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Bydand Forever The Gallimaufry |
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The Market |
Bydand went to Aberdeen in August 1997 as part of the Tall Ships Race festivities. This also gave us our first opportunity to interact with the new regiment, The Highlanders. It seems that the regiment was getting together an event to commemorate the 100th anniversary of The Gordon Highlanders' magnificent feat in taking the Heights of Dargai in October 1897. We were asked if they might borrow two full sets of our kit (tunic, valise equipment, etc) to help set the mood; no problem, we were pleased to lend them...on the understanding that everything would be promptly returned. Well, as happens so often in the military, things didn't quite go to plan, and the equipment never made its way back to San Diego. When we visited again in 2000, a search turned up nothing. Fast forward to August 2005 and Bydand made its way up to the Monterey Highland Games. For several years now, there has been a gentleman who has been very keen to help out wherever he can, and we were pleased to see him over the weekend. What surprised us was the fact that he was wearing full 1880s kit; to our knowledge, no one had taken to manufacturing it, and we were interested to see it...if it met our standards, the new manufacturer could save us a fair amount of time and effort. What really surprised us was the fact that not only did the new kit meet our standards, but it was actually one of our long lost uniforms! He had been cruising eBay and stumbled across a man in Edinburgh who was looking to sell off the kit. We have no idea how it got to Edinburgh, but you can be sure that we'll be checking eBay to see if the other one turns up!
Although Bydand drills every month in San Diego, many of our members live too far away to attend on a regular basis. This leads to the necessity of ‘knocking the rust off’ prior to a performance. “Stand To” is usually called around 10 AM, and the unit gets a chance to form up and run through the drill under the watchful eyes of the Sergeants. Bydand is not unlike any other military organization in that often during drill there is a lot of ‘stand around and wait.’ (Next time you're in camp, as one of our lads to sing the 'Why are We Waiting' song.) At the Sergeant’s command of “Relax Arms’, the conversation in the ranks usually consists of bits of military trivia, jokes, off-handed remarks, the occasional comments on our fellow brothers' in arms inability to remember the drill. For the newer members, it is also a time to realize how complex the various movements and commands really are. This is especially true when our new recruits are going to perform with the Unit for the very first time. This ‘stage fright’ often leads to some very humorous exchanges to blow off steam and settle nerves. Prior to our Saturday performance at the 2002 Pleasanton Games, our newest member realized that he was about to perform his ‘maiden’ in front of a thousand or more spectators.. The conversation in the ranks had been revolving around various tactics used throughout history to instill fear on one’s enemy. In an effort to distract himself, he engaged Sgt. Inglett in the following bit of military trivia. We join our heroes... New Recruit: Hey...Sergeant...you know the Greeks used a unique method of charging their enemies lines; they discovered that by skipping during the final charge, they could cover the ground faster, and be able to break the shields of their opponents by timing the final ‘skip’ so that they all hit at the same time. This was so successful that when the opponent saw the Greeks starting to skip toward them, they often broke and ran. Sgt. Inglett: Really? I’ve never heard of that technique. New Recruit: Of course Sergeant, why do you think they were called “Hoplytes”? Needles to say, said recruit was placed on onerous duty for the next several days….
The addition of our narrator in the mid-1990s made a huge difference in our audience understanding and appreciating more of Bydand's performances. For our trip to Fort George and Huntly in 2000, the charming and bubbly Capri Alderson took on the mantle of responsibility for narrating the performances. When we first arrived at Fort George, the first day was a rush of cleaning kit and equipment, drilling, and preparing for the performances that would soon begin. The first performance was scheduled to be a bit of a shake-out, and as the unit fell in in the barracks block, Capri went up to the ramparts where the soundboard had been set for a microphone check. Sgt Roe bellowed out 'Bydand! Attention!,' and the heels of our 25+ soldiers sent an earthy 'crunch' as the Unit cracked to the attention. Just at that moment... just as Sgt Roe's voice echoed off the barracks blocks, just as a hundred heads of Royal Highland Fusiliers poked out of windows to watch, just as the spirits of the men who had served there over the previous 200 years gathered to urge us on, a voice crackled over the sound system. 'Test, Test' the lovely Capri announced, followed immediately by the thrilled giggle of 'Oh cool!' as her voice and silvery laugh launched across the parade square.
