I’m co-presenting something soon on the thorny question of “hope.” Rattling around in the back of my skull was an anecdote from one of the several Special Forces selection memoirs that I have read (esp 20 or more years ago, but there’s a lingering interest). The incident in question is from “The Operators” by one “James Rennie” (clearly a pseudonym).
He and a colleague are in the early stages of the selection process to join the British military’s outfit of sneaky-surveillance types. They’re cold and wet and in an observation post, trying to keep track of the passage of various vehicles, to see if they’ve got the requisite attention to detail when tired/hungry etc.
… Even this was difficult for us because it was too cold for the non-watcher actually to sleep properly, lying on the rough heather which became wet as soon as our body heat melted the light frost. We wore the spare socks as gloves. God I was hungry – and it was only 11p.m.
We kept watch as best we could, but saw little in the faint starlight. At about midnight , a light crunch of footsteps behind us heralded the arrival of an instructor. He crouched beside us and lifted a corner of our roof.
“Just checking up on you lads. Nippy, isn’t it?” he said.
“Er, yes, it is a bit, staff,” said forty-two.
“Well, the good news is that, as a special concession because of the atrocious weather, I’ll fetch you two items from your bunk. What’s your order?”
This was more like it! We conferred rapidly. “A sleeping bag and some chocolate would hit the spot, staff! Thanks very much!” I replied, trying to keep the eagerness from my voice…..
The instructor held a small torch between his teeth as he wrote our request into a notebook, the pages flapping in the wind. In the beam of his torch I could see tiny flakes of snow driving past.
“Okay, no problem. See you in a bit- I’ve got to visit the other OPs round here first. Cheerio.” With that he was gone…
And, after they’ve waited quite a while, this –
For the hundredth time I glanced at my watch. 2.15 a.m. Suddenly, we heard the wonderful sound of footsteps approaching quietly from the frosty scrub. Here was the instructor back, kneeling down beside us, clutching a kitbag.
“Do you know, I wouldn’t be surprised if we had a foot of snow before morning, it feels cold enough for it,” he said amiably. “Oh, I almost forgot, I couldn’t get what you wanted, so I’ve brought you something else.” He reached into the kitbag and drew out a small, white paper bag and a glass bottle. He put them on the ground and rose to leave, saying “See you about this time tomorrow night. Cheerio.”
As soon as he departed we pounced on the items. As forty-two examined the contents of the bottle, I stuck my hand into the bag and pulled out a slightly soggy sandwich and an orange.
“What’s in the bottle?”
“Water! What’s in the bag?”
“A marmite sandwich and an orange!”“Fucking twisted bastards!”
We split the sandwich and the orange in two and ate our respective shares in a miserable silence.”
(Rennie, 1996: p434)
Why do you build me up, Buttercup? Well, in this case partly for the shiggles but mostly to throw extra weight on candidates, see if they can overcome your Jedi mind-tricks and so on.
marchudson.net 
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