#commandogunners
Commando’s a sailing from the Citadel walls
With the wind in their sails and the sun on their backs
They leave behind the safety of the shore
And venture into the unknown, to explore
Their eyes are sharp and their hearts are brave
As they navigate the waves and ride the ocean’s wave
Their hands grip the ropes; their feet firmly stand
Ready to conquer whatever lies ahead
The horizon calls to them, a distant dream
An endless expanse of blue, where secrets gleam
They sail with purpose, with courage and might
Guided by the stars and the moon’s gentle light
They are warriors of the sea, fearless and strong
Bound by a bond that will carry them along
Through peril and trial, they will weather the storm
For they are Commando’s, born to perform
As they set sail from the Citadel walls
Let us wish them fair winds and safe harbours for all
May their journey be filled with wonder and awe
As they chart their course and conquer the shore
Feb 12
Feb 12, 2026 at 7:07 AM UTC
By LongJohn, in honour of 145 Commando Battery RA (Maiwand)
It started, as these things do,
with two officers talking *****
over a brew —
one Commando, one Gunner,
each convinced his lads
were the fittest, fastest,
and least likely to die of embarrassment.
A bet was struck.
A handshake sealed it.
And before we knew it,
we were staring at a 105 light gun
like it had personally insulted us.
“Right lads,” someone said,
“we’re dragging her across the Isle of Skye.”
A silence followed —
the kind where everyone wonders
who to blame first.
But off we went,
ropes over shoulders,
boots slipping on wet rock,
the gun bouncing behind us
like a stubborn dog
that didn’t want its walk.
45 Commando Mortar Troop
set off beside us,
all swagger and protein shakes,
giving it the big licks
about “proper infantry fitness.”
We answered with the usual:
a few choice words,
a laugh,
and the quiet confidence
of men who know
that artillerymen don’t get tired —
we just get louder.
Up hills, through bogs,
across streams cold enough
to make a grown man reconsider life,
we hauled that gun
like it was the crown jewels.
And somewhere near the finish,
when the Marines started looking
a bit less invincible,
someone shouted,
“Come on lads —
do it for Maiwand!”
And we did.
We crossed the line first,
soaked, knackered,
and grinning like idiots.
The Marines took it well —
to be fair, they had no choice.
A bet’s a bet,
and a Gunner victory
is a thing of beauty.
That night, over pints,
we raised a glass
to the 105,
to the lads,
and to the simple truth
that’s held since 1880:
Never underestimate Maiwanders.
Not on a battlefield.
Not on a mountain.
And definitely not on the Isle of Skye.
Feb 8
Feb 8, 2026 at 7:19 AM UTC