Apocryphal Tales
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Re #316 (Basil), in my day there was an old chestnut about an officer, court-martialled for being found running starkers down a London/Cairo/Delhi/Singapore hotel corridor. On his behalf it was pleaded that he was appropriately attired for the sport in which he was engaged.
The verdict of the Court is lost to posterity.
D.
The verdict of the Court is lost to posterity.
D.
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Before I arrived to do the Area Radar Course ( which I thoroughly enjoyed, Danny) it seems that a degree of nefarious activity was carried out by some Local Service Airwomen at a certain Radar Unit near Bournemouth. It seems, as I was told, that the 'call centre' was the Allocator at the Radar Unit, who related the messages to the WRAF block.
Numerous postings apparently followed, followed by some sort of posting regime (with LS Airwomen?) but by the time I got there the "Grimmies" had largely been replaced by nice, normal, lasses.
None of this may be true, of course.
Numerous postings apparently followed, followed by some sort of posting regime (with LS Airwomen?) but by the time I got there the "Grimmies" had largely been replaced by nice, normal, lasses.
None of this may be true, of course.
No Radar Returns — Gan, Addu Atoll Incident - 1962
The night is one of those which can only be read about in a Mills and Boone novel - but is real. The warm, gentle, breeze blows off the Indian Ocean and rustles the Coconut Palm tree leaves. In the distance is the soft murmur as the rollers break on the reef. Stars shine down and seem no more than arms length away. The moon shines so brightly as to make it possible to read a newspaper, outside, in the middle of the night, and I can - I tried!
Things could be perfect, or as perfect as they can get on Gan, but the situation has gone horribly “Pear-shaped”.
It’s like this; manpower on the Transit Aircraft Servicing Flight dictates a permanent three-shift system each twelve hours “On” and twenty-four “Off”. No weekends, no Bank Holidays, no leave, nothing but “Time Ex” to relieve the repetition. We have Two/Three Airframe trades, Two/Three Engine, two Electricians, two Instrument and one “Electronics” man, plus a Boss, on each shift. The usual total of thirteen is definitely unlucky for some.
At the moment we have a problem. Due to sickness and family difficulties back in the UK we are down to just one “Electronic” representative, Cliff, among the three shifts. He can’t work 24h/day, so he is not on any one shift, but available at any time. “Available” in Cliff’s language means that you have to search the right watering hole in order to catch him for work when he is required. We need him tonight because we received a “Tech Warning” from a Britannia coming in from Singapore, “No Returns on CCWR (Cloud Collision Warning Radar)”. This means the crew cannot use Radar to see tropical storms ahead. They won’t be happy with a “Turnaround” servicing and Take-off again. Gan has to increase its population from around three hundred to four hundred with all the feeding and shelter for crew and passengers this entails, until the aircraft is fit to fly once more. No-one is happy at the prospect. Cliff must be found!
Everything that can be done is done and we are ready for the arrival. As the aircraft stops we go through the turn-round procedure. Cooler, Oxygen/Air bottle/Bog Trolleys, Ground Power Unit, Fuel Bowsers etc. are brought into position and the inspection starts and finishes as far as we are concerned, Radar excepted. Excuses are found to go onto the A/C to see how the Shift Boss is getting on with the Navigator. The “Rover” arrives - the driver has found Cliff. Mixing him and the Navigator is likely to be a problem. Cliff looks and smells like someone who hasn’t showered, eaten or slept for some time. The Nav. is immaculate; for someone who has just flown a leg from Changi, he is a walking miracle. SD hat TDC, creases only where required in trousers. No sweat streak down the middle of the shirt back above a ramrod spine, tie straight and mat black. Shoes with no marks to mar the high polish and not a pinpoint of a sweat on his brow. A regulation picture.
