Dining In, Dining Out and Mess Fun
I don't own this space under my name. I should have leased it while I still could
It dropeth like the gentle rain . . .
No need of urine detectors in the wooden huts at Hullavington in '62, no wash basins.
Instead we had the dawn chorus:
"Morning Tony."
"Morning Dave."
etc etc
Timing was immaculate.
Instead we had the dawn chorus:
"Morning Tony."
"Morning Dave."
etc etc
Timing was immaculate.
Another wheeze was to remove the plug on the u-bend of someone's wash basin. One victim was seen emptying the water after placing a gash bin underneath to catch the spillage. "Ha, ha. You'll have to get up earlier in the morning to catch me out that way," he boasted before emptying the contents of his gash bin back into the sink...
Then there was the occasion we had some Royal Engineers as guests, completely forgetting they wore spurs as we stood on the tables (one of which had come from the battleship on which the Japanese signed the surrender of Singapore) to perform the traditional after-dinner singing. The damage was costly.
When I asked one of the Sappers afterwards why they wore spurs, he said it went back to the Napoleonic wars. When an RE woke up next to some warm body in a barn where he had been billeted, he would gently rake it with his spurs. If it complained, he knew it wasn't his horse.
The less said about using the dumb waiter to mount a raid on the galley at 0500, the better.
Then there was the occasion we had some Royal Engineers as guests, completely forgetting they wore spurs as we stood on the tables (one of which had come from the battleship on which the Japanese signed the surrender of Singapore) to perform the traditional after-dinner singing. The damage was costly.
When I asked one of the Sappers afterwards why they wore spurs, he said it went back to the Napoleonic wars. When an RE woke up next to some warm body in a barn where he had been billeted, he would gently rake it with his spurs. If it complained, he knew it wasn't his horse.
The less said about using the dumb waiter to mount a raid on the galley at 0500, the better.
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Yes, GW came to one of our dining-in nights at OUAS in the 60's; I believe he lost an arm rescuing aircrew from a burning aircraft when he was running a Bomber Command OCU in the Midlands. A feat for which he was awarded the GC.
I don't own this space under my name. I should have leased it while I still could
Not quite. The crew had actually made a successful escape but he didn't know that. He lost his arm when the aircraft blew up.
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Regarding posts about mess cannons etc: If you build a spud cannon with a 3/4in dia barrel, you can fire frozen tater tots which are remarkably dangerous/effective. It's like getting hit by a biodegradable .50BMG AP round....
Just thought I'd share that...
Just thought I'd share that...
Sadly, Gus Walker did not receive a gallantry award for his attempted rescue of a crew. He won a DFC and DSO with 50 Sqn in 1941 and post-war rose to Air Chief Marshal, adding a GCB and a CBE to the tally.
Perhaps we should put down a marker to toast his centenary on 24 August next year.
Old Duffer
Perhaps we should put down a marker to toast his centenary on 24 August next year.
Old Duffer
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Pianos
Variation on Piano Burning
Late 60's (Showing my age) St Mawgan. Morning after DI night with members of Ark Royal invited as guests, PMC notes rather expensive piano is missing from ante room. Contacts Ark Royal who reply - We are at sea, yes we have it on board, unless you contribute mightily to RN Bene Fund, will use to test catapult (Remember them?) crossing 10 West!
PMC promises to contribute. Hour or so later helo arrives with under slung load - piano shaped. Pilot asks where do you want it. Air Traffic say on Lawn outside Officers Mess. Piano (Ringer) dropped onto lawn from 50 ft - matchwood. PMC fumes. Meanwhile JOs from Mess who have been in from start retrieve real piano from hiding place in Mess and replace in Ante Room!
Late 60's (Showing my age) St Mawgan. Morning after DI night with members of Ark Royal invited as guests, PMC notes rather expensive piano is missing from ante room. Contacts Ark Royal who reply - We are at sea, yes we have it on board, unless you contribute mightily to RN Bene Fund, will use to test catapult (Remember them?) crossing 10 West!
PMC promises to contribute. Hour or so later helo arrives with under slung load - piano shaped. Pilot asks where do you want it. Air Traffic say on Lawn outside Officers Mess. Piano (Ringer) dropped onto lawn from 50 ft - matchwood. PMC fumes. Meanwhile JOs from Mess who have been in from start retrieve real piano from hiding place in Mess and replace in Ante Room!
There was a story concerning The Abandoned Earl - Air Marshal the Earl of Bandon - many moons ago.
He was visiting a V-bomber base and, at the associated dining-in night, threw himself enthusiastically into the post-dinner festivities. After several beers he wandered out for a pee. Most 1930's style messes have an identical layout, but, over time, the sanitary facilities tend to get moved about. The Air Marshal searched for the appropriate place, without success, and eventually, hydraulic pressures being what they were, he dived into a cabin and peed into the washbasin. The astonished occupier woke up and essayed a cautious "Good evening, Sir".
