Taking the Strain

The Havard Chapel of the South Wales Borderers in Brecon Cathedral is the resting place for those most sacred of emblems - Kings', Queens' and Regimental Colours; the physical embodiment of honour, sacrifice and pride of the Regiment. Rarely are these Colours disturbed, their poles stretch parallel to the ground above the pews while netted fragments hang in rigid line twelve feet from the floor. Occasionally, a cool draught of air will touch them and cause slight movement to the silken folds. I often look at them and wonder what stories they could tell; so much history compressed within a small area.
To the left of the altar hangs the huge six foot Regimental Colour of the 24th Regiment which survived, but only just, the Battle of Chillianwallah in 1849. Its ensign and escort were mown down by Sikh guns, but a young private soldier dashed forward, ripped it from its pole and carried it to safety wrapped around his body. On the other side of the altar hang the Colours which were carried from 1812 to 1825. They are much older but are in better shape.
Above the small oak casket, which contains fragments of the wreath of dried flowers presented by Queen Victoria in 1880 in memory of those officers and men who died in the Anglo/Zulu War, hangs the Queen's Colour of the 1/24th Regiment. Very little of the original material remains, hardly surprising when you consider it was carried for 68 years and was subjected to the full spate of the River Buffalo when it was trapped in the river bed for two weeks after the disaster at Isandhlwana.

In 1989 it was decided that Brecon Cathedral needed a face lift. Contractors moved in and unsightly scaffolding soon spread up the walls into the rafters where workmen began to rewire electric fittings and whitewash the plaster. The Regimental Chapel was the last place to be done and I watched progress carefully so I could leave the Colours in position until the last moment. When the time came for them to be removed, I supervised the operation of carrying them to the vestry for safe keeping.
Almost a year later, the long business of renovation was complete and I gave thought to returning the Colours to the chapel. Before doing so, the contractor informed me that many of the wire stays that held the Colours in position were unsafe. These wires, two to each Colour, stretched way up into the rafters. I had a look at some of them and agreed that they should be replaced. I made the suggestion that we should use a modern material, such as nylon with a high breaking strain. "Good idea," said the contractor. "Who'll get it, you or me?" As it was a regimental matter and not a fair charge to the cathedral, I told him I would buy whatever was necessary. I then set about calculating how much nylon I would need; I was amazed to find that I needed about a quarter of a mile of the stuff.
Later that day, I went to a shop in Brecon that sold fishing tackle and asked the lady behind the counter if she had some very strong nylon line in stock. She asked me to wait a minute while she went into a store room. When she returned, she was carrying a box covered in dust. "This is 50 pounds breaking strain," she said. "Will that be strong enough for you?" I nodded and told her that I needed 400 yards. "Good heavens," she gasped, "are you going to catch a whale?" I do not know what came over me and why I did not tell her the reason for my purchase, but I replied: "No, not a whale - a sturgeon."
There were five or six men in the shop and I was aware of the close attention they were giving to everything I said. Getting carried away by the story I was creating, I continued: "It was seen at Caerleon last Friday and was spotted going over the weir at Abergavenny on Monday. It's expected to reach Brecon this afternoon or tomorrow." the lady behind the counter was looking at me with her mouth open. Eventually she said: "We get salmon here, not so many these days, but a sturgeon - we've never had one of them." I nodded sagely and said: "By all acounts, this one's a whopper; the barman in the Bridge End public house in Crickhowell said it was at least eighty pounds." I paid for the line, took it back to Brecon Cathedral and gave it to the contractor. "This should keep them hanging safely for the next hundred years," he said with a smile.
Two days later, when I was entering payment for the nylon line in my account, I remembered I had left the receipt in the shop, so I went around to collect it.
"About that sturgeon," said the lady who had served me, "you were having me on weren't you?" I professed indignation that my word should be doubted, but she continued: "Do you remember those men who were in the shop when you bought that line?" I nodded. "Well," she went on, "they were members of a 'Midlands' fishing club. After you left, they bought every inch of that 50 pound line I had. They were on the river all Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday, but they didn't catch a thing. You did me a good turn though," she said with a chuckle. "That box of line had been in the store for the last 20 years and we hadn't sold any of it until you came in."