KEY POINTS:
Manpower is stretched," they say. "Can you do a few weeks back on the front line?" They promise it'll be all over by Christmas.
I used to be a regular in the Army but I retired from active service a while ago. They put me on the Reserve but inevitably in November the call comes again.
I'm a good soldier; I can't refuse. Here I am then, back in the trenches, the captain by my side.
It's quiet out there for a moment, but we know it's the lull before the storm. We brace ourselves for the next wave. We lick our lips and flex our trigger-fingers as we see a fresh battalion, just transported in, approaching round the bend. They don't know what's gonna hit 'em!
The captain lifts his trombone and I raise my cornet and, in harmony, we pepper the approaching commuters with a volley of quavers from Good King Wenceslas.
We're the Sallies and it's the Christmas carol season.
Some travellers lurch sideways to avoid our fusillade of festive cheer. Others return fire by dropping a handful of shrapnel into the donation bucket.
Some smile shyly as they drop their shekels into the tin. Others call boldly "Good on ya, mate!" as they pass. I try to acknowledge their gifts with my eyes, a mouthful of trumpet not being conducive to clear speech.
It's actually a lot of fun, this carol-playing in the city, not a battle at all. Most people recognise the uniform and are on-side before you start, even early in the morning.
The Salvos play the whole gamut of carols these days. It used to be "religious only" when I was a kid; tunes like Away in a Manger and O Come all ye Faithful, but now they've added a whole swag of secular favourites including, for example, the ones about mummy kissing Santa Claus and roasting your chestnuts by the open fire.
The Twelve Days of Christmas is in the book but rarely gets used. The arrangement is full of repeats and double dal segnos - and after six or seven verses you wouldn't know what day it was! One year in a shopping centre, the 11 lords a-leaping tripped all over the 10 maids a-milking, causing hysterics.
We get bored sometimes playing the standard fare. We can do Hark the Herald Angels Sing on autopilot so we throw in the occasional obscure one like The Boar's Head Carol or A Virgin Most Pure, hoping optimistically there might even be one passing by.
I've played carols all over the place; in subways, on busy street corners, in the big suburban shopping malls, in the hospitals and the sedate city arcades.
Almost invariably the reception is friendly and appreciative, though a punter in a pub told us to "piss off" in no uncertain terms one night. "Yeah, and a merry Christmas to you too, pal," we called out as we launched into God Rest You, Merry Gentlemen a bit more fortissimo than necessary.
In England, I've played outside Dartmoor Prison and heard lonely prisoners call for an encore. I remember too, the time I played carols with the Sallies Trad Band at a women's prison. Our syncopated semiquavers and, I suspect, the gyrations of our trombone player, so excited the girls our session was cut short and the women were locked down for an early night.
As we packed up, an inmate who made Schwarzenegger look puny and who was not inside for petty pilfering, suggested we play one more.
"Sorry," I said, "we gotta go."
"I said, play one more," she snarled.
"Certainly, certainly - what key would you like it in?"
So what will this year bring? More friendly chats while we take a quick breather between tunes; twinkle-eyed children dancing to Jingle Bells; a bit of by-play with a smart-mouthed headbanger showing off for his mates; all a backdrop to the steady clink and rustle of donations going into the buckets.
The Sallies will use the money helping thousands of people, handing out toys and food parcels. I'm doing my bit to remind the city of Christmas by blowing the trumpet in its ear. Not much, I guess, but it's what I do best.
Anyway, thanks for listening; let's see if I can manage one more tune on my fading old chops.
Ah yes: from me and all the other carollers around town, Feliz Navidad - I wanna wish you a merry Christmas from the bottom of my heart.
* Merv Collins is a freelance writer and occasional cornet player.
