I’ve learned not to get upset about the tardiness of some Arab nations. We once had a contingent of Qataris who were supposedly en route to the UK – they were ‘in the air’ for about 5 weeks in total…
“So that gives us 27 arriving tomorrow?”
“Supposedly.”
Strategic retreat seems the best option.
1715 I love to take a last look around the classrooms when everyone’s left; it’s so peaceful.
I reflect on past International Cadets who have passed through our hands on the way to Military stardom – some of them not even 18 when they arrive and little more than petulant teenagers, (albeit petulant teenagers driving anything from a Mercedes to a Porsche…)
I stand at the classroom window and stare out over the Parade Ground into the late afternoon sunshine. Beyond, the College grounds slope away towards the River Dart and the sea.
To the right is the yachting haven of Dartmouth and to the left, the Dart snakes around towards the market town of Totnes. I can just see the aft end (see I know my aft from my forward) of HMS Hindustan, the training ship moored alongside the College at Sandquay.
Sometimes the beauty of this place simply takes my breath away.
1730 In the ferry queue.
1740 Still in the ferry queue.
1750 Still in the ferry queue – had to stop the guy 2 cars in front of me from conducting a lobotomy on a bewildered holiday maker who insisted he didn’t know where the end of the queue was (they all say that.)
1800 Definitely on the next one if we can convince the ferry guys to refuse to allow said holiday maker ‘aka most vile queue jumper’ to reap the benefits of his heinous crime…
1830 Back at home and the kitchen looks like a scene out of World War 3. There’s a note from my youngest daughter Frankie on the kitchen table:
‘Will clean up when I get back’
Not knowing whether that’s likely to be tonight or next year, I grab a glass of wine (medicinal) and set to.
1850 The kitchen, while not exactly sparkly, is no longer a breeding ground for penicillin. Frankie’s the most wonderful cook – I just wish she’d do it somewhere else.
I grab a second glass of wine (I think it’s the second) and head down to mum’s flat on the floor below.
Ok so I live with my mother – well not exactly WITH, more on top of – but it works for us, and converting a large house in to 2 flats definitely gave us much more for our money.
What can I say? We have separate entrances and mum can’t hear a thing without her hearing aid.
We moved here about 6 years ago after my 23 year marriage came to an abrupt end when my husband decided that I didn’t need him anymore. Unfortunately he forgot to ask me first! Luckily our girls were 18 and 14 when he decided he needed a new direction in his life…
I knock on mum’s door – loudly. I can hear the TV in the lounge, as can most of the street in all likelihood. I know she’s not going to answer, not with that racket going on, so I let myself in.
Nelson barges past me and unceremoniously transfers his affections to the weaker of the two – definitely mum every time. She coos at him (pretty pathetic really) and puts out his bowl. It’s already filled with left over cottage pie (no wonder he’s getting fat) which Nelson proceeds to wolf down without it actually touching the sides.
I plonk myself down and top up my glass with some of mum’s wine (better vintage)
This ritual comforts us both – for a while, she can kid herself that my dad’s still alive and I can make believe that I’m not a forty something divorcee who’s terrified she’s going to spend the rest of her life alone.
Like I said, it works.
Wednesday 9 September
0800 I’m already ensconced in the office waiting for the first ‘problem.’
The first day after the arrival of the International English Language Trainees NEVER runs smoothly – come to think of it, neither does the second or the third, or the fourth…
The cadets have been shown exactly where to come and are supposed to report promptly at 0830.
0832 We have one Kuwait Coastguard who has found his way (mostly by accident) to the language school. When asked where his colleagues are he shrugs and looks bored (very common response to any question from ‘Where do you come from?’ to ‘How many wives has your father got?’
0845 3 more Kuwaitis and (wonders will never cease) 2 of the 4 Qataris.
0855 We’ve been informed that our unknown royal will be arriving via helicopter this afternoon (very incognito)
Think John is going to have a coronary.
0910 Another 6 Kuwaitis
0915 The rest of the Kuwaitis and one of the Qataris.
0920 The last of the Qataris finally wanders in with his mobile phone plastered to his ear.
Only 50 minutes late –think it might be a first day record.
Before John can be convicted of manslaughter, I gather them all into a classroom and briskly go through my welcome speech and introduce the teachers: Caroline; Heather; Samantha and Andy (our token male poor sod.)
John has got the cadets booked for uniform fittings at 0930 and I wince a little as I look around – I think the average weight must be around 250 pounds.
Still, not my problem. I leave the little darlings to John and head back in to my office – we won’t be seeing them again until after lunch (which could be any time from 1330 to the end of the day.)
1030 I pop down to the Wardroom for a quick coffee if one can ever say ‘pop’ when referring to a route where the casualties outnumber a war zone…)
I see the new VSO from a distance – still can’t remember his name, think it might be Ron or something.
He looks over and smiles.
Is that a sign?
1330 Lunch was another write off but I did manage to get Nelson out for a quick jaunt for which he was pathetically grateful and seemed determined to show me at every opportunity by peeing for England. (Not for nothing was he named after one of our greatest heroes.)
