I think, on the form so far, the venerable Hastings wins it for sheer brutality (although I am not sure whether it outlasted the Meatbox in service).
Two of us were on our way out to 208 in the Canal Zone in '54 and met up at Cliff Pipard, which was the passenger transit facility for Lyneham in those days, on the eve of our departure. In view of the reputation of our destination as the Anus of the Empire, we really "hung one on" (the bar stayed open all night on a self-help basis!) sure in the knowledge that we would be suitably anaesthetised for the Hastings ride to Luqa the next day.
No sooner were we airborne than the auto pilot went kaput and the Captain trawled the passengers for substitutes. I drew short straw and found myself wrestling the beast across the Massif. An excellent way of sweating off a hangover! We had two days at Luqa waiting for spares and the crew took us in tow and showed us the shadier side of life on Malta. We seemed to live on some awful local "red" mixed with CocaCola. The Hastings crews included some real characters and spawned some legendary pranks, including the one about the co-pilot emerging from the flight deck and walking down the aisle backwards paying out pieces of string which he thrust into the hands of a Wing Commander matron in the nursing service , telling her which string to pull if a wing dropped, while he ducked into the loo.
