Another month, another brief for the Merton Dark Angels. This one is set by Stuart Delves. Angels, only of the Merton kind, post your responses below.
Background
After eight and a half years with the Royal Welsh Regiment, William Windsor, the regimental goat is being retired to Whipsnade Zoo. Although his duties have mainly been ceremonial he had been posted to Bosnia, where he acted as a morale-booster rather than a head-butter. William, known to the battalion as Billy, is but one in a long line of regimental goats going back to 1844, when Queen Victoria gifted a goat to the regiment. She herself had been given a whole herd by the Shah of Persia.
It was decided that Great Orme in North Wales was to be the grazing grounds for the new herd. So, co-residency if nothing else might have suggested that a goat
would make a good regimental mascot. Indeed there are two other Welsh regiments that have traditionally paraded a goat. However, for the Royal Welsh Regiment there was a special reason why a goat as mascot was and remains so fitting. In 1775, at the battle of Bunker Hill during the American War of Independence a wild goat led that part of the field occupied by the Royal Welsh.
You can just imagine Queen Victoria clapping her hands in amusement saying: “But of course the Royal Welsh must have a goat! A male goat naturally. Give them little Fahrad, he’s young, sure-footed and has a good set of horns!”
Qualities indeed that have prevailed ever since as a prerequisite for the next goat in line. The name however got changed straight away – by dint of fierce monarchism naturally – from Fahrad to William Windsor. And after an internship of squad-bashing and prancing on parade William Windsor is promoted to Lance Corporal; a rank he’ll keep till he retires. Except the out-going William Windsor was temporarily demoted in 2006 after an unruly bout of head butting (“Acting the goat he was our Billy,” said his keeper, Fusilier Arthur, also ranked Lance Corporal) but he was re-instated following good behaviour.
It is the task of Captain Matt Hughes to select the next William Windsor, once again from Her Majesty the Queen’s Royal Herd in North Wales. And here’s how you, choir of Dark Angels, can get involved: break tradition and come up with a different name. Post your solution, as usual, in an email. Don’t send them to Capt. Hughes. I think he might think you were kidding.
(And, if you’ve time on your hands you might like to suggest why he’s retired to Whipsnade and not back to Great Orme.)
OK, I’ll get mine in early…
The goat’s name should be Roger Butt, and of course as a thoroughly modern
goat he needs a strapline (they used to call it the regimental motto). It is…
Passionate about nannies
Neil Duffy writes
I presume that prior to 1914, the name of the regimental goat was
Wilhelm Saxe-Coburg-Gotha …….
Paul Redstone writes
The first thing the brief made me think about was William Holman Hunt’s painting ‘the Scapegoat’.
So I’ve decided to name the goat after him: Holman ‘the horn’ Hunt.
And his strapline: Idunnit
And that led to a little story, which I hope you enjoy…
Paul Redstone’s story mentioned above
The Scapegoat
HEADQUARTERS OF THE FEARSOME BROTHERHOOD OF THE GLORIOUS DAWN OF HOLY WAR ETERNAL (CRAWLEY BRANCH). THREE MEN ARE PLOTTING A DEADLY ATTACK ON OUR ENTIRE WAY OF LIFE.
THEY PLAN TO USE A GOAT.
Rafiq looked around the room, catching the shining eyes of Abdullah and young Hakim in the half-light. “So are we clear my brothers? We make our move tomorrow. The goat is being kept in the yard behind the kitchen where Nazir works. He will let us in with the delivery van at 4.25 am. We will have five minutes to make the switch while the guard is being changed.”
The others were silent. Rafiq continued, “Much is at stake and I want to be certain I can count on you both.”
Hakim looked uncertain. “But is this really the way for noble freedom fighters to smash powers of evil – by sneaking around with a goat? It’s not exactly going to send shockwaves.”
Rafiq held his gaze, eyes full of determination. “Listen, my brother. Our Divine Leader on Earth has made the prophesy and we must fulfil it. The Royal Welsh Regiment may seem to us an insignificant posturing rabble, but he believes they are the key to our glorious revolution. The goat is the very soul of the regiment, if these godless barbarians can be judged to have one. We control the goat, which means we can destroy them from the inside out.”
“But can we be sure that we control the goat?” said Abdullah, stubby fingers stroking his silky beard. “It is at heart an ignoble animal.”
“Brother, this goat is from our homeland,” Rafiq assured him. “And Our Leader has invested great efforts in indoctrinating that beast with our beliefs and values. He has planted the seed of our religion within it.”
