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  1. Dec. 29th, 2018

    Higher up in these comments we talked about the talent possessed by our late Director of Music, Insp. Charlie Hendricks. He was one of the finest musicians both instrumentally and as a leader with whatever group he took out to perform. I mentioned there that he was also a gifted writer of poetry – second to none. I can still see him sitting on the front stoop of the log cabin where Robert Service lived in Dawson, Yukon when we visited that place. I think Robert Service had a tremendous impact on Charlie as he became quite prolific in his writings as the years came along. I think it is appropriate that I present here, some writings Charlie penned in late 1972 when the Force was desperately attempting to produce a Centennial show to take to every part of our great country. Fortunately for everyone, Supt. Don Saul was waiting in the wings to make the production the success it became. With the Christmas season still upon us and celebrations continue I would like to present Charlie’s “A Christmas Thought” which tell the true story of that momentous time. It would seem appropriate too that this month marks the 25 year since the Regimental Band of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police was terminated.

    A CHRISTMAS THOUGHT – Insp. C. Hendricks

    The Band was all packed with its horns and it’s charts
    Free from the Ride, with its horses and farts,
    Free from the busses, the trucks and the trains,
    Freed to do something that called for some brains.

    Eagerly planning to do their own thing,
    Bringing a show that was fit for a king.
    Playing the operas, the centres, the halls,
    Ready to blow, with some feeling and balls!

    Rehearsals were done, the plans were all laid,
    The writers had worked ’till their fingers were frayed.
    They all knew that here was a thing of good will,
    Not something that lived for the ring of a till.

    It was not for the money or glory it brought,
    But it was part of everyone’s being and thought.
    Well, all looked so bright and so promising too,
    That I guess they were foolish to think it was true.

    For over the mountain and deep in a cave,
    Something started to mumble, to rant and to rave.
    “It’s not good” screamed the monster, “It’s not good at all’
    These men and their noise in some damned concert hall!”.

    “Get them out,” shrieked the ‘thing”, as he lurched to the phone,
    Then he called out the Army, and his dirk he did hone.
    His face twisted grimly, his eyeballs they shone,
    As he muttered and cursed to his pet leprechaun.

    “Art Centres, aye, well we’ll see to that!”
    As he chawed his cigar and disgustingly spat.
    “If I have my way, and you know that I do,
    They’ll be up to their asses in horsheshit and goo.”

    “Marching along with their instruments high,
    As the cannons and horses go thundering by,
    Playing the music we all love so well,
    ’cause the old music’s best, I just know, I can tell.”

    “They’ll all climb aboard a magnificent train,
    And they won’t have to think because we’ll be their brain,
    We’ll dress them and feed them and wind them up too,
    And once every fortnight we’ll wash off the goo.”

    “My gawd they’ll have fun, what a show it will be.
    And they’ll play every barn from St. John’s to B.C.”
    But the monster forgot, as most mad beings do,
    That the contents he had for his travelling zoo,

    Were not robots or stick men or things made of straw,
    But were people with souls, who could bleed when rubbed raw.
    They worked with their minds and a skill gleaned from years
    Of practice and learning and frustrated tears.

    They were people who practiced a trade, not in goods,
    But a product of love, much like God’s cool green woods.
    So the monster who lived in that cave far away,
    Didn’t know what he did on that terrible day.

    But how could he know of intangible things,
    Of turning a phrase, and the joy that it brings,
    Of the beauty of flowers, or the song of a lark,
    These things don’t exist in a mind that is dark.

    So don’t blame the monster, but pity him more,
    For he lives in a world that’s not here anymore.
    Some day he’ll discover, some day he will find,
    That power can never destroy a man’s mind!

    So be of good thoughts, and be happily seen,
    But shed a brief tear for what might have been……………

    I often reflect back to our Centennial Review, created by a fascinating group of people headed by Don Saul, the team of artists from the Calgary Stampede who, through our Director of Music, Ottawa born, Bram Smith were instrumental in bringing in the Depot recruits to thrill capacity audiences everywhere we played. As Commissioner Higgitt was heard to say”We could have taken the show to the entire world”.

    A HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL AND ALL THE BEST FOR 2019.

