Tributes to the late Douglas Gageby have mentioned the influence of his Army service. It may surprise some people to read that he was a good soldier. He was well-turned out in uniform, a good rifle and Bren gun shot, familiar with rituals like "Rifleman to Rifle-bomber", adept at "judging distance" etc., - the skills of the infantry soldier.
A happy mixer in barrack-room life, he enjoyed the (mostly Dublin) recruits with whom he trained. A Protestant from Belfast with a Trinity College background must have seemed exotic to them. Their wit, their acceptance of the austerities and their innate decency interested him. Corporation houses had been built in Marino, Donnycarney, Cabra, etc., but Gloucester Street, the Gloucester Diamond and parts of the Coombe and Gardiner Street still festered. The new State had huge problems.
Such areas had been producing soldiers for 100 years. Family lore had prepared the recruits for military life and barrack-rooms were probably better than many of their homes. Their accents were "straight out of O'Casey", as Douglas said. He liked them and they accepted him, mispronouncing his name and respecting his readiness to "muck in".
He believed that the Army was "an achievement", created from heterogeneous elements during the War of Independence, the Civil War and the early days of the State. One might say that it was necessarily short of funds. There was much else to be done.
The men who created the Army made the best of what they found. Many were still serving in the 1940s - impressive men to whom the "short, sharp slap of authority" came naturally. Douglas knew and respected them.
Because he had studied German, he was posted to Intelligence after recruit and later, after officer training. He supervised the correspondence of the Luftwaffe air crews interned in the Curragh and did interpreting and translating.
He admired Dan Bryan, the shrewd, if unlikely-looking, Director of Intelligence. He spoke little of his duties, but referred to Bryan's "jackdaw memory" for people and details that usually proved accurate. For small countries, war can be very terrible. They don't have impassable moats or safe "Blighties". They may be scapegoated (Belgium) or betrayed (Poland). Hectoring lecturers should remember this.
"Potential officer" training took longer and was more rigorous by 1943. There were preliminary courses in Commands for selected NCOs and privates. Those considered suitable went to the Potential Officer Training Wing in the Military College. I met Douglas during the preliminary course in Cathal Brugha Barracks in early 1943.
In the Military College, the Commandant addressed us and said that not all would be commissioned. His staff would drive us hard, on the assumption that we were as fit as we should be. We were to run, not walk, when outdoors. We were to wear helmets, boots and packs and carry our rifles at all times. Personal turn-out was to be perfect.
Those found unfit or otherwise unsuitable would be returned to their units immediately. Pubs were out of bounds.
The aim was to make us capable of leading young soldiers by example and precept. It was intended to ensure that lives were not lost by officer unfitness or incompetence. Col Gallagher was a man one took seriously.
And so, what Douglas called "the days of pounding boots" began. Cross-country runners like me enjoyed it and Douglas had no difficulty. I recall running from the college to Connelford on the Liffey, near Newbridge. After rapid orders we went straight in wearing boots, uniforms, "jampot" leggings, helmets - the lot. I was given the light lead rope. It was attached to a heavier one that it pulled across. The platoon crossed beside the heavy rope and Douglas was the leading swimmer. I looked back and can still see the sunshine on his helmet and half submerged face, alive with the joy we felt at being young, fit and doing something taxing.
The college officer and NCO instructors were excellent. Tough in body and mind themselves, they demanded high standards and ensured they got them.
Above all, Comdt Charlie McGoohan, the course commander, set the pace. A superb trainer, twice our age, he ran with us everywhere. Douglas, always interested in unusual people, found him fascinating. Years later, we invited him to lunch in McKee Barracks. A three-person lunch quickly expanded as many officers, including the Chief of Staff, asked to be associated. Charlie arrived, erect, spare of body and sparse of words as ever. We were showing our respect, but he showed similar respect for Douglas. It was some party.
Douglas was a member of the Military History Society and an Honorary Member of McKee Mess. He lectured to the society on his father-in-law, the remarkable Sean Lester, whose biography he wrote. The death of his wife, Dorothy, was a great blow to him. I remember them together, 60 years ago. Beautiful, with her hair in what I think was called a snood; her smile lit the room.
Towards the end, if he was drowsy, I found that he could become alert at some remembered lines of German poetry. I started Goethe's Nachtlied one still night and stopped, feeling the last few lines were inappropriate. But he finished them strongly:
Die Vogelein schweigen im Walde,
Warte nur, balde,
Ruhest du auch.
Much has been written about his achievements. To me he was a good friend.