Machrihanish may have been paradise on earth in Smudge Smith's day, but it was a different matter to we "V" Bomber boys in the sixties. Macrihanish was a dispersal for the Vulcans of the Waddington Wing and was not, shall we say, the most popular place to be assigned to for exercising the ground equipment - or worse, for a 'Mickey Finn'. Cold, lonely and windy, it was a nice place to leave in a Beverley - taking our own fire engine back home with us.
I remember one routine visit when we ended up at a dismal pub somewhere after the Bombers had flown off. A local fellow latched on to us and ended up back at our hut for the night. In the morning we boarded a bus and climbed aboard our Beverley for the trip home. Upon arrival at Waddington in darkest Lincolnshire, we discovered that our "guest" had joined us on the bus, boarded the flight and climbed onto the fire engine for a kip. There was no way on earth for us to take him back, so we escorted him out to the A15, pointed out which way was north and bade him farewell and safe journey (hitchhiking was a common mode of travel in the sixties)
If he was indeed fortunate, he never made it.
