He was in the Northumberland Fusiliers

Conversations overheard in pubs whilst silently drinking are often very interesting, especially those overheard in country pubs.
I remember some years ago when I was in Allendale Town at the King’s Head, a Marston’s pub which serves a reliably fine pint, that I overheard a tale about a certain member of the Royal family who had just days before visited the place. This HRH, who is very interested in farming and country affairs, had been looking around the estate of Lord Allendale and had called at the King’s Head to have a crack on with the local farmers before leaving the area.
A beefy, grizzled old farmer in a check shirt was telling the tale:
“Aye, the lad was talking to Big Alisdair and he was really enjoying the conversation, but this poncy fella kept coming in and saying things like ‘really, sir, we must be leaving’”.
Growls and grumbles all round.
“Well, ye knaa, the lad’s really knowledgeable an’ all, he knaa’s what he’s talking about”.
Nods and general mutters of agreement.
“But this poncy bloke kept spoiling things and finally he gets hold of the lad and kind of hustles him out the bar.”
Shocked exclamations and roars of “Nivva in the world!”
“Wye, Big Alisdair followed them out and, after the lad had driven off, he gets aholt of this poncy bloke by the scruff of the neck and puts him up against the wall. ‘Ye leave that lad alone in future, he’s a friend of mine’ he says, an’ ye know what?”
“What?”
“The poncy bloke pulls his jacket apart and he’s got a gun on.”
Sensation all round and cries of disbelief.
“Wye, what did Alisdair do?”
“Nowt, man, he’s not frightened of no guns, he was in the Northumberland Fusiliers.”