Akrotiri Vulcans
Pre-Vulcan days at RAF Nicosia c. 1962. [do you a nice Javelin, though]
There was an infamous bicycle-mounted flasher of Old Nicosia who used to target the area near the Bank Of Cyprus [I think it was] where a lot of Brits went to queue humbly for money. The flasher always had his tackle "up for the business".
Young wifey [not mine, sorry to say] jammed her parasol [I expect she was wearing demure white gloves as well] in his front spokes.
In flight, he caught his tackle UNDER the handlebars and did himself some real mischief.
This tale comes courtesy of the Young Wives Club [or whatever] via my wife, who has been on the lookout for a cyclist flasher ever since.
There was an infamous bicycle-mounted flasher of Old Nicosia who used to target the area near the Bank Of Cyprus [I think it was] where a lot of Brits went to queue humbly for money. The flasher always had his tackle "up for the business".
Young wifey [not mine, sorry to say] jammed her parasol [I expect she was wearing demure white gloves as well] in his front spokes.
In flight, he caught his tackle UNDER the handlebars and did himself some real mischief.
This tale comes courtesy of the Young Wives Club [or whatever] via my wife, who has been on the lookout for a cyclist flasher ever since.
I don't own this space under my name. I should have leased it while I still could
I have one of a 4xVulcan at Cranwell. Really you needed to stand where I was which was on the ORP. It is not online though.
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That's my Dad you're referring to :)
Taff Simmonds - my father. We were stationed at Akrotiri 1967-69. He often referred to Paddy and Chalky.
Such good memories.
Such good memories.
S.A.C.W. White and the Seven Crew Chiefs
"Once upon a time in a far away land called Big 'A', there lived a beautiful young airwoman called S.A.C.W. White. Now S.A.C.W. White's lot was not a happy one. She had gone for a friendly chat in a recruiting office and before she knew it the magic words had been whispered and she was whisked away to the kingdom of Big 'A', there to work in the Hydraulic Bay. Now in this bay lurked a great hairy Chief Tech and two ugly sergeants, and from morning till night S.A.C.W. White slaved away whilst the Chief Tech. and the sergeants rattled the dominoes in the crew room. It was "Whitey, have you got those none return valves tested? Are those brake units ready yet? And what about those jacks?" But there was one ray of sunshine for her - the section kebab. This annual extravaganza was to be held this year at Mahmouts, and there was romance in the air. It was the thought of this that gave her strength to carry on. The day wore on and her excitement grew, but deep in her heart she knew what was going to happen (and it did). Ten minutes to knocking off time the call from V.S.F. with the now routine' cry, "I must have these shuttle valves first thing in the morning". Suddenly S.A. C.W. White was alone, the sound of receding Alfa's and Lancia's was all that indicated others had dwelt there. With a sigh she turned back to the test bench; the visions of succulent sausages and kokinnelli were now beginning to fade. She assembled the first valve and connected it to Big 'A's one and only hydraulic test rig. (it was said Noah had left it there when the floods subsided) but 56 Sqn had been using it all day and it was now as serviceable as one of their Lightnings. This was the last straw; "To hell with it!" she cried, and rushed out. It was dark, and as D.O.E. time switch was working perfectly, all the lights that had been on all day were now switched off. She staggered blindly through darkness, not knowing where she was going. Suddenly she knew she must be in a bomber wing dispersal, for only there could the FOD lie so deep and crisp and even; terror gripped her, here she was, a young girl, alone in a bomber wing. She recalled with dread the tales that told of the carniverous crew chiefs that were daily unshackled and allowed to roam at will in these God forsaken parts. Overcome by fear she swooned away.
The following morning two of bomber wing's intrepid airmen 'Taff and Paddy' were on their way to work. They knew they had a hard day of volley-ball and uckers ahead of them, but never-the-Iess they were in good heart. Paddy suddenly stopped. .
"Hey, Taff, what's that on the pan". "Isn't it a Vulcan?".
"No, that thing underneath".
Oh that! it's only F.O.D."
"It looks like a body to me".
They were only half an hour late for work so they had plenty of time to go and investigate; as they approached, the body moved.