    Garth and Eleanor Hampson

    • Garth, I was one of those recruits that Charlie so deftly wrote about. Memories of a wondrous April to September 1972. What a terrific show, what an adventure. Thank you for sharing it.
      Graham
      Steinbach, Manitoba

  2. Jan 11th, 2019 – Welcome to the New Year to all.

    This date, 46 years ago the Concert band had an amazing outing which was the first engagement ushering in the Centennial year of the Force. For me, having served in G Div. it was totally appropriate – I got to show off the north to all our musicians. The presentation was orchestrated by the Commissioner of the Territories, Stuart Hodgson, quite the most amazing entrepreneur. He certainly missed his calling as a world class impresario.
    He completed transformed the Elks Hall into Fort Mitchener in honor of his special guests, Gov. Gen. and Nora Mitchener. It was not just an ordinary piece of scenery. When one walked up to the second floor you passed through a curtain to be met by a gatling gun at the entrance gate of the Fort. You were surrounded by real log building fronts and greeted by the post master behind his wicket who handed out correspondence for the event which was then ‘franked’ to be sent out to friends around the world. The franking stamp existed for only the one day that Fort Mitchener existed. To the left was a log cabin for the Gov. General’s use. He was hosting Comm’r and Mrs. Len Higgitt. Around the walls were display cases of RCMP memorabilia and original paintings by Arnold Friberg, the artist every Mountie got to admire. At the end of the hall was the raised platform for the dance orchestra graced with a water trough filled with ice sculptures. Tables were set out for the banquet on china that had been designed with the 1873 crest for the occasion. Those in authority were dressed in the uniforms of the period.

    The Band undertook major touring in the Centennial year of 1973 taking it to every major center of Canada, both large and even to small settlements but the engagement in Yellowknife topped everything. It was a breathtaking experience to have witnessed that one evening. Even Arnold Friberg, who was in attendance was impressed. Several little hick-ups occurred during the evening which have been captured, once again, in the writing stylings of our late Director of Music Charlie Hendricks who really new how to ‘turn a phrase’. Here is Charlie’s “THE BALLAD OF THE YELLOWKNIFE GIG”. Enjoy!

    The message arrived by a courier sent
    bringing greetings one warm August day,
    “They desire the Band up in old Yellowknife,
    to be there at there Ball for to play”.
    “They’ll fly you all up in a big silver plane,
    You’ll be going with Rolly and Len,
    They will get you all there, we can guarantee that
    But you’ll come back we just can’t say when.”

    “Be out at the airport at 12:30 sharp
    For the plane leaves precisely at 2,
    Now how you get out there I really don’t t know
    So I guess we’ll leave that up to you”.
    So the men they arrived there with all of their gear
    With their coats and their hats, boots and socks,
    With their instruments, uniforms, music and reeds,
    And 22 wolf-fur-lined jocks.

    They boarded the aircraft and tied themselves in
    Then they sat there and fried until three,
    The the big bird took off and the fellows relaxed
    With a nice peanut butter cook-ie,
    With their guts in a knot and their eyeballs all glazed
    They arrived at the Northern Frontier
    The thermometer read 27 below
    But the lads, they had nothing to fear.

    For the people in charge had it all pre-arranged,
    It was really a very fine show,
    There were several nice men waving arms at them all,
    They were telling them all where to go.
    “Now you’re to go here, yes, and you’re to go there,
    You can see we’ve left nothing to luck.”
    Then they tore 2 big hold in that great silver plane,
    With the end of a large Army truck!

    The pilot, he shrieked and his eyes they rolled up
    And he said with a gurgling shout,
    “Sure as hell if I try pressurizing this bitch,
    I will blow all that’s inside right out.”
    So the bandmen all left, as the curses they flew,
    On a bus that sped off in the night,
    Little knowing that soon they were all going to see
    A most strange and unusual sight.

    As the men all prepared for the big jobs ahead,
    As we know all good mu-sicians do,
    There appeared at their door a big frigging black bat,
    And the bugger was 7 foot 2!
    With a great hook-ed nose and a shiny black cape
    It stood staring, then jumped in the room,
    Then it mumbled its’name and it stumbled around
    Like a damn-ed black spectre of Doom.

    My name it is Binks, from the Council I am,
    And I run every part of this show,
    So you guys just be here with your costumes and horns
    And I’ll give you the word when to go!”
    “I’ve got it all planned, see, with times and with dates,
    And I’ve put it all in a big list,
    So now here’s one for you, Gad, I really must go!”
    And he fluttered off into the mist!”

    So the boys all turned up at the hall the next night
    To a sight they had not seen before,
    Then were all told to wait, yes, all 20 plus 2,
    In a room that was 6 feet by 4.
    Someones’ feet were all jammed in a saxophone case,
    And a mute was up somebodys’ rear,
    And the coats were piled high as a polar bear’s eye.
    It was something to see and to hear.

