Gatehouse!!!
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'For want of a better word' was, I think, the catchword from FS Mcqueen!
I remember the Two Tribes thang as well, the repeated air raid siren at the beginning at some silly hour of the morning.
Coming back to the house on a Friday evening and finding yet another girl sitting on my bed "It's alright I am Phil's (Smithy) girlfriend from back home, he said I could watch your telly" (third different one!)
and after the barman leaves the bar unattended we mix our own Tizers....legs work at 90 degrees to head when trying to get on the bus to go to Donny....
I remember the Two Tribes thang as well, the repeated air raid siren at the beginning at some silly hour of the morning.
Coming back to the house on a Friday evening and finding yet another girl sitting on my bed "It's alright I am Phil's (Smithy) girlfriend from back home, he said I could watch your telly" (third different one!)
and after the barman leaves the bar unattended we mix our own Tizers....legs work at 90 degrees to head when trying to get on the bus to go to Donny....
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I have the Artwork!
Thank you Richlear for the reminder. I have the original post-event artwork by Ash *** (can't remember his second name - Reed, possibly?). A great picture of RAFP below a set of Airmen Aircrew Stripes, the bird above which was cr@pping on said scuffer!! A good night, with DT receiving a visit from SWO regarding noise, as I remember.
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Jake McQ's Propper England
I remember Jake McQ's notice pinned to the board in No2 Mess after a Monday morning room inspection of Gatehouse:
"This morning's inspection was bad bad disgraseful. Your 'Chester Draws' need a good tydying"!
Happy days!
"This morning's inspection was bad bad disgraseful. Your 'Chester Draws' need a good tydying"!
Happy days!
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Gatehouse 1980 - 81
Exploding Home Brew!
Nurses stashed in the attic during RAFP surprise inspection!
Falling out of my bedroom window drunk and waking up next morning without a scratch!
Steve Hicks (RIP mate!) trying to wheelie his bike and crashing through another front door!
etc.....etc.....etc!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Happy Days!!
Exploding Home Brew!
Nurses stashed in the attic during RAFP surprise inspection!
Falling out of my bedroom window drunk and waking up next morning without a scratch!
Steve Hicks (RIP mate!) trying to wheelie his bike and crashing through another front door!
etc.....etc.....etc!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Happy Days!!
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Gatehouse Rock Festival, The Full Story
Gatehouse Rock Festival
The gatehouse rock festival was almost a quarter of a century ago, some of the memories are faded and some are like yesterday. Gatehouse, for those who don’t know, was a cul-de-sac of ex-married quarters at RAF Finningley where the students of the NCO aircrew school were housed. The “Rock Festival”, like all the best parties, was not planned but, developed from small beginnings into a monster of a night out. A shindig which nearly got all of us thrown out of the mob.
The evening started down town Doncaster on a disappointingly quiet night. The whole bunch of us decided we had had enough of Camelots and decided to go back to the No.2 Sergeants mess, where we had started earlier at happy hour. It was on the way back to the mess that the drunken idea of the outdoor party developed. The night wasn’t that cold and it was dry. “Why don’t we get a carry out from the mess, get the guitars and a stereo and have a street party?” There were a few nods, shrugs and “why not’s” and that was it. Game on.
Having removed most of the alcohol stock from the mess, we carried the crates, slabs and bottles back to gatehouse shouting “Get out yer houses we’er avin a parrrrty” People were dragged from their houses and the street started filling up with more booze, women, food and furniture. I went to set up the sound system.
For the technophiles and muso’s I will outline the sound gear. We had a Sound City 120 valve amplifier and 2 x four by twelve speakers. A Gibson SG replica and a mic were plugged in channel A. Channel B was pre-amped by the classic 80’s Sharp vertical record deck ghetto blaster. To put this into context, when the Beatles played Shea Stadium (NY) they used Vox AC30 amps. So the Gatehouse rock festival had four times the sound output of John Lennon playing to 55000 people.
The film Back to the future was released the following year but I think they got the inspiration for the opening sequence from the gatehouse rock festival. Every knob and switch that could be turned up was against the stops. Just the mains hum was shaking the windows then… Press play and let loose the dogs of war.
Music, beer, singing, guitars, schooner races, dancing, beer jousting, upside down drinking, Tequila snorting……..The party got off to a good start.