"Taff, it's alive and moving".
"It can't be one of our trade managers then".
They stood staring down at the still unconscious form of S.A.C.W. White looking so lost and forlorn among the F.O.D.
"What do you reckon, Paddy".
"Well, she'd be no good for uckers and we've enough for volley-ball".
"But she still might be dead".
"Let's put her in with the crew chiefs then she wouldn't be noticed there".
They took a leg each and set off for the tine hut.
Back in the dispersal line hut the time was 8 o'clock and six of the crew chiefs had already arrived to start the 7 o'clock shift. An air of complacency hung over the room and the kettle was on. Suddenly the door burst open and in ran their missing member showing grave signs of distress. When he could speak coherently he gasped "They've' done it! The nightshift have worked all night and the aircraft are all serviceable', and we've only got an hour to put them u/s again". This was a challenge all crew chiefs understood, and, as one man, they rose, but he turned to Chalky and said "I'm sorry Chalky but they've, already signed yours up and they're crewing in". Chalky turned white and his knees began to sag. Two of the others led him to a corner to be alone with his grief. They tried to console him but three years a crew chief and this was the third time an aircraft had come serviceable during his shift - he felt the disgrace deeply. The others set forth determined they would not suffer a like fate.
Meanwhile, Taff and Paddy arrived at the hut; there was no response to their repeated knocking so they opened the door and walked in. The place was deserted apart from a crew chief with a vacant expression on his face and an F700 clutched tightly to his breast "Er . . .Chief", said Paddy, but a wracking sob was the only answer he got as the chief's iron control finally gave way. "All Bomber wing has finally got him" said Taff knowingly. "But what do we do with her?" asked Paddy. They looked around and in the corner they saw a pile of amendments that were waiting to be incorporated in the hut's A.P.'s. They were dated 1969, 1970, 1972, 1973 and 1974. 1971's had been used as score sheets on the uckers board. "We'll put her on the top of that lot" said Taff, "They'II action her when they get back". So they laid her across the amendments with an old bundle of priority signals for a pillow, and with a sympathetic "hang on, chief". they left.
The crew chiefs returned and it could be seen by their attitude, as they headed for the table and a game of clag, that success had been theirs. Only Smudge had that look of apprehension as his aircrafts condition had still to be decided, but he was confident as it was now in the hands of bomber wing's highest technical authority, S.A.C. Malone. They took their places at the table. "Somebody's been sitting in my chair" said the crew chief leader with the air of a dethroned monarch. "Somebody's moved the dominoes and crib board" said the deputy, who was responsible for the hut's athletics. "And someone has been lying on the uckers score sheets and they are still there, fast asleep", chirrupped the U/T crew chief who was irresponsible anyway. They advanced on the inert form of S.A.C.W. White.
In the, wing itself a change was felt.. The atmosphere became tense; an air of expectancy hung over the place and all knew our hero was abroad - 'Warrant Officer Charming'! He had been known as 'Stan' to his friends but the last of these had long since past away - now he lived with the loneliness that only power can bring. Whenever he sallied forth trade managers sank deeper into their armchairs, tradesmen quaked, and their volleyball became erratic. Even the ground equipment tried to look serviceable.
Today he was happy, at a conference with Wing CO God (he ascended from Scampton) they'd both agreed they were damn fine fellows. It was also S.N.C.O.'s assessment time and as he was a fair man he hated them all equally, and it was with delight that he mentally permed the threes and fours he would award them. So all looked well in bomber wing. His wanderings took him near the crew chief's tine hut, he pondered whether to enter, as he was fully up to date with his innocculations and vaccinations, so he knew the risk was minimum. Fearlessly he strode in and quickly he sized up the situation, and in a flash he whipped out his red biro. "I'll categorise it", he said. At the sight of that red biro the crew chiefs fell back, they'd seen that biro at work before, it had scarred many a F700.
At that moment S.A.C'.W. White opened her eyes, and finding herself surrounded by crew chiefs, knew all was lost. "Woe is me" she cried. "No, me, is WO", said our hero, but when she looked into his baby blue eyes she knew never again would she fear the great hairies, and he knew that someone would call him 'STAN' again, and the crew chiefs!! Well, uckers is uckers!
