May I try you gentlemen's patience with a brief horror story?
Like Big Bunny, my partner and I had been trained to deal with corrosive primers using the soap and hot water method recounted in the Army field manual on pistols and revolvers between wars I and II.
I bit the bullet and purchased a new Gold Cup in 1955 (#896, to be exact.) I had never fired the pistol, but had protected the bore with a liberal coating of RIG. In my scrounging at gun shows I had obtained a large quantity of Frankford Arsenal loaded, corrosive primed (chlorate, not fulminate of mercury) .45 ACP ammo.
My partner asked to borrow the pistol, since he was going to the ocean for a few days and wanted to shoot up in the dunes (perfectly safe in those days.) I warned him to take the grease out of the bore before firing.
He removed the grease using patches saturated with the old formula Hoppe's #9 before shooting approximately 300 rounds of the surplus FA loads.
Late that evening he returned to his motel room, did the hot soapy water flush, dried the barrel and swabbed it with Hoppe's on patches, followed by dry patches. He did not have oil or gun grease with him. He repeated the operation on the next two nights, knowing how particular I was about my guns.
A week later, when I was preparing to go to the police range, I glanced through the bore, which looked clean and shiny, but had a coppery sheen. I decided to scrub out the copper using WW-II ammonia based G.I. bore cleaner.
Geez! That barrel had the pox under the copper plating and I had to wait over a month for a new matched set of barrel and bushing from the factory.
The moral to this is that nice new barrels have microscopic chatter marks from tooling, copper fouling adheres tightly, and if you have potassium chlorate in the steel's pores under the fouling you are in mud deeper than that of the Western Front.
And, Gwinny, I was in the Ordnance Corps during the Korean war. MANY times I put off eating my dinner (those disgusting C rations) until my pistol had been thoroughly cleaned. It saved my life once, so I had a very high regard for its well being. There is nothing so comforting as having a pistol with a lanyard around your wrist in a sleeping bag, if you have had buddies bayonetted in their sacks.
And, before you ask, no, I couldn't get those damned little burners to work properly either. I had a Lenk blowtorch that I used to warm my C rats and heat up my coffee and wash water.