“Sarge, why are we marching up this hill?”
“‘Cos that’s our orders Tompkins and when you’re in the army you obey orders. Believe it or not Private Tompkins, the old Duke don’t need to consult with you before he makes his decisions, so stop whining and keep moving.”
The wind howled, the skies blackened and the heavy rain made the going tough, but the ten thousand soldiers carried on marching until they reached the top of the hill. Only then was the order given to stop.
By now the storm was at its worst. The gale force wind was blowing the rain straight at them. Men huddled together tying to get some protection from the elements. Then, just audible above the growing noise of the storm, they heard the sergeant’s voice,
“Right men, grab your kit, pick up your rifles, turn around and let’s get going.”
“But Sarge we’ve only just got here. Why are we heading back down again? Where are we going?”
“You at it again Tompkins? Where do you think we’re going, sunny, bloody Blackpool? We’re going back down this hill, just like we’ve been told to. Now, stop your moaning and get marching.”