An uneasy silence followed. “How exactly did he do that?” asked Abdullah.
“It is not for us to question the methods of Our Leader,” Rafiq replied, resolute. “Our destiny is simply to carry out his vision. But I tell you this, brothers. If those heathens knew of the passion and fury Our Leader has injected into that goat, they would certainly be horrified.”
The sun was rising over the nearby gas works. Rafiq embraced the two other men in turn. “The new age begins tomorrow, brothers. Let us prepare.”
——————————————————————
A MILITARY BASE IN SAUDI ARABIA. THE ROYAL WELSH REGIMENT IS RECOUPING AND RESTOCKING AFTER A LESS THAN SUCCESSFUL TOUR OF DUTY.
“Sir, we have to do something about the goat.”
“Not now Sergeant Major.” The Major sounded brusque, irritated.
“But Sir, it’s affecting morale. The boys aren’t happy. They think it’s ominous. They say it makes them nervous and they blame it for bringing them bad luck.”
“Ominous? Look, right now the bloody goat is the least of my worries. I’ve got two men dead and eight injured. Not to mention losing two helicopters, five vehicles and 10 cases of munitions. We look like a bloody joke. And to top it off, I’ve had word that Her Majesty’s coming on one of her impromptu visits.”
“Impromptu Sir?”
“Yes, man. It’s a scheduled impromptu visit. She makes a lot of them.”
“Right, Sir.”
“Frankly it’s a damned pain in the behind. And the cook’s giving me earache because there’s no fresh food for a ceremonial dinner. We can’t exactly expect HM to eat rations.”
“No Sir. Look Sir, about the goat…”
“Bugger the goat, Sergeant Major. I don’t want to hear one more word of this superstitious twaddle. Whose bright idea was it to bring the goat anyway?”
“Nobody seems to know, Sir. Seems like he just came of his own accord.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Sergeant Major. Now get back there and get the men in shape. I don’t want to be shown up in front of HM.”
———————————————————-
“Missing? What do you mean missing?”
“Just that, Sir. The goat’s gone. Disappeared sometime in the early hours by all accounts.”
“It can’t just be gone, Sergeant Major.”
“Look Sir, there’s an odd mood among the men. Dark and foreboding. I’ve never seen them like this before. Apparently they brought in Jenkins from the Fusiliers to talk to the goat…”
“Talk to it? What are you jabbering about man?”
“Well he was a farmer, Sir. He’s got a special way with animals by all accounts. His nickname is Dances with Sheep, but now they’re calling him the Goat Whisperer.”
“Why am I hearing this Sergeant Major?”
“Just bear with me, Sir. Anyway, Jenkins spent an hour alone with the goat last night. The men say that when he came out he was white as a sheet. Wouldn’t say a word. Just left and went back to his regiment. A few hours later the goat was gone. I’m just thinking Sir, maybe it’s for the best…”
“Oh yes, of course. It’s for the best. ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? I’ve got HM coming here tonight, and guess what – she’s expecting to see the goat she presented us with. Seems she was terribly impressed that we brought it into combat with us. You know how she feels about animals working for a living. And you know what the icing on the cake is? The bloody PM’s coming too. I need a goat, Sergeant Major. Get me a goat.”
————————————————-
“Well this is delicious, Major. Don’t you think, Prime Minister? One does love a good barbecue. Perfect in this weather. What is the meat?”
“Lamb, I believe ma’am. Glad you like it. Stroke of genius on behalf of our cook – we’re a little low on provisions just now.”
“Excellent, very tender. Tastes almost like venison. By the way, where is your bold regimental mascot? I hear he’s now a combat veteran.”
“Ahhh, he’s… being debriefed just now ma’am.”
“Debriefed? What exactly does debriefing a goat entail?”
“Well ma’am, he’s been through some unsettling experiences. We’ve enlisted an expert to help him regain his normal balance.”
“Really, Major? So even goats have therapy now? Well, I suppose we all need someone to talk to…”
————————————————
“I took the liberty of ordering for you, Tristan.” Sir Terrence Bradshaw had a tendency to take liberties. “The lamb chops are excellent.”
“Jolly good. So what did you want to discuss so urgently?”
“We have a situation at the palace, Tristan. And I may need to call upon your influence with the cabinet.” Sir Terrence leaned forward, speaking in hushed tones.
“Look, we’re trying to keep this under wraps, but Her Majesty’s not been herself lately. It started with little changes, favouring headscarves over hats for example. Longer dresses. Nothing too unusual. But then she started dismissing her advisers and drafting in people we haven’t vouched for. Now she’s making noises about restoring the monarchy’s powers and taking a more active role as head of the church. I don’t mind telling you, some of us are starting to be concerned.”
