Poems about the Army Apprentices School, Harrogate
(Attributed to Terry Corbett, intake 54B, with some subsequent editing)

Sick Parade

Sick parade at O-eight-thirty, small pack on your shoulder,
Outside the Guardroom, freezing cold, the gale is blowing harder,
“I don’t feel well, I cannot march” you tell the NCO.
“This is SICK PARADE”, he snarls, “Keep all complaints for the MO”.

Stumble down to Hildebrand, towards the MRS,
It’s freezing cold, you’re feeling worse with every bloody step.
The sick, the lame, the lazy, reading comics, sit about.
A wooden bench, a lengthy wait to hear your name called out.

You march into the MO’s, “Right, what’s wrong with you?”
“My head is burning, my bones ache, I think I’ve got the ‘flu.”
“Stick out your tongue, now say Aaagh, OK that will do,
Two APC’s and M&D, there’s no time off for you!

Two APC’s and M&D, come back when you are dying.
Red sick report for you, A/T, if I think you are lying.”
The walk down for your treatment did more harm than good,
It would’ve been much better if he’d prescribed some extra food.

O-eight-thirty (08.30) = 8.30 a.m.

With thanks to  Trevor "Bill" Powell for this contribution.