The Earl zipped himself up, stared down at the officer and said "Good God, some people will sleep anywhere!".
He was visiting a V-bomber base and, at the associated dining-in night, threw himself enthusiastically into the post-dinner festivities. After several beers he wandered out for a pee. Most 1930's style messes have an identical layout, but, over time, the sanitary facilities tend to get moved about. The Air Marshal searched for the appropriate place, without success, and eventually, hydraulic pressures being what they were, he dived into a cabin and peed into the washbasin. The astonished occupier woke up and essayed a cautious "Good evening, Sir".
The Earl zipped himself up, stared down at the officer and said "Good God, some people will sleep anywhere!".
Operation Pink Rabbit
I'm bound to get corrected on this, but stories here aren't told under oath. I was there and this is how I remember it (copied from my journal with minor amendments for this audience - one or two more there if you're interested). So here goes.
Whilst on 29 Squadron, I signed-up for a Station Dining-In Night at which we were to say farewell to a certain engineer. He had, shall we say, a reputation for being somewhat long-winded. As he was the senior departing guest, he was bound to have to make a speech. We, the young 'shags' on 29 Squadron, decided that it was up to us to brighten up an otherwise dull event. We hit upon a solution and swung into action in order to prepare for Operation Pink Rabbit.
By the evening of the dinner, everything was in place and awaiting the execute signal from the Senior Flying Officer. The departing engineer rose to his feet and began his dissertation. As expected, it went on a bit. So the signal was given and we sprang into action. The JP was pre-positioned by one of the large sash windows in the Officers' Mess Dining Room. He threw open the window and stood back. In rushed a small, somewhat startled, baby pig wearing a mop cap and a 29 Squadron T-shirt with a helium balloon tied to his tail.
Not surprisingly, this caused a bit of a stir amongst the diners. The little chap trotted proudly around the room, investigating the various titbits that were being surreptitiously dropped under the tables for him. He was having a wonderful time and was on his best behaviour. According to one of the OCU navs, however, he was being a bit too quiet for the ambience of the occasion. He (the nav) decided to strike up a conversation with him (the pig). This encouraged the little porker to start squealing. This, naturally, caused a significant amount of jocularity around the dining room - all except the speaker who was still droning on, totally failing to notice that he was not commanding the total attention of his audience. The fact that he continued to plough-on through his interminable monologue, oblivious to the fact that no one was listening any more, made the whole affair even more humorous. The stifled giggles turned into unstifled ones, which, in turn, became hearty chortles, which, as is so often the way, eventually became raucous laughter.
Eventually, either through the desire to restore some degree of decorum to the proceedings or through a sense of pity for the poor speaker, the rose to his feet and banged his gavel, commanding silence. The riot gradually abated. There was silence apart from Porky who was busy snuffling his way through one gentleman's port. The PMC ordered 'Twenty-nine Squadron, catch that pig!'
You know when you've said the wrong thing, don't you? What happened next can only be described as a comedy classic from the Keystone Cops. Twenty officers of assorted ranks in single file chasing the piglet who, realising that he was about to be down-graded from top-table to sty, was weaving his way through the mess furniture. The laughter was, again, riotous. This went on for fully five minutes until one of the flight commanders managed a flying rugby tackle and captured the creature. Strangely enough, the surname of the flight commander in question was Trotter.
The end result of all that was that 29 Squadron was 'invited' to leave the dinner and were banned, by the Station Commander, from ever mentioning the pig again - hence the term 'pink rabbit.'
Whilst on 29 Squadron, I signed-up for a Station Dining-In Night at which we were to say farewell to a certain engineer. He had, shall we say, a reputation for being somewhat long-winded. As he was the senior departing guest, he was bound to have to make a speech. We, the young 'shags' on 29 Squadron, decided that it was up to us to brighten up an otherwise dull event. We hit upon a solution and swung into action in order to prepare for Operation Pink Rabbit.
By the evening of the dinner, everything was in place and awaiting the execute signal from the Senior Flying Officer. The departing engineer rose to his feet and began his dissertation. As expected, it went on a bit. So the signal was given and we sprang into action. The JP was pre-positioned by one of the large sash windows in the Officers' Mess Dining Room. He threw open the window and stood back. In rushed a small, somewhat startled, baby pig wearing a mop cap and a 29 Squadron T-shirt with a helium balloon tied to his tail.
