It's A Long Way to Tipperary - September 2005

[Nace Bilby]

It’s A Long Way to Tipperary - September 2005​

“It’s a long way to Tipperary, it’s a long way to go.” Nace Bilby sang to himself, seeing condensation forming in the air as he marched in the late autumn air. Through his red tinted headlamp he looked at his map and shot the bearing towards the point he had to find.

He hiked down the steep hill, one of many such features of the Brecon Beacons, some especially inhospitable terrain. It was where the United Kingdom’s Special Air Service held its Selection. He felt the straps of the bergen (A/N: British slang for backpack) digging into his shoulders as he continued his hike. There was at least fifty five pounds worth of kit in the backpack and he took a sip from the CamelBak hydration tube, ruefully noting the weight of water wasn't counted as the final fifty five pounds the Bergen was to weigh at the end of this exercise.

Reaching the valley floor, he started to attack the incline. Going around on the ridge wasn’t an option. From his look at his map he knew it was at least three to five kilometers out of the way, with another three to five kilometers to get back on track.

“It’s a long way way to Tipperary, to the sweetest girl I know.” Nace continued as he hiked up the incline. To think I hated that tune when I was a lad and now all I can do is sing it.

Briefly thoughts of Evey entered his mind, wondering what she was up to at the moment. Likely sleeping, unlike me. No rest for the wicked...

Putting thoughts of sleeping beside his slumbering beloved before glancing at his watch, hoping he wasn’t going too slow. He stopped after hiking up the next incline over. That hill had slowed his progress, taking almost an hour longer than he’d planned. Likely going to have to run down the sodding thing once at the top. Nace thought.

However running might well run the risk of injury. But I have to make sodding time. Nace thought. In the foggy dawn Nace thought to himself. Bollocks to this. I have to run to make the sodding time hack.

"Good bye Piccadily, farewell Leicster Square. It's a long long way to Tipperary, and my heart's right there."

And if I step on a sodding rock wrong or find a bloody hole it's goodbye to my chances at Selection and likely a broken ankle. Sodding got lost on that last fire break...Nace thought as he took a deep breath and hoped to God he wasn't going to injure himself racing down that decline.

Finally trudging up the last incline, finding the point.

"Oi," a London accent sounded, "You one of the Territorial (reserve) lads?"

"Yes staff." Nace replied.

"Right. Show me where you are on the map..." The sergeant said.

Nace blinked twice then pulled out his map and pointed to an area just under the crest of the hill he had just trudged up.

"Right. Now, head to this point here..."

Nace wrote down the coordinates. Last few kilometers. And it was half down and half up hill.

Wanker. Nace thought and as he headed for his last point the lyrics echoed in his head.

"It's a long way to Tipperary. It's a long way to go..." Nace grunted as he walked into the cold air of the autumn.