Author Jim Stewart remembers a moment from his past when, serving in the RAF, he became the target in an army ‘snatch’ exercise. One rainy evening two visiting trainee Commandos (known locally as ‘Turks’) intercept their intended victim on his way back to his barrack block.

THREE ROPE-TIES DESCRIBED
... Standing menacingly close, but speaking quietly so not to draw attention to the situation, they instructed me to accompany them behind a nearby shed ... which I did, almost without my feet touching the floor - them holding an elbow each. There, pushed against a low metal fence, my mouth was taped before I’d even thought of making a noise.

‘Swift and silent’ I evaluated mentally before I was suddenly uncomfortably bent almost double over the fence. While my feet were being kicked wide apart, the Turk in front pressed down on the top of my spine. This left the man behind me free to begin roping my wrists efficiently behind my back while pressing me into the fence with the full weight of his body. He took his time. My experience as an amateur Escape Artist automatically swung into play as I mentally followed the progress of an efficient square lash taking shape in the middle of my back. Like being in a car accident, it all seemed to be happening in slow motion.

‘Hands parallel with the waist,’ I thought ... ‘Each palm flat against the opposite forearm.’ ‘Unusual’, I thought as a fist from behind me gripped my hair pulling me upright, before a vice-like arm circled my throat.

I watched the stars and felt the rain on the part of my face that wasn’t covered with adhesive tape, while the end of ropes from my wrists were brought to the front and knotted firmly at waist level. Not content with this efficiency, the remaining two strands of rope were then threaded with systematic deliberation, one through each elbow to pull them snug against my body before the ropes were again knotted with emphatic finality below my rib cage.

‘All knots impossible to reach,’ I decided calmly as my neck was released and I stared mutely across the fence into a pair of piercing steel blue eyes .

Suddenly I was looking at the floor again, collar gripped firmly from behind. The athletic figure ahead of me was stooping to produce something from a back-pack behind the fence. I anticipated a sack over my head as everything went dark - but my head emerged out of the other side and I was standing up wearing an army rain poncho-type ground sheet. For the record, it wasn’t the sort of lightweight kit they use now. Back then a groundsheet poncho was thick khaki rubberised canvas with a tall collar but no hood; at front and back it reached to below the knees, at the sides below the finger-ends, it had brass eyelets all round the edge for when used as a ground sheet. It completely covered my roped arms I noted as the grim-faced Turk in front carefully adjusted the high collar so it easily hid my taped mouth. The body weight which had been clamping me against the fence withdrew slightly but a mouth, dangerously close to my ear, advised me to keep my legs well spread or walk like a duck for a week.

Having described their plan for walking their prisoner out of the main gate …

A woollen cap was crammed firmly over my ears until it almost covered my eyes rendering me unrecognizable to any passing mates. When this was arranged to their satisfaction my attention was drawn to the fact that ends of the rope at my front were quite long. ... long enough to disappear under the ponchos that the man on either side of me was now wearing. Taking up the slack they neatly demonstrated that they had considerable control. They also explained that one false move as we passed the Guard Room would result in my suddenly falling over ... amid much merry laughter. I would then be hoisted onto a brawny shoulder (hanging rather limp) and be carried out of the gate while the third member of our party remained at the guard post to explain how I (another ‘army trainee’) was the looser of a wager and about to be dunked in the local brook.

After leaving the camp they are now in a nearby field

Technically, they had planned well. Two more metal framed rucksacks had previously been stashed in the field. Determined that I would carry one and not give them any trouble, they revealed their objective; which was to deliver me, their captive, to an army HQ some forty miles away without the aid of motor transport. That was their Initiative Test. To persuade me to walk with them without offering resistance, they also described in graphic detail their plan B., which would involve them dragging a sack with me inside it over the entire distance if they failed to hitch a lift. I was abruptly offered a choice and, never having never been that much of a masochist, agreed to walk and carry one of the rucksacks. That, I thought, would mean having my arms un-roped. Wrong! The metal back-pack frame fitted neatly over my bound wrists and the shoulder/waist/chest straps of the frame also secured even further the already escape-proof roping. With the rain poncho back in place and collar up, they were ready to move out into the rainy night, even if I wasn’t.

We covered about twenty miles before dawn - when they decided to take a rest and some food. For me it was a relief to have the tape off my face - and we were in a field far from any houses, so they weren’t exactly taking a risk. My arms were totally numb and I advised them (not mentioning my special knowledge of circulation loss) that the rope should come off “At least for a while”...? They agreed and I was duly undone - a process achieved without them taking off the bulky back pack. As I gradually regained the use of my arms they showed me a duffel bag which could easily and quickly be pulled over my head and roped at the waist if I made any ‘silly move’. Food ready, we sat down to eat - me with hands free but with rucksack attaching me to a tree. I couldn’t stand up let alone go anywhere - so I ate.

It had stopped raining before moving ahead, so they stowed their ponchos - but mine stayed on to cover my arms which were now efficiently strapped firmly down either side of the metal back pack (I made a mental note that this was a useful piece of equipment).

 Further into their journey, the prisoner is left tied into an army sleeping bag and pegged to the ground in a ditch while the two army blokes check out the road ahead.

When they return, they have devised a new plan ...

The following half hour is burned into my memory. I was assisted into a kneeling position still inside the thickly padded sleeping bag (the collar still roped shut) and again tape-gagged - before being ‘invited’ to straighten my arms down my side and reach for my ankles. In this position I was expertly roped so I would remain there. These guys really knew their ropes - but, from experience, I knew that to kneel in that position the next however many hours was going to be excruciatingly uncomfortable - if not dangerous.

There was little time to dwell on this prospect because suddenly surprising things were happening: two metal-framed rucksacks, still lumpy with their contents, were being lashed along either side of my bundled-up body. During this complicated process it was helpfully explained to me that this was, in essence, a camouflage exercise. The shape of the eventual package must not even hint at it’s 'top secret' contents. The third rucksack frame was fitted above my head and shoulders in such a way that any head movement would be inside the frame. Found objects were gathered from the woods, anything to mask the internal shape.

From one of the rucksacks a plentiful supply of rope appeared - and so the covering of the package began. Now, I’m good at wrapping awkward shaped packages, but these two lads really got into the spirit of the thing. With three waterproof poncho/groundsheets and unlimited rope to play with they took their time to prepare what I’m sure must have looked like a very plausible piece of heavy equipment. I had absolutely no way of knowing.

The rolling from side to side to get the thick covering on every side and roped to keep it (and me) firmly in place, actually helped to postpone the inevitable cramping that I knew the kneeling position would produce. I was also very nervous that there would not be enough air with my gagged head inside the waterproof covering which was rapidly becoming more securely roped. But, they’d thought it through - and, speaking loudly into the dense covering, reassured me that they had left air-holes - and because they’d persuaded a couple of local lads to give them a lift in a small truck, it wouldn’t take long to get me to their destination - that is, as long as I kept quiet and didn’t give them any both - in which case the journey might suddenly take a lot longer and become seriously more uncomfortable.

The author, after a couple of other challenging experience with the two lads who arrive to help handle the ‘package’, is eventually delivered into the Army Base - but he decided not to tell that part of the story.

For more excerpts see Initiative Test

INDEX TO ALL 'STORYLINE' ROPING DESCRIPTIONS

Black Prince
Well Waxed & Waterproof
Top Ridge Farm
Houdini Connections
Man-to-man Stuff

COMPETITIVE MASOCHISM = a challenge rope-tie