by Richard Mead
He was an Olympian, however, in another sport – bobsleighing. This was not something that could be practised at the Guards Depot or anywhere else in the country with any reliability. History does not relate exactly how Boy became involved, but the catalyst may well have been Brigadier General R. J. Kentish, Chef de Mission of the British team for the first ever Winter Olympic Games at Chamonix in 1924, as he was also a Vice-President of the South London Harriers. Until relatively recently bobsleighing had been unknown in most countries outside Switzerland, where it had developed from toboganning and was originally run on normal country roads rather than dedicated tracks, but a purpose-built run had been built before the Great War in St Moritz. It was thought by some to be too dangerous, but Sir Arnold Lunn, the doyen of Alpine sports, had assured the International Olympic Committee that Great Britain would show the way even without much practice and a team was assembled, five of whose members were serving army officers.
The bob itself was very different from the high-tech models used today and consisted of two wooden sleighs attached together, the front one of which could be steered by a wheel or a rope, whilst the rear sleigh had fixed runners. It could carry either a four- or a five-man crew. The riders had the choice of sitting upright as they do now, or lying ventre à terre, flat on their stomachs as in the modern skeleton, each crew member on top of and with his head level with the middle of the back of the man in front, the brakeman at the rear with his legs dangling behind. The latter method supposedly created less wind resistance.
The British team gathered in Chamonix in January 1924. It had been decided by the organizers that each of the two representative bobsleighs would carry four riders, but the British were able to draw from twelve potential riders, which turned out to be just as well. Boy was initially selected as the brakeman for the first bob, responsible not only for applying the brakes as appropriate, but also for delivering the final push-off, vital to a good time. In the event, during a practice run on 31 January, things went badly wrong, the bob crashed and Boy was flung out, injuring himself sufficiently not to be able to compete in the Games themselves. It was reported in the press variously that he had broken one leg in two places and that he had broken both legs, but his parents placed a notice in The Times a few weeks later to thank those who had inquired after his health and to say that ‘reports of his injuries were much exaggerated. The wound in the knee is progressing favourably, and it is hoped that there will be no permanent effect.’
Boy’s bob went on to race with a reserve crew member, but was unplaced. The other British bob won the silver medal, being beaten by the well-practised Swiss. This was not the end of Boy’s career in bobsleigh: he competed again in the Winter Games of 1928 in St Moritz, but neither of the two British bobs was placed in the medals.
Two months before going out to Chamonix, Boy had left the Guards Depot on a posting to the 2nd Battalion at Chelsea Barracks. With his absence first in France and later on sick leave whilst recovering from his injury, he had hardly time to make an impact before he was instructed to report for duty at the Royal Military College, Sandhurst, where he had been appointed the Adjutant.
Chapter 6
Sandhurst (1924–1928)
Sandhurst came at just the right time for Boy. While he was still at the Guards Depot he had once again questioned his choice of career, discussing a move to civilian life, possibly at Twiss & Brownings, with one of his fellow officers, Eric Mackenzie of the Scots Guards. Like many of his generation, he was probably daunted by the slowness of promotion in the peacetime Army. He was lucky to have been promoted to captain at a relatively early age for peacetime, on the strength of his active service experience and because so many others had either been killed or disabled in the Great War or left the Army soon afterwards. Nevertheless, and notwithstanding the good reports he had received at the Depot, there was little prospect of further promotion for several years and the best he could probably hope for within the regiment was to be second-in-command of a company. It was too early for him to attend Staff College, although Jeffreys had said in his 1923 confidential report that he should certainly go there in due course.
As it turned out, Boy was fated never to pass through the Staff College. Instead it was the four years at Sandhurst which represented the only major opportunity for him to develop a reputation outside the Brigade of Guards. Every single cadet who passed through the Royal Military College during the four years of his appointment would remember him. In many ways the timing could not have been better, as this was an important group of future officers, who would rise to be the lieutenant colonels, colonels and brigadiers of the latter part of the next war. Four of them –James Cassels, Robert Laycock, ‘Pip’ Roberts and Dudley Ward – would reach the rank of temporary or acting major general before September 1945.
Amongst the staff there were a few friends from the Guards, including ‘Babe’ Alexander. Others were unknown to Boy and, of these, a number would re-enter his life at much later dates. They included one of the company commanders, Richard O’Connor of the Cameronians, and two captains from the Indian Army, Douglas Gracey of the Gurkhas and Pete Rees of the Rajputana Rifles. Two others would make a more significant impression, one professionally and one personally. Miles Dempsey of the Royal Berkshire Regiment, almost the same age as Boy, would cross his path on a number of occasions, including during the most important single episode of his career. Eric ‘Chink’ Dorman-Smith of the Royal Northumberland Fusiliers was to be one of the more controversial senior officers of the Second World War, but he did not serve with Boy after Sandhurst. Instead, he became a personal friend of both Boy and his future wife.
