The Sports Field
After a particularly spectacular beer call on "Love and kisses" the boss (who was tall, dark haired and you never entrusted with the kitty) ordered us all back to the scruffs bar on foot across said fields to round off the evening. Himself being PMC at the time, there would obviously be no murmur of dissent from mess. It transpired that a young sergeant who had departed earlier from the crew room to "escort" an airperson of the WRAF persuasion back to Dakota block had succumbed to her charms at about the 22metre line on the rugby pitch. The horde of squadron members nearly trampled over the couple in the stygian darkness, the only light showing being over the main door of the O.M. "Sorry sir" mumbled the partially clad young man. "Carry on!" yodelled the boss as the mass trudged on, offering words of encouragement and comments on prowess. Why we never got a crew bus there, I'll never know.