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Friday
During the days leading up to the AOBA 45th Annual
Reunion there was a fair bit of apprehension. After all, the previous two events had
been the subject of some considerable difficulties for me. 2006 was marred
by a badly delayed flight for friends traveling down from the north of the UK
resulting in a very late arrival at Arborfield. 2007 was the year of the great flood when
an ark would have been a more suitable mode of travel than a car. However,
this year there was no plane to meet and the weather was more of the type
we expect of a British summer, although the weather forecasters did hedge
their bets with a possibility of scattered showers. As it turned out, we
had the hottest weekend of the year so far, with no rain.
Our trip was uneventful with my trusty navigator by
my side. Avoiding the motorways we traveled cross-country, passing through Halton Camp on the way. One day I must stop and explain
to the gate guard just why I stick to fingers up every year as we pass the
entrance. Winnersh was our first stop where we
were to stay with old friends for the weekend. My back does not like army
beds these days so I had secured a two night sleeping out pass. The
drawback to this arrangement was to be the loss of two Arborfield
Gourmet Breakfasts, missing out on two helpings of tinned, skinned,
poached, Italian plum tomatoes, my annual treat. However there would be
more time to catch up on all the family news and local gossip.
Refueled and refreshed I set off for Arborfield and the Bailleul
Sergeants Mess and at the camp gates ran into my first problem. Greeted by
a very polite MOD Policeman, of the Gurkha persuasion, I found that my name
was not on the visitors list for Friday. After much checking of lists and
identities I was allowed to enter. I wasn’t going to argue had the decision
gone against me as the MOD Policeman was backed up by machine-gun toting
squaddie who looked as though he might fancy a bit of target practice. Note
to myself for future occasions. Even though I am not going to avail myself
of supper and bed for Friday, I must notify the management that I will
attend for the evening do. On the other hand, I’m probably not the only one
who has similar plans so perhaps the form compiler might like to add a Tick
Box which I could use to signify my intentions.
I followed the route through camp to the mess,
relieved to see that the lake and the fish were safely back to normal. What
did seem a trifle strange was that the sports grounds, which had been
neglected for a few years, were once again in good order with new pitches
marked out on freshly manicured grass. If the closure is nigh, why spend
money on ground maintenance when the diggers will be turning it over quite
soon?
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The welcoming sign at the end of the journey.
Entering the mess I looked for Old Boys from my own intake, 52A, but this year
we would prove to be thin on the ground, just five of us. Numbers seemed to
be down all round and the atmosphere was somewhat subdued. News was
circulating that this was likely to be the penultimate reunion to be held
at Arborfield and that information would be
disclosed at the AGM on Saturday. Ominous. Perhaps numbers would be up next
year if it was to be the final meeting on home ground. After some liquid
refreshment and chat I set off back to my accommodation to prepare for the
main activities on the morrow.
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