Macker (part 1)

It’s 3 PM in the afternoon of July 1961, and I’ve left home for the first time in my life to travel to a military barracks in Kilkenny on my first ever summer camp for two whole weeks of training.
A few months earlier – just after my 15th birthday – I had joined the FCA (Forsa Cosanta Aitiuil in Irish) what means ‘Local Defence Force’, which is a part time army. I’ve to catch a train at Kingsbridge Station, Dublin, in order to travel to Kilkenny city and at last the station is in sight.
I’ve had to walk the last tree quarters of a mile, as CIE - Coras Iompair Eireann, Irish Transport Company – are either on another go slow or are ‘not at home today’. CIE, Costly Ineffective Excuse, was a hierarchical, arrogant company with badly paid staff who only worked between strikes.
I’m weighed down like a bloody camel, carrying a heavy suitcase and close to death. This camel could do with a mind-
altering drink before he collapses with exhaustion on the last f
few furlongs. My massive, heavy, wool great coat is almost sweeping the ground, and I’m carrying a heavy knapsack on my back with my murderous webbing equipment wrapped around my body, attempting to strangle me. This gear was designed for a bad winter in Stalingrad.
My shirt is an old style grey back, a hand me down from the Great War when men were men and women were women. It’s made of sandpaper and the collar is made from ‘Gillette’ razor blades. In case your interested I have a steel helmet hanging from my neck, making a determined effort to choke me, and my face is turning purple, as I gasp for breath.
My feet are weighed down with what feels like a pair of ship’s anchors and I’m lifting, no – I’m transporting – these highly polished, ox-blood boots with a full platoon strength of studs on the soles, sixteen on each, with four metal horseshoes adding to the weight. These boots were never made for walking; they were made for walking all over the enemy.
I’m sliding and skidding along the footpath, getting uncontrollable under steer and over steer on both feet at the same time – even Fangio couldn’t handle these. At last I’ve arrived and collapse on a bench and wait for my train.

(to be continued)