No Easy Ride: Reflections on My Life in the RCMP (5 page)

The foot drill instructors rated high on our fear quotient. They seemed to be rewarded within the RCMP hierarchy for their haughtiness and arrogance. Tall, slim and prepossessing in their gleaming leather and shining brass, they strutted about the complex, swinging their distinctive batons. Their raison d’etre was to discover anything that might deviate from a perfect recruit turnout. Five o’ clock shadows, scuffed boots, undone buttons or specks of lint were all small victories to be discovered by these stentorian-voiced nitpickers. Political correctness was unheard of back then, and ethnicity, skin colour or unusual names were all sources of great interest and delight. One unfortunate recruit with African genes and a French name was immediately christened “Coon Frog” and addressed by that name for the duration of his stay in the training division. French names were ridiculed and bastardized, as were Slavic and Italian names.

RCMP foot drill formations are based on mounted cavalry drills, where troops moved in eight-person sections. They are extremely precise, requiring hours of practice. We were a cavalry regiment but carried rifles during drills, which made the movements more complex. Complete and utter stillness was expected until an order to enact a specific movement was issued. Miscues were not tolerated and miscreants were sentenced to 25 push-ups, to be completed immediately while attired in boots and breeches. At the whim of the instructor, the troop would be commanded to break into double-time movement for the duration of the drill hour. By the time it ended, our tunics and high brown boots were stained with white sweat marks.

One shimmering prairie July day, the commanding officer was escorting a group of clergy about the grounds. When they entered the beautiful regimental chapel, they discovered three recruits in full dress kneeling at the altar. When asked about their seeming devoutness, they explained their drill instructor had found them so despicable on the drill square that they were sent to the chapel to pray for forgiveness. Drill instructors were routinely hated at the outset of training, but then, strangely, they would emerge to become the best loved of all instructors. Many of us attributed this strange outcome to Stockholm syndrome.

In our first two months at Depot, we faced many tough challenges. Most of us had survived the initial hurdles put in our way, but a bigger barrier lay ahead. The recruit population typically regarded the riding stables with fear and awe, and we were about to learn why.

“PARSONS, YOUR MOTHER
shoulda thrown you out and kept the afterbirth, you useless little man!” Those words uttered by my riding instructor remain with me to this day. In 1966, equitation training was withdrawn from the curriculum. The stables in Regina were closed and the horses moved to Rockcliffe, Ontario, which became the home of the RCMP Musical Ride. This decision transformed the Academy in Regina forever. Although many senior RCMP officers subscribed to Winston Churchill’s oft-repeated phrase, “There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man,” this change freed up 140 hours within the curriculum for more contemporary law-enforcement topics. But in 1961, the stables influenced the entire Depot experience, both positively and negatively.

After two months at Depot, we began our mounted training, which was in addition to academic subjects, practical training, typing classes, PT, swimming and foot drill. Our indoctrination into equitation presented another rite of passage, complete with unique and intense rituals and routines.

Some members of the troop had never been up close and personal with a horse. These magnificent animals were like spoiled children and took advantage of every opportunity to show recruits that they were the prima donnas of the paddock. We had to earn our spurs, so these essential tools were denied us for the first 60 hours of riding. The horses were aware of this and generally ignored us, even when we were astride them. The riding staff hounded us constantly to move our mounts along, but no amount of urging with knees and heels would work. We functioned with minimal responses from our steeds and maximum yelling and insults from the riding staff. After hours of recalcitrant horses and assaultive instructors, we were finally allowed to don our spurs. Each and every man looked forward with glee to the next riding session when we could force our will upon our stubborn mounts; however, when the distinctive jingle of spurs reached the horses’ sensitive ears, they suddenly complied with every command. We would seldom have the opportunity to inflict our revenge. The few who tried quickly learned how challenging it was to control a horse’s enthusiasm when it was even slightly goaded by a spur.