The challenges and competitions became more and more outrageous and dangerous culminating in “stunt singing”. This involved RL and MP on top of each others shoulders, on a bike, with a guitar, singing “Morning has broken” whilst riding over a make shift ramp we constructed in the road. There were cuts and bruises but amazingly the guitar survived.
Further into the night someone set one of the tin dustbins on fire to give a sort of miners strike picket line feel. A while later there was a loud bang as an aerosol in the burning dustbin exploded. We all thought this was great and soon all the bins were alight and being fed with de-odorant, shaving foam and anything else that looked like it would go with a decent bang.
The scene was incredible, beer fights, water bombs, broken glass, Jimi Hendrix splitting your ear drums and the dustbin mortar bombs intermittently filling the night sky with a myriad of red sparks. I remember thinking “Can it possibly get any better than this???”
The answer was NO, and it was going to get a lot worse, very quickly…
The first complaints about the noise had been received by the guardroom hours earlier, and as the night wore on the intensity and frequency grew. We later found out one complaint was from three miles away. The officers mess at Finningley is nearly half a mile from Gatehouse, but a dull thud could be heard over the music at the disco they were having. The orderly corporal had no alternative but to call out the orderly officer, who happened to be a warrant officer that night. “What the hell is going on” the OO barked on entering the guardroom. “The ‘plastics’ are having a party, sir” was the reply….
The orderly officers car screeched round the corner into Gatehouse, and he leapt out in a complete rage. We were all startled and sort of huddled together in a group. After a few minutes ranting, the orderly officer demanded our names.
Silence
“You” said the OO pointing at MW, who was dripping wet for some reason. “Name, rank and number.” MW remained silent but a voice from the crowd said “Don’t tell him Pike” which got a few nervous giggles. I myself and I’m sure many of the others felt like guilty school boys caught red handed. From the orderly officers point of view though, we must have looked like a large riotous bunch of very drunken men. He made a tactical withdrawal back to the guardroom but, we knew the writing was on the wall.
Everyone ran in different directions, extinguishing dustbins, picking up broken glasses, hiding booze and in general, panicking. My concern was my very large PA system, on the doorstep of my house, with my name all over it, and nowhere to hide it. I legged it over to the house of Mr.X (Who was one of the contestants in the Gatehouse Rally later that year). I went up the stairs and burst into his bedroom… The young girl he was bouncing on tried to cover her modesty. “There’s going to be a raid, I need your car” I panted. He leaned down retrieved the keys from his jeans on the floor and tossed them over to me. All credit to the man as he never lost rhythm or stroke while I was in the bedroom.
I got some help from Nige S (RIP) and we managed to get the PA system and the car concealed and then legged it back to help with the clean up. That’s when the police turned up, in force.
Three RAFP Land Rovers roared into Gatehouse lights flashing and spread out blocking off the end of the cul-de-sac. The doors flew open and what looked like every copper on the station came fourth baying for blood. Everyone dropped what they were doing and ran.
Me and Nige and possibly OZ (failing memory) went through the front door of one house, through the living room and kitchen, out the back door, over the fence, over the perry track and dived into a ditch under a bush.
A lot of people took individual escape routes but about ten people ran into Taff’s house. They all ran upstairs, turning the lights on as they went. This was a beacon of light to the police and they picked Taff’s house to raid first. Bursting into the bedrooms, the police found drunken aircrew three to a bed pretending to be asleep. The coppers must have been thinking “Jesus guys, don’t make it worse for yourselves” Further searching revealed another four people in wardrobes, cupboards, etc.
From our vantage point in the ditch we could see the house to house searching progressing. While the police were searching one house, girls and booze were being shifted to houses already searched. So the true extent of the debauchery was not discovered.
A horse in the field behind our vantage point ditch (The one which was later to come second in the Gatehouse Grand National), had come over to investigate his new visitors in the field. He was a friendly nag that we had fed often. But with police 20m away with torches, his attentions were not appreciated. He was eating our cover and ignored our continuous hissed commands of “F**K off Dobbin”
The hours passed, and having seen no movement around the back of the houses for a while, we decided to go and investigate. As you do when you are drunk, we scuttled around pretending to be under cover soldiers. In reality we were staggering across the road giggling, and when we looked down into the cul-de-sac that was Gatehouse we were met by a miraculous sight. Every kitchen light in the street was on. And in every kitchen window were the residents of each house. And lo did they hold in their hands irons, with which they were all pressing their No.1 uniforms. And so we joined the merry thong.
