Funny Things Happen in The Air Force
Thread Starter
Join Date: Aug 2007
Location: South of England
Age: 74
Posts: 627
Likes: 0
Received 4 Likes
on
4 Posts
Funny Things Happen in The Air Force
I remember some good times and times when I had to laugh. These are just some of them. I hope you guys out there can can help me by adding your own stories. (BTW BEags you rumbled me last time I was on this forum, years ago - see if you can rumble me this time).
It’s the mid seventies. Prestigious Air Defence Sqn based in Scotland, on a station near the most famous golf course in the world, is going to be given a new standard. Youngish, thrusting, high flier just been promoted and posted in as Sqn Cdr decides the standard presentation parade will be the best set-piece of drill ever seen in the RAF. Has the Sqn Warrant Officer drill the troops day and night for weeks until they are near perfect. Early start on the important day. Officers’ married quarters (days when you had to be married to get a quarter) quite a long way from the Sqn HQ so Transit van organized to collect all the officers (troops did it on foot). Sqn Cdr, fully booted and spurred in ceremonial uniform but can’t find gloves (soft brown cape leather). Transit turns up and toots horn, nothing happens. No. 1 Flight Commander calls from the bus window “come on boss it’s time to go”. Still can’t find gloves – losing reason to live - Sqn Cdr calls back “off you go I’ll catch up with you in a minute”. Sqn Cdr, a pipe smoker, suddenly realises that his tobacco pouch (soft brown cape leather) would double for a pair of gloves if folded over and held in his left hand – salvation at last. He leaps on his bicycle and manages to get to the parade with nanoseconds to spare. Sqn Cdr marches on, leading the troops and parade goes as planned. March back to Sqn HQ, dismiss officers, dismiss troops. Sqn Cdr turns to Sqn WO, says “well Mr Smith I think the parade went perfectly and I don’t suppose anyone even noticed that I was holding a tobacco pouch. Mr Smith replies “no sir they didn’t”. Sqn Cdr asks “how can you be so sure, Mr Smith?”. Mr Smith replies “well sir, they would have been too busy looking at your bicycle clips”.
This happened in the days when Kevlar was unheard of and we all wore heavy steel helmets with dodgy linings. Taceval Pt 1. HQ STC distaff have previously briefed Senior Aircraft Man Bloggs that his hangar will be blown up and he will be a casualty. About midnight, hangar is “blown up”. SAC Bloggs writhes on the floor, screaming and loving the fact the fact that he joined the RAF. Very enthusiastic Cpl nurse is despatched from the Med Centre to attend to casualties. Finds SAC Bloggs, pinches his ear, says “can you hear me” and bends down over Bloggs. Bloggs sits up and as he does so Cpl’s helmet falls off and impacts Bloggs head. Bloggs suffers NODUFF concussion. Ambulance summonsed. Bloggs goes to local NHS cottage hospital. Treatment for concussion not administered for about 30 minutes because on arrival at hospital Bloggs had a piece of paper on him which said “broken legs and severe burns”.
Practice parade at RAFC Cranwell. After several manoeuvres - “parade will advance in review order, present arms”. Parade advances 12 paces, halts and presents arms – flight cadet blogs hits his rifle too hard and it falls to the floor and makes a loud noise. Drill instructor marches across the Orange with his eyes fixed on the offender until he gets within a pace at which point he turns and shouts at the cadet next to the offender “you sir do you have an erectixn?” Adjacent cadet says “no sergeant”. Sgt roars “well you should have, sir, because you are stood next to the biggest CxNT in the Brfitish Isles".
Practice Parade at RAFC Cranwell. Drill Instructor (DI) “turning to the right in column of route – RIGHT TURN”. “By the centre quick march......Left Right left Right – swing your arms gentlemen, swing your arms shoulder high front and rear”. Front left hand marker (flight Cadet Bloggs(FCB)), plays number 8 for the college first fifteen, hurt his shoulder in practice the night before. “Swing your fxxxing arms gentlemen”. Short pause then “Squad halt! Into line left turn”. DI marches across the Orange parade square. Hat peak on his nose, pace stick under his arm, quivering with rage, steel studs on each boot biting into the gravel. Marches up to FCB and screams “Mr FCB what the fxck are you doing not swinging your fxcking arms shoulder fxcking high front and fxcking rear on my fxcking parade Sir”. FCB replies “I’m a little stiff from rugby Sgt”. DI replies “I don’t give a fxck where you come from Sir – swing your fxcking arms shoulder fxcking high on my fxcking parade Sir.
