Getting Started

After a quick week of training at the Horse Palace, with Sgt. Quinn as

instructor, I was posted to Mounted Headquarters. It took awhile to fit in and

get used to the guys and the horses I was working with but over time things

began to fall in place and I settled down to a routine. Because I was the new

kid on the block, I wasn’t assigned to any particular mount. Instead I was

used as a relief rider taking out any horse that needed exercise.

The Inspector’s office, at the rear of the old station, was situated such

that he could watch out his window and observe each constable as they left

the stable and rode their horses down the street on the way to their beats. I

was always conscious of his gaze as I passed under his window. Some of the

younger horses could be pretty frisky and when they first hit the street, it

took a bit of clever handling. I always acted instinctively and wasn’t shy

about administering a little tough love when I felt that they needed it and

was never quite sure if he approved of my techniques.

As it turned out there was one area where I was sure that we shared

some common ground. Somehow I had gotten my hands on a copy of the

British Cavalry Manual and found it full of fascinating information, much of

it applicable to the kind of work we were doing. I showed it to the Inspector

one lunch hour and as he thumbed through it, I could tell he was going over

old territory. Occasionally, when I didn’t understand certain pertinent and

useful sections of the book like those concerning lance or saber drill, I would

ask him to clarify things for me. You see, he was the ‘real deal’-- he had

served in the Royal Canadian Dragoons, a traditional cavalry unit until they

gave up their horses in 1940. He was a wealth of information and over the

ensuing weeks it became a bit of a game with me trying to stump him and

him quizzing me on what I was learning.

One day as I rode by his open office window he hailed me, “Put up

your horse and come in here. I want to talk to you.” As I turned the horse

around and headed for the stable, I mentally went over all the various

shenanigans I had been up to lately. As amicable as our relationship had

been recently, I still remembered several occasions when I stood in front of

his desk with hat in hand lying my way out of a tricky situation. I stamped

my feet to dislodge any hidden manure from the bottom of my boots as I left

the stable and made my way up to his office and stopped at what was now

becoming a familiar spot on his carpet.

When he pointed to a chair opposite him and said, “Sit down,” I began

to relax. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad.

“It’s like this,” he said, “we’re getting more new unbroken horses than

we can keep up with down at the Exhibition grounds and I’d like you to

assist with the training.” I was about to object but he raised his hand to stop

me and continued, “I’ve seen you handling the horses and I know you can do

it.” Then he went on to say, “We’re also getting eight new men starting on

Monday, and I can’t afford to take a patrol officer off the street to train them

so I want you to act as Riding Instructor for a while as well.” I didn’t know

what to say. The old guy didn’t appear to be joking. My mind started to go a

mile a minute. Hell, I was only twenty-one and had only been on the

Mounted Unit for a few short months. Most of the men I would be training

would be much older than me. How would the more senior guys who had

been passed over for this prestigious job react when they heard the news?

As it turned out I didn’t have a chance to voice any of these concerns

because before I could speak the Inspector said, “Take the rest of the day off

and pack up your gear. I want your ass down at the Horse Palace first thing

Monday morning.” That’s when I realized that I hadn’t been getting an offer.

I had been receiving an order so I simply rose, touched the brim of my hat

and said, “Yes, Sir!” Apparently God had granted me the serenity to accept

the things I could not change, besides, I was really flattered.

I spent the weekend mulling over how I was going to handle the

situation, referring to my dog-eared cavalry manual, making some

preliminary lesson plans and detailed drawings of the Universal Saddle and

the special bridle we used plus illustrated instructions for lance drill. This

sort of training would be a first for the Unit and I wasn’t sure how the new

men and for that matter, the old hands observing it would react. Anyway I

knew I had the Inspector behind me and as far as I was concerned, it was all

or nothing. As it turned out the students were more than receptive to intense

training they received and most of the regular officers seemed to approve.

The one exception was a cranky old sergeant who seemed determined to

discredit my training methods and me. However he was hamstrung by the

Inspector’s enthusiasm and all he could do was watch and shake his head.