I’m now getting ready to inform the Staff Officer Training (SOT – are you getting the hang of this?) that most of the Internationals expected have duly arrived (barring the helicopter stunt). We are still of course waiting for the 6 errant Qataris who, we’ve been reliably informed, will report to the Language School at 0830 tomorrow morning.
Yeah right.
By some miracle (called John) all the cadets have actually made it back to the language school and are sitting together in one classroom looking decidedly uncomfortable in their new uniforms – blue shirt, navy blue sweater, black trousers and boots (poetically called their ‘number 4s.)
They will live, eat and sleep in these for the next 14 weeks (except when they’re being ‘beasted’ around the sports field – did I mention they have to be fit to commence officer training?)
We can’t group them in to classes until they’ve been tested, so for the time being they’re being lumped together.
Unfortunately this means that the current classroom language is Arabic.
1600 The cadets have been allowed to go back to their cabins (the stampede is anything but regimented – we’ve got a long way to go) and everyone breathes a sigh of relief that we’ve got through the first day.
We know that our royal has arrived – mainly due to the noise of the helicopter landing on the Parade Ground right outside the classroom windows…
I wander in to the ILO before I remember that John is no doubt waiting to welcome our illustrious guest (who, we’ve been told wants to be treated exactly the same as everyone else – starting with his mode of transport…)
1630 I hold another staff meeting – Nelson graces us with his presence and decides to lie directly in the middle of the small staff room thereby ensuring that everyone has to risk life and limb when they step over him (are there any health and safety issues here?)
We discuss how best to structure tomorrow given that the Language tests won’t start until Friday morning and we may well
still be missing 6 cadets. We settle on ‘Getting To Know You’ activities (in English preferably) and split the classes randomly since we don’t currently know their level of English.
I leave the teachers to work out their individual ‘GTKY’ lessons (I know that Samantha’s generally involves throwing a ball around the classroom and hopping on one leg which I predict will go down a storm with our Arab friends – I make a mental note to ensure that she doesn’t use the classroom directly above the Commodore) and drag Nelson back to my office.
John is back having postponed his highness’s uniform fitting until tomorrow. There’s been lots of hand shaking but very little verbal communication – John says that HRH has a level of English equivalent to a bog brush…
I groan – how on earth are we going to get him ready for Officer Training in 14 weeks?
Still, I’m determined to be positive – this may just have been a ruse to throw us off the scent concerning his royal connections.
Just like the helicopter…
1715 I’ve had enough and want to go home.
1725 Arrive in the ferry queue
1740 Still in the ferry queue
1750 Still in the ferry queue – I make a mental note to bring a blanket and pillow tomorrow.
1755 I pull on to the ferry and wave at Kevin the ferry man who is really a bit of a local celebrity as well as being a plumber on the side. The ferry men actually got together to create a calendar a la Chippendale style. Unfortunately I never got to see it – it went underground pretty quickly, but I was reliably informed that Kevin could have been on January February and March all by himself…
We were discussing this fact over drinks in the Royal Castle down in Dartmouth a little while ago only to be tapped on the shoulder by a well dressed lady who primly informed us that we were talking about her husband…
Which pretty quickly put an end to that conversation!
2250 I’m finally in bed having spent the entire evening comatose in front of the TV. Unfortunately due to the fact that I’ve done absolutely zero, I now can’t sleep.
Then I remember that tomorrow’s Thursday – Shareholders on the Quarterdeck – and I haven’t even worked out what to wear.
I leap out of bed and spend the next 45 minutes rummaging through my wardrobe trying to decide which outfit best fits the description: sassy, sophisticated, sexy and business like.
I decide on my chocolate brown suit. The jacket is fitted (maybe a bit too fitted but it does actually do up). The skirt is a little shorter than my usual but it skims the knee quite nicely and I have some killer heels that do wonders for the backs of my legs and more importantly have been tried and tested on The Floor.
All this for a coffee morning…
I climb back in to bed now pleasantly tired (it’s amazing what a spot of exercise can do for you).
My last thoughts are of the new VSO.
Is it a sign?
Thursday 10 September
0830 As predicted, the 6 Qataris are nowhere to be found. John is making frantic phone calls to the Embassy after we’ve both endured a blistering ear bashing from Commander Naval Training and Education (another mouthful so will refer to him from now on as Commander NTE), the essence of which was…
“This is a bloody military training establishment, if they’re not here in the next 24 hours, they can bloody well go home.”
Now it’s certainly not John’s fault that the Qatari cadets have failed to arrive.
Nor is it mine.
But I do understand Commander NTE’s frustration. Britain’s Defence Diplomacy policy (not to mention the Navy’s desperate need for cash) dictates that training Internationals is top priority.
But those who make the policies don’t actually have to do the training…
John is assured by the soothing tones of Rashid that the cadets are on their way to Dartmouth this very minute and are scheduled to arrive at the College sometime this afternoon.
He gives me the thumbs up and I breathe a sigh of relief. As long as they arrive sometime today, we can go ahead with the testing tomorrow.