Hope to get some input from the guys and gals in the colonial airforces and the brown jobs as well. Happy days SOSL
It’s the mid seventies. Prestigious Air Defence Sqn based in Scotland, on a station near the most famous golf course in the world, is going to be given a new standard. Youngish, thrusting, high flier just been promoted and posted in as Sqn Cdr decides the standard presentation parade will be the best set-piece of drill ever seen in the RAF. Has the Sqn Warrant Officer drill the troops day and night for weeks until they are near perfect. Early start on the important day. Officers’ married quarters (days when you had to be married to get a quarter) quite a long way from the Sqn HQ so Transit van organized to collect all the officers (troops did it on foot). Sqn Cdr, fully booted and spurred in ceremonial uniform but can’t find gloves (soft brown cape leather). Transit turns up and toots horn, nothing happens. No. 1 Flight Commander calls from the bus window “come on boss it’s time to go”. Still can’t find gloves – losing reason to live - Sqn Cdr calls back “off you go I’ll catch up with you in a minute”. Sqn Cdr, a pipe smoker, suddenly realises that his tobacco pouch (soft brown cape leather) would double for a pair of gloves if folded over and held in his left hand – salvation at last. He leaps on his bicycle and manages to get to the parade with nanoseconds to spare. Sqn Cdr marches on, leading the troops and parade goes as planned. March back to Sqn HQ, dismiss officers, dismiss troops. Sqn Cdr turns to Sqn WO, says “well Mr Smith I think the parade went perfectly and I don’t suppose anyone even noticed that I was holding a tobacco pouch. Mr Smith replies “no sir they didn’t”. Sqn Cdr asks “how can you be so sure, Mr Smith?”. Mr Smith replies “well sir, they would have been too busy looking at your bicycle clips”.
This happened in the days when Kevlar was unheard of and we all wore heavy steel helmets with dodgy linings. Taceval Pt 1. HQ STC distaff have previously briefed Senior Aircraft Man Bloggs that his hangar will be blown up and he will be a casualty. About midnight, hangar is “blown up”. SAC Bloggs writhes on the floor, screaming and loving the fact the fact that he joined the RAF. Very enthusiastic Cpl nurse is despatched from the Med Centre to attend to casualties. Finds SAC Bloggs, pinches his ear, says “can you hear me” and bends down over Bloggs. Bloggs sits up and as he does so Cpl’s helmet falls off and impacts Bloggs head. Bloggs suffers NODUFF concussion. Ambulance summonsed. Bloggs goes to local NHS cottage hospital. Treatment for concussion not administered for about 30 minutes because on arrival at hospital Bloggs had a piece of paper on him which said “broken legs and severe burns”.
Practice parade at RAFC Cranwell. After several manoeuvres - “parade will advance in review order, present arms”. Parade advances 12 paces, halts and presents arms – flight cadet blogs hits his rifle too hard and it falls to the floor and makes a loud noise. Drill instructor marches across the Orange with his eyes fixed on the offender until he gets within a pace at which point he turns and shouts at the cadet next to the offender “you sir do you have an erectixn?” Adjacent cadet says “no sergeant”. Sgt roars “well you should have, sir, because you are stood next to the biggest CxNT in the Brfitish Isles".
