On 4th July, Bicentennial Day 1976-A Union Jack, not a Star Spangled Banner flew over the US Military Academy West Point! How Come?

At Muster Parade, 4th July, 1976 (Americas big Bicentennial birthday ), at Westpoint US Military Academy, a Union Jack, not a star spangled banner, flew proudly over the ramparts of Fort Putnam, overlooking the parade ground, as the officer cadets assembled. Attached to the base of the forts flagstaff , was placed a note . It read ‘ Its taken us 200 years but we are back ‘ Two British officers had put it there, earlier that morning, just before dawn. I was one of them.

As the cadets, began, in disciplined silence, to shuffle into regular lines, for the morning ritual, they were watched ,at a discreet distance, by me and Mike Reynolds, a British officer from the Kings Own Scottish Borderers, on attachment, at the time, to the Academy’s instructing staff. It wasn’t too long before someone in the ranks, eyes elevated , did a double take, and clocked that something was not quite right. Whispers, rippled through the ranks , heads bobbed, and there it was, a resplendent, ‘come and get me’ provocation, fluttering in the breeze .It was a deeply satisfying moment .Pay back time, after 200 years of hurt.

Bicentennial year hadn’t been an easy one , if you were a Brit , in America. We had had to put up with a lot. Endless battle re-enactments, and endless fifes and drums. And then there was the re-writing of history. George Washington wasn’t, for the record, a general on a par with Napoleon. Arguably, he wasn’t really a general at all. The continental forces, aided in no small measure by France , still bristling from its defeat by the British in the Seven Years war, ultimately won, of course. But we should not forget that American forces were defeated in battle by the British on a ratio of three to one, in favour of the British . When I say the British, more accurately I should really be saying the Germans. Mercenaries from Hesse, Hanover and elsewhere, in what is now Germany, were brought in to do most of the fighting . They say that the victors write the history, it was ever thus. Challenging the American narrative at the time though, would have been impolite, bordering on rudeness So the Brits role had been to suck it all up, without complaint.

I really shouldn’t even have been at West Point, that summer. I had won an army scholarship to University. Part of the deal, in return for the Ministry of Defence paying my tuition fees and giving me a not ungenerous salary at university during my three years of study, was to spend a month training with my regiment each year. Luck would have it that that summer, my regiment, the Black Watch, was deployed in Northern Ireland , on an emergency operational tour. The province was quite lively at the time . Bombings and shootings were commonplace . Because of my lack of serious basic training-the full Sandhurst Officers Course came after graduation, not before – I, along with other undergraduate officers , was not permitted to go anywhere near northern Ireland, for our own safety, and indeed, its safe to assume , for everyone else’s.

The obvious alternative option was to be attached, instead, to another Scottish regiment, for a month. This did not appeal much , as, at the time that would have meant either Germany, or Scotland.

Fortunately my father, as luck would have it , was the British military attaché, in Washington DC. He was a busy man in 1976 . Apart from various military tattoos, that involved contributions from our great military bands, and of course our pipes and drums ,he had to manage increasingly deluded requests from the american military ,and battle re-enactment groups, for British soldiers to dress up in eighteenth century uniform, in order to surrender to american militiamen He busied himself with managing the americans expectations, rapidly downwards .

After some discussion, my father suggested an attachment to West Point Military Academy , roughly Americas equivalent to our own officers training institution at the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst ,although the respective institutions philosophies differ somewhat .West Point is beautifully situated in New York state , on a bend of the Hudson River and an easy drive to New York city, which was helpful.

As a sweetener , to seal the deal, for West Point to take on an undertrained student officer, my father persuaded his, and my ,regiment , the Black Watch, to part with an experienced piper to help tutor West Points pipe band . It all worked out well enough. It helped that the Black Watch was well known and popular in the States. Even to the extent that Jackie Kennedy had insisted that a Black Watch piper played at her husbands (JFK) funeral. The piper chosen for this attachment, Corporal Rafferty ,would later become Pipe Major of the Black Watch.

So, in late June 1976, I found myself standing on West Points parade ground (The Plain) with Corporal Rafferty to begin the joint attachment .The idea was that I would support the directing staff there in running the cadets basic training and assessment over the four weeks, that included section and platoon attacks, patrolling and ambushing.

