Article by 3857 Richard Patterson
It was the winter of 1956/57, as I foggily remember. One evening, the Football team, after a successful season, was having a little party in the Staff Mess where there was a bar available. Perhaps we were now not being completely regarded as children.
It was Friday evening; I think I recall. It was a nice get-together but there was a Wing parade the next morning (could have been Saturday night and Sunday morning). If the weather was bad, the parade would be held in the halls and seniors didn’t have to attend. A bunch of us in fourth year were looking out the window occasionally, hoping for a snowstorm so we wouldn’t have to go on parade on the morrow. It was a clear, starry night. Not encouraging.
One of us, I can’t remember who, suggested that we should help a reluctant Mother Nature a bit. We knew that there was a firehose on a cart in a shed behind the Commissionaire’s gatehouse, so we went to our rooms and changed into other gear, including those big US Army parkas the team used as warming coats. Out we went.
One volunteer distracted the Commissionaire while the rest of us rolled out the fire hose cart and took it to the parade square. We managed to hook it up to a hydrant and started to make a rink out of the square starting on the East side. A third-year cadet came out to see what was going on and was persuaded by Roy Naudie (a Big man) that it would be better if he (the third-year cadet) went to bed, having seen nothing. “Yes, Mr Naudie. Right away, Mr Naudie!”
The effect was perfect. Wherever the spray hit it froze into glaze ice immediately. Sometime up the front of the buildings. Problem was we got onto our own ice and then the hose started pushing its holders around. “Lookout, Roy!” Swoosh. “Here it comes again!” Swoosh. Naudie’s parka was a sheet of ice.
Our fun was interrupted when a senior came out and told us that the Duty Staff Office had been called and was dressing to come. We reluctantly turned off the hydrant, rolled up the hose and took the cart back. The duty commissionaire either didn’t know or didn’t want to know.
Next morning dawned bright and sunny. The eastern sun glint off over a little over half of the square which was glaze ice from that strange storm, glaring into the eyes of residents on the west side of the square. Shelby Golab (the coach’s son) was having considerable trouble getting to the Stone Frigate on his bike to deliver his papers.
There was no outdoor parade that morning.