CHAPTER 9 A Weekend in Windsor

Jock told Mary that he was going away on exercise again and that it would be late November before he would be back in this country. He told her that he had been given an invitation for himself and a partner to attend St Andrew’s night at Victoria Barracks in Windsor, held by the 1st Battalion Scots Guards. Jock was only a junior NCO but this event was a highlight of the social calendar and was only for officers and senior NCOs, and their partners, to attend. Usually, a member of the Royal Family attended and well-known celebrities would be present. It was altogether a rather posh affair and he was perplexed as to why he had been invited.

 Mary was delighted and thought a shopping spree next weekend was a definite activity and she certainly pushed the boat out on it. She bought a lovely, deep green, Grecian-style evening dress which complimented her red hair and a costume jewellery necklace which was a bit extravagant but just added the final touch, matching her dress and new shoes. Her hire of the mink fur coat was common sense as she would probably never wear it again.

Jock phoned later in the week to let Mary know that he had booked a room at the Horse and Groom Guest House on Saturday 30th November and he would meet her there. Although busy at work Mary missed Jock, his phone calls, visits and the anticipation of their weekends together which made life a complete joy.

On the day of the dinner, Mary took the train to Windsor and a taxi to the Horse and Groom. She had not realised how up-market it was and the bedroom was an eye-opener. The main feature was a huge four poster bed set amidst old-world décor. Once unpacked, she took a taxi into Windsor for the pre-arranged booking at the hairdresser and beauty salon. May as well do it properly she convinced herself, enjoying every minute of being pampered.

As the time for leaving for the venue drew closer, Mary checked herself in the mirror again and was pleased with her preparation. She was a little bit nervous but was looking forward to the evening. She was starting to get a bit anxious as Jock had not yet made an appearance but just then there was a knock at the door and Jock entered. He was wearing an old-style military cape and a forage hat, his black shoes were polished to a mirror-like shine and his dark mess trousers with the red stripe contrasted with his deep red mess jacket with the black broad lapels. The gold-coloured insignia and medals added to his eye-catching appearance.

Putting his luggage down he said in a rather refined way, “Miss Stuart your carriage awaits and may I have the honour of escorting you this evening?”

“You may indeed sir,” was the reply, then she burst out giggling.

In the taxi, Jock complimented Mary on her appearance, which made her glow with sheer delight. He confessed that he didn’t know why he had been invited to this event and was a bit apprehensive.

When they reached the main gate at the barracks it was clear that security was a priority as their invitation card and identities were thoroughly checked. Passing the Guard Room, the guard commander with a huge red sash across his tunic shouted, “Jock!” and strode over and shook hands with him. It was obvious they were good friends and glad to see one another.

“Who’s your friend?” enquired the sergeant.

“This is Miss Stuart,” Jock said, introducing Mary.

“You’re far too good-looking for the likes of him,” came the retort, “Much better than his last girlfriend. She was pot-ugly and was old enough to be his mother.”

“I thought you were talking about my ex-boyfriend,” was Mary’s reply, now tuned in to army banter. The three of them laughed.

Jock introduced Mary to Sergeant Jim Harkness and asked if he knew why he had been given an invitation to this evening’s dinner. With a negative reply to his question, it added to Jock’s concern about his required presence.

Just then two guardsmen made as if to pass out from the barracks for a night out in Windsor. They were smartly dressed in civilian suits, white shirts and ties but one was wearing winkle-picker shoes, very narrow and pointed and the other was wearing thick-soled suede shoes, both the latest fashion.

“Where do you think you’re going dressed like that?” bellowed Sergeant Harkness.

“To the pub, then the Palais at Slough,” was the answer in unison.

“Not like that, with those horrible shoes, brothel creepers, and the other one in tattie-hawker’s shoes. Back to your rooms and change your footwear!”

“Yes sergeant,” was their crestfallen reply.

“Got to get a grip on the rank and file,” was Sergeant Harkness’s explanation.

As they made their way to the Officer’s Mess, Mary asked Jock what tattie-hawker’s shoes were.

“Homespun philosophy,” was her answer.

On entering the Mess, Mary was struck by the shear elegance of the scene. It was like a step back in time to the Victorian era. Big portraits hung on the walls and a small band in dress uniform played chamber music. The women were wearing beautiful evening dresses, adorned with expensive jewellery, and the men were dressed in regimental red mess jackets with black lapels displaying rows of medals. Waiters dressed in white jackets were serving drinks.