A couple of hours later and we were all on parade. We knew how much trouble we were in and had worked hard on spitting and bulling (as if it made a difference!). We all looked like Keith Richards in Armani suits.
We lined ourselves up and stood there waiting for the inevitable outcome, waiting and waiting. The sounds of retching from the “Welsh” department had us all constantly swallowing, and then they arrived… I think that two minutes of ranting to commence a bollocking is in QR’s but it serves absolutely no purpose. 23 years later I remember the party, the people and the smell of sick, but I have no idea who was doing the shouting.
Then came the procession of admission of guilt. The urge to shout out “I’m Spartacus” was almost unbearable. Each in turn was questioned “Name, Rank, Number?”… Given. “Were you present last night”…… “Yes”…
And so it continued until J**n M said “Wasn’t me sir, don’t know what your talking about sir” In true forces fashion an angry man screeched “You miserable lying B***ard, I was there, I saw you”…. A nonchalant “Fair cop” Was the reply, which again incensed last night’s orderly officer. Who was obviously there as a character witness. The procession continued and a little voice in my head was saying; just say “Crucifixion
For me please sir” But when my turn came and I just said “Yes”
The noble art of confession, we thought, would go a long way to placating the powers that be. We were wrong, and at the end of the parade, we were told we were all to be chopped and to report to the No.2 Sergeant mess for “further briefing”. We were devastated. We had just discovered the real meaning of life in the forces, only to have it taken away.
Looking back, the bollockings took on standard military format but at the time our whole lives were hanging in the balance, and we were just very scared. From flight commander level, we progressed to the Sqn Ldr. He wanted to chop us all as well but, this would mess up his schedule somewhat, and for that reason only, the sentence of the chop was commuted to a 24 week recourse. There was a general sigh of relief, apart from me and a few others. A 24 week recourse would not only put me out of the Air Force, I would have to go back to school and re-take my A-levels.
As the rank of the bollocker increased the sentence of the bollockees reduced. We ended up with 16 weeks of parades at 1800 on Friday nights, which meant we couldn’t go home for weekends. It also meant a parade inspector had to be found from the officers’ mess on a Friday after happy hour, which is not easy.
The inspections started as a means to catch us out. “Parade in No.2’s” , very good. Now go and bring back your No.1 shoes in your hands, etc. But they ended up as a complete laugh. The Humph was a classic by getting us to parade in PT kit and raincoats.
From that day to this my only regret about the whole affair is; we didn’t get the T-shirts printed, from the drawing our resident graphic artist made.
The gatehouse rock festival was almost a quarter of a century ago, some of the memories are faded and some are like yesterday. Gatehouse, for those who don’t know, was a cul-de-sac of ex-married quarters at RAF Finningley where the students of the NCO aircrew school were housed. The “Rock Festival”, like all the best parties, was not planned but, developed from small beginnings into a monster of a night out. A shindig which nearly got all of us thrown out of the mob.
The evening started down town Doncaster on a disappointingly quiet night. The whole bunch of us decided we had had enough of Camelots and decided to go back to the No.2 Sergeants mess, where we had started earlier at happy hour. It was on the way back to the mess that the drunken idea of the outdoor party developed. The night wasn’t that cold and it was dry. “Why don’t we get a carry out from the mess, get the guitars and a stereo and have a street party?” There were a few nods, shrugs and “why not’s” and that was it. Game on.
Having removed most of the alcohol stock from the mess, we carried the crates, slabs and bottles back to gatehouse shouting “Get out yer houses we’er avin a parrrrty” People were dragged from their houses and the street started filling up with more booze, women, food and furniture. I went to set up the sound system.
For the technophiles and muso’s I will outline the sound gear. We had a Sound City 120 valve amplifier and 2 x four by twelve speakers. A Gibson SG replica and a mic were plugged in channel A. Channel B was pre-amped by the classic 80’s Sharp vertical record deck ghetto blaster. To put this into context, when the Beatles played Shea Stadium (NY) they used Vox AC30 amps. So the Gatehouse rock festival had four times the sound output of John Lennon playing to 55000 people.
