London, GB | Formerly of New York, Buenos Aires, Fife, and the Western Cape. | Saoránach d’Éirinn.

The Officers’ Mess

Last night was spent in the Mess at Wyvern (HQ, A Sqd, TUOTC), which is one of the most delightful places in St Andrews. They have the cheapest pint in town, and even still it somehow seems you only need to drink half as much as usual to alter your consciousness.

If you are not a member of the Officer Training Corps, and I am not, then you have to be signed in by a member (2LT. Chris C. obliged) and introduced to the PMC, Tom Kerr, who lives a few floors above me and is an admirable man despite having gone to school with Dave Watt. Wyvern’s a beautiful house though, and adequately looked after by A Squadron of the Tayforth Universities Officer Training Corps.

Speaking of Mr. Watt, Dave had gone to Wine and Cheese that evening and showed up in the Mess pretty late, grievously attired in a black shirt with red stripes, accompanying tie, a white jumper, and with the obligatory blazer on top. He had hassled along some other OCDT (officer cadet) who had been at Wine and Cheese that evening to come along to the Mess. Now this chap was decked up in the more usual tweed jacket (and riding boots, without explanation) but was lacking in necktie. As one might expect, jacket and tie are de rigeur for the Mess, and once the said tie-less fellow showed up the lack of tie was noted and brought to the attention of the PMC.

Disgrace! What was to be done? A Mess Court would be convened, Tom Kerr presiding. The shameless and inebriated David Watt would provide the defense, the shameless and inebriated Chris C. the prosecution, and George Irwin, Euan Gorford, and I were appointed as jury.

Now, the poor lad in the dock, whom we shall call Oliver George Wilson, since, when asked to state his name for the court, he replied “Oll… Oll… Oliver George Wilson”. Well, the poor Oliver George Wilson could barely compose a coherent sentence, most likely due to the imbibing of wine at “Chine and Weese”, and seemed to posess very few of his own faculties and certainly even fewer of anyone else’s. Nonetheless the Prosecution opened the case charging Oliver George Wilson with entering the mess without a tie by effortlessly pointing to Oliver George Wilson sitting in the makeshift dock (actually a barstool) suffering from a complete lack of any form of neck attire bar
the collar of his shirt.

I began to have my suspicions as to the integrity of the court when I, a member of the jury, was called to testify on behalf of the prosecution. Now, the questions interrogated of me and the responses freely, and I dare say deftly, given are not for stating in the public realm. Nonetheless they were of a such a nature as to make the padre blush (or so Gorford told me when I left the stand and returned to the jury), and the denizens of the Mess were rollicking, so in my humble opinion it’s all for the better.

The defense was then given the opportunity to state their case, which was lacking. [Note to self: if in trouble, never call on Dave Watt to act as my defense]. Mr. Watt threw out some rambling, barely grammatical sentences in a highly dramatic style which he no doubt hoped would distract the jury from the matter at hand. It was to no effect, as the jury of three — and a fine jury it was, mind you, one of the best juries in the land — as I was saying, the jury of George, Euan, and I were pretty much convinced by the defense’s argument and my own stand in the witness box and thus Oll… Oll… Oliver George Wilson was convicted on all charges. Lord Chief Justice Kerr sentenced the delinquent to an “H.M.S. Wyvern” which involves drinking lots of gin and being turned around incessentantly, this processes being repeated four times in some vaguely nautical fashion while singing, not their own A Squadron ditty, but instead the B Squadron (Dundee University) song, to the tune ‘Cwm Rhondda’ aka Guide Me O Thou Great Redeemer:

“We dont get an education,
We dont worry about pregnancy,
We just lack imagination,
Dundee O.T.C. are we,
Ugly women,
Joke degrees,
We will probably beat our wives!
We will probably beat our wives!”

Dundee, frightful. Oliver George Wilson didn’t even chunder (at least not in the faux German helmet in the Mess designated for such a purpose), and thus a good time was had by all.

Published at 4:35 am on Thursday 12 May 2005. Categories: Journal Military People St Andrews.
Leave a comment

NAME (required)

EMAIL (required)

WEBSITE (not required)

COMMENT

Home | About | Contact | Paginated Index | Twitter | Facebook | RSS/Atom Feed
andrewcusack.com | © Andrew Cusack 2004-present (Unless otherwise stated)