Practice Parade at RAFC Cranwell. Drill Instructor (DI) “turning to the right in column of route – RIGHT TURN”. “By the centre quick march......Left Right left Right – swing your arms gentlemen, swing your arms shoulder high front and rear”. Front left hand marker (flight Cadet Bloggs(FCB)), plays number 8 for the college first fifteen, hurt his shoulder in practice the night before. “Swing your fxxxing arms gentlemen”. Short pause then “Squad halt! Into line left turn”. DI marches across the Orange parade square. Hat peak on his nose, pace stick under his arm, quivering with rage, steel studs on each boot biting into the gravel. Marches up to FCB and screams “Mr FCB what the fxck are you doing not swinging your fxcking arms shoulder fxcking high front and fxcking rear on my fxcking parade Sir”. FCB replies “I’m a little stiff from rugby Sgt”. DI replies “I don’t give a fxck where you come from Sir – swing your fxcking arms shoulder fxcking high on my fxcking parade Sir.
Hope to get some input from the guys and gals in the colonial airforces and the brown jobs as well. Happy days SOSL
Last edited by SOSL; 1st May 2010 at 12:58. Reason: Correct Sequence of Instructions
Join Date: Feb 2006
Location: Hanging off the end of a thread
Posts: 32,871
Received 2,823 Likes
on
1,203 Posts
RAF crewroom Raf Brize on Exercise, all the bods not out on guard are in watching TV, Neighbours as it happens, (cringe) one of the bods off duty who has re arranged his guard duty to be in to see his favourite programme is sitting eyes glued to the screen when BANG..
Thunderflash outside the window and in they come..... hands the bod whose TV is now being interupted an Inject. you.... you and you as they point to the rest of the off duty shift are injured, turning to the now frustrated bod at the fact he is now missing his favourite TV programme,
What are you going to do now Airman?? Bod picks up his SLR, cocks it and shoots the lot of them then sits down to carry on watching TV...... Incredulous Di staff look on with that WTF expression, Airman points out, well they would just tie up resources, manning etc and most probaby would not survive so I simply alleviated the problem
Bruggen, Jag Squadron, Inject on exercise, the outside of a HAS entrance covered in the old Ruskie anti personnal mines ( the 10 min to arm variety) what are you going to do.... Man hops onto the squadron BR Platform style apron sweeper and promptly hoovers them all up
Thunderflash outside the window and in they come..... hands the bod whose TV is now being interupted an Inject. you.... you and you as they point to the rest of the off duty shift are injured, turning to the now frustrated bod at the fact he is now missing his favourite TV programme,
What are you going to do now Airman?? Bod picks up his SLR, cocks it and shoots the lot of them then sits down to carry on watching TV...... Incredulous Di staff look on with that WTF expression, Airman points out, well they would just tie up resources, manning etc and most probaby would not survive so I simply alleviated the problem
Bruggen, Jag Squadron, Inject on exercise, the outside of a HAS entrance covered in the old Ruskie anti personnal mines ( the 10 min to arm variety) what are you going to do.... Man hops onto the squadron BR Platform style apron sweeper and promptly hoovers them all up
Thread Starter
Join Date: Aug 2007
Location: South of England
Age: 74
Posts: 627
Likes: 0
Received 4 Likes
on
4 Posts
RAF Robin Hood, when it was a Nav training school. Small, blonde, rather sexy (believe me I knew) WRAF Cpl in Flight Planning is counting out the tea swindle money. Flt Lt QNI enters room (he is a fully qualified txsser), says to WRAF Cpl "can you change a fiver for me". She answers "yes". He counters "dont you mean yes sir". She replies "sorry sir". He says "shall we start again?". "allright sir". "Can you change a fiver for me?". "I'm afraid not sir". I loved her then and I still love her - I wish I'd married her.
Bulk Fuel Installation No 7, RAF Gutersloh, very early 70's, Taceval. Distaff hand inject paper to young SAC- "BFI on fire - take appropriate action". Young SAC places inject paper on ground and pee's on it! Awarded 7 days and 200 Mark fine (paid for by a whip round amongst one's fellow stackers).