Not surprisingly, this caused a bit of a stir amongst the diners. The little chap trotted proudly around the room, investigating the various titbits that were being surreptitiously dropped under the tables for him. He was having a wonderful time and was on his best behaviour. According to one of the OCU navs, however, he was being a bit too quiet for the ambience of the occasion. He (the nav) decided to strike up a conversation with him (the pig). This encouraged the little porker to start squealing. This, naturally, caused a significant amount of jocularity around the dining room - all except the speaker who was still droning on, totally failing to notice that he was not commanding the total attention of his audience. The fact that he continued to plough-on through his interminable monologue, oblivious to the fact that no one was listening any more, made the whole affair even more humorous. The stifled giggles turned into unstifled ones, which, in turn, became hearty chortles, which, as is so often the way, eventually became raucous laughter.
Eventually, either through the desire to restore some degree of decorum to the proceedings or through a sense of pity for the poor speaker, the rose to his feet and banged his gavel, commanding silence. The riot gradually abated. There was silence apart from Porky who was busy snuffling his way through one gentleman's port. The PMC ordered 'Twenty-nine Squadron, catch that pig!'
You know when you've said the wrong thing, don't you? What happened next can only be described as a comedy classic from the Keystone Cops. Twenty officers of assorted ranks in single file chasing the piglet who, realising that he was about to be down-graded from top-table to sty, was weaving his way through the mess furniture. The laughter was, again, riotous. This went on for fully five minutes until one of the flight commanders managed a flying rugby tackle and captured the creature. Strangely enough, the surname of the flight commander in question was Trotter.
The end result of all that was that 29 Squadron was 'invited' to leave the dinner and were banned, by the Station Commander, from ever mentioning the pig again - hence the term 'pink rabbit.'
Courtney Mil - are you the same chap who fell asleep and promptly fell off his chair during an interminably boring JUBILEE GUARDSMAN brief at Coningsby? I recall a clatter of furniture and much tittering from the 29 Sqn gang.....
Glad to hear the true story of the 'Pink Rabbit' at last! Much as the secondhand accounts I'd heard over the last 30 years or so. Of course the Stn Cdr was the infamous Ba$tard Bill, whose sense of humour didn't extend to Roy's pig-wrestling antics. His subsequent edict to ban any mention of the event merely ensured that The Tale of the Pink Rabbit spread rapidly around the RAF!
Was it true that the sequel was that the RAFP discovered the porker's transit box outside the OM window, checked it in case it was an IED and were then less than amused to find a box full of pig $hit, taking it to be a calculated insult?
Glad to hear the true story of the 'Pink Rabbit' at last! Much as the secondhand accounts I'd heard over the last 30 years or so. Of course the Stn Cdr was the infamous Ba$tard Bill, whose sense of humour didn't extend to Roy's pig-wrestling antics. His subsequent edict to ban any mention of the event merely ensured that The Tale of the Pink Rabbit spread rapidly around the RAF!
Was it true that the sequel was that the RAFP discovered the porker's transit box outside the OM window, checked it in case it was an IED and were then less than amused to find a box full of pig $hit, taking it to be a calculated insult?
Yes, BEagle, I have to confess it was I. And it was I that spent the entire duration of the next dining in speaches standing on the table so that Ba$tard Bill could see what I was doing. I was a wonderful flying officer!!!
I would love to confirm the tale of the piggy's transit box, but the truth is actually worse. One of the other flying officers was tasked with collecting the pig from a local farmer and returning it unharmed. He did this by collecting it in his BWM, which is where he was returned to after the episode and stayed there for the rest of the night. He never ever managed to get rid of the stains or the stench.
Nothing to worry about, he's a BA pilot now.
Courtney
I would love to confirm the tale of the piggy's transit box, but the truth is actually worse. One of the other flying officers was tasked with collecting the pig from a local farmer and returning it unharmed. He did this by collecting it in his BWM, which is where he was returned to after the episode and stayed there for the rest of the night. He never ever managed to get rid of the stains or the stench.
Nothing to worry about, he's a BA pilot now.
Courtney
I guessed it must have been thee!
The antics of 29's Fg Offs really brightened up rather a depressing Coningsby under Ba$tard Bill - even he couldn't dampen the spirit of true fighter aircrew Flying Officers!
But later came the banger racing incident, I gather - after Bill had buggered off elsewhere, of course.
The antics of 29's Fg Offs really brightened up rather a depressing Coningsby under Ba$tard Bill - even he couldn't dampen the spirit of true fighter aircrew Flying Officers!
But later came the banger racing incident, I gather - after Bill had buggered off elsewhere, of course.
Lucky really, because I would certainly have found myself right in the middle of it.
Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire - did you leave CGY under Ba$tard Bill only to find yourself on 43 under The Scottish Officer
?Perhaps another ex-CGY mate will be able to recount the true story of the OM banger racing (and subsequent burning)? I seem to remember it hit the newspaper headlines.
Not a DIN tale , but a large car and a MetMan.
Pete T***d was a forecaster at Brueggen, and a member of the RAFVR Mobile Met Unit. He wangled a jolly or a FamFlight from Brueggen, and parked his car in SMetOs slot then buggered off for a fortnight.
