Just felt like this today

Came off the phone to my nephew, just flown back from Camp Bastion. He's totally shot away at the moment, having seeing bits of his mates fly past him in an IED blast meant for an armoured vehicle, wondering how and why he survived. I won't be posting any more on him for a while, until I've had a chance to see him. I'll be looking at how the system deals with this very carefully. I have every confidence that the Army will bend over backwards for him if he uses the system, especially as the Nation is watching closely. Lets hope so anyway.

A Case for Zero Tolerance

I posted this clip ages ago, but having read the news article linked below, it somehow seemed appropriate to give it another airing..... This one's for you, Erwin. (of course, all persons are presumed innocent until convicted in a court of law) PS: Hogday's tip for the day: Don't sit in front of your computer whilst brushing your teeth with an electric toothbrush and then sneeze unexpectedly - nasty.

Roll up, Roll up, Arrgh Me Hearties

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Respect, revulsion and a touch of frost

Well it was a solemn weekend up here in the frosty North of England. Saturday evening found me, on duty, at what was billed as the largest bonfire gathering in `Northshire` - it was pissing down with rain. However, that didn't stop the indomitable British spirit and people turned out in vast numbers to gather around for a free fireworks display, courtesy of the local council and other sponsors. This year's Guy Fawkes ritual was also to raise money for a well known organisation that provides superb support and training for the blind. The local FM radio station was there with a sound-stage and the DJ's were doing a great job of whipping up the crowd, before the Mayor of the Borough led the crowd in the countdown to the start of the grand fireworks display. Amongst the gathered masses was a boisterous but jolly group of trainee soldiers who were clearly enjoying the chance of joining in some local community fun and a break from their rigorous training schedule. They were all young lads, around 17 or 18 years old, and the rain didn't dampen their spirits, especially as they got a big cheer from the crowd when the DJ asked them if they were taking part in the remembrance parade the next day and all their arms went up. I don't care much for fireworks. I was there because I had a job to do. Sunday morning and I was up early. I was attending two Remembrance Services, one in the town centre and one at a Commonwealth War Graves cemetery. The town centre event was attended by a large crowd. The service commenced with the full civic procession, with representatives of all the armed services, military cadet forces, veterans associations, a small contingent of the police and, of course, The Royal British Legion. It was a splendid and touching tribute and the crowd burst into spontaneous applause as the trainees from the Army Camp proudly marched past, followed by regular British army as well as American soldiers sailors and airmen , who are also staioned nearby. A group of our own veterans, medals a-jangling and glinting in the sunshine proudly brought up the rear. The cubs, scouts and guides completed the march past and all did a splendid job. The church service that followed really touched me. I don't do church, but the sermon delivered by the mayor's chaplain was the most moving and relevant piece in respect of war, despair, hope and peace that I've heard in many a year. The Commonwealth War Graves cemetery in this town is the final resting place of over 1,000 airmen, mainly from Canada, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa, who gave their lives serving with the RAF in the skies over England and Europe during World War 2. As a piper played a lament and the representatives of civil authorities and the military laid wreaths, local schoolchildren moved among the headstones and laid a red rose on every grave. For anyone who has family in this place, they should know about such gestures and how their forbears memory is revered and remembered. As the ceremony concluded, I spoke to a corporal from the Royal Irish Regiment who was an instructor at the Army training campus. I asked him if he knew a particular trainee, as my cousin's grandson is training there at present - another Coldstream Guardsman in the Hogday family. He wasn't in this instructors platoon, but no matter, we had a chat. I told him how I saw some of his lads enjoying the fireworks the previous evening. He said, "Yes, but it didn't last long. There was a gang of civvy blokes wandering about looking to start trouble with them. They cornered two of our boys in town and assaulted them. They`re in hospital". `Squaddie/Matelot bashing` was always a problem wherever I served where there was an army or navy establishment nearby. Even as a police cadet at Hendon, there were certain places in the vicinity our instructors banned us from going, not because we caused trouble, but because the locals recognised us for what we were and thought it good sport to try it on with us. Early this morning I was pondering my weekend as I walked our dog, the Jack Rascal Terrorist. I took the above snaps on my mobile. I felt the sun slowly warming my back, but it was clearly the beginnings of winter. I snapped a picture of my long shadow lying across the frosty field and stood awhile, watching it get slowly shorter. I suddenly thought of it as being like my life slowly receding and me powerless to stop it. If I'm lucky, no black cloud will come along and shut it off, at least not for another 50 years or so. Then I thought of the remembrance services I'd attended and those young trainee soldiers, full of fun on the common and of the evil group of Britains "finest" who in some perverted way got a big shot in their own pathetic ego's by putting two of these teenaged servicemen in hospital. I tried to remember anything really bad that I'd done to someone else during my life, that could possibly make me feel the way I was feeling at that moment. Thankfully, I couldn't. I wanted to find the people that did this horrible thing to those young soldiers, put a .32 calibre round into the back of their heads and then call up the local council street cleansing services to remove their worthless corpses from where I'd dropped them. I hate myself when something gets the better of me and makes me think like that, as I like to think I can rise above such thoughts, but not this morning I regret to say. My blood pressure wasn't helped when I watched Sky News and the article about `the personal letter` that our Prime Minister wrote to the grieving mother of a young Grenadier Guardsman killed in Afghanistan recently. Brown should stick to what he does best - whatever that is - and let someone with a real appreciation of what it means to lose someone in this way to write his `sorry` letters for him. My sister just phoned me. My nephew, injured in an IED blast on only his fourth day in Helmand Province, is being flown home today. His hearing has not recovered and his back injury is causing concern. He is obviously not currently fit for frontline duties and will be re-deployed to a less intense role for 6 months, but he was lucky as he is the only one still walking after the explosion that killed his Lance Corporal. I suppose this is a small blessing. That was my weekend. I hope yours was OK.