Join Date: Nov 2007
Location: The Fletcher Memorial Home
Age: 59
Posts: 303
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
During Taceval at a northern outpost of the UK, the line hut was full of lineys waiting for something to do. Suddenly in walks the Distaff, and informs them that in five minutes they will be bombed and they were all casualties. Distaff then hands out wound chits to the lineys, which list their injuries. One of the line Cpls goes round al the wound chits, and picks one that says he has a head injury. Lunch had been delivered some hours previously in the form of Hot Locs (individual round metal tin containing room temperature food which was once hot). Cpl then takes a spare hot loc, empties the contents into a small plastic bag, adds a cup of cold tea, and mixes the contents into a semi liquid consistency. He then hides the plastic back in the neck of his denims, with the neck of the bag held shut by his right hand which was in the vicinity of his left collar bone. He then lies on the floor in a "I've just been bombed" poseThe attack starts, finishes, and the casualty search begins. A number of individuals from the hangar arrived to check the "bombed" line hut, and start assessing casualties. One goes over the line Cpl, rolls him over and asks "whats worng with you then". Line Cpl makes a retching noise and associated movement, and at the same time squeezes the plastic bag causing the semi liquid mess to erupt over the floor/boots of good samaritan, who promptly jumps backwards in disgust.
Join Date: Mar 2010
Location: UK on a crosswind
Posts: 262
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
Training - everyone's flying from a little used satellite field - Provosts - one instructor in the "pie hut" mobile control tower - students landing on three grass runways - mid-summer dry grass. Instructor sees two students dangerously close but cannot identify them head-on so goes outside and fires very pistol ..... the flare lands and sets the grass on fire .... so now no one can see through the smoke to land.
A bright crisp clear and frosty morning in Lincolnshire. Konsin (sp?) is spread to de-ice the runway. Shortly after dawn the first pair get airborne in full burner. Konsin evaporates, condenses in the cold air and rolls across the airfield in the vortices from the departing aircraft forming an expanding wall of fog which persists for the resy of the day. Pair divert.
Join Date: Apr 2008
Location: Well, Lincolnshire
Age: 69
Posts: 1,101
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
A rerun of a post from earlier days.
Late '70's at an 'aerodrome somewhere in England'.
The Boss (and I mean THE BOSS) was coming to make sure that we were looking after the aeroplanes and other bits and bobs she had loaned us.
The Staish thought it was time for his Other Buggers Efforts and so decided to put on a show. A Royal Guard of Honour came top in his list of bullsh*t.
Joe the SWO trawls the unit for blokes who were 6 feet tall (not 5'11", not 6'1", he wants an Other Buggers Efforts too) to make up the main cast of this performance.
Through an accident of birth, my oppo and myself satisfied Joe's requirements (and being a pair of prats by not hiding or limping ) we found ourselves on a shortlist of 2 to join Joe's Chorus Line.
Now, my oppo was (and still is) a bit of an imbiber of most things alcoholic (he draws the line at Toilet Duck), he also appreciates being allowed to gently enter the world of sobriety in the mornings, no sudden movements etc etc.
To his horror (and to the rest of us) Joe and the Staish decided upon practice, practice, practice weeks before the main event. To make matters worse, the practices were to take place at first sparrow's fart, so's not to deny us the pleasure of a full day at work afterwards.
Oppo did not take kindly to this. His personal time to recover from the reveries of the previous night were severely curtailed. His efforts at the rehearsals for Joe SWO's Royal Variety Performance were not good. His efforts at 'Present Arms' would have made Corporal (Dad's Army) Jones look like a Coldstream Guardsman.
Joe thought he was taking the pi$$, not realising that oppo was recovering from the pi$$.
Slowly it began to dawn on oppo, that perhaps to avoid more severe listening-to's and other threats from Joe and after all, it was for THE BOSS. (Oppo was a great fan of THE BOSS). that he should curtail his nightly intake and perhaps take up cocoa for the duration instead.
The transformation was dramatic!! A figure of immaculate military bearing arose from the ashes, the Staish smiled, Joe SWO smiled, even Joe's dog smiled. Sod the Other Buggers Efforts they thought, this means Knighthoods all round. Arise Sir Staish, Arise Sir Joe SWO. I swear you could see it in their eyes.
Come the final Full Dress Rehearsal. Brigade of Guards, QCS, b@llocks to the lot of you, nobody could beat us, we were good.
