Monkeys and Parrots 6 Stand by your beds.

This little bit of my memoir "Monkeys and Parrots", is about kit inspections at Catterick Camp. I actually still occasionally use the phrase "Stand by Your Beds" when I walk into a room, thus confirming the impression of geriatric lunacy that many people have of me.

“Stand by your beds!” The entry of an inspecting officer or NCO into the barrack room was always heralded by that cry, from one of the NCOs in attendance, followed a flurry of leaping to attention, and a deal of activity at the door as people of increasing importance came in – a corporal, a sergeant, perhaps a sergeant major -- and then stood back waiting for whoever was the senior to make an appearance. In basic training, routine inspections were carried out by your troop officer, usually a second lieutenant, although the company commander, a major, would make regular visits, and occasionally we’d see the CO of the Regiment, a lieutenant colonel. He’d peer at your name card.
“Haigh, eh! Where are you from?”
“Barnsley, Sir.”
“I see. Well, your kit seems OK. Keep it up, play fair with us and we’ll play fair with you. Any questions?”
“Please can I go home, Sir?” (Just joking. The real answer was --)
“No thank you Sir.”
“Good, good, carry on.”
If you were unlucky, the RSM, following along behind the Colonel, would look more closely at your kit.
“I can still see the joins in these bootlaces! You’re an idle soldier!”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Do them again and show them to your corporal this afternoon.”
“Yes, Sir, thank you Sir.”
“Don’t thank me. Just think yourself lucky you’re not parading at the orderly room to show them to me.
“Yes, Sir, thank you Sir. I mean just Yes Sir, without the thank you, Sir.”
“Are you taking the piss, Signalman.”
“No, Sir. Sorry Sir.”
“I’m watching you. Remember that!”
“Sir! Yes Sir!”
Your own troop officer, a National Service second lieutenant, would be following behind. If he was the right kind of young officer, who’d got to know you, he would, after hearing an exchange like that, give you a crafty wink and a grin. (In his own training, it has to be said, he’d certainly had worse experiences. But because he’d been to public school he was used to it. )
The remarkable thing about all of it was that it was entirely ritualised. It could have been scripted, and it was often delivered with an undertone of genuine humour.
So familiar did the order, “Stand by your beds!” become to all ex-servicemen (and women) that it passed into the language. People used it when they walked into workplaces, raising a rueful smile of reminiscence. Even now, you hear it from time to time. Now it’s a joke. Then, it could loosen strong men’s bowels.