'TIFFY' OF THE 24TH

The first St David's Day I spent overseas was with the 1st Battalion South Wales Borderers in Cyprus in 1949. I was one of four officers of the Welch Regiment serving with the '24th' at that time and we were all made to feel completely at home. This regiment, renowned for its stand against the Zulus at Rorke's Drift in 1879, has always prided itself on the good 'club' atmosphere of its officers' mess.
Charles Brewis, my company commander, took me aside on the eve of St David's Day and said: "These 24th people don't put much of a show on for "Dai's Day so its up to us, of the 41st (Welch Regiment), to keep the flag flying." (He was wrong).
So far, I had no idea what was in his mind, but then he said: "I know where we can get a goat." He told me he had made a reconnaissance of the Old City of Famagusta and had seen a herd of goats, one of which was pure white. "We'll go down there this evening and snatch it," he said. Timidly, I put to him the question of ownership but he dismissed my caution saying: "There are thousands of goats on the island, they won't miss one. Besides, we'll take it back tomorrow night."
As the sun crept towards the horizon, Charles and I set off for Famagusta in his Morris Eight. There was hardly room for two of us as Charles had a wooden leg and needed all the room he could get to manipulate the pedals. We arrived at the walled city entrance and Charles pointed towards the herd. Sure enough, there was a pretty little white goat standing on a pile of rubbish.
Morris Eights are not built for cross country work in the Middle East and the squeaks and groans that came from the one we were travelling in made this abundantly clear. Charles drew up as near to the goat as he could without scaring it, then gave the command: "Get him." I flung myself at the animal and managed to grab a leg. I soon got hold of another and began to bundle the animal into the back seat. While I was struggling among the rubbish, Charles saw the goat-herd appear from behind a rock to investigate the commotion. We sped away as fast as we could until we out-distanced the angry Cypriot.
Charles drove to the drums' store where the storeman helped us unload; we were then able to take stock. It was a pleasant little animal and it had settled down quite well. This could have been due to the newspapers Charles had put on the back seat to protect the upholstery; most of which had been converted to cud.
The storeman, by virtue of his trade, was quite handy with rope and he soon made a head collar. When I went back to the drums' store after tea, he had also made a coat from one of the leopard-skin aprons drummers wear on parade. It fitted the goat like a glove and the whole appearance of the animal was so cute that I decided to walk it to the officers' mess and show it off.
'Tiffy', as the drums' storeman had named him, trotted by my side as if he had been used to that sort of thing for all of his short life. A few officers were sitting under the cane loggia 30 yards away from the sea enjoying one of those magnificent sunsets for which Cyprus is famous. 'Tiffy' had quite an effect on them and was soon devouring an assortment of digestive biscuits, mint humbugs and cigarettes. On my way back to the drums' store, I poked my head into the ante-room and saw the commanding officer reading the latest copy of 'The Field'. Here was an opportunity, I thought, to put myself on the map and gain a few bonus points for initiative.
I led 'Tiffy' into the mess and approached the CO without making a sound. Just as I was about to come into view around his right shoulder, the goat let out a cry for its mother, the goat-herd or another mint humbug. Whatever the reason, the effect on the colonel was as if someone had thrown the switch on an electric chair. In an instant he was on his feet with rage so contorting his face that I wondered for a moment if it actually was the CO. "Get that animal out of here," he blasted. The good 'club' atmosphere of the 24th evaporated in a flash and to make it worse, 'Tiffy' peed on the carpet. "Now look what the beast has done," stormed the colonel. "Remove it at once, then clean up the mess." As I slunk away, he let off a final salvo. "This is the 24th Regiment, not the 41st. We don't worship graven images or goats." (we had to wait another twenty one years before the two regiments amalgamated for that dictum to be reversed).
St David's Day dawned and to give credit to the South Wales Borderers, they put on as good a show as I have ever experienced with my own regiment. We had cricket in the morning, a three course bumper lunch for soldiers in the cookhouse, officers and sergeants drinks in the messes and rugby sevens in the afternoon. Some of the officers asked me what had happened to the goat, but my enthusiasm for the ruminant had disappeared, especially as the regimental sergeant major told me that the Military Police had been around to see if anyone knew about a missing goat from the Old City.
The drums' storeman took over where I left off and during the outdoor activities the two of them paraded through the outer field and touch line where 'Tiffy' in his pipe-clayed halter and leopard-skin coat was the centre of attraction.
When darkness fell, Charles Brewis and I loaded 'Tiffy' into the Morris Eight and set off for Famagusta. Near Othello's Tower, beneath the walls of the Old City, we opened the door and lifted him out. I gave him a mint humbug, with the paper on (the way he liked them), and then we drove away.
In the short time 'Tiffy' had been with us, he made quite an impression. I don't suppose he was aware of the exalted position he held in the Regiment on its national day. Neither did the goat-herd who must have been surprised when he did a head count the following morning.