Recruit Camp August 1975

After arrival at the college, we were all marched to our new rooms in the various residence buildings on the RMC campus.  My gang’s resting place was Fort Champlain – furthest out on Point Frederick.  The motley group I was in was Six Squadron, R-Flight – Six – Brant – Gold – The Best!

We were shown to our rooms – small rooms with a bunkbed for two, linoleum floor with a drab carpet, one built-in desk and one movable desk, a window with screen and curtains, drawers for our new military clothes, several storage cupboards for suitcases and unneeded civilian bric-a-brac, and a sink with a mirror above it.  Spartan, yet functional.  Close enough quarters to induce troublesome sub-conscious plots against your roommate!

From the first morning, we were introduced to an exhausting, high-stress routine that culminated in a strict inspection of our living space and our dress and grooming.  The start of the routine came surprisingly early for most of us – 0530 hours - Wakey-wakey!  No gentle nudge on the shoulder with a warm cup of cocoa to start these young Spartans on their day:  at top volume, from each rook-flight hallway, a cacophony of raucous music ripped us from our dreamland slumbers!  In R-Flight it was the soon-to-be universally detested “Morning Has Broken” dirge performed by Cat Stevens. While the noise level never changed, the selections varied across the Wing all the way from “Helter Skelter” to the “William Tell Overture” for some of other poor drowsy recruits .

Within a minute, crashing gash cans and bugles and horns were heard in all hallways to urge the post-somnolent newbies out into the hallways in their gym gear: washed and pressed singlet and shorts, nasty, itchy grey wool socks, and the infamous CF Cripplers (plain Keds canvas running shoes that inexplicably had no support for the feet whatsoever!)

Scrambling down the stairs and into the Champlain courtyard, we would form up and then depart, jogging to the jolly cadence of our seniors’ military, left-right-left, running songs.  Perfectly in step, we would jog past the DCdts’ house (Panet House then) and holler out a cheerful “Good Morning, Sir!”  Across the new soccer and rugby fields, we headed up the steep road towards Fort Henry and it’s ominous Heartbreak Hill -- made all the more daunting because we were encouraged to sprint from bottom to top on our own time. Good morning, sunshine!

Back to the R-Flight hallway and our rooms to grab towels and soap.  Into the showers for a quick “pusser” shower and then a dash back into our rooms to dress-up in uniform and make perfect the small room that was now home. The two occupants of each room would have to choreograph their individual movements and preparations in such a way as to share space and utilities to the optimum.  This took time and communication – at times, in the first days, it took self-defense tactics to survive bodychecks and chokeholds when paths crossed as time ran out and pressure exploded.

The early inspections were truly learning experiences!  Once we understood that collaboration would win out over competition, we were able to synchronize our movements and assist each other with difficult tasks.  The terms “fraust”, “growlies”, “dust-bunnies”, “pit wrinkles”, “gash”, “gaunch”, “welts”, and “railroad tracks” took on great importance in the ever-widening collection of things that had to be managed or avoided or cleaned.  Each time we discovered a new requirement, we would be rewarded with one or two circles in order to make the learning permanent.  By the end of the first two weeks, most of us came through the inspections with no faults – and no circles.  Some of us, though were slower learners and kept the circle sheets full!

Making your pit perfectly (fold-down exactly a bayonet length; zero wrinkles in the pillow; sheets pulled so tight a quarter would bounce; and perfect tucks at the corners) and preserving it through the night was an art that many recruits were able to master.  My roommate would sleep on top of his made bed in order to save time in the morning (I think he draped his spare fire blanket over himself to keep warm!).  I refused this draconian approach and, although warmer at night, earned twice the circles he did!  For me, inspections and circles were basically the same thing.  The awarding of morning circles became somewhat of an enjoyable and amusing ritual (that is, until 2200 hours that night out on the track!)

Our Cadet Section Commander (CSC), Papa Fletcher, took a special, calm delight in awarding several circles each morning – even if they were just for “general principles.”  By the end of the first month and as classes started up, the morning runs were stopped and the inspections became somewhat more routine.  We were quite proficient now at readying the room and our dress, so circles decreased for the most part.  However, if no creases in sheets or railroad tracks on shirt sleeves were found, Papa would improvise.  He would peer down at me from behind his thick spectacles and grumble, “Avis, you are OOOgly, DAMNED OOOOGLY!”  At which point, my roommate and I would burst out laughing – every time.  Sigh…  One circle for being ooogly and one circle each for acting in an undisciplined way during inspection. Morning has Broken ….

Near the end of recruit training, circles were slowly curtailed and inspections became somewhat perfunctory.  I had been able during recruit term to tap my Kingston network resources and receive “care packages” from my mother through Sgt Richardson, the chief Commissionaire, at the gate house! Favorite of all treats that came through this underground railway were the boxes of sugar cookies that she baked up and sent.  Of course, all members of R Flight, including our illustrious seniors LOVED Ma Avis’ cookies!  One bright fall morning, I had an idea….  We had proved that we could pass all the inspections, use all the terms correctly, and (mostly) hold a straight face when challenged.  Papa made it known that he was sorely challenged with Eng Phys course work and had little time for these formalities.  That infamous morning (I think after an all-nighter), he walked out of his cabin with no shoes, black socks, disheveled hair, his spectacles, and (I will never forget), purple paisley gaunch (underwear) – and that was all.  He looked especially irritable – but we had a surprise for him!  He slowly passed into Room 149 and sniffed, took a paper towel, growled softly, and scooped the cookie that was awaiting him on my perfectly pressed pillow.  I then heard his scratchy voice right behind me, “Avis… is this one of Mother Avis’ cookies?  You do know how I enjoy them (a soft crunch finished this phrase).  Hmmmmm, what shall I do with this.  Ahhh… two circles for exploiting my ill-hidden vulnerability and a sincere thank you!”

We were always very fond of Papa Fletcher – but also very fond that Rook Term was at an end!