~ HAPPENINGS ~

35th Anniversary Frezenberg Dinner 26 May 2011 Penticton, BC

SAME PLACE!

Registration  to date: 16 May 2011   wef:    ( 76 )  registered !

~ NOTICE RE: GUEST BOOK ~

WE NO LONGER HAVE A GUEST BOOK DUE TO SPAM INTRUSION, WE WERE CONSTANTLY HAMMERED WITH GARBAGE WHICH WE DO NOT NEED. IF YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY TO US  AN E-MAIL WILL BE FINE. THANK YOU.

NOTICE !

 We continue to gain 'on-line' members which is great and a super way to disseminate information of interest to our membership. If you are 'on-line' and have not sent us your e-mail address please do so as this is required to receive the "Piklee Info Bulletin" which is sent out to on-line members, guest contributors, and all other Patricias who wish to receive it. The Bulletin is sent out on an as required basis.

"Esto Perpetua"

Important Memo

We must emphasize periodically the importance of a continuing membership support system.

With our 'no dues' structure, our very existence depends on that support

Thank you - your membership committee

~ Leadership ~

"Going to war without France is like going deer hunting without your accordian."

~ Norman Schwartzkopf ~

The Country the World Forgot - again

(Sunday Telegraph, London, UK 21 April 2002 by Kevin Myers)

Until the deaths last week of four Canadian soldiers accidentally killed by a US warplane in Afghanistan, probably almost no one outside their home country had been aware that Canadian troops were deployed in the region. And as always, Canada will now bury its dead, just as the rest of the world, as always, will forget its sacrifice, just as it always forgets nearly everything Canada ever does.

It seems that Canada's historic mission is to become selfless aid of both of its friends and of complete strangers, and then, once the crisis is over, to be well and truly ignored. Canada is the perpetual wallflower that stands on the edge of the hall. Waiting for someone to come and ask her for a dance. A fire breaks out, she risks life and limb to rescue her fellow dance-goers, and suffers serious injuries. But when the hall is repaired and the dancing resumes, there is Canada, the wallflower still, while those she once helped glamorously cavort across the floor, blithely neglecting her yet again.

That is the price which Canada pays for sharing the North America Continent with the US, and for being a selfless friend of Britain in two global conflicts. For much of the 20th century, Canada was torn in two different directions: it seemed to be a part of the old world, yet had an address in the new one, and that divided identity ensured that it never fully got the gratitude it deserved.

Yet its purely voluntary contribution to the cause of freedom in two world wars was perhaps the greatest of any democracy. Almost 10 percent of Canada's entire population of seven million people served in the armed forces during the First World War, and nearly 60,000 died. The great allied victories of 1918 were spearheaded by Canadian troops, perhaps the most capable soldiers in the entire British order of battle.

Canada was repaid for its enormous sacrifice by downright neglect, its unique contribution to victory being absorbed into the popular memory as somehow or other the work of the "British". The Second World War provided a rerun. The Canadian navy began the war with a half dozen vessels, and ended up policing nearly half of the Atlantic against U-boat attack. More than 120 Canadian warships participated in the Normandy landings, during which 15,000 Canadian soldiers went ashore on D-Day alone. Canada finished the war with the third largest navy and the fourth largest air force in the world.

The world thanked Canada with the same sublime indifference as it had the previous time. Canadian participation in the war was acknowledged in film only if it was necessary to give an American actor a part in a campaign which the US had clearly not participated - a touching scrupulousness which, of course, Hollywood has since abandoned, as it has any notion of a separate Canadian identity.

So it is a general rule that actors and film-makers arriving in Hollywood keep their nationality unless, that is, they are Canadian. Thus Mary Pickford, Walter Huston, Donald Sutherland, Michael J. Fox, William Shatner, Norman Jewison, David Cronenberg and Dan Ackroyd have in the popular perception become American, and Christopher Plummer British. It is as if in the very act of becoming famous, a Canadian ceases to be Canadian, unless she is Margaret Atwood, who is unshakeably Canadian as a moose, or Celine Dion, for whom Canada has proved quite unable to find any takers.

Moreover, Canada is every bit as querulously alert to the achievements of its sons and daughters as the rest of the world is completely unaware of them. The Canadians proudly say of themselves - and are unheard by anyone else - that 1 percent of the world's population has provided 10 percent of the world's peacekeeping forces. Canadian soldiers in the past half century have been the greatest peace-keepers on earth - in 39 missions on UN mandates, and six on non-UN peace-keeping duties, from Vietnam to East Timor, from Sinai to Bosnia.