The film Back to the future was released the following year but I think they got the inspiration for the opening sequence from the gatehouse rock festival. Every knob and switch that could be turned up was against the stops. Just the mains hum was shaking the windows then… Press play and let loose the dogs of war.
Music, beer, singing, guitars, schooner races, dancing, beer jousting, upside down drinking, Tequila snorting……..The party got off to a good start.
The challenges and competitions became more and more outrageous and dangerous culminating in “stunt singing”. This involved RL and MP on top of each others shoulders, on a bike, with a guitar, singing “Morning has broken” whilst riding over a make shift ramp we constructed in the road. There were cuts and bruises but amazingly the guitar survived.
Further into the night someone set one of the tin dustbins on fire to give a sort of miners strike picket line feel. A while later there was a loud bang as an aerosol in the burning dustbin exploded. We all thought this was great and soon all the bins were alight and being fed with de-odorant, shaving foam and anything else that looked like it would go with a decent bang.
The scene was incredible, beer fights, water bombs, broken glass, Jimi Hendrix splitting your ear drums and the dustbin mortar bombs intermittently filling the night sky with a myriad of red sparks. I remember thinking “Can it possibly get any better than this???”
The answer was NO, and it was going to get a lot worse, very quickly…
The first complaints about the noise had been received by the guardroom hours earlier, and as the night wore on the intensity and frequency grew. We later found out one complaint was from three miles away. The officers mess at Finningley is nearly half a mile from Gatehouse, but a dull thud could be heard over the music at the disco they were having. The orderly corporal had no alternative but to call out the orderly officer, who happened to be a warrant officer that night. “What the hell is going on” the OO barked on entering the guardroom. “The ‘plastics’ are having a party, sir” was the reply….
The orderly officers car screeched round the corner into Gatehouse, and he leapt out in a complete rage. We were all startled and sort of huddled together in a group. After a few minutes ranting, the orderly officer demanded our names.
Silence
“You” said the OO pointing at MW, who was dripping wet for some reason. “Name, rank and number.” MW remained silent but a voice from the crowd said “Don’t tell him Pike” which got a few nervous giggles. I myself and I’m sure many of the others felt like guilty school boys caught red handed. From the orderly officers point of view though, we must have looked like a large riotous bunch of very drunken men. He made a tactical withdrawal back to the guardroom but, we knew the writing was on the wall.
Everyone ran in different directions, extinguishing dustbins, picking up broken glasses, hiding booze and in general, panicking. My concern was my very large PA system, on the doorstep of my house, with my name all over it, and nowhere to hide it. I legged it over to the house of Mr.X (Who was one of the contestants in the Gatehouse Rally later that year). I went up the stairs and burst into his bedroom… The young girl he was bouncing on tried to cover her modesty. “There’s going to be a raid, I need your car” I panted. He leaned down retrieved the keys from his jeans on the floor and tossed them over to me. All credit to the man as he never lost rhythm or stroke while I was in the bedroom.
I got some help from Nige S (RIP) and we managed to get the PA system and the car concealed and then legged it back to help with the clean up. That’s when the police turned up, in force.
Three RAFP Land Rovers roared into Gatehouse lights flashing and spread out blocking off the end of the cul-de-sac. The doors flew open and what looked like every copper on the station came fourth baying for blood. Everyone dropped what they were doing and ran.
Me and Nige and possibly OZ (failing memory) went through the front door of one house, through the living room and kitchen, out the back door, over the fence, over the perry track and dived into a ditch under a bush.
A lot of people took individual escape routes but about ten people ran into Taff’s house. They all ran upstairs, turning the lights on as they went. This was a beacon of light to the police and they picked Taff’s house to raid first. Bursting into the bedrooms, the police found drunken aircrew three to a bed pretending to be asleep. The coppers must have been thinking “Jesus guys, don’t make it worse for yourselves” Further searching revealed another four people in wardrobes, cupboards, etc.
From our vantage point in the ditch we could see the house to house searching progressing. While the police were searching one house, girls and booze were being shifted to houses already searched. So the true extent of the debauchery was not discovered.
