I once upset a group of RSM's when I told them that foot drill was a waste of time. At the time they were bemoaning the introduction of a new rifle, not because of its small caliber, but because of its cumbersome appearance: 'It is not good to drill with' they said. Thus:
An Opinion Expressed
I was once a soldier smart, Learned to stamp my feet, the art Of calling out 'The Time', the thrill Of perfect, synchronising drill.
We did it in the Sunshine glare On what was called parade ground square. It's something that I'll always miss. Those halcyon days, what perfect bliss
To march along in line abreast, Our arms swung well up to our chest. Rhythmic, gravelled, crunching feet, With Pipes and Drums, and pagan beat.
When marking time we'd raise our knees, Oh what a jape, oh what a wheeze. We'd point the toe, dig in the heel Stay with the marker on the wheel.
Saluting dais comes in sight So make your dressing, by the right. Neck to collar and chest out This is what it's all about.
Look at us performing fleas Shoulder, order, stand at ease. Perfect creases, looking good Just like all good soldiers should.
You will not understand this poem unless you have undergone military basic training on the Parade ground. Square bashing itβs called and itβs a complete waste of time.