Taking a drink from a waiter Mary whispered to Jock, “Is this not out of our league?”

Before Jock could reply, an officer came over and shook hands with Jock and asked how the parachute course had gone. Jock introduced Mary to Lord Lyle of Kinnordy who complimented Mary on her appearance and welcomed her to the event.

The conversation was curtailed when the guests were asked to take their seats for dinner. As soon as they were seated, a fanfare of trumpets announced the entry of the top table. Mary’s eyes opened wide when she saw the Duke of Edinburgh and the Duke of Gloucester in the party. Everyone stood up until the top table was seated. Jock whispered to Mary, telling her who was at the top table, mentioning the commanding officer, the adjutant and the impressive figure of the regimental Sergeant Major, RSM for short, who was the man in charge of the evening.

The RSM welcomed everyone for the evening and stated that as it was a Scottish evening, all the food that was on offer on the menu came from Scotland. The seafood and fish from the Hebrides, the venison from Perthshire and the fruit from Angus. Mary was pleasantly surprised at the high standard of cuisine and the impeccable service. After the first course, they were entertained by four male Highland dancers which brought back memories for Mary of Ballachulish Hotel on her first date with Jock. After the next course, a young guardsman sang a song in the Gaelic. The room was silent as the rich voice stilted all conversation. A spontaneous applause rang out when the song ended.

Mary enquired of Jock if he knew what the story of the song was as it appeared to be very sad. Jock told her that a young couple were going to get married and were deeply in love. Days before the wedding the groom went on a fishing trip. As the boat was coming into harbour a sudden gale blew up and the boat capsized and all appeared lost. Overcome by grief, the girl threw herself into the sea and drowned. Mary was almost in tears at the end of the tale.

At the end of the meal the CO, commanding officer, stood up and gave a small speech before he announced a toast to the Queen. The glasses were quickly filled and the adjutant gave a toast to the regiment. Again, the glasses were quickly filled and the RSM stood up and gave a brief account of what the regiment had done over the previous twelve months.

He then asked the question, “What makes the Scots Guards so special?”

There was a definite pause. “It is the calibre of the men we recruit. When I was CSM, Company Sergeant Major, of K company at the Guards Depot of Caterham, my attention was drawn to a recruit who won the boxing tournament, then four weeks later broke the long-standing record for the annual cross-country run. He was a raw product of the Scottish Highlands but the guards training eventually knocked him into shape. I made a constant habit of calling him a Highland teuchter. I next came across him when I returned to the battalion as CSM of Support Company as he was now in the mortar platoon. If there was any high-spirited horseplay, he would be involved along with his friend, who is incidentally the guard commander this evening. To harness their energy, we decided to promote them, with the result that both were put in charge of a section of the mortar platoon. What a transformation! Although still the best of friends, they competed against each other in the mortar shoots and training in such a manner that it resulted in the battalion having one of the best mortar platoons in the British army. On our first tour of Northern Ireland, I had to go to the Brigade HQ to pick up mail, reports, supplies and rations. I must add that the rations back then were World War two compo rations, all in tins. I was in the front of the one-ton lorry, being driven by a private in the ROAC. The Highland teuchter was in the rear with Guardsman Dusty Miller and they were the escorts. On the return journey, in the dark, we were ambushed by a roadside bomb which lifted the truck onto its side. I was thrown clear out the passenger door. The vehicle remained upright. Although numb with shock and pain I was totally aware of what was going on about me. A hooded figure appeared and pointed a Lugar pistol at my head. The thought that this was the end came to my mind. As the pistol was about to be discharged, I heard a distinct thump and a can of all-in stew bounced off the terrorist’s face and landed in front of me. The gunman dropped his pistol and collapsed in a heap at my side. A second gunman appeared, brandishing a Smith and Wesson pistol. As he pointed the weapon at me, he was also hit in the face with a tin of all-in stew. He collapsed on top of his friend’s body and the pistol fell to the ground. The Highland teuchter appeared and dragged me unceremoniously into the roadside ditch. Several voices from the other side of the road were calling to the two would-be assassins, asking if all was in order. The Highland teuchter picked up the discarded pistols and ran towards the voices, firing them as if he was Billy the Kid in a western film. It was later discovered that at least two people were injured in the ambush party but were never traced. He then treated Dusty Miller and me with elementary First Aid and wrapped the two of us in army greatcoats. When I asked him about the driver, he just shook his head, indicating that the driver was beyond help. The last thing I remember was this young soldier taking possession of my ‘stem gun’ and saying to me, The Highland teuchter is taking over command sir so rest easy. After that I remember being flown by helicopter to Belfast Military Hospital along with Guardsman Miller. The two gunmen were taken into custody and the unfortunate Highland teuchter was interviewed by the Special Investigation Branch of the Military Police for almost twelve hours, as the faces of the two prisoners were completely covered in black and blue bruises. Each had their noses broken and it was as if they been severely beaten while in custody. The result was that instead of a nominated award for bravery, the young soldier who saved me and Guardsman Miller only received a mention in dispatches.”