So good in fact that the Staish invited the members of the Royal Guard of Honour to have a small alcoholic refreshment (at his expense) to thank us for our efforts (oh, and also to put the fear of God up us just in case it went wrong).
After drinkies and associated small talk 'it's Ma'am as in ham, not Ma'am as in farm' etc served up by Mrs (soon to be Lady) Staish. We were sent on our way to prepare for the Main Event the following morning.
Oppo, now rather pleased with himself, full of military bearing (and two halves of Staish's beer) decides that a pleasant pre-Royal evening in the company of the NAAFI'S finest barmaids is perfectly in order. Thankfully, I had a prior engagement with the future Mrs Taxydual so had to decline his kind offer of an evening of fine wines and glistening conversation.
I imagine, gentle reader, you can guess the rest.
Come the morn, you have never seen anything like it. 6' of military bearing converted into a potato sack. There were no two pounds of him hanging straight. His breath would have killed small children. His eyes had to be seen to be believed. 'There's life, Jim, but not as we know it'.
It went steadily downhill from there on in.
The March-on he stumbled. The Royal Salute he fumbled.
Then the crowning glory. During the Inspection came a barely audible bubbling noise followed an odour of such grossness that no-one could miss it for what it was. Oppo had sh*t himself. The looks of horror on the faces of the great and the good was spectacular. As to THE BOSS, she didn't turn a hair and carried on if nothing had happened. She knew though, oh she knew. I saw, for a fleeting second the look in her face as she passed me. "Tommo's sh*t himself again".
Where are you Tommo? If the telling of this doesn't force you out of hiding, nothing will.
Late '70's at an 'aerodrome somewhere in England'.
The Boss (and I mean THE BOSS) was coming to make sure that we were looking after the aeroplanes and other bits and bobs she had loaned us.
The Staish thought it was time for his Other Buggers Efforts and so decided to put on a show. A Royal Guard of Honour came top in his list of bullsh*t.
Joe the SWO trawls the unit for blokes who were 6 feet tall (not 5'11", not 6'1", he wants an Other Buggers Efforts too) to make up the main cast of this performance.
Through an accident of birth, my oppo and myself satisfied Joe's requirements (and being a pair of prats by not hiding or limping ) we found ourselves on a shortlist of 2 to join Joe's Chorus Line.
Now, my oppo was (and still is) a bit of an imbiber of most things alcoholic (he draws the line at Toilet Duck), he also appreciates being allowed to gently enter the world of sobriety in the mornings, no sudden movements etc etc.
To his horror (and to the rest of us) Joe and the Staish decided upon practice, practice, practice weeks before the main event. To make matters worse, the practices were to take place at first sparrow's fart, so's not to deny us the pleasure of a full day at work afterwards.
Oppo did not take kindly to this. His personal time to recover from the reveries of the previous night were severely curtailed. His efforts at the rehearsals for Joe SWO's Royal Variety Performance were not good. His efforts at 'Present Arms' would have made Corporal (Dad's Army) Jones look like a Coldstream Guardsman.
Joe thought he was taking the pi$$, not realising that oppo was recovering from the pi$$.
Slowly it began to dawn on oppo, that perhaps to avoid more severe listening-to's and other threats from Joe and after all, it was for THE BOSS. (Oppo was a great fan of THE BOSS). that he should curtail his nightly intake and perhaps take up cocoa for the duration instead.
The transformation was dramatic!! A figure of immaculate military bearing arose from the ashes, the Staish smiled, Joe SWO smiled, even Joe's dog smiled. Sod the Other Buggers Efforts they thought, this means Knighthoods all round. Arise Sir Staish, Arise Sir Joe SWO. I swear you could see it in their eyes.
Come the final Full Dress Rehearsal. Brigade of Guards, QCS, b@llocks to the lot of you, nobody could beat us, we were good.
So good in fact that the Staish invited the members of the Royal Guard of Honour to have a small alcoholic refreshment (at his expense) to thank us for our efforts (oh, and also to put the fear of God up us just in case it went wrong).
