I laugh about it now, however at the time Week 1 was no laughing matter. This was the beginning of my transformation from a laissez-faire civilian into the steely-eyed warrior seen on the recruitment posters. It started with a nervous climb up the grand steps of Old College, my home for the next four months. I was given my number, my company, my platoon and allocated a room.
Quickly ushered off to place my kit in my room, before I knew it I was stood to attention, in plain green coveralls outside my room door (a position to be taken up many a times before the term was over!).
Then came the introduction to my directing staff. The platoon commander and the platoon sergeant, two very, very different people. The Pl (platoon) commander being the officer of the pl, what we hope aspired to be after commissioning hopefully 44 weeks down the line. And the Pl sergeant being his right hand man, the man in charge of the discipline, the man in charge of shouting. Officer Cadets are often apprehensive around the Pl Sgt. A particular officer cadet was stumbling so much whilst talking to him, that he was pleasantly reminded how similar he was to ‘Darth Vader trying to text during showtime!’.
This first week was relatively enjoyable, we were issued more kit then possible to carry, tidied and clean it repeatedly late into every night whilst occasionally trying our hardest to learn how to march. Before awakening the next morning at 05:30 on the dot, drinking a litre of water and proceeding to singing the national anthem…this was my new life.
Lack There Of…
Despite every intention, I simply haven’t had the time/mental capacity/willingness to update since I got on the rollercoaster that is Sandhurst. I did however make a few notes in the back of my notebook each day about any significant events and photograph what rare opportunites I had. Over the next few days I will try and write these up.