"Once upon a time in a far away land called Big 'A', there lived a beautiful young airwoman called S.A.C.W. White. Now S.A.C.W. White's lot was not a happy one. She had gone for a friendly chat in a recruiting office and before she knew it the magic words had been whispered and she was whisked away to the kingdom of Big 'A', there to work in the Hydraulic Bay. Now in this bay lurked a great hairy Chief Tech and two ugly sergeants, and from morning till night S.A.C.W. White slaved away whilst the Chief Tech. and the sergeants rattled the dominoes in the crew room. It was "Whitey, have you got those none return valves tested? Are those brake units ready yet? And what about those jacks?" But there was one ray of sunshine for her - the section kebab. This annual extravaganza was to be held this year at Mahmouts, and there was romance in the air. It was the thought of this that gave her strength to carry on. The day wore on and her excitement grew, but deep in her heart she knew what was going to happen (and it did). Ten minutes to knocking off time the call from V.S.F. with the now routine' cry, "I must have these shuttle valves first thing in the morning". Suddenly S.A. C.W. White was alone, the sound of receding Alfa's and Lancia's was all that indicated others had dwelt there. With a sigh she turned back to the test bench; the visions of succulent sausages and kokinnelli were now beginning to fade. She assembled the first valve and connected it to Big 'A's one and only hydraulic test rig. (it was said Noah had left it there when the floods subsided) but 56 Sqn had been using it all day and it was now as serviceable as one of their Lightnings. This was the last straw; "To hell with it!" she cried, and rushed out. It was dark, and as D.O.E. time switch was working perfectly, all the lights that had been on all day were now switched off. She staggered blindly through darkness, not knowing where she was going. Suddenly she knew she must be in a bomber wing dispersal, for only there could the FOD lie so deep and crisp and even; terror gripped her, here she was, a young girl, alone in a bomber wing. She recalled with dread the tales that told of the carniverous crew chiefs that were daily unshackled and allowed to roam at will in these God forsaken parts. Overcome by fear she swooned away.
The following morning two of bomber wing's intrepid airmen 'Taff and Paddy' were on their way to work. They knew they had a hard day of volley-ball and uckers ahead of them, but never-the-Iess they were in good heart. Paddy suddenly stopped. .
"Hey, Taff, what's that on the pan". "Isn't it a Vulcan?".
"No, that thing underneath".
Oh that! it's only F.O.D."
"It looks like a body to me".
They were only half an hour late for work so they had plenty of time to go and investigate; as they approached, the body moved.
"Taff, it's alive and moving".
"It can't be one of our trade managers then".
They stood staring down at the still unconscious form of S.A.C.W. White looking so lost and forlorn among the F.O.D.
"What do you reckon, Paddy".
"Well, she'd be no good for uckers and we've enough for volley-ball".
"But she still might be dead".
"Let's put her in with the crew chiefs then she wouldn't be noticed there".
They took a leg each and set off for the tine hut.
Back in the dispersal line hut the time was 8 o'clock and six of the crew chiefs had already arrived to start the 7 o'clock shift. An air of complacency hung over the room and the kettle was on. Suddenly the door burst open and in ran their missing member showing grave signs of distress. When he could speak coherently he gasped "They've' done it! The nightshift have worked all night and the aircraft are all serviceable', and we've only got an hour to put them u/s again". This was a challenge all crew chiefs understood, and, as one man, they rose, but he turned to Chalky and said "I'm sorry Chalky but they've, already signed yours up and they're crewing in". Chalky turned white and his knees began to sag. Two of the others led him to a corner to be alone with his grief. They tried to console him but three years a crew chief and this was the third time an aircraft had come serviceable during his shift - he felt the disgrace deeply. The others set forth determined they would not suffer a like fate.
