Tag: foreign legion

Where It All Began 19

The Finale

We were in our ninth week and getting increasingly frustrated. According to an older guy, who seemed knowledgeable. The three of us Pieter, Otto and myself represented a kind of threat to disicpline. The legion considered us as Anglo-Saxons, aggressive, tight-knit, and capable of causing violence inside the unit. He said they would be running endless checks, and maybe we should keep away from each other. I didn’t think so. There was a lot of aggression in the camp and the three of us made a good team.

But I’d forgotten Corporal Yarring’s warning😂

A few days later Otto got into a fight in the shower with some Belgian guys. We intervened and we did well. “An Anglo-Saxon victory over the Franks,” as Otto put it. The next morning we were enjoying our breakfast when a corporal told us to stay where we were until everyone else had left. I thought at last we were going to be shipped out to basic training. Later we marched to a broom cupboard (literally 😂) It was cramped and there were some other new recruits with us. We waited there for two hours. “We are going to be kicked out!” Pieter said. The atmosphere was pretty gloomy. The new recuits said they had a bad ‘Gestapo’ interview, and were fed up anyway. So what was I doing in here?

Otto confessed he’d stabbed a Turkish bloke in a Berlin street fight, and maybe they had found out. Pieter related a couple of tales from his Rhodesia days, which I’ll never repeat, and if he returned to what was now Robert Mugabe’s Zimbabwe he’d be killed. He presumed this was the reason he was being kicked out. But I reflected on what the older bloke had told us. If a fight broke out involving Brits/Rhodesians and Germans against another group, the staff wouldn’t care who started it they would see a dangerous, cross-national brawl that threatened camp discipline. I recalled Corporal Yarring’s words!

Eventually we were marched past a hatch in a corridor. A soldier asked our name, showed us the five year contract we’d signed, tore it up, and told us not to come back. Pieter, the new recruits, and I had signed up in Paris so we were taken to the rail station and given a ticket back there. Otto? They just showed him the gate.

We went for our first beer in 10 weeks. Propped at the bar, we had all our gear stashed on the floor by our feet, and stood chatting… where to next, who was going where, suddenly one of the new recruits asked me where my mate was. Pieter’s gear had been at the side of mine and he’d been stood at the side of me. But now? He’d gone, it was as though he’d vanished. We puzzled about how he’d got his gear and walked away without us noticing, looked around the bar, and outside in the station, but he’d gone. Someone joked about The Ghost of Aubagne Station. It was strange, and I often wonder what became of him. I caught the train back to Paris, and from there hitched to Calais, at Dover I hitched back up north and decided to visit my eldest sister on the farm for a while. I had a plan.

Happy Trails, folks x.

Where It All Began 18

Légion Étrangère 3

The train journey to Aubagne was uneventful. There was the usual malarkey, like when someone fell asleep you’d take their socks off, put matches between their toes, and light them, or draw on their faces. We were, after all, going to be the future of a French highly trained, light infantry, and special operations force.😂 We arrived at the compound and entered the gates of the parade ground it was full of chaps shouting, “Any English?” I remembered Corporal Yarring’s advice and kept my head down. We were marched to a changing area, stripped and given new uniforms, spare underwear, boots and a cap. they showed us how fit the cap, and explained it must be removed when inside the building. Boots had to be polished before entering the building and we were to speak only when spoken to.

It became interesting when I met a former Rhodesian Rifleman, Pieter and a German guy, Otto. We became friends, although Otto had a deep hatred of anyone speaking French, and would shout “Agincourt” when he heard them speak. We found this amusing, considering where we were, and the fact that German mercenaries fought for France in 1415.

We had two weeks of menial tasks, tests and training videos. When I saw a video of Legion Combat Engineers in wetsuits, jump from a helicopter, swim to shore and build a makeshift bridge… I was sold!

During the second week I had my interview with what they call “The Gestapo” The Direction de la Sécurité de la Légion Étrangère. It’s a tough interview, he’d ask different questions and keep repeating them to catch you out. I think I faired well as I went from Blue armband (Week 1) to green armband (Week 2) if you got to a Red armband (Week 3) you were pretty much on your way. That’s when the wheels kinda came off. 😂

Seargent Legrain was an unhappy man and gave us a lecture on fighting. He said that engaging in physical violence against other candidates while in the selection camp has a zero-tolerance (there had been a few fights), he would not tolerate national cliques forming and fighting each other. We got our Red armband a week later. Three weeks later we were still there, whereas others had gone on to the basic training camp at Castelnaudary. Pieter and I asked our cheerful Sgt why we were still here. He looked at Pieter and said, “You were in the Rhodesian Riflemen?” and shrugged. “What about me?” I enquired. He stared at me. “You are his friend, n’est pas? You both wait!”

Time dragged on and on. One morning on kitchen duty we saw the chef shooting Blackbirds with an air rifle, we presumed they were classed as pests, but we were wrong. That evening we had two little birds each for dinner. Little Tommy said he thought they were probably Quail. Pieter and I let him believe that 😂

Tensions were high as they would be with around five hundred recruits waiting to be processed. There was a shop which opened when a siren went off. The problem was it was only open for a short time. The queue was in colour order. Red armbands at the front, then green and blue at the back. The problem was it stayed open for a very short time. So hardly anyone actually got in😂. It was another tactic to wear you down. Five weeks became seven weeks and the stress was beginning to tell. Otto became more antagonistic and Pieter talked about leaving. I was beginning to think things couldn’t get any worse.

Happy Trails, Folks x.