One of Bydand's members is currently engaged in graduate research through the University of Aberdeen (and, yes, Sergeant my Sergeant, he will expect to be addressed as Doctor Pipe Corporal President for Life Excellency, &c.). He happened to be in London last October when the Regimental Colours were to be laid up at St. Luke's House (the Regimental Museum) in Aberdeen. There was no way that he could be so close without attending, and here's a bit of an incredible day.... When I heard that the Colours were to be laid up while I was in London, I sent a note to the Colonel [Bydand's Colonel is Lt-Gen Sir PW Graham] to say that I would be flying up for the day. I didn't hear anything back, but with the personnel changes, the tourist season wrapping up, etc, I presumed that everyone was a bit busy and that having one more person there wouldn't make a difference one way or another. I flew up to Aberdeen the evening before, and enjoyed an autumn evening in the City Centre. When I went downstairs to breakfast, who should I find but P/M John Spoore, RVM and several members of the London Association. I had to go out to the University in the morning, but planned on being at St Luke's by 12:30pm. Well, things at the University never seem to go so smoothly as they should, and so it was 12:45 before I stepped off the bus near the museum. The first thing that struck me was that there were no cars parked along the road leading down to the museum. 'Odd,' says I, but perhaps the road work on the main road will be extending down this direction. Then I noticed several Grampian Police officers strolling along the street. 'Odd,' says I, but perhaps its a slow day for crime in Aberdeen. As I neared the gate leading into the museum property, I noted two more Grampian Police officers standing at the gate. 'Odd,' says I become somewhat purplexed. Then my gaze landed on the other two officers standing at the gate....Metropolitan Police, whose jurisdiction is generally in London. 'Very odd,' says I checking my watch, noticing that the Colonel and the Lord Provost's Protocol director [or whatever his title might be] were standing in the front car park looking very expectant.. The four good officers just about tackled me as I made my way through the gate. One of the Met asked in a very stern tone, 'why are you here?' 'Odd,' thinks I. 'I'm here for the ceremony.' Unimpressed, he asks 'Are you on the list?' 'Good Lord,' thinks I, 'what list? What is going on here?' Composing myself, and hoping that the ever-sharp museum staff got my note, I reply 'Yes.' After a bit of fumbling and flipping pages, he smiles and says, 'Right. On you go.' I make the dash up the hill and into the museum, to be greeted by several old friends. "Ooch, Ian... I'm glad ye made it. He'll be here in just a bit.' Now I'm thoroughly flummoxed. 'Who'll be here?' 'HRH.' Ah, the Colonel-in-Chief...of course. That explains it all! I scury out to the back car park and am greeted by the fine sight of the Old and the Bold, drawn up in perfect order and waiting. After just a few minutes, the OC on parade calls the parade to attention and the Colours are marched on for the last time, carried by a fine party from The Highlanders. After a brief pause, Prince Charles arrived and reviewed the parade. He spent a remarkable amount of time talking with Gordons, much to the pleasure of those observing. When he returned to the reviewing stand, the Colours were marched off at the slow march, accompanied by the Ds & Ps of the Regimental Association (nicely done, lads). The assembly then moved indoors to the Hayward Room for the laying up service. I cannot really express the immense honour it was for me to be seated among the Gordons who had fought under those Colours. The singing was perhaps not of top choral quality, but the sound of soldiers' voices joined together was perhaps the most memorable experience for me. With the Colours laid up, the museum hosted a fine reception, giving me the opportunity to refresh friendships and strike up new ones. I did have the opportunity to speak briefly with Prince Charles (he was curious as to why an American was present). As fun an experience as that was, and as excited folks here at home have been about it, the real importance for me was to be with Gordons, whether they were National Service men for a few years, or 21-year men serving in Northern Ireland and Germany. It's like taking a deep drink from a cool mountain stream. Thanks very much to the Colonel and the museum staff for making it possible!