Meanwhile, Taff and Paddy arrived at the hut; there was no response to their repeated knocking so they opened the door and walked in. The place was deserted apart from a crew chief with a vacant expression on his face and an F700 clutched tightly to his breast "Er . . .Chief", said Paddy, but a wracking sob was the only answer he got as the chief's iron control finally gave way. "All Bomber wing has finally got him" said Taff knowingly. "But what do we do with her?" asked Paddy. They looked around and in the corner they saw a pile of amendments that were waiting to be incorporated in the hut's A.P.'s. They were dated 1969, 1970, 1972, 1973 and 1974. 1971's had been used as score sheets on the uckers board. "We'll put her on the top of that lot" said Taff, "They'II action her when they get back". So they laid her across the amendments with an old bundle of priority signals for a pillow, and with a sympathetic "hang on, chief". they left.
The crew chiefs returned and it could be seen by their attitude, as they headed for the table and a game of clag, that success had been theirs. Only Smudge had that look of apprehension as his aircrafts condition had still to be decided, but he was confident as it was now in the hands of bomber wing's highest technical authority, S.A.C. Malone. They took their places at the table. "Somebody's been sitting in my chair" said the crew chief leader with the air of a dethroned monarch. "Somebody's moved the dominoes and crib board" said the deputy, who was responsible for the hut's athletics. "And someone has been lying on the uckers score sheets and they are still there, fast asleep", chirrupped the U/T crew chief who was irresponsible anyway. They advanced on the inert form of S.A.C.W. White.
In the, wing itself a change was felt.. The atmosphere became tense; an air of expectancy hung over the place and all knew our hero was abroad - 'Warrant Officer Charming'! He had been known as 'Stan' to his friends but the last of these had long since past away - now he lived with the loneliness that only power can bring. Whenever he sallied forth trade managers sank deeper into their armchairs, tradesmen quaked, and their volleyball became erratic. Even the ground equipment tried to look serviceable.
Today he was happy, at a conference with Wing CO God (he ascended from Scampton) they'd both agreed they were damn fine fellows. It was also S.N.C.O.'s assessment time and as he was a fair man he hated them all equally, and it was with delight that he mentally permed the threes and fours he would award them. So all looked well in bomber wing. His wanderings took him near the crew chief's tine hut, he pondered whether to enter, as he was fully up to date with his innocculations and vaccinations, so he knew the risk was minimum. Fearlessly he strode in and quickly he sized up the situation, and in a flash he whipped out his red biro. "I'll categorise it", he said. At the sight of that red biro the crew chiefs fell back, they'd seen that biro at work before, it had scarred many a F700.
At that moment S.A.C'.W. White opened her eyes, and finding herself surrounded by crew chiefs, knew all was lost. "Woe is me" she cried. "No, me, is WO", said our hero, but when she looked into his baby blue eyes she knew never again would she fear the great hairies, and he knew that someone would call him 'STAN' again, and the crew chiefs!! Well, uckers is uckers!
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I touched the Vulcan world only on two occasions. Did a short stint at St. Athan on Majors in 78 but the other was more fun. Back in 77 I was on TASF in Akrotiri and our wing included the armoury. This year they got tasked with blowing off the legs of the fire dump Vulcan that sat down near Echo. We all went down to sit in the monnie ditch and watch. I am not too sure if it was intentional but instead of blowing the legs through the wings and dropping the rest onto the ground the opposite happened.
The aircraft was blown off the legs and sent into orbit and all the telephone lines etc. underneath were cut by the blast
My lasting memories of that day was watching the nose section flutter to the ground in bits!!!!!!!
Local papers had a field day about this accident involving the local nuc aircraft
The aircraft was blown off the legs and sent into orbit and all the telephone lines etc. underneath were cut by the blast
My lasting memories of that day was watching the nose section flutter to the ground in bits!!!!!!!
Local papers had a field day about this accident involving the local nuc aircraft
Ah ! 'bang-makers' and aircraft - not a good combination !! Anyone else recall the Leconfield blast wall removal attempt ? Not present , personally, but the account I heard was a reminder of possible problems.
The only time in 22 years that I was issued with a loaded rifle was to guard the bombed up Akrotiri Vulcans during the Dawson's Field hijackings. The story went round that in the event of the hijackers blowing up the aircraft with the passengers on board, the Jordanians would secure the area and the Vulcans would go and flatten the place.
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