Murder at an Afghan checkpoint

Grenadier Guards are deployed throughout the province of Helmand. They have several key roles. One of these is mentoring the Afghan National Police and to do so they deploy in small detachments to work, shoulder to shoulder, with these people out on the ground in their `back yard`. They work alongside soldiers from other regiments in this particular training role. As a concept in British military affairs, this is nothing new.

Much is said about that country and the corruption that has overshadowed the recent "elections". Politicians have banged dispatch boxes and stated their disgust at what was revealed, but haven't they got it all wrong? There was only corruption from our perspective, there is only double dealing and murder from our perspective. As far as Afghanistan goes, that is the way of their stone aged tribal world and has been so for centuries. Democracy, as we know it, has no meaning there, at least not in a short, ragged and bloody intervention that we have seen over the past few decades. Nothing is more blurred than the line between `policing` and soldiering where soldiers work in what the military refer to as "low intensity warfare". The risk of being cut off and ambushed, or betrayed and killed when at their most vulnerable, like 5 of our soldiers were the other day, are massive. And there is nothing more dangerous than engaging in `low intensity` warfare tactics on the outermost edge of that rather glib sounding definition, in a place like Afghanistan. But what happened the other day was not high or low intensity warfare, that was murder - but perhaps only from our perspective.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/8321463.stm

http://www.matthewcookwarartist.com/

One Less

I am posting a message that was sent to me today by an old friend, former colleague and TA soldier. It's about a man us Hogdays feel we knew quite well, although we've never met him in person. The e mail I received is not an `urban legend` because I checked it out and it is true. It's about a man called Darrell Powers, known to his Brothers in Arms and anyone who has seen the HBO TV series Band of Brothers as "Shifty". Shifty volunteered for the airborne in WWII and served with Easy Company of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, part of the 101st Airborne Infantry. If you've seen Band of Brothers on HBO or the History Channel, you know Shifty. His character appears in all 10 episodes, and Shifty himself is interviewed in several of them.I met Shifty in the Philadelphia airport several years ago. I didn't know who he was at the time. I just saw an elderly gentleman having trouble reading his ticket. I offered to help, assured him that he was at the right gate, and noticed the "Screaming Eagle," the symbol of the 101st Airborne, on his hat

Making conversation, I asked him if he'd been in the 101st Airborne or if his son was serving. He said quietly that he had been in the 101st. I thanked him for his service, then asked him when he served,and how many jumps he made.

