Collingwood's rugby team had been doing pretty well. We hadn't lost a match on our own turf and had won as many we'd lost away from home; a pretty good season all in all. So it was with some dismay that we read the notice posted on the clubhouse board informing us of additional training sessions and especially as these had been scheduled at 06:00 four days a week.

I'd set my alarm for 05:30 and rose early, dressed in my usual training garb, donned a pair of sweat pants and trotted off in the direction of the training pitch. A couple of my team mates had already arrived and we gathered together to watch a bunch of about 20 guys going through some serious warm-up routines. Who the hell were they and what were they doing at our training session? More to the point, who was that slave driver yelling at them?

The skipper arrived and berated us for a bunch of lazy bastards. We responded with the usual bi-digit salute and asked who the strangers were and what was going on?

“Oh, didn't I tell you? Those gentlemen are members of the Portsmouth Field Gun Crew. They needed somewhere to train and I offered our facilities. In return they'll let us train with them.”

Bloody cheek! They were on our ground and would kindly allow us to train with them: how kind!

A few words of introduction and we were into it. Up close, I was a bit taken aback by the sheer physical size of these guys. I was also a bit surprised by their agility; for big blokes this lot seemed extremely flexible.

The first part of the training session consisted of a series of sprints. At the end of each burst we threw ourselves prostrate on the deck, a whistle sounded and we pushed ourselves up and were away for the next burst. Nothing too strenuous, but after a few minutes I'd worked up a sweat.

Next we did a little upper body strength work. Being a prop forward, this was more in my line and I found it somewhat easier than the sprints. A number of telegraph poles had been delivered and we utilised these in our exercises. We pressed them and swung them, bending and twisting at the waist and stretching high and low. Then we were off again; three men to a pole, picking it up and jogging up and down the pitch lifting the pole above our heads and transferring it from shoulder to shoulder.

The PTI leading the session called a halt. The man at the centre of each pole had to grab on with hands and feet, hanging beneath like a sloth. At each end we held the pole on our shoulder and walked: this hurt. The poles were heavy enough, but with the added weight and the imbalance, they really made you ache and I was glad when we put them aside.

More sprints and it was notable now that the rugby players were lagging behind the gun crew.

We finished off with piggy-back races. The training session lasted around 40 minutes and I for one was buggered!

I didn't look forward to our second training session with the gun crew. I don't think anyone else did either. The session followed more or less the same format as the first; my shoulder was still feeling raw and had a strange yellow tinge to the skin.

In subsequent sessions we concentrated far more on agility but still worked on our strength too. The session times increased in length and it was tad embarrassing to find out the first couple had been cut short to accommodate our lack of fitness.

By the end of the third week there was no doubting we were a fitter and more agile bunch of rugby players than before we'd met the gunners. As the rugby season was coming towards its end though it's debatable as to whether the additional training had any beneficial effect for the club.

The field gun crew were in training for their big moment at the Royal Tournament of course, when traditionally a Portsmouth crew take on a Plymouth crew and a Fleet Air Arm crew for the title. The Royal Navy dockyard at Chatham used to be involved too, but sadly those days are long gone.

Their own training facility and spiritual home, Whale Island, was available to them again so the Portsmouth Gun Crew no longer needed to use our ground. We were invited to pay a reciprocal visit and were taken through the actual field gun run.

The guys worked us through the stages, slowly I might add, so we knew what we needed to do where and when. A second run, a little faster this time. Great fun. Finally a few of us got the chance to perform as members of their team and down the practice run we went. A marvellous experience; those two walls with the 28 foot chasm between them look quite small until you're going over them! As I said, marvellous.

Royal Naval Field Gun displays came to end when the demise of the Royal Tournament, but if you ever get to watch a field gun event live, or on television, just look for the number of plastered and bandaged hands. Slamming the gun barrel, wheels, limber, etc. around takes skill and precision; get it wrong and you're likely to lose a piece of a finger, or worse.