Editor’s Note: This is another anecdote in the Yeates series, following on the heels of his very popular “Yeates Runs a Circle”. The inspiration for this story came after Rob Gundling reached out to us through the website, prompting Randy Smith’s memories of Rob “ironing his shirt while wearing it!” That in turn prompted Ian and a couple of other classmates to reminisce about their own ironing “misadventures”.

One of the features on entering Third Year History at RMC, fresh from academic triumphs earned at Royal Roads, was the shift in format from lectures to seminars.  This was a profound change as I am sure all affected will recall.  The typical practice, as I remember, was about a month’s worth of scene setting by the professor, followed by seminars presented by us, the students.  Having a last name that inhabits the tail end of the alphabet was normally a plus for me as I could learn from the blunders of all the Abbots, Gauthiers, Jones and Smiths before getting up to bat myself.  In this particular case, the happy day duly rolled around, probably in November, when I was due to give a seminar in a history class with Dr. Preston – always a slightly unnerving event in and of itself.  The subject as I vaguely recall was on Cardwell’s reforms on the Victorian British Army (only history majors I suspect will know about Cardwell, hence I provide this hint for the rest of you – 19th Century!).  In those primitive days one didn’t have the option of ‘dazzling and amazing’ one and all with creative and stimulating PowerPoint slides, video clips and illustrations.  One had to rely solely on one’s vocal skills, which at that stage of development were not of a ‘rare, high distinction level’.   The talk didn’t get off to a good start when I mentioned my inability to get a crucial text from the library because some “idiot” had taken it out and not returned it.  Turned out that the “idiot” in question was actually Dr. Preston himself, which not surprisingly caused the temperature in the room to seemingly increase several degrees . “Ah, yes, indeed, well then…”

To minimize the effect of any further Fahrenheit fluctuations, I took off my battledress and prepared to give my riveting presentation, albeit sadly lacking the insight from the missing text. However, I was a little surprised when I heard a murmur from my fellow classmates, until it dawned on me that they had just been presented with my ‘economical’ ironing efforts.  Folks may recall that on very, very rare occasions, scarcely more than three times a week, one might only iron one’s collar and the small bit of one’s shirt visible when wearing the battledress.  The remainder of one’s shirt looked as if it had just been hauled out of the dryer.  Well, mine certainly looked like that.  Much mirth ensued. 

Yes, I survived the class.  I think my conclusion to my talk was “…is the army really reformable at all?”  However, as my paper has long disappeared from the family archives, I cannot prove the point.  My fellow sufferers in the class agreed that they got more chuckles out of my presentation than average.