No Easy Ride: Reflections on My Life in the RCMP Read Online Free PDF Page B

inspection. As the weapons moved like lightning to this position, the right marker snapped his head to the front and took three paces back to be in line with the troop. Much to the his horror, when he moved his head to the front, he saw a condom hanging from the barrel of his revolver, placed there in advance by some prankster. Was there a lesson to be learned here concerning the securing of one’s personal revolver at all times?
    Our right marker was outraged! Was this an indictable offence? Would his all-too-brief career be terminated because of a condom? He was frozen in terror, unable to react. As the sergeant major approached, the right marker uttered a silent prayer to assist him in his departure from this world. The sergeant major faced him with a look of total scorn and disgust. Gingerly, he lifted the condom from the barrel of the gun with his drill baton, sauntered over to the parade square curb and relegated the offending item to the tarmac.
    The parade continued to its conclusion. The throngs of spectators gathered to view the parade seemed to have missed the debacle. Following the parade, the “usual suspects” were intensely interrogated. The code of silence was invoked and no leads surfaced to identify the culprit. Life went on. Our right marker likely remained celibate for the remainder of his days.
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    After a few short weeks, Sergeant Major MacRae, perhaps the most highly visible symbol of power and authority in the training division, met with us in a classroom. He informed us that our diminished number was creating logistical problems since the curriculum was predicated on 32-man units. He was considering dissolving the troop and distributing its individuals to incoming squads. We pleaded with him to allow the troop to remain intact, assuring him we would cope with the challenges. He reluctantly agreed, granting us a trial period. As a troop, we set objectives to match the other troops and exceed their performance if possible. In the ensuing weeks, we were able to withstand everything the instructors threw our way and managed to settle into a routine. Our small troop coped with all the duties of a larger squad and earned a measure of unique regard from the training staff.
    The foot drill instructors rated high on our fear quotient. They seemed to be rewarded within the RCMP hierarchy for their haughtiness and arrogance. Tall, slim and prepossessing in their gleaming leather and shining brass, they strutted about the complex, swinging their distinctive batons. Their raison d’etre was to discover anything that might deviate from a perfect recruit turnout. Five o’ clock shadows, scuffed boots, undone buttons or specks of lint were all small victories to be discovered by these stentorian-voiced nitpickers. Political correctness was unheard of back then, and ethnicity, skin colour or unusual names were all sources of great interest and delight. One unfortunate recruit with African genes and a French name was immediately christened “Coon Frog” and addressed by that name for the duration of his stay in the training division. French names were ridiculed and bastardized, as were Slavic and Italian names.
    RCMP foot drill formations are based on mounted cavalry drills, where troops moved in eight-person sections. They are extremely precise, requiring hours of practice. We were a cavalry regiment but carried rifles during drills, which made the movements more complex. Complete and utter stillness was expected until an order to enact a specific movement was issued. Miscues were not tolerated and miscreants were sentenced to 25 push-ups, to be completed immediately while attired in boots and breeches. At the whim of the instructor, the troop would be commanded to break into double-time movement for the duration of the drill hour. By the time it ended, our tunics and high brown boots were stained with white sweat marks.
    One shimmering prairie July day, the commanding officer was escorting a group of clergy