“I see. Do you think she’s going doolally?”
“Frankly, that would be the best case scenario.”
“And what does the PM make of all this?”
“Well that’s the truly baffling part. He seems to be encouraging her. No idea what to make of it.”
“Hmmm. Looks like crisis measures may be in order. Is this the Lafite?”
————————————————-
THE QUEEN’S SPEECH, CHRISTMAS 2009
This has been another difficult year. But it has also been a year of change – for Britain, for the world, and for one personally.
And change is certainly in order. The British people have grown tired of political corruption and self-serving politicians who exploit their position for their own ends. Of course they tell Us that it is not Our business and We should not interfere. But We ask you this – what is the purpose of a leader if not to shape the destiny of her people?
Democracy is a well-intentioned system, but it is not infallible. Over the years it has been hijacked by the forces of corruption and immorality. What Britain needs is a firm hand. Therefore, with the full support of Our Prime Minister, We have taken action to return power to the throne, with the intention of turning this evil tide and ushering in a new, glorious age of morality and purpose in this country.
We will also turn the Church into a sword of righteousness, integrating it fully into the fabric of government, and will soon announce plans for a major doctrinal review.
We mentioned personal change too. One’s own journey has also been steered by a greater appreciation of tradition, and We have recently been shown the way forward. We have decided to focus on Our duty as a wife and mother, as must every woman. This seems a fitting opportunity to announce to you that, from tomorrow, We are relinquishing the reins of power. Not, as many have speculated, to the younger generation – the young must be guided by their betters – but to a man whose judgement and wisdom I defer to. My husband, King Philip II of England.
May God bless and save you all.
Chris Davenport writes
This regiment will need a goat
To keep the men’s morale afloat
Lest luck run out. O, Heaven forbid!
Sure-footed, aye, a wonderkid,
Four-legged dancing patriot,
I give you Billy Elliot
Yes, I’ve been thinking about goats who dance daintily, and get teased by other goats because it’s simply not goatly.
Claire Falcon nee Windsor writes
[extract from Chester Chronicle, 20 May 2009]
Right royal rumpus in billygoat saga
The Welsh Regiment’s traditional goat-naming ceremony, attended by HM The Queen and HRH Prince Philip, was plunged into chaos today as thousands of protesters descended on Dale Barracks, placards in hand. With attention focused on the screaming hordes, security failed to notice a slight figure, dressed top to toe in dazzling turquoise, snatch the soon-to-be-named William Windsor and whisk him off into a waiting hot air balloon.
As the balloon gained height, the kidnapper revealed herself to be Claire ‘the Falcon’ Windsor, leader of obscure protest group, ‘True Windsors Are Common’. “Hear this,” she cried through a megaphone (though really she hardly needed it). “For nearly a hundred years we, the true Windsors of this great nation, have suffered injustice and repression. Ever since ‘Windsor’ was ruthlessly ripped from us, we have endured ridicule and shame as certain ‘faux’ Windsors dragged our good name through the mud that is Britain’s tabloid press. Now is the time for the record to be set straight, for justice to be done. We call upon Her Majesty to right this terrible wrong and restore the full honours due to us as the true Windsor family.
“As for this goat, there is one William Windsor, and one only: my great-grandfather, a monarchist through and through, sent to an early grave by the betrayal of his sovereign, King George V, who cast aside his Saxe-Coburg-Gotha heritage and stole the Windsor name. No longer could we, the true Windsors, stand idle, and see Grandfather William’s memory ridiculed by a beast of the field. Give us back our name – or Bruno the Ziegenbock gets it!”
The balloon soon disappeared from view, the Welsh Guards too concerned for the safety of their beloved mascot to take the obvious route and shoot it down. We understand negotiations are in progress.
Thomas Heath writes
Dancing goat? It’s a tabloid coup:
More taxpayers’ money down the loo.
And Billy’s windy ruminations?
Carbon footprint implications!
Greener models get my vote
So bring on Prius – the hybrid goat.
Neil Duffy writes
Acting the goat
Captain Matt Hughes had faced many tricky situations in his military career, from trying to control trigger-happy Afghan tribesmen to keeping separate bloodthirsty former neighbours in Balkan enclaves.
On the face of it, it seemed that selecting a new mascot for the Royal Welsh Regiment, from the Royal Herd of Kashmir goats should be a relatively straightforward assignment.