In the summer of 1994, Bydand Forever was invited to attend the Regiment's 200th anniversary Trooping the Colours. Though all hoped that the event would be the most recent of many celebrations for the Regiment, there was a deep-seated and more and more certain fear that it would be the Regiment's final trooping; they were scheduled to be amalgamated with the Queen's Own in September, 1994. As such, everyone wanted to make sure everything went "just so." Bydand arrived at Bridge of Don Barracks two weeks before the Trooping to make a number of other appearances throughout the Northeast. The Regiment, having been stationed in Germany and only just returned to Home service, arrived at the barracks a few days before hand. To appreciate this story, you need to know a little something of how Bydand's formations operate. It is possible for us to change from marching in a column to marching in a line via the "Bydand will reform line....to the RIGHT TURN." Having the extra attention from the "real article" put Bydand on its very best behavior (though, those who are familiar with us will know what a feeble "very best" it must have been!), and drilled especially hard. One morning a number of the Regiment's sergeants were watching Bydand on the parade square, and were quite impressed. As the formation moved along in column, Sgt. Inglett decided to change into line formation and in his best parade square voice shouted "Bydand will reform line.....to the LEFT TURN!" There comes a time in every soldier's life when the thought flashes through his mind "Am I really going to do what this fool sergeant has just told me to do?" This was just such a moment. The formation knew what Sgt Inglett meant, but he did give a different command. Should we do what he wanted? Should we do what he said? Should we just stop and whack him on the back of the head? So many options, and so very little time to make a decision. Scientists will tell us that folks who use their right brain are very logically oriented, while those on the left are more creative and open to innovation. It appears that, on that fateful day, the formation was composed of right-brained folk on the right and left-brained folk on the left. The right half of the formation, without hesitation, ignored Sgt. Inglett's error and performed the turn we all knew he wanted. The left half, however, leapt at this innovation in commands and performed a sharp left turn, with the result that an astounded and extremely befuddled Sgt Inglett had divided his force, and the two halves were now marching away from each other. There was nothing to be done, no command that would magically heal the rift, no solace for the sergeant who now wanted nothing more than to crawl up into his helmet and be left alone. "That's an interesting move," one of the Regiment's sergeants remarked to C/Sgt Harper. Knowing the chaos that was about to ensue and the gymnastics Sgt Inglett would have to perform to reunite the formation, C/Sgt Harper advised, "No.....the interesting part is coming up right now!"
 joined on in 1995, he carried Bydand's Colours with a pride that all but oozed from his pores. It
was also during his tenure that Bydand ensured that the Colours never
went about unescorted; Morgan could march, no doubt, but every now and
then some freak impulse would fire across the wrong synapse, and
heaven help you from there. Our standard performance did not vary much
during his time with us, but every now and then an otherwise bang-on
performance would be punctuated by the Pipey or one of the Sergeants
hissing "Hardy! Where the hell are you going? Get back..." Afterwards,
no matter how much one wished to berate him, it was impossible to
compare to the self-flagellation already in progress, and so there was
not much else to be done.
He was a hardworker, and appeared faithfully to work parties held at Sgt. Harper's arsenal. For the most part, he did his assigned tasks well and cheerfully, but he never got over his absolute dread of spiders. Understand that in the arsenal, being located in rural San Diego county, spiders were a common occurrence. One evening, while working in the ammunition room, a large brown spider made an unfortunate sally into Pte. Hardy's awareness. His initial efforts to smash the thing on the bench succeeded only to sweep the spider onto the floor. Not one given to half measures, Hardy picked up a large chunk of metal off the bench and flung it at the beast. Not only did the spider meet its maker, but the projectile also crushed a primer cap that had fallen onto the floor. As the cap detonated, those working in the room became keenly aware of the amount of black powder in the immediate vicinity, and feared that they might all become reacquainted with the spider much sooner than they had planned. In a hushed near panic, all held their breath, waiting for the entire armoury to go off. Fortunately the spark passed, lives were saved, and Hardy learned to suppress his insect loathing in the presence of powder. Pte Hardy left our company in as grand a fashion as he could have ever wanted. At the Tucson Highland Games in 1997, the rifles went out for a morning march around, taking the Colours and escourt along. On returning to camp, he looked unwell, sitting on the edge of a cot in the sergeants' tent. Sgt. Inglett asked him if something was wrong. Morgan started to rise, and reassure the Sergeant. Half way up, he collapsed, never to rise again. For what seemed hours, we tried to keep him with us, but it was no use. He had chosen his time to go, and it was on the field in the uniform of the regiment he loved...and the feeling is quite mutual.
A humourous story from our Australian Detachment member who remembers with a wry smile an incident that occurred at the 1997 San Diego Highland Games as he and his lady were strolling arm in arm across the lovely green vale, a full days performances under their belt and now enjoying the later afternoon sunshine mingled with the skirl of pipes and the banter of the passing crowd. A mother and her 4 year old daughter were walking towards our gallant soldier and his consort, the mother taking in all that was around her - at peace with the world, just another person amongst many enjoying the day. Suddenly the little love of her life let go of her hand, dashed the few steps across to our passing couple, and before anyone knew what was happening had grabbed our dashing soldiers kilt hem firmly in both hands and lifted the front of it as far up into the air as possible shouting out: "Look Mummy, it's a Man!" - yes, it was indeed! And that poor non-descript Mum that no-body had been paying any attention to........?!!!