I reflect that we’re already nearly at the end of week 1 which only gives us 13 weeks to get these International cadets ready for their Officer Training starting in January.
Thinking about it makes me panic a bit and I wonder what on earth I actually wanted this job for – at least when I was a teacher, the buck stopped with somebody else.
0900 I get on the phone to the Physical Training Instructors over at the gym to organize a fitness assessment for the cadets on Monday. I promise the Chief PTI that the students will report to the gym at 0730.
His response is to snort down the phone – he’s done this before I can tell.
Not really much else to say.
1025 Shareholders on the Quarterdeck.
Britannia Royal Naval College (I’ll call it BRNC from now on) was built at the turn of the century to resemble a ship, and the magnificent cathedral like Quarterdeck with the Poopdeck balcony overlooking it really is the hub of the College. I love Thursdays when the whole College staff gets together there for coffee and biscuits.
As I walk up the steps towards the imposing entrance, I reflect on the splendour of BRNC. How quickly we begin to take things for granted. It reminds me of an occasion when I’d just started teaching at the College.
Several of us were sitting in the Wardroom during Stand Easy and as we sat, a helicopter landed on the parade ground right next to us. What a spectacle – none of us had ever seen anything quite like it (helicopters not really a regular occurrence in the majority of British Language Schools).
We oohed and aahed and watched its descent, completely enraptured.
Fast forward 6 months later.
Similar scenario, Stand Easy in the Wardroom, helicopter landing.
What did we say?
“Wish the pilot would hurry up and land the bloody thing, it’s making a hell of a racket.”
Sad really.
The Quarterdeck is off The Corridor and although the floor is made of the same lethal material, for some reason they don’t polish it quite so much thereby rendering it slightly less effective for those with suicidal tendencies…
I head towards the queue of people waiting for tea and coffee (served from silver pots by waiters on tables covered with white cloths – all very colonial). As I wait, I glance about to see who’s around. I wave to Sarah and other people I know while scanning the crowd for Ron, the new VSO (must stop calling him that – probably not his name).
Is he here?
I can’t see him and stifle disappointment, which actually surprises me.
Think it must be a sign…
After grabbing a coffee, I make my way over to Sarah and some of the other lecturers.
I’m absently dunking my coffee just as a voice says “Hi,” in my left ear.
Startled, I drop my biscuit into the cup – and inwardly groan. I can’t fish it out – not in polite company. I stir the bits around, in an effort to get them to sink and, plastering a polite smile on my face, turn towards the voice.
It’s Ron, the new VSO.
“Hi,” he repeats. “Don’t know if you remember but we were introduced the other day – I’m Rob, the new VSO.”
Rob! That’s his name – phew, close call.
“Of course I remember.” Oh God I’m gushing. I determinedly take a big sip of my coffee only to feel one of the larger bits of biscuit lodge itself in my throat.
Fear of asphyxiation wars briefly with fear of embarrassment – fortunately the fear of death part wins out and I cough and splutter back into my cup. Luckily Rob has a tissue and hastily hands it to me before I begin decorating the front of his uniform.
As the coughing subsides, asphyxiation begins to seem the better option. My face is beetroot red and my eyes are watering profusely.
“Er, I think your mascara might be running – either that or you’ve got a black eye.” My humiliation is complete. Rob is making no effort to
hide his amusement and has a broad grin on his face.
Swallowing an insane urge to burst in to tears, I try to find a non sticky bit of tissue in an effort to wipe underneath my eye without getting bits of gobbed up biscuit in it.
Luckily, the Commander takes that moment to welcome everyone to this week’s shareholders.
“Thank you God,” I mumble as everyone’s attention turns towards him.
I expect Rob to move away once the Commander finishes updating everyone with the College news, but he seems quite content to stay where he is.
We chat. He asks me how long I’ve been working at the College.
I want to ask him where he’s stashed his wife but haven’t got the nerve.
Luckily Sarah comes to the rescue by asking him where his home is.
“I’ve got a cabin on board; it seemed the easiest thing to do after my wife and I separated last year.”
I resist the urge to punch the air and make an effort to look suitably saddened to hear about their break up.
He goes on to tell me enthusiastically about his 7 year old son Jack who lives with his mum in Manchester.
He has a 7 year old son.
How old does that make him?
He doesn’t look that much younger than me.
But then my youngest is 23 – eek.
I try frantically to think of a way to ask him his age but the Quarterdeck is beginning to empty and I’m forced into a strategic withdrawal.
Live to fight another day as they say.
I murmur a polite goodbye and offer a slight smile (not too friendly but not too frigid either – there’s an art to this) then I turn my back and walk away.
Now this I’m good at.
I know, just know that he’s watching me go, so I walk slowly and deliberately swing my bottom from side to side.
I resist the urge to turn round to see if he’s watching – any twisting motion on this floor could result in a double back flip.
And finally exit the stage triumphantly
Think it’s definitely a sign…
1115 I get back to the language school where I can hear less than enthusiastic thumping sounds coming from the first classroom.
Shit, I forgot to change Samantha’s classroom.
An Officer and a Gentleman Wanted: A Romantic Comedy Page 2
