Lieutenant Colonel "Hoppy" Hopkinson, our commanding officer delighted
in springing surprises. A real martinet. He was determined to keep us on our toes
One day in December 1939, shortly after the start of the Second World War, when
my reconnaissance unit was in north east France, he sent us on such a gruelling
exercise that it was nearly midnight when we tumbled exhausted into our armored
cars. An hour later I was awakened by screams of agony. Dazed, I groped my way
outside to find Hoppy scrambling on all fours with Mark, my pet German shepherd
dog, locked to the seat of his breeches. Hoppy had crept towards us along a ditch
expecting to catch us napping and had been caught by Mark instead.
"Get this brute off me," Hoppy shouted. As I hurriedly did so, Hoppy, his
uniform covered in mud and with a great rent in his breeches, drew himself up and
let me have it. "You were all asleep as usual." He stormed.
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