Cliff gets down to business; that is, he sits at the Nav’s station and closes his eyes. Electricians hover with AVO Meter and lamp and batteries at the ready. “Check Resistance between “D” and “F” on Number Three plug”, the check is made and the result passed back to Cliff. “Check between “A” and “K” on Number Two”. The assistants down in the “Forward Freight” carry out further instructions as requested, the shift boss anxiously consults his watch, the Nav. stands waiting (Why doesn’t he sit, go away, or at least, lean). Time passes, Cliff sweats even more, brow furrowed, heads peek out from the forward freight, everyone is at the ready, waiting for him to work his magic. Our meagre store of spare “Boxes” etc. for the CCWR system are gathered and we are ready to change, repair as far as we can or just thump the item that Cliff indicates is U/S, but he seems stuck. Everything is back to the way it was when we started. We are going round in circles. The A/C is cleared of equipment, except for Ground Power and the Cooler, ready to go when it’s fixed. We await Cliff...
“Run it” said Cliff. In no time I have three and four going in S’fine and the radar “ON”, we wait. Time seems to stand still, no one moves. The roar of the GPU intrudes above the engines and they are the only sounds in the world, apart from the thump, felt rather than heard, of the oscillating scanner. Suddenly, Cliff surges to the front of the cockpit, crying “Let me see that f*****g display”. He stares at the screen, turns to me and says “Stop it”. He stays there as the engines stop and the steps come in. We wait for Cliff to say something.
He turns and says “Who snagged this f*****g thing?”
“I did” states the Nav.
Cliff looks at him and, apparently, sees him for the first time. He puts his face close to the Nav’s, breathes out, and tries to focus. Everyone stays frozen in impossible positions, thinking he has finally cracked.
“You?”
Cliff hangs on his tie, flows round him and then pulls him, by the tie, to the top of the steps, we follow. He swings his spare arm in a gesture that covers the star-spangled firmament and declares.
“Can you see any f*****g clouds?”
Then, “How do you expect to get any f*****g returns?”
The Nav enters the cabin while Cliff stumbles down the steps and into the back of the Rover, shouting “Get me back to the 180”. It goes off. So do we, fast.
No one but the Shift boss and the Nav. is on the A/C. Everyone is back on the Flight veranda, gazing back at the Brit and wondering what will happen now. After a few minutes the shift boss comes in and calls “Ops”.
“The Brit is finished, F700 cleared, and it’s ready to go”.
I suppose we never will find out what happened after we left the A/C, or what was said - unless someone really knows.........?
As related to me by someone who was on 99 Sqn at the same time as me.
The night is one of those which can only be read about in a Mills and Boone novel - but is real. The warm, gentle, breeze blows off the Indian Ocean and rustles the Coconut Palm tree leaves. In the distance is the soft murmur as the rollers break on the reef. Stars shine down and seem no more than arms length away. The moon shines so brightly as to make it possible to read a newspaper, outside, in the middle of the night, and I can - I tried!
Things could be perfect, or as perfect as they can get on Gan, but the situation has gone horribly “Pear-shaped”.
It’s like this; manpower on the Transit Aircraft Servicing Flight dictates a permanent three-shift system each twelve hours “On” and twenty-four “Off”. No weekends, no Bank Holidays, no leave, nothing but “Time Ex” to relieve the repetition. We have Two/Three Airframe trades, Two/Three Engine, two Electricians, two Instrument and one “Electronics” man, plus a Boss, on each shift. The usual total of thirteen is definitely unlucky for some.
At the moment we have a problem. Due to sickness and family difficulties back in the UK we are down to just one “Electronic” representative, Cliff, among the three shifts. He can’t work 24h/day, so he is not on any one shift, but available at any time. “Available” in Cliff’s language means that you have to search the right watering hole in order to catch him for work when he is required. We need him tonight because we received a “Tech Warning” from a Britannia coming in from Singapore, “No Returns on CCWR (Cloud Collision Warning Radar)”. This means the crew cannot use Radar to see tropical storms ahead. They won’t be happy with a “Turnaround” servicing and Take-off again. Gan has to increase its population from around three hundred to four hundred with all the feeding and shelter for crew and passengers this entails, until the aircraft is fit to fly once more. No-one is happy at the prospect. Cliff must be found!