In the summer of 2000, the town of Huntly hosted an incredible event, A Highland Homecoming, for the House of Gordon, and indeed for all of the Northeast. Bydand Forever was very pleased to be able to participate in a weekend of marvelous celebrations, and the whole experience confirmed in our hearts the concept of Scottish hospitality, the Regimental Family, and our quasi-official motto 'sempre gumby.' Here are a few stories from the weekend: Yours Truly (Senior Piper) is actually a converted Highland dancer. While in Huntly, Bydand was graciously hosted to a stovies dinner at a pre-event celebration. The Dean's short bread (which, by the way, is infiintely better than the Walker's stuff that gets passed around here in the US) pipe band played excellent and gracious hosts during the evening. A young boy named Gordon was slated to dance during the evening, and Yours Truly happened to meet his father during the evening. I was delighted to renew the acquaintance in one of the Huntly sidestreets the following day when Macrae and his wife invited me up to their home for a wee whiskey and a bit of crack about Highland dancing. Having passed an enjoyable hour or so, I took my leave, having to fall in shortly. On leaving, Macrae invited me to his butcher shop (home of the Bydand Banger) in the main street the following afternoon. I showed up the next afternoon, thinking that they had been so very nice, and if I could help bring some attention to the shop by piping out front, it was time well spent. You can imagine my surprise when I arrived, said hello, and offered to step outside to play for a bit. Macrae looked a bit surprised and asked 'Outside?' I struck up inside the tiny shop, and within minutes we had little Highland dancers doing the fling in his window, Macrae broke out his fiddle, a woman sang a few songs...a whole ceildh broke out right in front of me! We spent a wonderful hour singing, dancing, playing, and joking. As my time grew short, I asked Macrae for a knife, and cut off a shoulder flash (the brass plate on the shoulders which reads 'Gordon'), and gave to to Macrae for his son, Gordon. I can only hope that looking at the shoulder flash now gives wee Gordon (who probably isn't so wee by now) a fond memory of a weekend. Bydand was in Scotland for Waterloo Day, 1994. We received our Colours from Lt-Gen. Sir PW Graham that day, put on a fine show at the Old Meldrum Sports day, and were wrapping up the day at about midnight, cleaning rifles in the motor pool. It was just at this time that one Colour Sergeant sallied into our lives for an encounter that has come to known at the great Mystery Piper (he wasn't actually a piper, but at the time he seemed to think he was). The following week, we had the honour of participating in the festivities surrounding the Trooping the Colours, which the Sergeants' Mess followed with an informal barbeque at Bridge o' Don Barracks. During a conversation between some of our lads, the Regimental Sergeant Major reached over, and adjusted the glengarry on one of our lad's head, saying that it needed to be at the "Proper f---in' Regimental tilt." Six years later, strolling through the square at Hunt, the Mystery Piper re-entered our lives, standing quite happily at the Gordon Hotel pub, pint in hand. He greeted us cheerfully, then, looking very serious, he asked 'Do you know why do you wear your glengarry cocked to the side like that?' Without a moment's hesitation the answer shot back, "Because the RSM said so!" The Mystery Piper howled with laughter, and in a flash had his cellular phone out to call the RSM and share the story.
When Bydand first visited Aberdeen, we were quartered at Brig o' Don (actually in the Engineers' Hall) with elements of the regiment just returning from Germany. While we initially thought that mess times were the best kept secret in the British army, we finally sorted out what time to fall out for lunch and dinner. One evening, our intrepid Sgt Inglett spied a large bowl of a mixed salad at the far end of the line. He picked up his meal, and added some of the salad to his tray before finding a place to sit with the rest of the unit. As he finished eating, the catering sergeant strode up along side and struck up a conversation that went something like this: Catering Sgt: 'Ye had some o' tha' salad, then?' Catering Sgt: 'Hoo wassit?' Catering Sgt: 'Guid...Ah've bin makin' them things for 20 years and ain't none ever et one yet.'
This page was last updated on Monday, 19 March 2007 |