On the face of it, Boy and Chink were not at all alike. Admired for his smartness and for his organizational ability, Boy was nevertheless a very conventional soldier and one who was instinctively respectful of authority. Chink was, at least in his thinking, anything but conventional, questioning all the time how the Army functioned and what it had learnt from the Great War, and not hiding his scorn for those who were unable to see that change was required. He was already showing the independence of mind which would lead to clashes with those of a more mundane mentality –unfortunately for him they numbered many of his superiors and peers in the Army – which many years later would blight his career.
What the two men shared was a great desire to lift the quality of the peacetime Army, Boy largely through the training and discipline which he had seen working well in action in the Great War, Chink through the application of military science. Neither had much appetite for the long periods of leisure available, unless they could be used profitably in other activities. Both were keen on fitness and particularly on winter sports. Both were significantly better read than many of their brother officers. During their time together at Sandhurst, Boy and Chink sought out each other’s company and the friendship prospered.
Boy’s major concern was not with making friends, though this was an attractive by-product of his appointment, but for carrying out his job to the best of his ability, and in that he certainly succeeded. The post of Adjutant at the Royal Military College went back at least to 1805, some three years after gentlemen cadets had been first admitted at Sandhurst, but it had not been continuously filled until after 1910. Since the Second World War, the appointment has always been held by an officer of one of the regiments of Foot Guards, although this was not invariably the case in earlier years. Boy himself took over from another Guards officer, Arthur Smith of the Coldstream, whilst his first Commandant was a member of his own regiment, Charles Corkran. Corkran had had a distinguished career in the Great War, commanding the 1st Battalion at Festubert and then 3 Guards Brigade on the Somme. He and Boy had not served together before, but they knew each other both personally and by reputation and there was immediately a mutual respect.
The role went beyond being the chief staff officer to the Commandant, although that was a vital part of it. It was not exclusively an office job, as the title might suggest, but a high profile p
osition entailing responsibility for the overall conduct of the cadets and to some extent for the reputation of the entire establishment. The first way in which this could be achieved was to set an example, and Boy set out to do just this. He already had a reputation for being immaculately turned out and he expected the cadets to be likewise. He also was a stickler for discipline and demanded absolute adherence to orders, not just from the cadets, but also from the NCOs who acted as instructors. An anonymous cadet noted subsequently that ‘he was the most efficient of the Adjutants. Sergeant-Major Brittain was the drill sergeant of my company – No 4. On one memorable battalion parade, after rehearsing the march-past several times, Boy ordered the drill sergeants not to give the step, but from the rear of No 4 came Brittain’s stentorian “Left Right LEFT”. Then, to the joy of No 4 Company, the Adjutant said “Sergeant-Major Brittain, get off parade”.’
Boy had by this time developed a nice sense of how to make the punishment fit the crime. One night as a prank a number of cadets tore from their mountings some of the antique cannons adorning the college, towed them to the lake and threw them into the water. This did not go unnoticed the next day and the Commandant demanded redress. Boy’s solution was typical. At 0500 hrs the next morning the cadets were aroused from their deep sleep by the fire alarm and rushed outside in accordance with the rules. Once formed up, they were addressed by Boy, who informed them that they were to salvage the cannons from the lake and replace them exactly as they were before breakfast, which duly happened to the accompaniment of much grumbling.
Adherence to Boy’s standards was also demanded of visitors. Mark Henniker, later to serve under Boy, recalled their first meeting, when he visited Sandhurst to play hockey as a member of a team from the rival establishment, the Royal Military Academy, Woolwich: ‘We had arrived dressed in plain clothes to find the Sandhurst cadets on parade under the Adjutant. We should have stood up as the companies marched past, but we lay basking in the sunshine on the grass at the side of the parade ground and watched them. The Adjutant gave us a sound lesson in good manners which I expect we all remembered thereafter.’1
The appointment brought with it accommodation in the centre of the College. Lake House is sited between the Old College and the New College, overlooking to the front a key road junction across which everyone has to pass at some time each day, an ideal situation for the Adjutant. It was built in 1810, at the same time as the Old College and specifically for the use of the Surgeon. During the Great War it fell into disrepair and was condemned as unfit for human habitation. After being completely renovated, it was given over to the Adjutant. Although attractive in aspect, it looks larger than it is, having only three bedrooms, but it has excellent reception rooms and a basement area covering the full extent of the ground floor, where the servants of Boy’s era lived and worked. There is a secluded garden behind the house. For a bachelor it was more than adequate and for one who enjoyed entertaining as much as Boy, it was ideal.
The RMC had been organized from 1903 onwards to resemble an infantry battalion and after the Great War was divided into four companies, each with its own commander and company officers. When the college paraded as a whole, however, it was the Adjutant, mounted on a white horse, who was in command. There were many occasions on which this happened during Boy’s posting, an example being the unveiling of the Soldiers’ Memorial by the Prince of Wales in June 1927. The most frequent event, however, was the commissioning parade, now known as the Sovereign’s Parade. This was the climax of their college career for the cadets in the senior term, who at the end of the parade marched up the steps into the Old College to the strains of ‘Auld Lang Syne’.
On 14 July 1926 a new tradition was initiated. In the words of the RMC Magazine & Record: ‘The Parade concluded in the time-honoured form, though there was one addition, which we do not remember to have seen before. This was no less than the appearance of “the Vicar” bringing up the rear of the battalion as it marched up the steps into the Grand Entrance. The Adjutant was riding “the Vicar” but which of the two was in charge we have no means of saying.’