For the duration of my stay I was billeted with a company of the tough as teak ‘82nd Airborne, or ‘the eighty deuce’ .They were a no- nonsense, elite unit, with a fearsome reputation, most recently reinforced through their exploits in Vietnam .(The Vietnam War had ended in 1975) They were the demo troops to put the cadets through their paces, acting as enemy during summer training and assessment . To be frank , I was a little apprehensive at the prospect .After all, I was a student and ,although I had done some physical preparation for the attachment I realised it was probably never going to be remotely sufficient to meet the Airborne’s stellar fitness standards. I had also been told that I would be doing everything they did. They were true to their word.

I shared a room with young platoon commanders, mainly southerners, who couldn’t have been more welcoming or supportive . The limey in their ranks was for them ,it seemed,both a curiosity, and a diversion . We bonded, over the month , exploring the Big Apple, and its more seedy underbelly .

After the 82nds reveille, each morning, we assembled for the Company run, in tight formation. I was relieved when the troops had a caller who would start singing “ Here we go all the way.. got to be rough and tough, Airborne all the way.. ,” or some variant . Singing and running are not easy bedfellows ,so although the pace was always testing , it was manageable. The run was routinely followed by other strenuous exercises to kick start each day rounded off with 100 press ups.

Above West Point and the Hudson River, stands Fort Putnam dating from revolutionary times. It overlooks ‘the Plain’. Like any Fort worth its salt, Putnam had thick defensive walls , but they were not particularly high, certainly in some places around its perimeter. This observation sparked the kernel of an idea.

Mike and I had to come up with a plan of what to do on the big day. We couldn’t just sit on our hands watching West Pointers celebrate and gloat.So on the evening of the 3rd of July 1976 , after supper, and having downed half a bottle of Mikes best Malt Whisky, we jointly hatched a plan.

We knew that early morning West Point cadets assembled on the Plain, for Muster parade at a fixed time. Whatever, we did it had to be witnessed by as many cadets and staff as possible and preferably at the same time. It had to have legs, and last for more than a few minutes. And it had to be an obviously British gesture, significant , but without being seen as insulting to our generous hosts.

Americans, we knew, loved and respected their flags, badges, symbols and ceremonies . We just needed to find a Union Jack that was sufficiently large and in good enough condition to do us proud. Not forgetting, of course, a long extension ladder. Fort Putnams gate was secured at night , and so we would have to scale its eighteenth century walls.

The early hours of 4th July saw us on a mini treasure hunt, in search of a flag and long ladder. Miraculously, we found both, quickly ( as far as the union jack was concerned ,remember there were battle re-enactments going on). We then scoured a map of the Academy grounds, planned approach routes and timings, taking into account, of course West Points security system-static sentry posts and mobile patrols. We worked out where the guard posts were , and a circuitous route around them and the mobiles routine. If we were challenged, the plan was to dump the ladder, but keep hold of the flag, split, running in opposite directions and RV at an agreed , predetermined spot. There, to regroup, and, if need be, to try again.

Raising flags, to the uninitiated , can be awkward. Speed is not the essence. Take it slowly or it will jam halfway up the pole .Mike, thankfully, claimed more expertise in this area than I So, I kept Cave and had responsibility for the worryingly rickety extended ladder, ensuring that it was sufficiently stable for Mike to climb. Because of vehicle patrols we couldn’t be around for more than 10 minutes, once we had the ladder against the forts wall. Mike had to be up and down the ladder in a flash.

Once the flag was up, the Americans couldn’t simply take it down ,and raise the Stars and Stripes . There were formal protocols to be observed, in lowering a nations flag. We knew this . So, the Union Jack fluttered above West Point on 4th July 1976 for several hours until a military detachment formally lowered it, with due ceremony.

We were not entirely sure how West Points staff and cadets would react to it all. In the event, they were marvellously good humoured, and took it all in the spirit that was intended, warmly congratulating us for our efforts.

Note
A few years ago , I came across John Keegans ‘ Fields of Battle: The Wars for North America’. Buried deep in its pages was a brief account of this incident but with no names attached. So, in a sense, this is an exclusive.