GUNFIRE
The British Army has a tradition
That is played out every year.
It is known as Gunfire breakfast
And is meant as a sign of good cheer.
The first Christmas I spent in the Army,
Was in Yorkshire’s vast Catterick camp.
I was posted as guard over Christmas day,
To patrol in the cold and the damp.
It was nine o-clock in the morning,
When the RSM burst through the door.
He shouted out “Happy Christmas All”,
As he slammed his black boots on the floor.
He held an urn in his big bulging arms,
And poured out large mugs of hot tea.
He said “Here’s a cup of hot Gunfire,
As your Christmas present from me”.
The Gunfire consisted of strong Army tea,
With a lot of rum added for taste.
I lay in my bed with my mug in my hand,
As I drank it, it warmed up my waist.
The RSM gave me a loving smile,
Which just served to fill me with fear.
It was like the smile that a rattlesnake gives,
If you happen to venture too near.
“You enjoy your mug full of Gunfire,
You’ve earned it, my dear little men.
Then kindly put the Queen’s uniform on,
And report to the guardroom by ten.”
Then he flew out the door like a vampire,
And we drank up our rum-flavoured tea.
As I dressed I nervously smiled at the thought,
Our Santa frightened the hell out of me.