Historical Notes — Recruit Poster, Song and Poem

Recruit Poster | Recruit Song | Recruit Poem

Recruit Poster

The Mounted Police Recruit — Song

This song was sung “with gusto” about the time of the 1885 Rebellion. (RCMP Quarterly, Vol.10, No.1, July 1942, page 93)

Being out of work while down below,
I had no other place to go;
Friends and pals not on the increase
So I went and joined the Mounted Police.
We shipped on board the C.P.R.
Each one thanking his lucky star,
The medical test successfully passed,
Each with a government job at last.

At Regina we arrived one noon
And learned to use the shovel and broom;
Then they hustled us out upon the square,
The balance or goose-step to prepare.
‘T’would curdle the milk in any churn
To hear Pat Mahoney’s* “Right about turn,”
And ‘Point your toes, hold up your head.”
Till all the men wished they were dead.

At the riding school we fared as bad
Without saddles we wished we had.
While veterans looked on with satisfied sneer,
To see some recruit pitched on his ear.
We’d ride a broncho that would buck and jump,
With a shoulder stick set to straighten our hump.
The boys all cried, “Stay with him Pat;”
“Get on there coyote, I’ll hold your hat.”
All this for fifty cents a day!

* Patrick Mahoney, regimental number 1283, engaged in the North-West Mounted Police on 1885/04/21 and served until 1893/04/20. He was employed for the major part of his service as a Drill Instructor at Depot, Regina.

The Recruit — Poem

This is the story they tell us
And here is the reason it’s true
That there isn’t a Force the world over
Like the Scarlet, the Gold, and the Blue.

I’m one in the ranks of the recruits
We are still a bit clumsy and green
(In the words of the sergeant who drills us:
“The WORST that I ever have seen!”)

He told me I needed a hair cut.
I said, “But I got one today!”
He yelled in my face, “Get Another!”
Back talk to that sergeant won’t pay!

So I hastened away to the barber
And he trimmed close down to the roots
So then I got three days of night guard
Because I had dirt on my boots.

But I can count myself lucky
My punishment just doesn’t rate
With the lad who got two weeks of duty
For parading just one minute late.

You’ve got to keep everything polished
And spotlessly neat in your room.
The unfortunate laddie who doesn’t
Is good for a week with a broom.

The O.C. has weekly inspection
And let the recruits beware
On a service revolver or rifle
He can see dust that’s not even there.

Then yesterday on the parade square
I turned left, when ordered “Right turn!”
But I’ll find left from right on night guard
I’ve been given a week more to learn.

But it’s fun when they take us for swimming
Then next we’re to shoot on the range
So its back to the breeks, boots and stetson,
With all of five minutes to change.

We take lots of “physical torture”
And often go out for a run.
The Corporal in charge says a mile
I’ll bet you its five if its one.

“Let’s see you do 25 push-ups!
Come on! Are you babies or men?”
Till we’re heartsick, bone-tired and weary
Then we do it all over again.

And then there’s the stable and horses,
In such comfort and luxury they dwell!
And we’d all like the riding instructor
If he used us a quarter as well.

You’re bound to get one that is skittish
(If you’ve never been on one before.)
And I pity the one I’ve been riding
If his poor back is just half as sore.

There’s some of the lads just can’t take it.
They’ve been granted their discharge and quit.
But I think I’ll be one to stay with it
Though I might get discouraged a bit.

For I’ve got a hunch that they’re trying
To see just how much we can take
So I’ve made up my mind that I’ll show them
I’ve the kind of heart they can’t break.

And when I get through with my training
I’ll be one with that legion of old,
And I’ll take my proud place with the members
Of the Scarlet, the Blue, and the Gold.

Written by Bertram Graham Boutilier, RegNo14670, engaged in the RCMP at Halifax, N.S. on 1945/12/28.