Masirah Donkeys.
No fence in those days, JW!
Back in the late '50s I was ground crew on Shacks that were doing a bit of the old fashioned 'colonial policing' - you know the sort of thing: meet interesting people and drop bombs on them!
Between sorties, us groundies retired for a spot of scoff (hard tack biscuits and tinned compo cheese IIRC). On returning to the servicing control tent we caught sight of the arse-end of a donkey protruding from the tent. Closer inspection revealed that the critter had been lunching on a F700 that was left open on the Chiefy's table.
After we had stopped laughing, chased the donkey away, and carried out a fresh servicing (current signed pages were inside donkey), we needed several signals to base in order to establish the approximate hours consumed by lifed items, these pages also having formed one of the courses of the donkey's lunch