Stories

When the Army posted me to the British Parachute Regiment, the regiment assigned me to 538 Platoon, The Depot, while I awaited 1 Para's return from Northern Ireland.  Depot Para is the British equivalent of American Basic Training.  It was there that I first met "my corporals"—Pitcher, Fuller, and Edwards.

Much like American drill sergeants, you never truly forget your corporals. I know for a fact I will never forget mine.

I used my time at the Depot to learn the ropes of British soldiering before officially joining 1 Para.  My corporals made sure I stayed on the straight and narrow, treating me variously as a friend, a sergeant, a visiting dignitary, or just another private, depending on the moment.  Under their guidance, I was schooled in British tactics, weaponry, fitness, the local lingo, the drinking culture, and, most importantly, British humor.

The humor was on full display one day while 538 Platoon was training in Sennybridge, Wales.  My corporals "asked" me to take a detail of soldiers to shoo the ever-present sheep off the range while they focused on the more critical mission of "getting a brew on."  To accomplish this task, they supplied me with several Toms—as they call their trainees—and a set of "sheep swatters."

Now, if you have never seen a sheep swatter, I'll describe it.  It is a long pole with a large square of rubber on the end, looking very much like a giant fly swatter.

Taking the mission in hand, I led my work party downrange and began swatting sheep with gusto. I was fully committed to the task until I caught sight of my corporals, along with SGT Bunkel and LT Boyns, having a good laugh at my goofy Yank ass.

Of course, they couldn't wait to tell me just how ridiculous I looked using that fine piece of British ingenuity—the "fire swatter"—to chase sheep.  Even though I was the brunt of their joke, and my pride was momentarily shattered, I had to laugh along with them.

Besides, swatting sheep was actually a blast.