    Then into this twisted up, horrible mess
    Of tangled up horns, coats and men,
    Came the bloody great bat in his flowing black cape,
    Someone muttered “Christ, not him again!”
    “Now 9:45 is the magical hour,
    But you’ll wait for my signal, please do,
    Then you’ll all march upstairs and start right in to play
    For the G.G. and Stu and Len too.”

    Well it may have looked fine on the Bats’ battle plans
    But in fact, well is just wouldn’t work.
    “I’d like to see Batman move all of us now,
    The long beak-ed, black cladded jerk!”
    As is often the case in these Great Master Plans
    Drafted up by some government whizz,
    He forgot to consider the size of Balls,
    The number of people that is….

    For the people were jammed in both upstairs and down
    And were still coming in through the door,
    And the Band was still trapped in its’ Off Duty Room,
    So then Dracula started to roar.
    “Just go out the rear door and go down the back lane
    And then climb up the fire escape,
    My security man, he will unlock the door.”
    Then he disappeared flapping his cape.

    So they picked up their horns and stepped into the night
    Which was now 57 below,
    And they stumbled along through the ice and the wind
    Knowing not, just for sure, where to go.
    Well they found the back stairs and they climbed to the door
    And they beat ’till their knuckles were raw,
    Then it finally was opened and there in the light
    Stood a real bright young man who said “daaaah……

    No, you can’t come in here through the fire escape,
    I’m afraid you must go to the front,
    But a baritone sax in the crotch changed his mind
    And he let them all in with a grunt.
    Now the first dance was for the G.G. and his wife
    And a special arrangement was done,
    And the chap who produced this magnificent thing
    Was out front, and he shone like the sun.

    He smiled as he waited to hear his fine work
    And he stood with his camera in hand,
    To capture the joy that was sure to be seen
    When ’twas played by this marvellous Band.
    So the boys started out with a bang, and the thought
    That “Where there is a will, there’s a way”,
    But the problem arose that 6 men were in ‘F’,
    And the rest of the Band were in ‘A’.

    “Do we take the repeat?”, “Hey, what key are we in?”,
    “We’re in ‘F'”, “No you ass, we’re in ‘A'”,
    So the brass all decided to play William Tell
    And the bass player screamed out “Wop May”.
    Now the chap who had written this great overture
    Gave a scream as he fell to the floor,
    And he jammed 2 zoom lenses into his ear holes
    And he pleased to God for no more.

    Well the lad finally made it, I just can’t say how,
    And the G.G. and all said “how nice”,
    While they carried outside the arranger, poor chap,
    And laid him down covered with ice.
    Then the Ball finally ended, it really went well,
    For you see, just the first set was bad.
    The most ‘oft heard remark when the dance was all done
    Was “the best ruddy Ball that we’ve had!”

    Then the tired musicians went back to their rooms
    For a smoke and a nice drink of gin,
    But when they got home they discovered that there
    Was just a space where their bottles had been.
    “Tabernac” screamed the drummer, “doze guy have rob us,
    And dey took all my dollar to boot”.
    So they all checked their goodies and soon realized
    Someone had slipped away with the loot.

    So the boys went to bed with their throats raw and dry
    And they dreamed of a native attack,
    But the chances were much like a snowball in hell
    That they’d soon get their rum and gin back.
    So the days swiftly passed ‘amongst the bats and the thieves
    It was time to go back to the ‘civilized world’
    And rehearse for the Art Center Halls.

    So they loaded their gear and flew off to the south
    And then over the prairies did fly
    To change planes in Toronto, or so they all thought,
    ‘Till the steward came on with “hey guy,
    We’re so sorry to tell you they’ve had rain today
    Up in Ottawa and Montreal,
    And its iced up the runways, you won’t fly tonight,
    So have fun now, please do, one and all.”

    Well now, that was enough to make grown men cry,
    Or a masochist shriek with delight,
    Just to think they they’d have to sit jammed in a bus
    For some 300 miles through the night.
    With their minds turned to jelly and asses to stone,
    They pulled into the city at dawn,
    And any resemblance to humanoid form
    Had by this time just withered and gone.

    Then they climbed into taxis and buses and such,
    To their homes now they’d all make their way,
    Then through the grey fog of a mind in a trance,
    They could hear someone screaming……
    ………”Wop Ma”

    EXPERTLY PENNED BY INSPECTOR CHARLIE HENDRICKS.

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