Danny tells A Tale of Two Incidents.
Fareastdriver,
It works ! Thanks a lot ! Danny.
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I must now tell you a heart-warming (and heart-rending) story of some Good News and some Bad News (the Good News first).
It must have been some time after September '52. We were slowly sipping our ersatz coffee after lunch in the anteroom, and I was desperate for something to read. All the more interesting publications had already been "bagged", someone had got the D.T. and was vainly trying the crossword. Lonely and neglected, the "London Gazette" gathered dust at the back of the magazine rack. It was better than nothing.
As we all know, the pages of this Official Publication are never turned except on the twice-yearly Feasts of the Passover, and even then without hope or expectation. The Mess resounds with anguished cries of "Oh, NO !", and "What, HIM ?" and similar outbursts of incredulous horror ("Squadron Leader ? ? - he couldn't lead the pigeons round Trafalgar Square !"), as we read of the good fortune of our erstwhile comrades.
But this was mid-term, and it was hardly worth turning the cover. I riffled idly down a table of newly hatched Flight Lieutenants - and a name jumped out. "Mike, your Flight Lieutenant's come through !" It was the first Mike had heard of it (it was so in those days). Jubilation and congratulations all round ! Good old Mike ! Beer's on Mike tonight !
The sudden influx of wealth would make it possible for Mike to take a step up the ladder of Old Bangers which we penniless Junior Officers had to use for transport. Mike ran a mid-thirties Austin Seven, the famous and well loved "Baby Austin". This was about at the bottom of the pile, a position which it shared with the old "Y" model Ford Eights. It was the subject of many a merry quip and jest, as it was very snug inside (What is a gentleman ? - A man who can change gear in a Baby Austin without getting his face slapped !)
In order to move up the ladder, Mike wanted best price for his "Seven", but there were no takers among his friends (who all knew the car). He was forced onto the commercial market, no luck there either, and he was at last reduced to a place little more than a scrapyard. The Man sucked his teeth: "Ten Pounds". "What !" cried Mike, affronted, "Only ten pounds for this beautiful little car ? I should think not" (or words to that effect). He'd left the car ticking-over, both to demonstrate that it would tick-over, and that there wasn't too much smoke coming out the back end, (and in case it might not restart) . Now he leapt back in, with the intention of making a Le Mans getaway to show The Man what he had so unwisely scorned.
The clutch on the "Seven" was very fierce - about the thickness of a cigarette paper between all-in and all-out. Mike overdid it. "Bang" went a half-shaft. The car rolled about three feet. "Five quid now " said The Man. Poor Mike had to take it, and trudge to the nearest bus stop.
I trust Air Chief Marshal Sir Michael Beavis, KCB CBE AFC, is enjoying his retirement, and (as I know, for I ran into Dave Brown a few years since) has not forgotten his humble friends of long ago, and does not mind me retelling his story.
Back with you again. Goodnight, chaps,
Danny42C.
You never know.