Mary looked across the table at Jock who sat with bowed head, stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger.

The RSM continued, “When I came out of hospital and returned to duty I was promoted to my present rank and I have never been able to thank my rescuer for what he did that night as he joined the Guards Independent Parachute Company.”

Suddenly it dawned on Mary who he had been talking about.

“My Lords, ladies and gentlemen, I would introduce you to Lance Sergeant Jock Stewart. Stand up you Highland teuchter.”

Jock stood up, his face red with embarrassment as he received a standing ovation. Mary had never felt so proud of anyone as she did of Jock at that moment. The RSM called for order and he gave a toast to absent friends before a lone bagpipe player, outside the room, played the “Flowers of the Forest.” Where minutes before there had been a cauldron of applause, there was now a tranquil silence.

When the bagpipe music died away, the RSM came over to shake Jock’s hand and after being introduced to Mary he remarked laughingly, “She is far too good-looking for you Jock. Don’t let her slip through your fingers.”

Mary laughed at Jock’s discomfort. The rest of the evening was spent on the dance floor in an array of Scottish Country dances. Mary had never enjoyed herself as much as she did that evening, with a lot of big, uniformed men asking her to dance.

All too soon, the evening drew to a close with the band playing God Save the Queen and everyone stood silent, tall and erect. As they left the mess and made their way to the Main Gate, Sergeant Jim Harkness called out, “Jock! There’s a taxi waiting for you outside. I took the liberty of calling one for you when I heard the National Anthem being played. We’ll need to have a little drink together and a catch up. Nice to have met you, Mary. I still think you are far too good-looking for him.”

Both Mary and Jock laughed at his parting remarks and as promised, a taxi was waiting for them outside the Barrack’s gates.

On arrival at the Horse and Groom, they went straight to their room. The evening had been perfect, the glamour, prestige and hospitality were overwhelming. Mary watched Jock neatly folding his dress uniform and smiled to herself at the contrast to the scruffy woodcutter at Ballachulish.

When they made love that night, Mary’s appetite for sex was so demanding that she climaxed repeatedly. She could not believe that this was taking place, totally spiritual and physical in culmination. She had indulged in a little alcohol but the excitement of the evening had triggered something in her, almost to total abandonment, maybe it was the four-poster bed.

Next morning Mary’s mood was buoyant and she expressed a wish to go for a run in Windsor Great Park. It was cold and they ran at a steady pace, kicking piles of beech leaves like small children let loose for the school break. Between the exercise and the cold wind it put a glow on their cheeks as they laughed and ran together through the huge area of bare beech and oak trees. They enjoyed themselves so much that they almost missed breakfast but a quick shower and change of clothes and they were on time.

After a taxi ride to the railway station, they caught the mid-day train to London. When they arrived at the flat, Mary explained that she had to return the mink coat and finish off some work at the office. Jock just smiled and bade her farewell.

When she returned later that evening, the concierge on duty pointed to the office saying, “He is in there.” Sure enough, Jock and Dusty were fully engrossed in a game of chess, neither of them aware of her presence.

“When you’re finished, come up and decide what we will eat and do for the rest of the evening,” Mary said, getting a wave of acknowledgement from Jock, still intent on a winning move on the chess board.

About thirty minutes later Jock came to the flat and announced that he had lost again at chess and with a rueful smile kissed Mary in a belated welcome. They decided to go to the Sports Club for a swim and gym session and to dine on a Chinese takeaway.

During the meal at the flat, conversation turned to the Christmas and New Year festive season and they decided to go on a continental skiing holiday.

Next morning after breakfast and the usual run in the park, they visited several travel agents and took a pile of ski holiday brochures back to the flat. Both of them saw several holidays that appealed but decided not to make any immediate bookings until Jock had checked if any leave from the army was forthcoming. The rest of the weekend was spent relaxing before Jock left again on the Sunday evening.