The SMetO and staff took exception and bumped the Merc. over to the fenced instrument enclosure, removed 10 feet of immaculate white picket fence, put the car inside, replaced the fence, and waited for officer T***d to return.
Unfortunately CMetO was not invited to the fireworks on the return, so I cannot add any more.
A month later officer T***d had a sense of humour recovery.
Best briefer in RAFG.
RIP Pete.
Pete T***d was a forecaster at Brueggen, and a member of the RAFVR Mobile Met Unit. He wangled a jolly or a FamFlight from Brueggen, and parked his car in SMetOs slot then buggered off for a fortnight.
The SMetO and staff took exception and bumped the Merc. over to the fenced instrument enclosure, removed 10 feet of immaculate white picket fence, put the car inside, replaced the fence, and waited for officer T***d to return.
Unfortunately CMetO was not invited to the fireworks on the return, so I cannot add any more.
A month later officer T***d had a sense of humour recovery.
Best briefer in RAFG.
RIP Pete.
My, what jolly japes you weather-guessers must have enjoyed....
Parking slots. The bane of many a JP's life. Even I briefly had one with 'CFI' on it outside the training flight building. Apart from a certain AT QFI ("Sooooooooo, co-pilot......."), no-one seemed particularly concerned. I soon found out why - it was under trees infested with what can only have been a flock of incontinent pterodactyls, judging by the state of my car in the early summer. But one of the Stn Cdr's few good ideas was to decree that only Wg Cdrs and above should have their own slots, so that was that - the sign went.
However, back in the days when RAF Scampton was a proper RAF base with 3 squadrons of tin triangles, the junior shags were rather unamused at the appearance of a sign bearing the legend 'DWO' in a prime spot outside the OM. This was a space to which some senior MPBW/DoE bod had decided he was entitled.
The shags thought otherwise. So the sign was removed and another appeared with 'JFO' instead. (Junior Flying Officer).
Round 1 to the shags.
The DWO was rather miffed. So one day a working party appeared with a new sign riveted to a reinforced steel pole and half a cubic yard of concrete. Instead of the normal signs which simply pushed into the grass, so that they could be taken out when the grass-cutter appeared, this magnificent erection was of a significantly more permanent design.....
Round 2 to the DWO.
What should have aroused suspicion was the appearance of a group of said shags during the construction process. Who, to plagiarise War of the Worlds, '"...regarded this activity with envious eyes; and slowly, and surely, they drew their plan...". Which was simple - once the concrete had set and the sign was permanently secure, a couple of cans of spray paint and a stencil amended the DWO's sign back to 'JFO'.....
Game set and match to the shags - until the PMC or some other fun-detector put a stop to the contest after much whingeing from the 'Blunders and Wonders' blunty.
Parking slots. The bane of many a JP's life. Even I briefly had one with 'CFI' on it outside the training flight building. Apart from a certain AT QFI ("Sooooooooo, co-pilot......."), no-one seemed particularly concerned. I soon found out why - it was under trees infested with what can only have been a flock of incontinent pterodactyls, judging by the state of my car in the early summer. But one of the Stn Cdr's few good ideas was to decree that only Wg Cdrs and above should have their own slots, so that was that - the sign went.
However, back in the days when RAF Scampton was a proper RAF base with 3 squadrons of tin triangles, the junior shags were rather unamused at the appearance of a sign bearing the legend 'DWO' in a prime spot outside the OM. This was a space to which some senior MPBW/DoE bod had decided he was entitled.
The shags thought otherwise. So the sign was removed and another appeared with 'JFO' instead. (Junior Flying Officer).
Round 1 to the shags.
The DWO was rather miffed. So one day a working party appeared with a new sign riveted to a reinforced steel pole and half a cubic yard of concrete. Instead of the normal signs which simply pushed into the grass, so that they could be taken out when the grass-cutter appeared, this magnificent erection was of a significantly more permanent design.....
Round 2 to the DWO.
What should have aroused suspicion was the appearance of a group of said shags during the construction process. Who, to plagiarise War of the Worlds, '"...regarded this activity with envious eyes; and slowly, and surely, they drew their plan...". Which was simple - once the concrete had set and the sign was permanently secure, a couple of cans of spray paint and a stencil amended the DWO's sign back to 'JFO'.....
Game set and match to the shags - until the PMC or some other fun-detector put a stop to the contest after much whingeing from the 'Blunders and Wonders' blunty.
Gentleman Aviator
Can't remember which Station, but I recall somewhere they had a named parking slot outside the Mess as a Christmas Draw prize!
Must have been a Staish with a sense of humour - 'twas the whole nine yards, properly painted white on blue sign ........
Must have been a Staish with a sense of humour - 'twas the whole nine yards, properly painted white on blue sign ........
