Tag: marching

  • FrontPullers Heights

    FrontPullers Heights

    Lying in the sun ballasbakking on our officers’ course, our fancy would lightly turn to thoughts of lust. We would discuss the weirdness of developing sexual thoughts and desire for daardie luitenant in her tight browns. She was quite something in the circumstances, as she was neither ancient nor obese. Wouldn’t give her a second glance outside this place, we’d lie, But sure would give her a second go right now! And a third. Grr! Army life and kakgesels go hand in hand . .

    Dhhavid was our resident warbler, guitar virtuoso, choir master and musical lecherer. His unquenchable optimism, sensayuma and musical talent led us to join him in song, eventually leading to a prestige KO KOnsert where we sang to the appreciative masses in uniform! A packed hall! Sold out! Yes, it was free and yes, they were ordered to be there, but still, it was like a following! Talk about a captive audience! Our groupies. We had them in the palm of our Sergeant-Major’s hand.

    All this took place on Roberts Heights; or Thaba Tshwane; Voortrekkerhoogte as the weermag called it in those temporary days of mag – Actually almag, they thought, in fact! Forevah! Ve Chosen People! In Front-pullers Heights.

    Dhhave patiently choreographed us, led us, cajoled us and taught us to sing Piano Man. Repeated rehearsals; he was much more demanding than the actual officers course. Billy Joel was nervous. Les One played the piano with a wide smile and an amazing laugh. Les Two of the shyer smile sang along, as did Okkie, Rod and – who else?

    We were told how belangrik the officers course was, but anything and everything could interrupt it. Like if a ‘parade’ came up. Shortly after an earnest speech about just how important it was to do the course right and be responsible as future officers, would come the shout, ‘Drop Everything!” Some VIP generaal was coming and we needed to march in formation! Abandon classes! To the parade ground! O-Om-KEER!!

    Then the PF’s would get serious and a bit anxious and entreat us to do our best. Kakaanjaag would be discouraged. We’d march up and down and round and about and play with our guns rifles and salute and gaan aan. Een Twee Drie Een

    Another time our very important officers course was interrupted was for us to join a civilian force camp that was short of numbers. They didn’t have enough people to stage a field hospital lark. This led to running around in the bushveld near Tzaneen on the back of Bedford trucks, screeching to a halt to pitch tents, and open stretchers and put up drip stands. Which was a welcome diversion, with more than the usual dose of ballasbakking and lying under withaak thorntrees talking kak like Herman Charles Bosman’s Oom Schalk. Good value.

    ~~oo0oo~~

    I’ve written about this before but distance lends enchantment to the view. You know, The Older we get the Better we were.

    daardie luitenant – the only shapely female in our restricted little orbit on the medics base; we would follow her every stride with pinpoint focus on her browns – her military trousers – as hers were multiple sizes smaller than the average

    kakgesels – in-depth discussion

    KO KOnsert – free concert given by candidate officers – CO’s = KO’s

    weermag – armed force to stay in power; will cross borders to do so

    almag – power; from ‘almighty’

    parade – parade; pronounced puh-rah-duh; a flurry of activity, prepared for in a mild state of panic as it had usually been ordered by superior officers and meant someone important would be visiting at way-too-short notice; and if things don’t go well someone at the bottom of the pecking order will be blamed; best foot forward and all that. lik yuk lik yuk lik yuk yay!

    O-om-KEER! – Abo-out TURN!

    kakaanjaag – shenanigans

    gaan aan – carry on; pointless, frantic activity

    Een Twee Drie Een – who knows

    ballasbakking – scrotum-baking; testicle-tanning; relaxing, facing the sun, legs spread apart; chilling, discussing life’s important philosophical principles. Like browns size

    withaak – thorn tree; an Acacia before the bladdy Aussies stole them; now a Senegalia but anyway will always be a withaak

    ~~oo0oo~~

    Found a pic that looks more like our rehality back then. Uptight and Koptoe. The top pic is more impressive with knees and putties! Who remembers ‘putties’? and ShuShine!?  And bladdy Brasso!?

    “In the Spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.

    Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should be for one so young,”

    OK now you’re overdoing it, Alfred, Lord Tennyson

  • Blaas, Boetie!

    Blaas, Boetie!

    Marching in the cadets was a ballache. Once a week we would arrive at school not clad in grey shirts, grey shorts and grey socks, but in khaki shirts, khaki shorts and khaki socks. It was ‘kadet dag’ or something equally sinister. Softening us up and brainwashing us in the glory and honour of fighting for the vaderland.

    This had to stop, so Lloyd and I decided to try out for the orkes. Still the kadet orkes and you still had to wear khaki but we thought it might be less onerous. Also you could shushine your khaki putties for some light relief. I was assigned a drum and drumsticks. Zunckel was give a bright brass trompet, slightly battered.

    bugle.jpg
    – actually a bugle –

    What was lekker was instead of marching up and down like drones in the school grounds with some kop-toe ou shouting LI-INKS . . . . OM!! we headed off out the gates towards town. There we were, pale Vrystaters going on A Long Walk To Freedom! Often there wasn’t even an onnie with us, and nobody shouting. We marched to the beat of the huge bass drum. Boom Boom Boom. Left Right and all that, rinse and repeat. We would march right into town, once going as far as the post office.

    Bonus was you also got to keep an eye on the pomp troppies – seen here on an official outing – we dudes in the marching band in the background, eyes riveted on their swaying parts.

    The pomptroppies

    Such freedom couldn’t last. Some parade was coming up and it was time for quality control. Kadet uber-offisier von muziek n kak, Eben Louw, lined us up, got us started on some military propaganda lied and walked slowly from one to the other, listening intently as we parum-parum-pummed away. He watched as I bliksem‘d the drum more or less in time, nodded and walked on.

    Then he got to Zunckel. He leaned closer, then put his ear right near Lloyd’s trompet. “Blaas, jong!” he muttered. Niks. Not a peep. The Zunck had been faking it, pretending to blow with his right pinky raised impressively. Never had learned how to make that thing squawk.

    Back to barracks he went. ‘RTU’ the parabats would say.

    ~~oo0oo~~

    Oh no! This post was a dredged-up memory from 45yrs ago. I sent it to my and Lloyd’s big mate Steve Reed in Aussie, who forwarded it to Lloyd’s sister Filly in Zimbabwe where I thought Lloyd would have a chuckle reading it.

    But no, I learned instead that Lloyd had passed away a few months ago. Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! Too soon!

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    1974-may-the-bend-sheila-lloyd0002
    1974-may-the-bend-sheila-lloyd00030001
    1974-may-the-bend-sheila-lloyd00030002

    =========ooo000ooo=========

    blaas boetie, blaas jong – prove you actually know how to blow a trumpet and you’re not just fakin’ it; You’re faking it aren’t you?

    kadet dag – toy soldiers day;

    vaderland – fake concept designed to get you to do things without asking embarrassing questions;

    orkes – brass band with drums n stuff;

    kop-toe ou – brainwashed individual;

    LI-INKS . . . . OM!! – Military command to get a bunch of people all dressed alike to go somewhere. Instead of saying to sixty people, ‘Listen chaps, please get your arses over to the mess hall. See you there in three minutes’, you line them up in twenty rows of three and start shouting blue murder and generally getting really irritated with each other. Forty minutes later you arrive quite near the mess hall in a cloud of dust and blue air all hot and bothered, the only thing you learnt being one new way to cuss your mother-in-law; Massively inefficient;

    onnie – paid brainwashed individual;

    pomp troppies – short skirts – nuff said:

    Drum Majorettes 1969.JPG