Everything that can be done is done and we are ready for the arrival. As the aircraft stops we go through the turn-round procedure. Cooler, Oxygen/Air bottle/Bog Trolleys, Ground Power Unit, Fuel Bowsers etc. are brought into position and the inspection starts and finishes as far as we are concerned, Radar excepted. Excuses are found to go onto the A/C to see how the Shift Boss is getting on with the Navigator. The “Rover” arrives - the driver has found Cliff. Mixing him and the Navigator is likely to be a problem. Cliff looks and smells like someone who hasn’t showered, eaten or slept for some time. The Nav. is immaculate; for someone who has just flown a leg from Changi, he is a walking miracle. SD hat TDC, creases only where required in trousers. No sweat streak down the middle of the shirt back above a ramrod spine, tie straight and mat black. Shoes with no marks to mar the high polish and not a pinpoint of a sweat on his brow. A regulation picture.
Cliff gets down to business; that is, he sits at the Nav’s station and closes his eyes. Electricians hover with AVO Meter and lamp and batteries at the ready. “Check Resistance between “D” and “F” on Number Three plug”, the check is made and the result passed back to Cliff. “Check between “A” and “K” on Number Two”. The assistants down in the “Forward Freight” carry out further instructions as requested, the shift boss anxiously consults his watch, the Nav. stands waiting (Why doesn’t he sit, go away, or at least, lean). Time passes, Cliff sweats even more, brow furrowed, heads peek out from the forward freight, everyone is at the ready, waiting for him to work his magic. Our meagre store of spare “Boxes” etc. for the CCWR system are gathered and we are ready to change, repair as far as we can or just thump the item that Cliff indicates is U/S, but he seems stuck. Everything is back to the way it was when we started. We are going round in circles. The A/C is cleared of equipment, except for Ground Power and the Cooler, ready to go when it’s fixed. We await Cliff...
“Run it” said Cliff. In no time I have three and four going in S’fine and the radar “ON”, we wait. Time seems to stand still, no one moves. The roar of the GPU intrudes above the engines and they are the only sounds in the world, apart from the thump, felt rather than heard, of the oscillating scanner. Suddenly, Cliff surges to the front of the cockpit, crying “Let me see that f*****g display”. He stares at the screen, turns to me and says “Stop it”. He stays there as the engines stop and the steps come in. We wait for Cliff to say something.
He turns and says “Who snagged this f*****g thing?”
“I did” states the Nav.
Cliff looks at him and, apparently, sees him for the first time. He puts his face close to the Nav’s, breathes out, and tries to focus. Everyone stays frozen in impossible positions, thinking he has finally cracked.
“You?”
Cliff hangs on his tie, flows round him and then pulls him, by the tie, to the top of the steps, we follow. He swings his spare arm in a gesture that covers the star-spangled firmament and declares.
“Can you see any f*****g clouds?”
Then, “How do you expect to get any f*****g returns?”
The Nav enters the cabin while Cliff stumbles down the steps and into the back of the Rover, shouting “Get me back to the 180”. It goes off. So do we, fast.
No one but the Shift boss and the Nav. is on the A/C. Everyone is back on the Flight veranda, gazing back at the Brit and wondering what will happen now. After a few minutes the shift boss comes in and calls “Ops”.
“The Brit is finished, F700 cleared, and it’s ready to go”.
I suppose we never will find out what happened after we left the A/C, or what was said - unless someone really knows.........?
As related to me by someone who was on 99 Sqn at the same time as me.
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Tale from Vietnam:
Marine Gysgt is downing brew in a bar in Saigon, before heading back to a "hotter" zone. USAF Captain is badmouthing "jarheads", and throwing looks at our stalwart Leatherneck.
Too many beers and too much pride get together and something snaps. Aware of the penalties for assaulting a zoomie pilot, he looks around and sights a junior birdman - a USAF LT. who is snickering at the Captain's comments.
Gunny picks up LT. and throws him onto Capt., then stalks out of the bar.
Upon reaching his unit he is called in to speak to his Major about his "weight-lifting". When asked just what he thought he was doing, he thought furiously before replying:
When he was queried about having involved the LT., he replied:
The story varies as to the Major's reply, but legend holds the charges were dropped with the admonishment to "never do that again".
Marine Gysgt is downing brew in a bar in Saigon, before heading back to a "hotter" zone. USAF Captain is badmouthing "jarheads", and throwing looks at our stalwart Leatherneck.
