Remove Head-Dress

An infantry battalion is the result of much fine tuning which, over the years, has produced a well balanced combat unit. Rifle and support companies reap most of the glamour, but there are others such as storemen, drivers and mess servants who provide essential administrative support. The 'back-up' boys accept their low profile but occasionally a moment occurs when a burst of energy, zeal or inspiration catapults them into the focus of attention.
Such was the case with Private Morris. If World War Two had not been declared in 1939 it is unlikely he would have worn battle-dress but, like many thousands of other young men, he was conscripted to fight in the Army; he joined a territorial battalion of the Welch Regiment and was actively engaged in Northern Europe from D-Day onwards.
Morris was one of the links in the chain at the bottom of the pile but, nevertheless, he performed a vital function by producing a cup of hot, sweet tea for his platoon officer whenever it was needed. His contribution is not recorded in the official account of the Battle for the Reichswald, but those who drank his tea swear that the turbo action of his beverage was the essential ingredient for success.
When the war was won and Morris returned to his home in West Wales, he missed the routine of Army life. By 1947, when Russians had taken the place of Germans as Public Enemy No.1, he returned to his old battalion and became a waiter in the officers' mess.
During the first annual camp for volunteer soldiers after the war, the Commanding Officer received notice that Field Marshal The Viscount Montgomery of Alamein would visit the battalion. Normal training was put on 'hold' while the camp was smartened to perfection.
The great day arrived and the Field Marshal drew up alongside the guard room in his limousine. The quarter guard gave a crisp salute and the Field Marshal inspected them. He visited a platoon of soldiers on the thirty yards range and saw a demonstration of fire-drill before being escorted to the officers' mess for lunch. The CO had been told about Monty’s spartan taste, so the dining table carried some cold chicken legs and a green salad instead of the usual all-in stew and plum-duff pudding. Wine was not served and the officers had been forbidden to smoke in the great man's presence.
As soon as the dessert had been eaten, Monty turned towards the Commanding Officer and said: "What have you got for me to see this afternoon?" The Colonel outlined the programme and the Victor at El Alamein bounded to his feet eager to get started. Aides de camp moved ahead to collect his coat, cane and famous black beret. The overcoat and cane were on the coat rack, but there was no sign of the beret.
"Where's my hat?" snapped the Field Marshal. The Colonel looked vacant, the Second-in-Command bit his finger nails and the Quartermaster occupied himself by writing feverishly on his mill board. "Where's my hat, dammit?" thundered the little man with a lion's heart. It was at this point that Private Morris, still in a state of euphoria after being allowed to serve blancmange to Monty, burst through the throng, grabbed him by the arm and said: "Are you sure you had it on when you came in, Field Marshal?"