Keep your powder dry...............

This anvil is tiny, but so useful. When working on “N” gauge model railways, 1:148, it proved it’s worth. The match has a dual role. Scale and a memory.
When you joined the Royal Marines in 1970 you first went to Deal, Kent to an establishment that felt like a prison. You were reduced to the shell of the individual they wanted then the process of rebuilding that shell, filling it with drive, determination and knowledge commenced. Our recruit troop was joined by four young men who had already spent at least two years there as Juniors. They were immaculate, they had continued their education, spent months on outward bound type courses and knew exactly what to do and when. One of these lads, Phil, was, on first acquaintance, the sort of lad you would avoid in a bar. My assessment of him as a psychopathic neanderthal was correct, however he saved me from an early introduction to pain, dispensed by the instructors. We were paired off to live under canvas together.
After our first session under the stars he taught me how to get myself clean, fed and my gear sorted. He then showed me how to clean my rifle quickly and save the last move, cleaning the barrel, until the instructors could be heard arriving. The two instructors were huge animals, one became a warder at Dartmoor, I pity his charges. Gradually they went through the troop, ripped them to shreds, then it was my turn. Oz looked at my kit, he looked at me, he looked at my rifle, minutely, then handed it back and stared at me, puzzled. The only people to survive this ordeal were the four former juniors and a few adult recruits. We watched as the rest were worked until they were ready to drop.
We were not allowed to use WD40 on our weapons, the instructors said it would damage the metal. In order to clean the deposits of carbon on the gas plug and piston we were shown how to lick a match head, then use it as an abrasive to rub away the carbon. I quickly discovered that hot water and soap did the same, much faster. As soon as we got to our units we noticed the tang of WD40 in the air when we cleaned weapons. That’s one reason why I borrowed a gallon from HMS Bulwark’s aircraft hangar. If it was bad for metal why did the Navy spray it on every part of their helicopters?
Ozstralia, 1986. I was let loose in Perth, West Oz for a week. I had been up in the desert area of the Pilbara for 3 months. I spent my evenings finding small bars where live music was played, heaven. A cold beer, people to chat with and music to unblock my ears. One evening, immersed in conviviality with a bloke at the bar the door opened and in stumbled a bum. He went from table to table and the room got antsy. Eventually he got to me and my new friend. 
“Hi, I was with 2 Para in the Falklands, wanna buy me a beer?” 
I didn’t even look at him, simply and quietly said, “My last unit was 45 (four five) Commando, now Foxtrot Oscar and make sure the door doesn’t hit you in the arse!” 
Shock, incredulity and horror, he turned and legged it. Robert didn’t have to buy another beer. People at the tables kept coming up and asking what I had said or done. I just told them he had his fortune read.