A horse in the field behind our vantage point ditch (The one which was later to come second in the Gatehouse Grand National), had come over to investigate his new visitors in the field. He was a friendly nag that we had fed often. But with police 20m away with torches, his attentions were not appreciated. He was eating our cover and ignored our continuous hissed commands of “F**K off Dobbin”
The hours passed, and having seen no movement around the back of the houses for a while, we decided to go and investigate. As you do when you are drunk, we scuttled around pretending to be under cover soldiers. In reality we were staggering across the road giggling, and when we looked down into the cul-de-sac that was Gatehouse we were met by a miraculous sight. Every kitchen light in the street was on. And in every kitchen window were the residents of each house. And lo did they hold in their hands irons, with which they were all pressing their No.1 uniforms. And so we joined the merry thong.
A couple of hours later and we were all on parade. We knew how much trouble we were in and had worked hard on spitting and bulling (as if it made a difference!). We all looked like Keith Richards in Armani suits.
We lined ourselves up and stood there waiting for the inevitable outcome, waiting and waiting. The sounds of retching from the “Welsh” department had us all constantly swallowing, and then they arrived… I think that two minutes of ranting to commence a bollocking is in QR’s but it serves absolutely no purpose. 23 years later I remember the party, the people and the smell of sick, but I have no idea who was doing the shouting.
Then came the procession of admission of guilt. The urge to shout out “I’m Spartacus” was almost unbearable. Each in turn was questioned “Name, Rank, Number?”… Given. “Were you present last night”…… “Yes”…
And so it continued until J**n M said “Wasn’t me sir, don’t know what your talking about sir” In true forces fashion an angry man screeched “You miserable lying B***ard, I was there, I saw you”…. A nonchalant “Fair cop” Was the reply, which again incensed last night’s orderly officer. Who was obviously there as a character witness. The procession continued and a little voice in my head was saying; just say “Crucifixion
For me please sir” But when my turn came and I just said “Yes”
The noble art of confession, we thought, would go a long way to placating the powers that be. We were wrong, and at the end of the parade, we were told we were all to be chopped and to report to the No.2 Sergeant mess for “further briefing”. We were devastated. We had just discovered the real meaning of life in the forces, only to have it taken away.
Looking back, the bollockings took on standard military format but at the time our whole lives were hanging in the balance, and we were just very scared. From flight commander level, we progressed to the Sqn Ldr. He wanted to chop us all as well but, this would mess up his schedule somewhat, and for that reason only, the sentence of the chop was commuted to a 24 week recourse. There was a general sigh of relief, apart from me and a few others. A 24 week recourse would not only put me out of the Air Force, I would have to go back to school and re-take my A-levels.
As the rank of the bollocker increased the sentence of the bollockees reduced. We ended up with 16 weeks of parades at 1800 on Friday nights, which meant we couldn’t go home for weekends. It also meant a parade inspector had to be found from the officers’ mess on a Friday after happy hour, which is not easy.
The inspections started as a means to catch us out. “Parade in No.2’s” , very good. Now go and bring back your No.1 shoes in your hands, etc. But they ended up as a complete laugh. The Humph was a classic by getting us to parade in PT kit and raincoats.
From that day to this my only regret about the whole affair is; we didn’t get the T-shirts printed, from the drawing our resident graphic artist made.
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Nice Story DT, we heard about this, passed down to us later generations like a Norse legend with stern warnings that any repeat would not be tolerated......
(I was there in the summer of '88)
(I was there in the summer of '88)
I lived in Gatehouse from late-85 until mid-88 (yes, the best part of 3 years; lost my med cat, and used to hold/work in the expedition store at the SSA, if anyone remembers), and can honestly say I had the time of my life there. I took my wife to Finningley just before it opened as Donnie International, and showed her 10 Almond Close; how sad to see it boarded up and derelict. I think the whole estate's been demolished now? Very happy days/daze...
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Gatehouse Rock Festival
DazzyT,
Great post mate - best thing I've read on the PPRUNE for ages. After nearly 25 years I've now got a better idea of what actually happened, even though I was there on the night ! (of course I was very, very drunk). Also somewhat faded, my lasting memory was how the intro to Black Sabbath's "War Pigs" was mistaken by many in the local area (out to 3 miles) as the siren for a Station call-out 
. I also seem to recall that BW (RIP) stopped the OO as he approached the scene and promptly told him to "F%&k Off mate, we're having a party".