The riding stable staff was devoted solely to the horses, which were pampered, groomed, pedicured and fed as though they were sacred beings. RCMP mounts had evolved from providing everyday transportation during the Force’s early years to serving in ceremonial occasions after the advent of the automobile. These changing needs called for a different type of horse, and a breeding program was started in 1939. In 1943, the program became more sophisticated as Clydesdales, Percherons, Hanoverians and Trakehners were bred with thoroughbreds to produce a heavier-boned, well-mannered, hardy horse. The RCMP mount transformed into the majestic black animal now seen in the musical ride, approximately 16 hands in height, weighing between 1,200 and 1,300 pounds.

The 60 horses in the Depot stables were all offspring of the breeding program, though some exceptions in colour, weight and height were forgiven for training purposes. These haughty creatures were the stars of the show, and they were acutely aware of it. Much like people, they possessed distinctive personalities, some engaging, some wary, some cranky and some downright vicious. When the list was posted on the day previous to a ride, we were keen to find out which horses we had been assigned to. If you were unfortunate enough to draw Waco, a red-haired biter, you knew she would put a welt on you before the day was out. Those assigned Wasp and Rogue were assured a relatively easy ride, as both reflected their docile Clydesdale heritage. Still, they presented their own challenges; they were large in girth and stood 18 hands high, making a graceful mount almost impossible. Imp and Epic were small, dainty, responsive animals that were a pleasure to ride. Gorse the horse was slow-witted and slow-moving.

One of the most interesting characters in the entire stable was a gelding named Rob Roy. He was a beautiful animal, and it was easy to see why he used to be a stud. After being replaced by two younger stallions, he was gelded and put into the riding pool. He developed a most interesting, albeit annoying habit that may have illustrated his disgust at losing his stallion status. When lined up for any kind of inspection, Rob Roy let his very sizable tongue hang out of his mouth, protruding some six to eight inches. Instructors delighted in taunting new riders who were unaware of the unusual habit. A recruit who had drawn Rob Roy would stand at attention beside his mount, awaiting inspection. An instructor would bellow at the neophyte, commanding him to get his mount’s tongue back into its mouth. The terrified recruit would desperately attempt to reinstall Rob Roy’s tongue, to no avail. He would be upbraided for having no control over the horse, with additional observations on the unlikelihood of him ever becoming a policeman.

Our riding instructor was Corporal Landers, a lithe young man born to the saddle and barely older than his charges. Our first mounted foray took us onto the bald prairie in troop formation. After an hour on the trail, we halted for a break and enjoyed an informal chat. Terry Mulligan, who hailed from mountainous British Columbia, gestured gleefully to a small mound where the revolver range was located. He jokingly asked the corporal if it was the largest mountain in Saskatchewan. Corporal Landers, who was a Saskatchewan native, glared at Mulligan, commanding him to dismount. Dressing him down as a smart ass, he ordered him to start running. Mulligan immediately obeyed, loping across the prairie. The corporal spurred his horse, Laura, into action. Ears laid back and teeth bared, she pursued the recruit, running him to the ground. Landers commanded Mulligan to get up and run, then repeated the process. This continued for the duration of the return trip to the stables, by which time Constable Mulligan was a mass of torn clothing and cuts. It became glaringly obvious that flippancy with a riding instructor invited disaster. We were beginning to understand that the objective of equitation was not to transform us into accomplished horsemen, but to further test our mettle. The riding program was an opportunity to assess the courage of individual recruits by placing them in sometimes terrifying situations, limited only by the instructor’s imagination.

Recruits were responsible for all menial daily stable duties. Each morning, selected troops would appear at reveille to scour stalls, followed by feeding and grooming. Many of the horses made sport with recruits, kicking and biting them. The more timid members were sent into box stalls to groom the stallions. Unfettered, the powerful beasts challenged anyone who entered, baring their teeth and striking out with their hooves. It was a daunting experience for someone who was city-bred and had never encountered such an intimidating animal. During morning stable duty, the horses were led to water troughs located at the centre of the barns. Recruits were detailed two horses each, leading them by the halter. Enjoying their bit of freedom, the horses took the opportunity to kick and bite the recruits and each other. Trying to maintain control of two horses while they watered and kibitzed was a daunting challenge. The instructors waited until the horses were lined up to drink, then fired a rifle containing a blank cartridge, startling the horses and creating additional havoc. The unfortunate recruits caught in the melee were tossed to and fro as they clung to the animals, occasionally incurring injuries.

