ARBORFIELD - Friday
21st to Sunday 23rd July 2006 inclusive.
The
following report & photographs contributed by Trevor STUBBERFIELD (52A)
Saturday
Late to bed, early-ish
to rise and take a look around the accommodation. Same block as last
year but I seem to have been promoted. I now have a bunk to myself.
Fresh bedding was supplied and of good quality, a rather fetching Royal
Blue colour. I think the buildings could be
described as "genteel shabby", gradually slipping into
obsolescence through lack of maintenance. Rumours abound as to the future of Arborfield,
but then, don't they always? Time to go through the morning ablution
routine, square away a few things and get ready for breakfast back at the
mess. The Arborfield Breakfast awaits.
The party gathered together, we drove to the Sgts' Mess, there is a short cut via the lake side but
I don't do walking these days. I need to conserve all my energy for
what promised to be a long day. Time spent in the queue for the
hotplate passed pleasantly as memories were recalled of the "good old
days", isn't it surprising what a gap of fifty years does to your
brain. Or perhaps it's down to the rose coloured spectacles I had on.
As we shuffled forward the smells became more
tempting and eventually the source came into view. All the makings of
a cholesterol building, artery clogging, heart
stopping meal were laid out before us. One or two actually felt
guilty and picked up some of the healthy rabbit food and compressed
cardboard tasting cereals which were at the start of the counter.
Others looked over their shoulders to make sure the wife wasn't looking and
boldly passed by.
Sausages, bacon, black pudding, scrambled egg, fried
egg, beans, mushrooms, hash browns and for me, the piece de resistance,
tinned, skinned, poached, Italian plum
tomatoes. I eat them twice a year, Saturday and Sunday, at the
reunion only. Served at home they would go straight in the dustbin,
followed swiftly by My Manager. She has been warned. Then there
was toast to do, fruit juice to collect, before heading for a table to fall
upon this wondrous meal. Tea and coffee served in pots on each table,
no urn to hold a mug under and wait for the wailing banshee call "Let
it drip laddie".
The meal was taken at a leisurely pace, time to sit
and catch up on the latest news of friends and families. Breakfast
finished at 09.30hrs. and coffee was to follow
immediately, served in the lounge for those joining us for the day and
the main event. We had to dash to the annex to get into parade dress and return in
time to greet more friends in the lounge.
52A mustered nine for the weekend. Frank Bass,
Bill Gibson, Chris Powell accompanied by Margarete, Terry Reddin,
Trevor Stubberfield, George Thrower, John Todd,
Trevor Trill, and of course, Dave Pickworth on
the Friday night.
Trevor Sexy Trill, John Todd, Trevor Stubberfield, Frank Sam Bass, .
Bill
Gibson, Chris Taff Powell George Percy Thrower
Photo by Terry Reddin.
The one face of
52A so far not pictured was….
Terry Jack Reddin.
Photo by George
Fleck 51B.
The wailing of the RSM started to get those
taking part in the parade moving towards the exits, then over the bridge
into Rowcroft Barracks and forming up.
Transport was laid on to take non participants down to the Memorial Gardens where the Remembrance
Service would be held. I fooled them, I
crossed the bridge but solely with the intention of watching the
parade. My excuse is that I like the music, but the knees don't like
the marching.
The Parade.
The parade was to consist of two sections. 1939
to 1956 and 1957 onwards. The RSM spoke and the milling around
ceased, sizing of the marchers took place. Later photos would show
that it didn't go quite to plan. As one of my old Italian
friends used to say "It'sa no bl**dy good but isa alright."
A very welcome splash of colour was provided by the coats of three Old
Boys who are now Chelsea Pensioners. Because of the heat, Wimps,
according to the RSM, would be allowed to remove their jackets for the
parade. Actually it was a sensible suggestion because it was very
hot, and worse still, very humid. I think pride dictated that most
would keep their jackets on.
The muster before the March On.
Getting on parade
.As on a previous occasion, the music for the parade
would be in the hands of the Reading Pipe Band, seen here leading the
way to the parade ground. Alas it was not to be our old stamping
place but the car park by the Beachley Centre.
The number on parade, added to those waiting at the Garden of Remembrance, would prove to be a
healthy total of Old Boys attending the reunion.
Peter Gibson, AOBA Chairman stopped to have a word
with Frank Bass of The Elite 52A. What was said must be regarded
as a closely guarded secret, but Peter resigned his position at the AGM
later in the afternoon. Mess with our Frank at your peril.
Brigadier Nigel Williams,
hesitates before moving on to Bill Gibson 52A, who is standing in front of
George Thrower 52A. Frank Bass 52A turns to keep an eye on
proceedings. To be in the presence of three 52A members at any one
time should be deemed honour enough for any
man. The review of the troops took some time but all stood their
ground, nobody fell out or fainted, and that speaks volumes for the quality
of Arborfield Lads.
Permission asked and permission granted, the parade marched off to start the march up to the Garden of Remembrance where the Drumhead
Service was to be held. .
And so off to the
Service of Remembrance.
Photo by Terry Reddin.
Arriving at the spot where the old guard room stood,
the parade was stood down for a spell so that fluids, that had been very
thoughtfully supplied, could be taken on board. In the extreme heat
it was a very wise decision
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