This feat of equestrianism is one not to be undertaken lightly and other than by a very good horseman. Provided that momentum is achieved, horses will very willingly go up steps, particularly if they know that there is a reward waiting for them, but if they are not urged on there is a danger that they will baulk at the bottom or, worse still, half way up, so some riders prefer to take such an obstacle at the trot rather than the walk. Horses are, moreover, much more reluctant to go down steps and there is a serious risk of slipping, particularly with iron horseshoes on Portland stone. The solution at Sandhurst is to turn right down a corridor in the building, then left towards a back door which, because the Old Building is on a slight slope, is accessed by fewer and shallower steps, over which a ramp can be constructed.
There have been a number of explanations for Boy’s feat, which is now performed by the Adjutant at every Sovereign’s Parade. According to the Browning family, the first such occasion took place not at the parade itself, but at a rehearsal during which the cadets had executed their drill so badly that an incensed Boy rode up the steps to berate them. There are other, less flattering, versions of the story, notably one in which Boy is supposed to have ridden into the building to take shelter from a sudden rainstorm, which threatened to spoil his immaculate uniform. This seems unlikely, partly because Boy would have put devotion to duty even before attention to dress and partly because 14 July 1926 was a glorious sunny day.
The most convincing explanation comes from another source, Corkran’s niece Ruth Farquhar. When she died in 2007, aged 97, the following reminiscence was discovered in her papers:
My father was killed by a German sniper in the closing stages of the Great War. Thereafter my mother’s eldest brother, Charles Corkran, played a large part in the upbringing of my three brothers and myself. We Farquhars frequently stayed with him and my Aunt Winnie and when they came to London they stayed with us.
In the nineteen twenties, Charles Corkran was appointed Commandant at Sandhurst, and the added joy of staying there was the early morning ride. My Uncle had two chargers, he rode one and I rode the other. If he was too busy, I sometimes got two rides. Boy Browning was the Adjutant and he often accompanied us on his venerable and much loved Spook, who was pure white.
We used to ride up behind the College onto Barossa Common and there was a short cut up some steps – just long planks cut into the bank. These were no problem to wise old Chargers.
My Mother and I were staying at Government House at one time for a week which culminated in the Commissioning Parade, with Boy in charge and my Uncle on the Platform with whichever VIP had been invited to take the Salute. Sometimes it was the King or a member of the Family or once, I recall, it was the King of Norway.
One morning in the middle of the week we rode up the planks, through the short cut and across Barossa and Boy was eulogizing the wonders of the Spook – ‘You can teach him anything’ he said. I said: ‘You ought to follow the Cadets who are passing out on Saturday, up the steps into the Old Building.’ In the final march-past the leaving Cadets came last and instead of marching off the Parade Ground, it was the custom for them to wheel off and disappear up the steps with the Band playing Auld Lang Syne. Boy said: ‘You had better ask the General about that.’ The General, with a twinkle in his eye, thought that was a splendid idea.
Boy, with the Riding School Sergeant Major, gave Spook a couple of rehearsals, with a bowl of carrots and oats ready for him in the Old Building and of course he never batted an eyelid; but on the morning I think we all, especially Boy, had rather cold feet.
It was a lovely day and a magnificent Parade and the Cadets duly marched off as scheduled. Then there was an audible gasp from the crowd as the resplendent Adjutant, and his even more resplendent Charger, followed them up and were enfolded in the wide double doors at the top.
This tradition has been followed ever since and continues to this da
y.2
Ruth Farquhar was not quite right about the tradition. It was actually abandoned during the 1930s and reinstituted after the Second World War. However, it does continue to this day. On one aspect she and the Browning family agree, which is that the horse was Spook and not The Vicar. The other notable fact about this particular parade was that the officer taking the salute was General Sir George Milne,3 then the Chief of the Imperial General Staff, and the cadet receiving the Sword of Honour was Senior Under Officer A. J. H. Cassels,4 who thirty-nine years later would become one of Milne’s successors at the top of the British Army.
Horse riding was now an important part of Boy’s life. At the end of 1926 he reached his thirtieth birthday and was past his prime as far as athletics were concerned, although he continued to train the cadets and to participate, and to do well, in regimental and intra-Army events. He was a regular member of the Staff College Drag Hunt, which enabled him to have some useful social contact with the students at the nearby college, although his enthusiasm in the field occasionally provoked strong language from the hunt’s Master. Dorman-Smith had gone straight on to Camberley from Sandhurst and was the hunt’s Assistant Secretary, whilst Boy’s Eton contemporary, Richard McCreery, one of the finest horsemen of the day, was one of the whippers-in.
Boy also rode in point-to-point races and began a short but moderately successful spell as a show-jumper. He won the Officers’ Jumping Competition at the Royal Tournament in May 1927 and the jumping class for infantry officers at the Southern Command Horse Show that July. He was good enough to participate in the blue riband event of the sport, the King George V Cup, winning the first pool but failing to lift the trophy itself.