Yet the only foreign engagement which has entered the popular non-Canadian imagination was the sorry affair in Somalia, in which out-of-control paratroopers murdered two Somalia infiltrators. Their regiment was then disbanded in disgrace-a uniquely Canadian act of self-abasement for which, naturally, the Canadians received no international credit.

So who today in the US knows about stoic and selfless friendship its northern neighbor has given in Afghanistan? Rather like Cyrano de Bergerac, Canada repeatedly does honourable things for honourable motives, but instead of being thanked for it, it remains something of a figure of fun. It is the Canadian way, for which Canadians should be proud, yet such honour comes at a high cost. This weekend four shrouds, red with blood and maple leaf head homewards, and four more grieving Canadian families know that cost all too tragically well.

*******************

 THE R.S.M.

By: Duke Dobing

   He stood erect, moustache, epaulets, medal ribbons, all parallel to the plane of the barrack square, his right forearm an hypotenuse to his head and shoulder. It was the perfect salute.

   "Permission to speak, sir."

   "Please do," I said.

   Under his gaze I could feel my shoelaces untying themselves and the hair growing over my collar.

   "You are a specialist officer, I take it, new to the regiment?" he asked.

   A premonition of imminent loss of poise betrayed me into a clever-dick answer. "Guilty on both charges," I said.

   He stood for a few moments as though posing for the frontispiece of a drill manual. - "You saluted me a short while ago. In that, sir, you were not acting in accordance with Queen's Regulations. You do not salute me I salute you. You merely return my salute."

   "Humanum est errare," I murmured.

   He ignored the interruption.

   "I, sir, am a Regimental Sergeant Major and although I am permitted to wear a Sam Browne belt, I do not hold the Queen's commission." He seemed slightly embarrassed. Then he said: "As I am on the parade-ground, you may, if you think fit, ask me to stand at ease." "Stand easy - er - Regimental Sergeant Major," I said. He took out a khaki handkerchief, flicked his moustache with it, folded it up into a neat triangle and tucked it into his sleeve. He pointed to his left arm. "On my left forearm," his voice was broad and didactic, "you will observe the insignia of the Royal Warrant: Lion and Unicorn rampant. Below them appears the motto in Old French, honi soit qui mal y pense. This badge is referred to by certain people as the fighting dogs."

   He permitted himself a faint regimental smile. He almost relaxed. I felt like a boy released from school.

   "I am terribly sorry, Sergeant Major, I'm new to the game but I'll learn." He sprang to attention and saluted. I returned the compliment awkwardly - a shabby travesty of his well turned movement. As I turned away he called after me.

   "Your batman has not turned you out very well this morning, sir."

   I could feel his eyes upon me. The distance across the square to the Officers' Mess is approximately two hundred yards; on that afternoon it was about five miles.

   Note:  passed on by 'Chic' Goodman, an article he clipped from The Legionary, June 1958 issue, he thought we might get a kick out of it. Thanks Chic, this brought back memories of an incident that took place in the Sergeants' Mess during a Friday happy hour session. The 1st Battalion was the resident unit in Work Point Barracks, Victoria, BC at the time. As usual we were all gathered around the bar when a gentleman of naval persuasion (petty officer) saunters up to the bar, orders a drink, looks around spots the RSM ("Mick the Stick") and being a friendly "sea-going" type looks "Mick" up and down and says, "How you doing Chief?" The RSM turning a somewhat deeper purple than normal glared down at the petty officer and with his parade ground voice roared, "If you are looking for a bloody chief  you will find one on the nearest reservation."

~ The Prez Sez — "Not Unusual" ~

    A Tribute to NCOs I Have Known

      by: Capt M.M. O'Leary, p.l.s.c., the RCR

"Good young officers who become good old generals are made by good sergeants, ... a combination of ill-founded self-confidence, bluff and outstanding support and guidance from a series of unforgettable sergeants allowed me to create an impression of competence." – MGen Lew MacKenzie, 1993 –

In my short career I have had the privilege of meeting with certain Non-Commissioned Officers who gave me more than they ever received. Not long ago I was thinking of one of these NCOs, and mentally parroted that line "he was one of the best our Regiment produced" when it occurred to me how wrong that sentiment was. 

   These men, dedicated  to a fault, willing to make every sacrifice in contributing to the development of soldiers, younger NCOs and young officers, without any hint of personal political intrigue, they specifically, more so than the NCO corps as a whole, are the true backbone of our (or any) Army. Their readiness to provide guidance and even, when merited, critical analysis, was never given grudgingly. They knew in their hearts that the men and officers they assisted would provide a better military environment to following generations of their regiments' soldiers.