After drinkies and associated small talk 'it's Ma'am as in ham, not Ma'am as in farm' etc served up by Mrs (soon to be Lady) Staish. We were sent on our way to prepare for the Main Event the following morning.
Oppo, now rather pleased with himself, full of military bearing (and two halves of Staish's beer) decides that a pleasant pre-Royal evening in the company of the NAAFI'S finest barmaids is perfectly in order. Thankfully, I had a prior engagement with the future Mrs Taxydual so had to decline his kind offer of an evening of fine wines and glistening conversation.
I imagine, gentle reader, you can guess the rest.
Come the morn, you have never seen anything like it. 6' of military bearing converted into a potato sack. There were no two pounds of him hanging straight. His breath would have killed small children. His eyes had to be seen to be believed. 'There's life, Jim, but not as we know it'.
It went steadily downhill from there on in.
The March-on he stumbled. The Royal Salute he fumbled.
Then the crowning glory. During the Inspection came a barely audible bubbling noise followed an odour of such grossness that no-one could miss it for what it was. Oppo had sh*t himself. The looks of horror on the faces of the great and the good was spectacular. As to THE BOSS, she didn't turn a hair and carried on if nothing had happened. She knew though, oh she knew. I saw, for a fleeting second the look in her face as she passed me. "Tommo's sh*t himself again".
Where are you Tommo? If the telling of this doesn't force you out of hiding, nothing will.
Cool Mod
Join Date: Apr 1998
Location: 18nm N of LGW
Posts: 6,185
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
Can't resist this. Just can't, that's all there is to it!
PLEASE keep this going gents - the best stuff for years. Should go into a book. Must go and change me pants! 
PLEASE keep this going gents - the best stuff for years. Should go into a book. Must go and change me pants!
I don't own this space under my name. I should have leased it while I still could
Pre-taceval period but still ficticous sandbags.
"Fall-out warning black"
Off-shift ops officer at Waddo swimming in the open air pool. Duty Plod comes round and tells him to get in the shelter.
"It's OK Cpl, any fallout will wash off." Exit Cpl.
Same exercise, Bomber Controller starts broadcasting location of H-bombs going off all over Britain (odd but they didn't all arrive at once). First one was Waddo.
"Waddington, why are you not reporting fallout?"
"Say again, where was the first bomb?"
"Don' be a fool Batt, it's an exercise now get plotting."
Didn't do Batt's career any harm, made at least Gp Capt Regt.
"Fall-out warning black"
Off-shift ops officer at Waddo swimming in the open air pool. Duty Plod comes round and tells him to get in the shelter.
"It's OK Cpl, any fallout will wash off." Exit Cpl.
Same exercise, Bomber Controller starts broadcasting location of H-bombs going off all over Britain (odd but they didn't all arrive at once). First one was Waddo.
"Waddington, why are you not reporting fallout?"
"Say again, where was the first bomb?"
"Don' be a fool Batt, it's an exercise now get plotting."
Didn't do Batt's career any harm, made at least Gp Capt Regt.
Join Date: Jun 1996
Location: Check with Ops
Posts: 741
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
I swear the GIs (gunnery instructors[drill instructors]) have got a BIG book of the funniest phrases and comments to be used on the parade ground.
Dartmouth, early 80s and we're on mid-week divisions, practising for the 'proper' show on the weekend. There's lots and lots of marching up and down the square but the equally young and equally green Snotty marching in front of me really couldn't get his act together. It was tick-tocking at its very, very best. Luckily he was going through as an Observer, as I think his lack of co-ordination might have hampered his style as a pilot. Anyway, from the rear of the squad comes an incredulous squeal of 'halt' from the PO GI and up he marches, with pace stick of course and the whitest gaters you have ever seen in your life. Face literally millimeters from the disco-dancing marcher:
'Do you know what, Sir, because you're a young officer and I'm a Petty Officer I'm not allowed to call you a c**t. I am only allowed to THINK you are a c**t. AND do you know what, Sir? I THINK you are a f**k**g c**t. Now double round the ramparts, shouting to everybody what the PO thinks you are, Sir'
The only trouble was we were all laughing so hard that tears were literally flowing and it took a good few minutes before we could even see again, let alone march and, even as we did try, there was still this poor bugger running around the ramparts shouting, 'the PO thinks I'm a c**t', which set us all off again.