Too many beers and too much pride get together and something snaps. Aware of the penalties for assaulting a zoomie pilot, he looks around and sights a junior birdman - a USAF LT. who is snickering at the Captain's comments.
Gunny picks up LT. and throws him onto Capt., then stalks out of the bar.
Upon reaching his unit he is called in to speak to his Major about his "weight-lifting". When asked just what he thought he was doing, he thought furiously before replying:
Sir, I was just registering a complaint with the Captain about poor inter-service relations.
I was just following the Chain of Command, Sir!
Not very P.C. these days but at Wittering in 1966 fairly normal.
The SWO had wreaked his revenge by picking most of the GoH from Victor Line Sqn. and those that hadn't manage to get out of it were assembled outside the armoury to draw arms. One of the unfortunates was a Nigerian electrician known as Joe.
The SWO then numbered and sized off the GoH, Joe ended up in the centre of the rear rank. At this point OIC GoH appeared and spotted Joe in the rear rank, he pointed at Joe and told him to swap places with the airman who was centre front rank. Joe smartly came to attention before saying "Tell you what sir, I have a better idea. Why don't you put me on a lead, and stand me in front of the band ?" For all further rehersals and the parade, we had a different OIC.
The SWO had wreaked his revenge by picking most of the GoH from Victor Line Sqn. and those that hadn't manage to get out of it were assembled outside the armoury to draw arms. One of the unfortunates was a Nigerian electrician known as Joe.
The SWO then numbered and sized off the GoH, Joe ended up in the centre of the rear rank. At this point OIC GoH appeared and spotted Joe in the rear rank, he pointed at Joe and told him to swap places with the airman who was centre front rank. Joe smartly came to attention before saying "Tell you what sir, I have a better idea. Why don't you put me on a lead, and stand me in front of the band ?" For all further rehersals and the parade, we had a different OIC.
MPN11
Oh true, very true!!
Many years later, when much water had flowed over the Pebbles under the bridge, I was in quarters at said place (the Unit had closed by then), just up the road there was a large home for senior citizens ... I often wondered ........
Then there was the OC who enlivened Dining-In nights with his pistol!!!
Oh true, very true!!
Many years later, when much water had flowed over the Pebbles under the bridge, I was in quarters at said place (the Unit had closed by then), just up the road there was a large home for senior citizens ... I often wondered ........
Then there was the OC who enlivened Dining-In nights with his pistol!!!
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FantomZorbin ... all clues and hints registered and confirmed, Sir 
The pistol was the sad end to the tale, but not a suitable subject for airing here.
The pistol was the sad end to the tale, but not a suitable subject for airing here.
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Now when young Bond joined up, some wit at PMC thought it would be funny to make sure his last three was "007".
Y_G
US Navy Base.....Subic Bay.....height of the Vietnam War....Port visit by a British ship of some kind. Chief Petty Officer's Mess (Club to us.....). Much drink and frivolity....until this exchange was overheard by too many.
Yank...."Well.....we don't see you Brits helping out very much in this War!"
Briit...."No you don't....the North Vietnamese seem to be doing quite well without us!"
Any doubt how that turned out?
Yank...."Well.....we don't see you Brits helping out very much in this War!"
Briit...."No you don't....the North Vietnamese seem to be doing quite well without us!"
Any doubt how that turned out?
How do you make an RAF Plod bark?
There was a story that a scorned rent-a-bride at Odiham poured petrol on the cheating plod whist in bed, and ... well, WOOF!
CG
CG
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There used to be a plod there with a huge skin graft under his chin in the late 70's
Heard this in the 70s: Apparently some airmen detailed to paint kerb stones pre an AOC's inspection spilt a gallon of said stuff all over the road. Instant solution (to spare the SWO's wrath) was to square off the large spillage, so giving the impression that the marking was there for a reason. Even more apparently, the meaningless spot was annually repainted as a matter of course.
Also heard of a Shack crew found in a discotheque after a forced night landing somewhere in Scotland.
Probably all NAAFI lore told after a few pints of Tartan.
Also heard of a Shack crew found in a discotheque after a forced night landing somewhere in Scotland.