   I remember, as a young Reserve Force Corporal many years ago, nights on the Armouries floor giving drill or weapons training to even younger soldiers. The presence of one such NCO on the balcony above, the first such that I knew, inspired me and my peers to be better. At first our motivation might have been the fear of being "corrected," later it evolved to a pride of being good enough to pass that silent muster without needing correction. Few of us could aspire to the level of professionalism demonstrated by that RSS Warrant Officer, but to be considered acceptable (even when that approval was indicated simply by receiving no comment) was a source of pride.

   As a young officer I understood these NCOs were always available to provide advice. They never gave any intimation that they might be attempting to direct my decisions. They understood, even better than I, at the time, that their role was to advise, to guide, to assist in my development as a young officer. Their motivation was and remained as much my development as it was ensuring that I would be a better leader for the soldiers entrusted to their moral care, current and future.

   As I matured I began to realize the significance of these men and their impact on our military society. They continually remained outside political intrigue. Their advancement was based on purity of example and belief in their duty and responsibilities, never on hierarchical patronage. And those who claimed to be their patrons were merely attempting to stake an undeserved claim on their achievements – just because you're in front, doesn't mean you're the leader.

   Some appointed leaders never achieve that degree of confidence such that these notable NCOs cease to spark some degree of fear or misgivings over one's personal deficiencies. And as we develop, we know ourselves better, especially in which areas we never really make the grade. It is seldom our own supervisor we measure ourselves against, it is always the memory of these superbly professional NCOs, for their impact on us transcends time and place. Some we knew when they were Sergeants or Warrant Officers, others we remember as the best Company or Regimental Sergeant Majors we had the privilege of knowing.

   We (i.e., the Regiment) did not "produce" these men, we simply provided a matrix within which their particular blend of personal and professional abilities flourished. Most importantly, they have contributed to the development of new generations of NCOs like themselves. But this occurred in no selective sense, for their guidance and example was offered to all with equal generosity, a special few simply possessed the right combination of attributes to form the next generation of NCOs like themselves – in deportment, in discipline, in soldierly values, they are the example.

   I believe that the recent outcry over the role and position of the NCO within the Army is a cry for help. It is indicative of a realization that these noteworthy NCOs have become even more rare. It is a distress call acknowledging their loss and our weakening as an institution because of it. We need these men far more than they needed us and, without them, our sense of Army, and of Regiment, becomes even more shallow.

   We did not "produce" these NCOs. They, however, made us better.

"Many of the unique, have faded into time, to some it's part of changing ways. To me it's just a crime."

— REGIMENTAL SERGEANT MAJOR, by: Captain W.A. Leavey, The RCR

   There is no need to name the NCOs I have known and consider to be a part of this group. I believe they know who they are, but their own sense of professionalism would never admit of claiming such status. And those who would make such claims in doing so admit to no such merit.

Gentlemen, thank you. I hope some day I live up to your expectations.

ed note: recommended reading for all our 'leaders' — I thank Captain O'Leary for the use of this Tribute despite the fact that I did so without permission I am sure he will forgive me. This will also appear in the April issue of The Piklee Post. My thanks also to Wayne Dehnke who forwarded this article to me.                                                                                                                                         

Some interesting thoughts for the New Year 2008 - Commit some of them to memory and you should feel better inside ... at times.

 "A slipping gear could let your M203 grenade launcher fire when you least expect it. That would make you quite unpopular in what's left of your unit."

— U.S. Army's magazine of preventive maintenance. —

Shared Wisdom From Seniors

The taxpayer: That's someone who works for the federal government but doesn't have to take the civil service exam."

Quotes - in some you must examine the degree of mentality, others "Bang On."

"Thought for the day: Men are like fine wine ... They start out as grapes, and it's up to women to stomp the crap out of them until they turn into something acceptable with which to have dinner."

— Dave Barry —

classified by Prez  — "I haven't the nerve to dispute!"

"Government is like a baby: An alimentary canal with a big appetite at one end and no sense of responsibility at the other."

— Ronald Regan —

Famous Drinking Quotes

"I never drink water because of the disgusting things that fish do in it."

  — W.C. Fields —

QUOTES AND/OR QUESTIONS TO AND ANSWERS ........ from kids.

"I let my big sister pick on me because my mom says she only picks on me because she loves me. So I pick on my baby sister because I love her." 

—  Bethany, age 4  —