H&S wouldn't permit that sort of thing nowadays......as for the bullying, well heaven forbid....
PS: I know the thread says 'Air Force' but seeing as I spent so long with you poxy crabs, then I get to add Senior Service stuff too
Dartmouth, early 80s and we're on mid-week divisions, practising for the 'proper' show on the weekend. There's lots and lots of marching up and down the square but the equally young and equally green Snotty marching in front of me really couldn't get his act together. It was tick-tocking at its very, very best. Luckily he was going through as an Observer, as I think his lack of co-ordination might have hampered his style as a pilot. Anyway, from the rear of the squad comes an incredulous squeal of 'halt' from the PO GI and up he marches, with pace stick of course and the whitest gaters you have ever seen in your life. Face literally millimeters from the disco-dancing marcher:
'Do you know what, Sir, because you're a young officer and I'm a Petty Officer I'm not allowed to call you a c**t. I am only allowed to THINK you are a c**t. AND do you know what, Sir? I THINK you are a f**k**g c**t. Now double round the ramparts, shouting to everybody what the PO thinks you are, Sir'
The only trouble was we were all laughing so hard that tears were literally flowing and it took a good few minutes before we could even see again, let alone march and, even as we did try, there was still this poor bugger running around the ramparts shouting, 'the PO thinks I'm a c**t', which set us all off again.
H&S wouldn't permit that sort of thing nowadays......as for the bullying, well heaven forbid....
PS: I know the thread says 'Air Force' but seeing as I spent so long with you poxy crabs, then I get to add Senior Service stuff too
Join Date: Apr 2008
Location: Well, Lincolnshire
Age: 69
Posts: 1,101
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
Finningley, 1975.
0745, a steady stream of airmen walking down the main drag to work.
Joe the SWO appears on the Guardroom Verandah. The cry of "YOU, AIRMAN" rents the peace of the morning.
200 Airmen halt mid stride.
"WHERE IS YOUR HEADGEAR?" bellows the SWO.
199 airmen breath an audible sigh of relief.
From the throng, emerges 1 small LAC minus top cover "I have a chit from the MO, sir". He bleats.
"WELL, WEAR THE F****ING CHIT THEN" is the response.
199 Airmen wet themselves laughing.
0745, a steady stream of airmen walking down the main drag to work.
Joe the SWO appears on the Guardroom Verandah. The cry of "YOU, AIRMAN" rents the peace of the morning.
200 Airmen halt mid stride.
"WHERE IS YOUR HEADGEAR?" bellows the SWO.
199 airmen breath an audible sigh of relief.
From the throng, emerges 1 small LAC minus top cover "I have a chit from the MO, sir". He bleats.
"WELL, WEAR THE F****ING CHIT THEN" is the response.
199 Airmen wet themselves laughing.
A 'colonial' air force, somewhere south of the equator, in Africa, and there is a war on .......
Officer Cadets on daily parade and drill practise. Gobby little drill corporal (known as 'Klinger' behind his back) taking the parade. Said corporal, during a lull in proceedings, thinking he is being smart, walks down the front row asking individuals, "Does you sister f**k?" Several answers of "Perhaps, Corporal!", "Yes, Corporal!" or "I don't know, Corporal!"
This continues until the corporal reaches a big, burly ex-army chap who is the holder of a gallantry medal:
Officer Cadets on daily parade and drill practise. Gobby little drill corporal (known as 'Klinger' behind his back) taking the parade. Said corporal, during a lull in proceedings, thinking he is being smart, walks down the front row asking individuals, "Does you sister f**k?" Several answers of "Perhaps, Corporal!", "Yes, Corporal!" or "I don't know, Corporal!"
This continues until the corporal reaches a big, burly ex-army chap who is the holder of a gallantry medal:
Corporal - "Does your sister f**k?"