Probably all NAAFI lore told after a few pints of Tartan.
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Stevef,
If I remember correctly, the Shackleton crash-landed near Culloden Moor and burned out although all of the crew got out OK. I heard that the crew were picked up from the local pub/village hall where the local dance was in full swing....
Was it not at Finningley where the square of paint existed - outside the Nav School I believe. In a similar vein, the car parking spaces painted up for OC 50 Sqn and his execs at RAF Waddington were refreshed every year for AOCs, despite the Squadron not having been there for many years.
If I remember correctly, the Shackleton crash-landed near Culloden Moor and burned out although all of the crew got out OK. I heard that the crew were picked up from the local pub/village hall where the local dance was in full swing....
Was it not at Finningley where the square of paint existed - outside the Nav School I believe. In a similar vein, the car parking spaces painted up for OC 50 Sqn and his execs at RAF Waddington were refreshed every year for AOCs, despite the Squadron not having been there for many years.
I don't own this space under my name. I should have leased it while I still could
Re #316 (Basil), in my day there was an old chestnut about an officer, court-martialled for being found running starkers down a London/Cairo/Delhi/Singapore hotel corridor. On his behalf it was pleaded that he was appropriately attired for the sport in which he was engaged.
The verdict of the Court is lost to posterity.
D.
The verdict of the Court is lost to posterity.
D.
Danny, I heard that one too. However around 63-64 at Finningley, sqn ldr returning to the Mess one Saturday morning from a round of golf spots naked female running from East Wing to West hotly persued by naked OC Admin.
Naturally he blinked.
Moments later naked female - not sure if it is the same one - runs through the hall from west to east pursued by naked officer whom he recognises at the staish.
Sqn Ldr decides a second round of golf and a stop at the 19th is called for.
It was told to me as at Lynham.
An unwanted airman, awaiting admin discharge was working for the SWO. One of the jobs he was given was to plant a couple of sacks of daffodil bulbs. I wasn't till early spring that a crew member of an aircraft in circuit, looked down to see that they had been planted to read " F*** O** "
An unwanted airman, awaiting admin discharge was working for the SWO. One of the jobs he was given was to plant a couple of sacks of daffodil bulbs. I wasn't till early spring that a crew member of an aircraft in circuit, looked down to see that they had been planted to read " F*** O** "
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Yes been covered before, it's a fake.
Oberon
We did similar at the end of our course, previous courses had been done for their farewell party trick as they were still present, so we decided to do ours that wouldn't be apparent till long after we were long gone. We used a large amount of fuel drained from a jet and killed the grass outside the DI's office with the same words and his name.......... A following course in the block let us know it was mission complete as it showed from the stairwell of the block after a week or so... Much to the DI's chargrin. Seeding it never worked, so they had to returf and that showed up for months.
Oberon
We did similar at the end of our course, previous courses had been done for their farewell party trick as they were still present, so we decided to do ours that wouldn't be apparent till long after we were long gone. We used a large amount of fuel drained from a jet and killed the grass outside the DI's office with the same words and his name.......... A following course in the block let us know it was mission complete as it showed from the stairwell of the block after a week or so... Much to the DI's chargrin. Seeding it never worked, so they had to returf and that showed up for months.
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My first line chief, now sadly departed was one of those characters that the mob seemed to be full of in the 70's. He wasn't in the habit of wearing a tie in the mess which used to get him into all sorts of trouble with the PMC. In the end he was banned for a month and told that he must on no account turn up again to the PMC's mess without wearing a tie. The month up, J*** turned up and strolled into the bar wearing a tie...and nothing else. They don't make 'em like that anymore.
Same unit in deepest Lincolnshire. One of our techy Sgts broke his leg and was in a cast for the required amount of time. On having the cast cut off and being declared fit for service use he decided a few beers in the mess were in order. Feeling in the mood for singing he stood on a bar stool, promptly fell off and...broke his leg.
Same unit in deepest Lincolnshire. One of our techy Sgts broke his leg and was in a cast for the required amount of time. On having the cast cut off and being declared fit for service use he decided a few beers in the mess were in order. Feeling in the mood for singing he stood on a bar stool, promptly fell off and...broke his leg.