Some random tales from Burma.
In comparison with some of the early Posts on this Thread, it must be admitted that my operational experiences must rank as rather humdrum and tame. Yet in the wake of the shining knights at the head of any column, there must always trudge the files of humble men-at-arms, the "spear carriers"; their contribution to the battle is every bit as vital. Some recent Posts ago I read a phrase which stuck in my mind: "We each had to fight the War we were given". (I wish I'd thought of that myself) .
This is so profoundly true that it invites a good look at the implications. Every one of us was given a different War to begin with. The War you started with may very well turn into something quite different. Hard Wars can turn soft, and vice versa. At every step, you are at the mercy of blind chance. There is little point in trying to arrange your future, and in any case the old adage is doubly true: "Be careful of what you wish for - you might get it!". I have always found it better just to "go with the flow" and take what the morrow brings.
After that bit of homespun philosophy, and before I retire to the back areas, I shall relate some odd stories which have drifted to the surface of my memory in the past few weeks (I hope I haven't told them already - if so, skip 'em and tell me).
Danny Falls off the Wing.
I've already stressed the small risk involved in Vengance air operations (my Post #2819 above). Indeed, one wag declared that the greatest danger we were exposed to was of breaking an ankle, jumping down from the aircraft after a sortie. Curiously very nearly that happened to me one day.
The aircraft was being refuelled, and I was standing on the wing, chatting to the refuellers. I was directly behind the filler cap, they overfilled the tank and several gallons of petrol sloshed back round my feet I'd been wearing a pair of the very popular sambhur skin Desert Boots, with about an inch of sponge rubber on the soles.
Somewhere in the world there may be a researcher who wants to know the Coefficient of Friction between sponge rubber and petrol-soaked alloy sheet. I can tell him - it is Nil ! Still erect, I slid down and off the wing to land in an untidy heap on the pool of petrol on the ground below. The ground crew fell about laughing, but it was some time before I was able to see the funny side of it.
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A clever Doggie,
The Engineer Officer, Flt. Lt. Steele, had a dog, mostly bull terrier, called Scruffy (and never was an animal so aptly named). Scruff had been given a juicy bone from the kitchen, and had settled down in front of the Mess verandah to enjoy it.
But a passing kite-hawk had designs on this bone too, and adopted the same tactics as the birds at Worli on my first Christmas out there. It flew a tight left-hand circuit round the basha, swooping down and making a grab at the bone each time round.
The indignant dog dropped the bone and made a grab at the bird every time, but it was too quick to catch. This went on for some time; it was stalemate; the bird couldn't get the bone and the dog couldn't get the bird. We watched this in growing amusement.
Then something clicked in the dog's brain. Instead of chasing after the bird, he ran clockwise back to the corner, jumped in the air and met his tormentor almost head-on. There was a roar of rage, a clash of teeth, a cloud of feathers and an anguished squawk. The bird flew unsteadily off minus most of its tail feathers and bothered him no more, Scruff swaggered back to his bone, "dusting his paws off". Applause all round !
That's all for tonight,
Danny42C
The onlooker sees more of the game.