Tracks Magazine - August 1955

A couple of decades ago I was travelling through northern NSW and called in to see Archie McDonald, an old 1 Armoured Regiment LAD mate. Archie had kept his copy of the first issue of the Regiment's glossy magazine, Tracks — August 1955. It is this magazine that is re-produced below

A Stark-staring Dramatic Tragedy in One Act,
featuring In, Out and On Guard in the Adjutant's Office.

Act I, Scene I —— A particular Adjutant's Office in any Regiment.

Enter Hilton, Adjutant, time 0730 hours. Season is spring - flowers blooming - bees buzzing - the sun is just up.

Hilton (to himself unlocking six padlocks securing door):

I'm half an hour early this morning, and I'll get those ruddy trays emptied if it's the last thing I do. That ruddy Arthur, Squadron Leaders and Acorn give me more damn trouble with their whinging paper than the rest of the Regiment.

Switches on light switch —— nothing happens.

Blast! Hell it's cold.

Sits in his chair and reaches for the top file - phone rings.

For crying out loud, someone must have seen me —— Oh, let the bleeding thing ring.

Phone keeps on ringing. In desperation, and making great effort to control himself, lifts the receiver.

Hullo, Hilton answering! Whose speaking? What d'you want?

Voice:

Guard Commander here, Sir. I saw you crossing the parade ground and I thought I'd let you know that the power is off and the guards are complaining of the cold and could you do some- thing about it, Sir?

Hilton:

Well for crying out loud, don't you think, man. Put two and two together and go light a fire.

Voice:

No wood, Sir!

Hilton (with loud censored remarks slamming down receiver takes look at first file muttering to himself):

Now what's this. Why! That ruddy Arthur, this should have gone out two days ago. There'll be strife about this. Only hope this investigating officer has got the facts straight. Now, let's see —— two thousand lambs of doubtful parentage, ten of required parentage. Ten miles of fencing to put up. That ruddy "A" Squadron Commander. The Squadron will be putting up fences for the next three months. I'll get the Old Man to sign this first thing. I'll ...

Sound of door opening —— voices without.

First Voice:

Doesn't appear to be anyone in.

Second Voice:

No, the place is all dark.

First Voice:

I want to see the Old Man's manning chart to see what I'm supposed to be doing in the Regiment.

Second Voice:

Aren't you taking a risk? Suppose somebody's seen us?

First Voice:

Aw, don't be silly, the officers aren't up yet.

Second Voice:

Gosh, I've got the feelin' somebody is around —— can't you smell somethin'?

First Voice:

Aw, shut up (I haven't cleaned my teeth yet) —— there's no one here. (Pause) Here it is. Look, what did I tell ya. I'm down as hygiene, not in the kitchen. There'll be trouble about this.

Hilton (in loud sotto voice from doorway, having crept into the Old Man's office):

Trouble's right! What will you have, a charge or a boot in the backside.

Voices (in unison):

The boot, Sir.

Hilton:

Thank heavens, no paperwork. Outside and bend over.

Exit. Pause, Sound of two loud bumps. Re-enter Hilton.

Hilton (muttering to himself):

That's the way to do it, should be more of it, would save tons of paper. Now this file.

Noise of footsteps approaching. Door opens. Enter Arthur

Arthur:

Good morning, Sir, a beautiful morning, Sir. Trying to catch up, Sir? What no light, Sir?

Tries switch.

Have another batch of mail outside, Sir! Will I send the runner in to clean up, Sir?

Hilton:

Shut the door after you.

Arthur (exiting, dignity hurt, muttering to himself):

What's the matter with him. Must have got out of bed on the wrong side. I am a good Orderly Room Sergeant. I'll fill his ruddy trays for him.

Humour restored, bursts into doubtful ditty in raucous voice. Sound of knock on door. Enter soldier looking bright and cheery and bearing large broom.

Hilton (looking up from first file):

What the hell do you want?

Soldier:

I was told by Sgt. Arthur to sweep the floor, clean the windows, empty the waste-paper basket and clean up your desk.

Hilton (explosively):

Come back tomorrow.

Exit soldier crestfallen. Loud tramping of boots of many people. Enter "A" Squadron Commander, followed by R.S.M.

"A" Comd.:

Good morning, Hilton old chap, I feel delightful this morning. Just to realize I'm off on the open road again. I'll be pressing on. We'll have a great show this time, much better than that last little jaunt.

Hilton:

(to himself) There will always be an England.

(Outright) Morning, Sir. I'm afraid you may not go ajaunting, Sir. Have just got the report on your exercise 'Piemelon'. The total of illegitimate lambs is staggering and you may have to put up ten miles of fencing during this training period.

Enter "B" Squadron Commander.

"A" Comd. (swelling visibly):

'Pon my word, am staggered old man, but I'll not concern myself with mere piffle —— fences, indeed! I saw no fences in the dust of battle. One never sees such things when one presses on. Nothing on about the missing sheep? Very tasty when barbecued!

Hilton:

What do you want, R.S.M.?

R.S.M. (saluting smartly):

Good morning, Sir, not feeling well, Sir? Reporting that there's twelve for orderly rooms, Sir!

Hilton:

For crying out ruddy loud. O.K! R.S.M., O.K.! This ruddy place gets worse every day. I don't know!

Exit R.S.M.

"B" Comd.:

Huh, 'A' Commander in strife again? Believe there's a ministerial over those lambs! The farmer thought that exercise a bit over the fence.

Sound of footsteps. Enter Old Man seen through doorway going to office.All snap to attention and say:

Good morning, Sir.

"A" and "B" Comds. (in unison):

Now, Hilton, what I want to know is ...

Loud buzzing sound.

Hilton:

That, gentlemen, is the Old Man's buzzer —— pardon me.

Exit Hilton, silence reigns.

Enter Hilton. Hilton:

Wouldn't it. Sorry, gentlemen. The C.O. and I are going out on inspection, it will be for all day.

In silent tones to "A" Comd.:

Concerns something else you did on your last jaunt, which means another investigation. I'll never get the file completed. Why the hell did you have to pass through Heiney's shearing shed. They've just realized that the hole through each side fits a tank. Oh, hell. What's the use. Outside, gentlemen, while I lock up.

Exit.

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