During one afternoon session, the troop was riding in single-file formation in the indoor riding ménage. Several instructors sat on their horses in the centre. Suddenly, Corporal Landers spurred his horse into action, hurtling straight for me with Laura’s ears back and teeth bared. My horse and I were almost bowled over when they collided with us. As he hurled several obscenities my way, it was clear that Landers had just learned I was the son of a commissioned officer. Landers assured me that my life would be a misery henceforth, and he fulfilled that promise for the rest of our time in the stables.

As equitation training progressed, we began to grasp rudimentary musical ride movements. The troop would move four abreast, trotting and cantering under the tutelage of the instructor. The constant, repetitive commands from those days will resonate in my memory forever: “Ride, trot!” “Get your lower legs back!” “You there on Rob Roy, take the rear of the ride!” “Four feet, nose to croup!” One curious city-bred pupil innocently asked an instructor what a “croup” was. The instructor escorted him over to the hindquarters of a mare standing in her stall. He lifted the horse’s tail and urged the young member to peer closely. When the recruit got into position, the instructor placed his hand at the back of his student’s head and rammed his face into the rear portion of the horse. “That, young constable, is a croup,” explained the corporal.

Frequently, the horses became spirited at the canter, bucking and making it difficult to hold one’s seat. Tex Burris, a tough, wiry young man from Ontario, tried to control his steed while it bucked and sidestepped. As the troop moved at the canter, Burris lost his balance, tumbling over the flanks of the horse. As he went down, the horse kicked, striking him. The ride was immediately halted. Unable to stand, Burris tried to pull himself along with his arms. Corporal Landers, astride his horse, stood over Burris, commanding him to stand. When it became obvious Burris was injured, the corporal delegated two of the troop to “remove the rabble from the riding school.” More concerned about the horse than the recruit, he then called for someone to examine it for injuries. Later, Burris was found to have a broken pelvis.

In the jargon of recruits, a “perfect day” consisted of PT, foot drill and swimming in the first half of the training day, followed by equitation for the latter half. These activities were physically demanding, and we had to go through hours of kit preparation before we rode. Prior to a morning or afternoon ride, recruits were expected to attend the stables and scour their tack. Our work was closely inspected at the start of the class. Any recruit whose saddle and bridle were not properly presented would be paraded to the sergeant major and punished with extra duties in the form of guard mount or fatigue duty, which encompassed all hard labour such as rubbing, cleaning, mopping and polishing.

As our training continued, a Saskatchewan winter descended. Daily temperatures in December were often lower than 30 below. On weekends, two troops were assigned to the stables for a morning exercise ride. Prior to going out into the cracking cold, the horses were fed hot bran. The aroma of breakfast cooking caused the horses to nicker and impatiently stomp their hooves. Once the horses had eaten, the recruits saddled up, put on the famous RCMP buffalo coat to fend off the cold and ventured out. The horses, having been confined to the stables overnight and now filled with hot bran, were restless, mischievous and strangely eager to leave their warm home. As the mounted troop exited, and the horses hit the cold air, a chemical reaction seemed to occur. One of the horses would release a gigantic fart, bucking and kicking as he expended his gas. This signalled to the others to do likewise, and chaos would reign. On one occasion, before control was regained, furry mounds of buffalo fur, breeches and spurs were randomly distributed in the snow adjacent to the horse barn. To a man, the troop had been involuntarily dismounted. The instructors were greatly entertained by the fiasco and roared at the riders to recapture their horses and remount.