Soldiers: Army Lives and Loyalties from Redcoats to Dusty Warriors. Richard Holmes
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him to send a follow-up patrol ‘but not to go myself on any account, although I wished to do so’. The pioneer sergeant, Sergeant Goodwillie – ‘very well liked by the captain’ – set off with Sergeant Rogers a little way behind. There was more shooting, and Rogers returned to report that he had lost Goodwillie and could not find the officers. Shephard was distraught:
The loss of my gallant Captain to the Battalion, my Company and myself cannot be estimated. He was the bravest officer I have ever met, his first and last thought was for the good and honour of the Bn, his Coy and his men. ‘An officer and a gentleman’.
We now know that Algeo and Goodwillie were both killed, and now rest, three long strides apart, in Miraumont Communal Cemetery.
The responsibilities of company commander and CSM remain distinct but interlocked. One friend told me of striding across to speak to his CSM who was chatting to the CQMS and the three platoon sergeants. He was greeted with a cracking salute, and the words ‘It’s all right, sir, you can fuck off: knobber.’ It seemed a bad moment for decisive confrontation, so he withdrew to his office, dignity narrowly preserved. When the sergeant major appeared later, the officer cautiously raised the issue of that last word. The sergeant major was aghast. It was the acronym NOBA: ‘Not Officers’ Business: Admin’. Another officer recalled how his own attempt to tinker with his company’s daily programme produced the as-if-by-magic materialisation of the CSM. ‘Sir,’ announced that worthy, ‘you command this company, but I run it.’ When the relationship works well there are few finer, as Major Justin Featherstone of the Princess of Wales’s Royal Regiment tells when describing the way he and CSM Dale Norman used to conduct after-action discussions in the Iraqi town of Al Amarah, scene of fierce fighting in 2004:
We shared what became termed ‘DVD time’. During tactical pauses we would watch a DVD on his laptop and take the time to reflect on recent events and discuss our prevailing feelings, with unflinching and disarming honesty that would surprise anyone who had not shared similar experiences; such a friendship was critical in enabling us to function over such a tumultuous period.16
Yet a steady support to his company commander can easily seem a tyrant to his subordinates. William St Clair joined the RAMC at the beginning of the First World War, and spent his time on the Western Front in a field ambulance forming part of the admirable 9th Scottish Division, seeing more action than most. His commitment to winning the war never wavered, but he was bitterly disillusioned with the standard of leadership, especially with a sergeant major who delayed his overdue leave and sent ‘passes for new chaps before their turn so that most of the boys are a bit disgusted at his attitude’. Less than two months before the Armistice he wrote:
Ach I am so tired of being away and the atmosphere of our unit is worse now than ever … It is a weary life this with so much in it that goes against the grain, perpetual discipline that any Tom, Dick and Harry can work against you if they feel inclined … I do not say it is unbearable, but oh my word, what a glorious day it will be when we are free and need take nothing from any man.17
With the creation of the new grade of SSM, a cavalry regiment’s original sergeant major had been renamed its regimental sergeant major to differentiate him from these lesser myrmidons. When CSMs appeared in the infantry the same rank title was adopted for the unit’s senior sergeant major, although ‘battalion sergeant major’ would have been a more accurate job description, for in the British infantry the battalion, rather than the regiment, has always been the key tactical grouping. And there was another important change. Towards the end of the nineteenth century, the army took up the navy’s practice of emphasising the status of key individuals by awarding them warrants, issued by the Army Council, and looking not unlike officers’ commissions. This process had swept up sergeant majors, together with other folk, mostly specialists like the Ordnance Corps’ ‘Conductors of Stores and Supplies’. Warrant officers were now set apart from the NCOs from whose ranks they had risen. They were generally addressed as ‘Mr’ by their superiors, and even within the infantry tended to deplore the term ‘sergeant-major’, though Guards officers call their RSMs ‘sergeant major’ and CSMs ‘companys’ major’. For many years RSMs were spoken of as ‘the regimental’ and addressed, in the comfortable fug of the Warrant Officers’ and Sergeant’s Mess as ‘major’, although when stalking their domain they were ‘Sir’ to all their subordinates. But different tribes still have their own rituals, as a Guards RSM explains:
A sergeant’s mess in the Household Division would appear to be much more rigid than in other regiments. We never relax. Warrant officers are always called ‘sir’ … But everything is kept within the four walls. Any misbehaviour or indiscretion is never talked about outside. That would not happen in a line regiment.18
In 1915 an army order brought SSMs and CSMs into the fold by making them warrant officers, though it elevated RSMs and their equivalents to ‘Warrant Officers Class One’ and created the rank of ‘Warrant Officer Class Two’ for CSMs. Warrant officers enjoyed valuable legal privileges, for the Army Act freed them from punishment by their commanding officer, and specified that even if they were reduced to the ranks by sentence of court martial they would not be required to serve as a private soldier. When he was a sergeant major, William Cobbett had feared that the officers he so despised would reduce him to the ranks if he crossed them: now, at least, sergeant majors were secure from the vagaries of summary punishment.
After the bruising experience of the First World War German army, the British were persuaded that their enemy’s practice of using selected senior NCOs to command platoons had much to recommend it. In 1938 the new rank of Warrant Officer Class Three was created, specifically to allow warrant officers to command infantry platoons or Royal Armoured Corps troops. The transplant failed to flourish. Only commissioned officers were allowed to handle official funds. At this time soldiers were paid in cash, and so WO3s could not pay their platoons, but had to get an officer to take pay parades on their behalf. Moreover, while officer platoon commanders were senior to the CSM, and thus in theory able (though it was seldom a simple business) to offer their men some protection against his voracious need for ‘bodies’ when fatigues were at hand, warrant officer platoon commanders were his juniors, and their men stood naked before his clip-board.
The rank was placed in abeyance in 1940, although those who held it already were allowed to remain WO3s until promoted or discharged. It has left at least one enduring mark on history. When 4th Royal Tank Regiment was hotly engaged in the Arras counter-attack of 21 May 1940, one of its tanks was commanded by an ex-circus ‘strong man’, WO3 ‘Muscle’ Armit. He had already destroyed two German anti-tank guns when his own gun was damaged, and the tank was hit several times as he tried to repair it. Eventually he reversed under cover, repaired the gun, whacked the jammed turret hatch open (an achievement for which his former profession had so well prepared him), and returned to the fray. ‘They must have thought I was finished,’ he recalled, ‘for I caught the guns limbering up … and revenge was sweet.’19
Portsmouth-born George Hogan lived close enough to the Royal Marine barracks at Eastney to hear the bugles sing out the alarm on the morning of 4 August 1914, summoning married men who lived out of barracks to report immediately. The ever-helpful booklet Trumpet and Bugle Sounds for the Army gave words to help soldiers remember the various calls, and alarm was officially: ‘Larm is sounding, hark the sound/Fills the air for miles around/Arm! Turn out! And stand your ground.’ But young George already knew it as ‘Sergeant Major’s on the run! Sergeant Major’s on the run! Sergeant Major’s on the run.’ His father was a sergeant-cook in the Hampshires and he thought it ‘right and reasonable’ to join the regiment as a boy soldier, but it was not easy to get photographed with his father. ‘Non-commissioned officers and men were not allowed to walk out together,’ he remembered, ‘so I left home a few minutes before dad and we met at the photographers.’ He arrived in France just five days too late to gain the 1914–18 war medal, and a long career took him on through the Second World War. He was promoted WO3 – a rank he remembered in its infantry guise of Platoon Sergeant Major – and added a laurel wreath to the crown on his cuff.20
When officers took to wearing collar and tie with their khaki service dress in the early twentieth century, warrant officers, who already sported officer-style