However, an initial conversation with the Head Goat of the Herd revealed difficulties.
It appeared that since the appointment of the previous mascot, there had been a strong element of radicalisation within the Herd. This had culminated in the formation of a “Goats Against War” organisation, attracting significant support within the Herd and there had been talk of a nascent trade union movement (“FLG” or “Four Legs Good”).
The Head Goat sympathised greatly with Captain Hughes. He was very much part of the older Goat Establishment, was never one to grumble, and took pride in the Herd’s close connection with Royalty and the armed forces. He was essentially a conservative goat. However, as he explained to the Captain:
“In many ways it’s the Regiment’s own fault. What started as a nice bit of symbolism, coupled with a little gentle humour has got out of hand and became fully fledged anthropomorphism. The uniform, the rank, being sent to the front line, and then the demotion have, over time, all served to blur the line between Goat and Man.
In fact, if you think about it, it’s more than a little odd that we’re actually having this conversation.”
Tugging regretfully on his snowy-white beard, the Head Goat then handed over a letter from Goats Against War, setting out a series of issues and demands requiring resolution prior to the appointment of a new mascot.
“To Whom it may concern,
We, the Great Orme Chapter of Goats Against War, wish to set out both our concerns and demands, relating to the appointment of a new mascot for the Royal Welsh Regiment:
• It is our understanding that the appointment is traditionally made from an exclusively male pool of candidates. Surely the Regiment must appreciate that this is the 21st century and that this example of naked sexism can no longer be tolerated in British society. Accordingly we demand that the short list of candidates be modified to reflect the gender profile prevailing within the Herd at this time;
• We have significant concerns regarding the ethnicity of the mascot: the Herd has been bred according to outmoded views regarding ethnic purity where whiteness of hair is looked on as superior to other shades. It is our demand that the Herd proactively moves towards a more inclusive profile reflecting changes in society as a whole, and that this increased diversity will be incorporated into future processes for mascot appointment;
• The naming of the mascot is an issue of deep worry for Goats Against War. There is a somewhat distasteful Anglo-centric bias in the naming process, which is reflective of a Western Judeo-Christian outlook, not necessarily in keeping for a Herd with strong Iranian / Middle-Eastern roots. Until we reach a mutually agreeable solution reflecting the Herd’s ethnic and cultural heritage, we demand that the new mascot appointee be known only as “Goat X”;
• The Royal Welsh Regiment appears to have an unhealthy tendency towards the militaristic. We find this both regressive and non-representative of the wider peace-loving goat community. In these circumstances, it is our demand that the Regiment seeks to enhance its presence in more general and peaceful community related activities and also guarantees the mascot’s right to free-speech in all political and military issues.
Until such times as our concerns are addressed and demands are met, we regret that Goats Against War will vigorously oppose any moves to fill the current mascot vacancy.
We are, however, open to engaging in a free and progressive dialogue to bring these matters to a successful conclusion.
Yours faithfully
Goats Against War (Great Orme Chapter)”
The Head Goat assured the Captain that it was not an option to make a unilateral appointment – he would not be held responsible for the general reaction among the Herd, and any potential fallout.
Captain Hughes was disconsolate. Not only did there appear to be few options available to consider but he was anticipating the difficulties that might arise back at camp in explaining the rise of goat democracy to his colleagues and superiors. It was going to be deuced awkward to come out of the situation with his dignity intact.
The Captain left the Herd and was slowly wandering up the country lane to the station when he happened to glance through a farmhouse window. An idea occurred to him.
The day of the Investiture of the new Royal Welsh Regiment Mascot had been a great success. The new mascot had gone down well with the troops. It no longer seemed to matter that the tradition of the Regimental Goat had been superseded with that of the new Regimental Pig. Especially given that the pig was a robust fellow, seemed delighted with his regalia, and was at this very moment enjoying tankards of ale and cigars with his new colleagues, delighting them with his ability to walk on his hind legs.
“Capital idea, Captain, capital”, the Colonel, somewhat flush-faced, clasped Captain Hughes by the shoulders. “If you ask me there was always something a bit Johnny-foreigner about those goat chaps, anyway. Nothing like a good shire pig to represent the regiment. And our new chap seems like the salt of the earth. I do have one question however. Given that we’re a stout British regiment, where did you get the name from?”
“Ah” said Captain Hughes, reddening slightly, “When I enlisted our new mascot, I discovered that he already had a name and it seemed a pity to change it.”
The Colonel replied: “Well, Napoleon it is then”