Big Bloke - "No, Corporal!"
Corporal - "Why the f**k not?"
Big Bloke - "Because she is f**king UGLY, Corporal!"
Assembled Cadets crease up, 'Klinger' has a crinkle, and the Cadets all have to take another run around the parade square several times. We eventually 'broke' 'Klinger' so that he didn't mess with us again. Big Bloke - "No, Corporal!"
Corporal - "Why the f**k not?"
Big Bloke - "Because she is f**king UGLY, Corporal!"
Thread Starter
Join Date: Aug 2007
Location: South of England
Age: 74
Posts: 627
Likes: 0
Received 4 Likes
on
4 Posts
Half way through my time in the RAF I had lost the required Juniority to be allowed to work on aircraft and was employed on fulltime duties moving pieces of paper sideways across a desk.
Was summonsed to deliver a briefing to a nearby Gp Capt (unusually for the rank he was actually rather quick witted). He always sat with his back to the window of his second floor office so as I delivered said brief I had a full view of the large sports field.
It was late spring and the groundsmen had just cut the grass, painted the 7-a-side goal thingies and laid them out at the side of the field to dry in the sun.
Back to the briefing - drone, drone, blah, blah. Suddenly loud clattering noise as a Mk 2 Wessex swoops across the sportsfield, heading for the Helo Pad. Grass blows every where and the goal thingies covered in wet, white paint are blown all over the place. I involuntarily exclaimed "What a mess!". Gp Capt looked behind him, understood why I had interrupted his briefing and said to me "Don't worry Bill, the goalposts allways move when the C-in-C comes back from London".
Was summonsed to deliver a briefing to a nearby Gp Capt (unusually for the rank he was actually rather quick witted). He always sat with his back to the window of his second floor office so as I delivered said brief I had a full view of the large sports field.
It was late spring and the groundsmen had just cut the grass, painted the 7-a-side goal thingies and laid them out at the side of the field to dry in the sun.
Back to the briefing - drone, drone, blah, blah. Suddenly loud clattering noise as a Mk 2 Wessex swoops across the sportsfield, heading for the Helo Pad. Grass blows every where and the goal thingies covered in wet, white paint are blown all over the place. I involuntarily exclaimed "What a mess!". Gp Capt looked behind him, understood why I had interrupted his briefing and said to me "Don't worry Bill, the goalposts allways move when the C-in-C comes back from London".
Last edited by SOSL; 30th Apr 2010 at 17:15. Reason: Spelling & rubber fingers
Join Date: Feb 2007
Location: Highlands
Posts: 58
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
OCTU RAF Henlow, late '70s, learning how to polish prototype Lightnings and trying to avoid the cameras filming 'Fighter Pilot'. On the parade ground early one Winter morn, being taught how to march in a big group, things were looking good from my viewpoint at the back apart from a hint of tick-tocking just ahead. Suddenly, 'Left, right, left, right, right wheel, left, right, etc' was interrupted by an explosive, high pitched 'WHHALT!!'.
RAF Regt DI, at a pace that would please the boss of the Carabinieri's Mountain Division, and, yes, with Paystick under arm and slashed peak causing him to lead with his chin, singles out said tick-tocker. Stops, immaculately, millimetres from TT's face and enquires, 'TT, why the f*ck do you want to become an officer in the RAF Regt?!?!?'
TT, loudly, 'Because I like the outdoor life, Flight Sergeant!'
DI, 'Have you ever thought of becoming a f*cking farmer?!?!'
Parade adjourned to re-compose itself.
RAF Regt DI, at a pace that would please the boss of the Carabinieri's Mountain Division, and, yes, with Paystick under arm and slashed peak causing him to lead with his chin, singles out said tick-tocker. Stops, immaculately, millimetres from TT's face and enquires, 'TT, why the f*ck do you want to become an officer in the RAF Regt?!?!?'
TT, loudly, 'Because I like the outdoor life, Flight Sergeant!'
DI, 'Have you ever thought of becoming a f*cking farmer?!?!'
Parade adjourned to re-compose itself.