The Inspector always seemed particularly pleased as he watched me

drill the new recruits and teach them the traditional cavalry maneuvers I had

been studying. In fact, his enthusiasm was such that I began to wonder about

his sanity-- was he using me as a tool to relive his glory days in the cavalry?

I began to be really concerned when one day, near the end of the training

session, a truckload of authentic bamboo cavalry lances arrived at the riding

school.

Now the Police Department had a full time M.D. but as far as I knew

we did not have a resident psychiatrist so I decided to have a one on one chat

with Big Ed myself and see just how far his dementia had progressed. We

met at his office and not wanting to upset him further, I eased into the matter

of the lances. I tried to soothe him with a little sympathetic small talk but he

became impatient with me and cut me short. Looking at me with a peculiar,

quizzical look on his face that I interpreted as another sure sign of his

affliction, he shouted, “What the hell do you want?” I decided on the direct

approach, “So, what’s with the lances?” He just stared at me for the longest

time without speaking and while he did, my mind raced with visions of

Mounted Policemen running amuck in the streets of Toronto skewering

felons. Leaning forward and in a low voice, he confided in me. “This is

strictly confidential and you have to keep what I’m about to tell you to

yourself.” I nodded agreement and he continued, “As you know, we are

coming up to Canada’s Centennial year and the Department has approved a

promotion that I have suggested. We are going to train and feature a musical

ride.” “Just as I suspected, Sir,” I said as I rose and took my leave.

I spent several evenings, after hours and alone, in the riding ring

practicing all the tricky requirements of the British Cavalry’s lance drill. Just

getting on and off a horse with an eight-foot spear in your hand is no easy

feat, never mind all the other maneuvers required. Luckily, I had the help of

Roy, a quiet old gelding that stood quietly and put up with the odd poke and

a lot of fumbling on my part. Nobody was happier than Roy when I finally

began to get the hang of it.

I was by no means an expert when I first began teaching the drills to

my class but after a while we were all prancing around the ring like real

Bengal Lancers. We all became fairly proficient with our newly acquired

weapons. We held them high and perpendicular in the ‘Carry’ mode or

charged from one end of the arena to other with our lances ‘Engaged’ and

thrust forward. Fortunately no one was impaled during these sessions.

Somehow the members of the class found out that they might be

touring with a musical ride. I can’t imagine who might have leaked that

information, but they became very excited with the possibility. I told them

that if they wanted to have a place on the ‘ride’ they would have to

dramatically improve their riding skills in the short time we had left and that

I was more than willing to help but it might not be the ‘ride in the park’ they

had been experiencing. I told them that if they were willing I would go

strictly by the cavalry manual that used the make or break techniques that in

the past turned out or destroyed troopers in a very short time. I explained

that although I didn’t outrank any of them, they would have to treat me as if

I was an officer, and obey my orders to the letter, if this scheme was going

to work. “Are you willing to do this?” I ask. They looked at one another then

clicked their heels and saluted.

I had heard that power could corrupt and turn almost anyone into a

tyrant but I always thought that I would be immune to that sort of thing.

That’s why I was surprised when I found myself enjoying my new role as a

ruthless drill instructor. I worked the class so hard and often at the sitting

and rising trot that when they broke for lunch their asses were so sore that

they had to eat standing up. When one of them would fall off his horse

while cantering around the ring, I would shout, almost scream, “Who told

you to dismount?” I wasn’t satisfied unless they all went home with the

insides of their knees bleeding. I began to think that I might be acting a little

over the top when the boys began to draw it subtly to my attention by doing

things like lining up in front of me and thrusting their lances in the air in

unison and shouting “ Zieg Heil! Zeig Heil! or constantly addressing me as

‘Captain Hindgrinder’. However, it was when I started getting calls from

their wives saying that I was destroying their sex lives that I started

reassessing the situation. After all, as my father used to say, “There’s a

difference between scratching your ass and tearing it all to hell.” Anyway, I

lightened up and when the class finished we parted friends and all met again

when we participated in the Musical Ride.