Happy Days, hope all is well with you and don't forget your life-long promise to me - don't let me end up with 'The Tug' ... 2 terrorists dead, now where's the girl. Mrs OHP 15M says 'hi'
Great post mate
- best thing I've read on the PPRUNE for ages. After nearly 25 years I've now got a better idea of what actually happened, even though I was there on the night ! (of course I was very, very drunk). Also somewhat faded, my lasting memory was how the intro to Black Sabbath's "War Pigs" was mistaken by many in the local area (out to 3 miles) as the siren for a Station call-out . I also seem to recall that BW (RIP) stopped the OO as he approached the scene and promptly told him to "F%&k Off mate, we're having a party".Happy Days, hope all is well with you and don't forget your life-long promise to me - don't let me end up with 'The Tug' ... 2 terrorists dead, now where's the girl. Mrs OHP 15M says 'hi'
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DT
I know there is more to come, as my first introduction to the Keith Richards of custom shed was a bottle of vodka followed by tomato juice shoved in my rather horrible tasting mouth declared as breakfast by some tramp in a Miami Dolphins shirt It did not take away the taste of rubber from gone surfins throat I'll wager though
Charlie sends
I know there is more to come, as my first introduction to the Keith Richards of custom shed was a bottle of vodka followed by tomato juice shoved in my rather horrible tasting mouth declared as breakfast by some tramp in a Miami Dolphins shirt
It did not take away the taste of rubber from gone surfins throat I'll wager though Charlie sends
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Rock festival artwork
Snake eyes, I would love a copy of the rock festival artwork. Maybe I could get a T-shirt made for old time sake.
Ahh, the Custom Shed days of bloody mary breakfasts, another good supply of stories there!!
Nice to here from OHP 15M after so long.
Ahh, the Custom Shed days of bloody mary breakfasts, another good supply of stories there!!
Nice to here from OHP 15M after so long.
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Rock On
DazzyT, great post mate! And hiding behind such a well disguised nom-de-plume! Right up there with Dimmer Switch and Mr Trotter snr
At last, a proper timeline from someone who was there, although you have a suspiciously detailed grasp of the night's events. You couldn't have been that drunk
I'll ask MP next time I see him - you wouldn't recognise him as a Gatehouse anarchist now, very mellow 
Mr Allan 907
FY was obviously dumbed down from the Vulcan days, but surely you had fun too?
Me, I had a great time there, although somewhat more subdued than the course above! Actually, if CAS wants to engender all the best values in his people, he could do worse than to copy the Gatehouse model. Ditch H&S and EO training and breed more characters.
At last, a proper timeline from someone who was there, although you have a suspiciously detailed grasp of the night's events. You couldn't have been that drunk
I'll ask MP next time I see him - you wouldn't recognise him as a Gatehouse anarchist now, very mellow Mr Allan 907
FY was obviously dumbed down from the Vulcan days, but surely you had fun too?
Me, I had a great time there, although somewhat more subdued than the course above! Actually, if CAS wants to engender all the best values in his people, he could do worse than to copy the Gatehouse model. Ditch H&S and EO training and breed more characters.
Last edited by TheSmiter; 3rd Apr 2007 at 11:12. Reason: cos I can
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Do remember one fine evening at Lewey's Stag Do, and the quality (
) entertainment that the 'feds' put paid to, as despite having the curtains drawn, she was perfectly silhouetted by the backlighting.
Bangin - yes I do and am sure that this is night of the modelling career charlie luncher is referring to !!!!!!!!!!!
) entertainment that the 'feds' put paid to, as despite having the curtains drawn, she was perfectly silhouetted by the backlighting.Bangin - yes I do and am sure that this is night of the modelling career charlie luncher is referring to !!!!!!!!!!!
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Dazzy:
I remember that night with absolute clarity. I was in my married quarter several hundred yards up the road lying awake in the middle of the night wondering which of my neighbours was having a party and hadn't invited me...
On the bright side, myself and the other scaleys didn't have to parade... Shame to have missed the party though..
I remember that night with absolute clarity. I was in my married quarter several hundred yards up the road lying awake in the middle of the night wondering which of my neighbours was having a party and hadn't invited me...
On the bright side, myself and the other scaleys didn't have to parade... Shame to have missed the party though..
