Cadet Day 1957  by Paul Wilker

Late in the 1950s there was still paranoia about going back to war, so every boy in the Stratford Collegiate Institute had to dress up in an army uniform and march in a parade past real army brass. This was to give every boy a taste of what military discipline would be like. The event was called “Cadet Day”.

The grade nines had the last choice of uniforms that were made of heavy burlap like material which was hot and itched like crazy. They were way over sized for our pip squeak bodies. We looked like sad sack or dopey. The lower grades carried wooden rifles while the upper grades had the real thing. So with our sloppy uniform and our fake rifles we were highly attractive to the girls (uh no). The parade was held near the end of school term, right in the hottest days of early summer so it was miserable standing in formation out in the blazing sun for several hours playing soldier.

The next yea , in 1957 I decided I would beat the system by joining the medical corp. This required me to take a course in bandaging, splinting and applying tourniquets.  I thought this would be great because I could sit under a shady tree while those other goofs sweated while parading around on the football field. I thought “Who would need a bandage or splint anyway”?  As it so happened, on Cadet Day the temperature felt like 90 degrees and very humid. As a result cadets started to drop like flies all over the field  and we heard the pleas for “stretcher bearers”.  Another medic and I, each weighing about 145 pounds, had to lug off the fallen soldiers, most of whom were big fat guys because they had succumbed the fastest. I never worked harder in my short life and I nearly died of heat exhaustion and sore limbs. Of course, I got no sympathy from my parents and friends who chuckled and said that that will teach you a lesson, be careful what you wish for.

The next year I decided I would try something different. This time I joined the precision drill squad that automatically made me a sergeant. The squad put on a demonstration for the military brass of precision marching and rifle handling maneuvers. Being in the squad meant that  I had a real rifle, wore a kilt and could order cadets around, “Perfect”. I must say I looked smashing in my kilt and I will never forget the great feeling of marching down Ontario street  to the skirl of the bagpipes with my kilt swaying to the beat of the drums. I had finally found the secret.