Quietly and humbly, he said "Well, I guess I signed up in 1941 or so, and was in until sometime in 1944 .. . . " at which point my heart skipped.

At that point, again, very humbly, he said "I made the 5 training jumps at Toccoa, and then jumped into Normandy . . . . do you know where Normandy is?" At this point my heart stopped.

I told him "yes, I know exactly where Normandy is, and I know what D-Day was." At that point he said "I also made a second jump into Holland , into Arnhem ." I was standing with a genuine war hero . . . . and then I realized that it was June, just after the anniversary of D-Day..

I asked Shifty if he was on his way back from France , and he said,"Yes. And it's real sad because, these days, so few of the guys are left, and those that are, lots of them can't make the trip." My heart was in my throat and I didn't know what to say.

I helped Shifty get onto the plane and then realized he was back in Coach while I was in First Class. I sent the flight attendant back to get him and said that I wanted to switch seats. When Shifty came forward, I got up out of the seat and told him I wanted him to have it, that I'd take his in coach.

He said "No, son, you enjoy that seat. Just knowing that there are still some who remember what we did and who still care is enough to make an old man very happy." His eyes were filling up as he said it. And mine are brimming up now as I write this.

Shifty died on June 17, 2009 after fighting cancer.

There was no parade.

No big event in Staples Center .

No wall to wall back to back 24x7 news coverage.

No weeping fans on television.

And that's not right.

Let's give Shifty his own Memorial Service, online, in our own quiet way. Please forward this email to everyone you know. Especially to the veterans.

Rest in peace, Shifty.

Mnemonics and how to remember a legal definition

P = Private place

O = Over 21

O = Only 2 persons

F = Freely consenting

That was the mnemonic that I was taught by the Metropolitan Police Training School, Hendon, in 1971, to help me remember the law regarding those occasions when I needed to decide if homosexual activity that I might have stumbled upon, would be lawful. Our class instructor even referred to it as, "The Poof's Charter". David Steel (who championed the Bill through Parliament) would not have been pleased, but at least the mnemonic helped me pass my exams, as well as accurately separate lawful acts of homosexuality from the other sorts. I took my duty as a guardian of public morals as pragmatically as I could, but most of my arrests, of this nature, were for offences of `importuning for immoral purposes`, the most common being cross-hand boogies in a public place whereby members of the public were offended or outraged. Simple stuff really. But the police don't have to deal with this sort of thing very much these days.

However, its now 2009 and my spies tell me that a sergeant in a police station meal room... somewhere... recently... in England, was watching `Match of the Day`. Arsenal scored a goal and the multi-millionaire sportsmen showed their appreciation in the usual way by showering each other with kisses and bum-gropes (don't know if tongues were being used, but perhaps a Sun reader has a pic on his mobile that will appear in a later edition and earn him a grand). The 26 yrs service sergeant got up and walked back to his duties, but just before he left the room he made the strategic error of all strategic errors and muttered that the Arsenal players were `just a bunch of poofs`. A PCSO present in the TV room reported him and he is now being investigated by a team from the professional standards department for Gross Misconduct, a discipline offence that could get him the sack. My spy also tells me that the PCSO had `an ongoing issue` with him as the sgt had been chasing said PCSO for poor timekeeping.

Perhaps the sgt was taught the law by the use of that same mnemonic, but was mistaken by the degree of sexual activity he'd witnessed? I mean they were certainly in a public place, there was more than two of them, some or all of them may have been under 21 and the consent may well have only been given because of peer pressure but either way, any of those four elements would set off the nick-ometer. If he was Hendon trained from that era he may just have a defence, but I think he'll struggle. As a West Ham supporter and someone who counts a number of homosexuals and lesbians as close personal friends, I am in something of a quandary over this one. My homosexual friend will often refer to his friends by saying things like, `Oh I was out with the poofs last night`. Now whilst I would never use that term to describe Arsenal footballers, I have occasionally been heard referring to them, in previous clashes with my beloved Hammers, as a bunch of cnuts, without any complaints. How times have changed. NB: PCSO, for any trans-Atlantic visitors to this, or other UK police type blogs, stands for Police Community Support Officer. Please Google it yourself, or read about them elsewhere on UK cop blogs, as I have to keep an eye on my blood pressure.