Hello Ian,

I relate to you the story of the chromed brasses. It may well be of interest since every last one of us regularly suffered the task of having to white blanco our webbing belts and will remember applying the Brasso to the brass bits. The trickiest bit, I recall, was then trying to reassemble the belt without marking the white webbing with the freshly cleaned brasses. Aaaaagh!!!

I first made the acquaintance of David Chester Bentley around 1954 shortly after his NS days in the RMP. (I do believe that he is currently the secretary of the West Yorkshire Branch of the RMPA so you may be familiar with the name). In 1959, when he learned that I had joined the redcaps, he was kind enough to make me a present of a white webbing belt with the most lustrous chromium plated brasses and buckles!! I well remember his words at the time. 'You never know; it may come in useful some day.'

I subsequently served most of my time in 101 Pro Coy (JHQ Detachment) at the HQ of BAOR in Rheindahlen. The headquarters of the Company was based in Dusseldorf. Once a year we were exposed to the OC's Inspection when everything had to be bulled as never before. The OC would come up from Dusseldorf accompanied by the RSM and really take the place apart. We used to spend days on the pre-inspection bulling sessions and hoped that 'the old man' would go away pleased with the result. After the inspection there would be the inevitable parade and drilling ceremony with the RSM ('Tarrer' Tongs) putting us through our paces.

The evening prior to the big day I found myself on duty and, being due off duty at midnight, had taken the precaution of cleaning my whites beforehand just in case I happened to be delayed for any reason. I was careful, that night, not to wear my belt whilst driving and generally handled it with the greatest of care. It just so happened that at 0200hrs on the day of the inspection I was still out in the countryside somewhere dealing with a serious traffic accident and it must have been 0300hrs before I could crawl into my pit, thankful that I had had the foresight to clean my webbing beforehand.

Up at the 'crack of sparrows' to help put the finishing touches to our barrack room, you may imagine my dismay to discover, with minutes to go to the parade, that my pristine belt was, in daylight, nowhere as pristine as I had thought it was the night before. Suddenly it was, 'Everybody on Parade'. I could have died. What to do? I took David Bentley's belt out of its plastic protective wrapper and marvelled at how well it looked. I cannot describe the agony of that moment and remember Gordon Gray saying to me, 'You can't possibly wear that bloody thing for the OC's Parade!!' It was a classic 'Hobson's Choice' situation.

We were in open-order on the parade ground and I found myself in the centre of the middle rank. All those around me knew about 'the belt' and I heard muttered comments about the chances of finding myself in the guardroom. The sun was also shining, which did nothing to help my chances of getting away with it, but I was committed and that was that.

Along comes our OC together with our CO and the RSM who, incidentally used to put the fear of God into all of us! I watched out of the corner of my eye as they approached and noted with trepidation how each man was given the 'once-over' by the 'old man' and the RSM. They arrived at a position some three yards from me when suddenly the OC raised his swagger stick, pointed it directly at me and said quite clearly, 'Sergeant-Major. That man's brasses!' I died a thousand times in that moment and suddenly there they were directly in front of me with the swagger stick resting upon my brasses and the RSM peering very closely at those chromium plated brasses which had aroused the OC's interest. I would swear, if pressed, that all those lads around me were holding their breath; I most certainly was holding mine!! After what seemed to be about ten minutes the OC looked me straight in the eyes and said, 'Good turn-out that man! Immaculate brasses. Keep up the good work!!!' With that they moved along the line to continue their inspection. I definitely heard someone close by whisper, 'You jammy sod!!'

But then, of course, the inspection continued along the rear rank and I am still somewhat nervous that the buckles at the rear of the belt could still give the game away. I couldn't see the OC by this time of course but could hear him conversing with the RSM as he came along the rear rank. Suddenly they stopped directly behind me and, once again, the swagger stick ended up resting on my webbing belt but this time on the rear buckles. Again I died on that parade ground. What blessed relief it was when the OC put his head close to my ear and muttered, 'Keep up the good work, lad. Good turn-out'!

I have to tell you that I never, ever wore that belt again. Good fortune does not enjoy being pushed too far!! I actually gave the thing away to one of the lads when my demob time approached and I have often wondered if he had the balls ever to wear it. Perhaps it's found its way to the RMP museum!!

So, there you go Ian. I'll bet you've dozed off by now. If you have found the foregoing of any interest then please feel free to do with it as you wish.

Kindest regards,

Peter F Armstrong

2nd August 2008

ex L/Cpl Royal Military Police

Exemplo Ducemos!