Every generation of Pangbourne cadets and pupils remembers, and appreciates best, the College marching bands of their own era. This is just as it ought to be. And to every Drum Major, ‘his’ Band was always ‘the’ best, although I can’t let that one slip through to the keeper without adding what a pleasure it now is to include ‘her’ Band in this context.
During my time at the NCP, different Bands performed under a succession of Drum Majors and, with great respect to all those who succeeded him, I should pay particular homage to Ian McVittie (53-58). Ian was Drum Major in my first term when a lot of things “English” were still new and often bemusingly eccentric to a boy from County Down who had never before set foot on the ‘mainland’. But I had, of course, grown up with the fifes and drums of “King Billy” back home forever. God knows – they’d been a thorn in the side of long-term peace in Northern Ireland for decades!
Irish politics aside, McVittie’s Band included a bugler named Taite. RG Taite (56-59) was, I think, the finest exponent of the instrument I have ever heard - and who of us present on the day can ever forget his astonishing solo fanfare at my first Beating Retreat in 1958? No doubt played on one of the College’s tone-perfect ‘silvers,’ it was so simple, building with perfectly controlled vibrato through an ascending series of repeated phrases to end on a piercing high note that left his audience speechless.
As an important aside, might I also mention that Taite and his fellow bugler Bill Image (55-59) had ‘knarled their lids’ to a state of near-architectural perfection that rendered my new ‘duck’s arse’ from Gieves insanely stupid and in need of urgent re-design.
So if you’re reading this, Taite, you have my belated thanks for so subliminally steering the writer into a College career behind the mouth-piece! Today, my own old B&H ‘copper’ (along with its bullet graze from the Boer War) is carefully preserved as an over-size paperweight and, after a few jars ‘of an evening’, is even played occasionally. Annoyingly, however, my neighbours seem to have little appreciation of such erstwhile virtuosity – even with a hanky stuck up the end.
Making my job a lot easier when I became Drum Major in ’61, the Band was already damned good and its members – young and old – soon became ‘family’ over time. In no order of anything, I will mention as many names as I can muster after all this time. And to those of you I have either left out entirely or only mentioned by surname, I apologise profusely. From old photos, I know your faces and can still hear your voices, so please...no malice of forethought intended.
Robert Swann, Bill Bailey, Richard Givan, Peter Griffiths, Andrew Scott-Priestley, Tim Le Couteur, Andrew Herbert, Tim Dow, RDM Newman, Roger Lane-Nott, Peter Harris, Andrews (or was it Andrewes?), Askwith, Jeremy Rind, Andrew Ogilvie, Brian Panisset, one of the Dicks, Childs, Cumming, Rhodes, Robertson, Vetch and…and… please help me! Might there also have been a Burgess, Godfrey, Owen, Plummer, Reynell and Tibbits in the ranks? Just don’t tell me you were in the “Guard” after all this time!
Remember the marches? Aldershot, Burma, Anvil, Shotley, Grenadier-de-Corpus, Gurkha, Hookie, Rochester, Birdlington, King’s Own, Mechanised Infantry, Eastney, Waltzing Bugle Boy (did we?) and Dobbs..etc. Don’t worry…I’m reading off an old crib sheet but reckon I could still play at least three of them…or, on second thoughts, maybe only Eastney.
As a bugler, my memory of fife tunes is a little less clear, yet I do remember introducing a new one to the repertoire, namely “Polly and Oliver” – the signature tune to a 1950s BBC Northern Ireland children’s radio serial. It was a catchy tune well suited to a 120-pace which, somewhat to my surprise, proved a serious hit with our Founder’s Day instructor, Corporal (later Sergeant) Tony Ormond-Dobbin, RM. He even took it back to his barracks in Deal where, I have no doubt, it is still played incessantly by the greatest military band(s) in the world. Dream on, Sam.
This very tune was most famously played during our march off the Parade Ground after my last Beat Retreat in 1962 when (thanks-be-to-Him-upstairs) I somehow managed to catch the mace after spiralling it, with considerable effort, over the high power lines to the recently built Mess Hall. In fact, while the wooden-headed practice one received a good hammering, I don’t remember once denting the sacred real one in all my time at the helm.
I have tried since to emulate that ‘throw’ with sundry stakes and broom handles in the back garden many times, but nothing seems to work – except for the high-suction tail piece of my vacuum cleaner which, with concerted effort, can painfully render a passable ‘Sunset’ after a Chardy or two.
Not everything, though, went entirely to plan for the Band of ’61-’62. Indeed, when it came to the NCP’s turn to lead the Seafarers’ Parade through London to St. Paul’s cathedral ahead of the Conway and Worcester contingents in 1962, I boldly led the whole procession across Blackfriar’s Bridge instead of ‘chucking a lefty’ (as they say Down Under) not far before it.
As an Ulster boy, I might as well have been in downtown Manila for all I knew of the City of London. But help was to hand and, at once alerted to my error by a panic-stricken constabulary, “Flush” Rimmer raced (in as much as he was able) to the rescue and commanded a prompt stop of all oncoming traffic and a just as prompt counter-march by the whole parade. Typically, the manoeuvre was carried out with detached aplomb by the Band of ’61-’62 and undoubtedly added a certain je ne sais quoi to the proceedings.
In my last term we received an invitation to perform publicly at the prestigious annual Military Tattoo in Bracknell. When the day came, it had rained heavily for quite a while and the nice-looking grassy arena disguised something akin to a Donegal bog. This, however, had no apparent effect on the musical gymnastics of the UK’s resident US Air Force Band under the direction of one Staff Sergeant Edwards. Indeed, it gave an amazing performance of precision and timing that left us all breathless…and wondering what on earth we could do to compete as the next ‘act’ on the card.
We had, of course, rehearsed our routine ad nauseam, and it all went pretty well until – in a pathetic attempt to restore the honour of Great Britain – I risked a triple throw to impress the crowd. Great idea – but as the mace soared ever higher towards an over-flying 707 out of Heathrow, it also migrated 20 feet in front of the Band with no apparent hope of respectable retrieval.
Behind me, First Drum Robby Swann shouted “Just let it land, Sam!” So I did and, on re-entry, the mace made a text book landing, point-first into the mud five paces ahead of me. There, it sort of quivered like a well-aimed spear until, on a perfectly-timed upswing of my right arm, it was slickly sucked from the dirt as if nothing untoward had happened. As I hoped it might, the crowd went totally insane and Sergeant Edwards, who had been watching us, later asked me how the hell I’d done it. I think I just said ‘it’ll cost you’.
Finally, I can’t end this trip down memory lane without reference to a poignant moment that has stayed with me all these years. It was just after Sunday Divisions early in my last term when, half out of sight under an oversize ‘lid’, the smallest Port Jackson first-termer I had ever seen came up to Robby Swann and me outside the Band Room and saluted smartly. “Please, Sir, I’m… (no names, no pack-drill)…and I want to play the drum.”
Robby and I just looked at each other, longing to laugh. But we didn’t and, in his inimitably friendly way, Swann went back into the Band Room to get his drum. The leather shoulder harness and under-hanging tassels were still attached and, carefully, we draped it over the small boy’s shoulders. All too predictably, even the drum dragged on the ground, not to mention the tassels.
“Damn!” squeaked our young visitor loudly before bursting into tears – and instantly earning the unquestioned respect of one Drum Major and one First Drum. (RIP, Robby…you were indeed a good man – not least of all with drumsticks in hand.)
So…many fondly-remembered days, and my thanks, 50 years on, to all of you who contributed to making the Band of ’61-’62* the best ever. You know who you are!
richard.strachan@bigpond.com
* photos in the Gallery