Where It All Began 17

Légion Étrangère 2 Paris to Marseille

We were back at Fort de Nogent for ten o’clock and met by Corporal Yarring. He showed us inside and took all our belongings. He told us to forget everything we had read about the Foreign Legion, especially in newspapers such as The Sun. They didn’t break limbs and bury people up to their neck in the sand. It was an army and they wanted to get the best from you. Then we were stripped and given some greens to wear (a bit like a uniform, they were ex-US Army) We spent the next few days putting white rocks around various places.

In between time we were transported to various locations for tests, prodded, poked and various samples removed. One day Ken didn’t come back. This happened frequently (not to Ken, but various people) There was a rumour we were eating them, but it was three years before Silence of the Lambs, so I dismissed it. On one trip to yet another medical centre I made an enquiry to our debonair escort Sergeant. “Pardon, où est mon ami Ken ?” He scowled at me and said something in French. Now, this has always been my problem with languages I can quite often string a sentence together, but I have no idea what they are saying back. He recognised my blank expression and spoke again. “Gone! You wish to go with him?” I smiled and told him I was fine. By this time I was beginning to realise that this was quite a serious place. Some of us spent free time in the library reading up on the history of the legion, and it was pretty grim. Their code is to never surrender and the Battle of Camerone in Mexico is where 65 legionnaires fought to the death against 2,000 mexicans.

I decided not to dwell on this, and that night we were going to have our hair cut ready to be shipped to Aubagne in Marseille. On our way to the barber (a room with a lino floor, and a legionnaire with clippers) I was chatting and our jolly sergeant, pulled me to one side by my hair. “No talking! Island boy. Long hair, sitting under palm tree playing with girlfriends eh? Well, no more!” Gave me a slap and pushed me back in line. I wasn’t convinced he liked me. We waited in turn while we all got our head shaved. There was a Greek chap there with a mass of curly black hair. Just as the clippers were about to reach his skull he pulled off a wig, revealing a completely bald head, even the sergeant laughed!

After two weeks our remaining group were summoned to an office where an important looking fella explained what we were getting into, briefly… he didn’t mention the possibility of massacre 😂. Gave us papers to sign and told us it was a five year contract. Afterwards I spoke to Corporal Yarring (he did like me, he was a runner) He said we’d do two years active duty, Djbouti if I was lucky enough to join the 13e Demi-Brigade. Followed by six months posting in Tahiti, two more years in Djbouti and six months back at Aubagne for administrative processing. Then go home or sign up again.

The next day our favourite Corporal gathered us together and informed us we were going by train to Aubange, Selection Camp at Marseille that very night. We were given our civvies and belongings back for the journey. He said under no circumstances get into cliques, keep ourselves to ourselves. There would be five hundred men there, only a few would be selected, it would be for about three weeks, and it was easy to get into trouble. Tensions would be high. The legion looked for aggresion but not at selection!…save it for Castelnaudary, and the sixteen week traing course.

Sometimes people give you sound advice, my advice? Listen to them.

Happy Trails, Folks x

Where It All Began 16

Légion Étrangère

Ken and I disembarked the ferry in St Malo. Using my limited French I managed to get us to the main road leading to Rennes so we could hitch a ride. Eventually we got a lift with a chap, but Rennes was as far as he was going. From there we gave in and caught the SNCF locomotive to Gare Montparnasse. There had been an interesting train crash there in 1895, luckily for us this was 1985, but Ken did remark about the similarities of the year, and so we left fairly briskly.

We knew the Legion headquarters were at Fort de Nogent, we just weren’t sure where that was. People we asked directions from, bowed their heads and scurried away. Eventually one chap took pity on us, told us the correct term was Légion Étrangère, gave us sound directions, and explained that people who sign up for the Legion are generally criminals escaping justice, hence the reluctance to engage with us. He said it was best not to keep asking or we may be reported and arrested. We walked for hours until eventually we saw the gate to Fort de Nogent.

To be honest we weren’t quite sure what to do, so we knocked on the door. A small hatch opened and a rough, scarred face grunted. “Oui?”

What do you say? Apart from. “Hello we want to join the Légion Étrangère.” The hatch slammed shut, and a few moments later the huge door groaned on it’s hinges and we were ushered in. Mr Happy pointed to a bench, growled something in French and marched off. A few minutes later a chap arrived. He introduced himself, with a cockney accent, as Corporal Yarring and took us inside. At this point I was quite excited, as some people had said we would be turned away at the gate.

What I wasn’t prepared for, was what happened next. I expected we would hand over our belongings, be ordered to strip and given some kind of uniform. From thence (i do like that word) marched to a bunk house. We hadn’t researched this adventure but we had seen the movies!

Corporal Yarring sat us down in an office and explained that he was full. My heart sank. We didn’t have the funds to hang around for long, and so my mind was racing with a plan B. Then he smiled and said not to worry (he must have seen my expression) There were a lot of recruits being shipped out that night to Marseille, and could we come back tomorrow?

Really? now I was puzzled 😆I had presumed, once we set foot over the threshold, we wouldn’t see civilisation again for five years. He explained the Paris Boat Show was in full flow this week, hotel rooms were in demand and expensive. Were we ok for money? He didn’t want us sleeping rough and getting arrested. Ken and I looked at each other in amazement, shrugged, and nodded. “Good stuff,” the corporal smiled. “I’ll show you out and we’ll see you tomorrow.” I asked what time and suggested 5am, I knew these boys would be up and at it early doors. “About ten o’clock,” he said. So we left him at the gate and set off in search of a hotel. Wandering the streets of Paris was fun and we found cheap accomodation in an impoverished area (the ladies on the street gave it away😆

We ate and turned in for the night, uncertain of what tomorrow would bring, but we were committed to the unknown.

Happy Trails, Folks x