly and slowly opened the window. 

“Good Morning, Sir, can I help you.”  He said helpfully.

“I have just arrived,” I said