What did officers eat for lunch?
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Did we ever! The Princess M came to Coningsby in lateish 1973 and behaved exactly as described by others. Three spoons of soup, pushed the main course round the plate a few times, turned to the staish and said "let's skip pudding and go for a smoke in the anteroom". Luckily for me I had landed the job of looking after the aircraft for the flypast so it was working blue, cycle round the back of the airfield and in at the crash gate to where the aircraft were parked on the dispersals. Unluckily for my wife she was one of those press ganged for the non-eating lunch. The soup never got down to the bottom of the tables, nor did the main course, so she went hungry and I got a stonking addition to my mess bill.
Thought police antagonist
St Athan, '76, and a shade warm. Vale of Glamorgan looking like Namibian desert, or any desert for that matter, hosepipe bans, rationing etc.
Not so at the entrance to the Bucc majors shed....flowers and green verdant grass everywhere...due to being watered everyday on account of the Dutchess of Somewhere's visit...watering ceased once she had been and gone.
Food in the mess on the day actually palatable, just, back to normal thereafter
Not so at the entrance to the Bucc majors shed....flowers and green verdant grass everywhere...due to being watered everyday on account of the Dutchess of Somewhere's visit...watering ceased once she had been and gone.
Food in the mess on the day actually palatable, just, back to normal thereafter
Memorable Blunties Lunch
I recall in 1982 whilst on BFTS at Cranwell walking into THOM for a blunt lunch as there was no flying- it was mid week, walking past the bar towards the dining room I was taken aback by the hum from the bar- packed with blunts holding pints and cigs- laughing and clearly enjoying themselves. For a brief moment I thought I should be a supply or admin officer rather than a spotty BFTS student so I could enjoy these lunch time sessions!
I recall telling a civvy friend the story and he recounted that whist doing an industry placement for his engineering degree he worked at the same form as his dad - an electrical engineer, each lunchtime he ended up joining his dad and other work colleagues at the local pub where they would have 3-4 pints and a nosh up each day- his dad would chuck the sandwiches his mum had made him in the bin. He was sworn to secrecy- up till then he thought his dad was a non drinker- he would fall asleep on the train back home. A bit of a thread drift I know but boozy blunt lunches were a thing in those days both in the RAF and for the civvies!
I recall telling a civvy friend the story and he recounted that whist doing an industry placement for his engineering degree he worked at the same form as his dad - an electrical engineer, each lunchtime he ended up joining his dad and other work colleagues at the local pub where they would have 3-4 pints and a nosh up each day- his dad would chuck the sandwiches his mum had made him in the bin. He was sworn to secrecy- up till then he thought his dad was a non drinker- he would fall asleep on the train back home. A bit of a thread drift I know but boozy blunt lunches were a thing in those days both in the RAF and for the civvies!
Avoid imitations
What, AOC's/Princess Royal/TACEVAL same day?
As Met. was civilian, albeit with strange "dormant commissions", and as Gutersloh Met was the scruffiest part of the Ops/ATC complex, we never ever saw an AOC or indeed a SWO with silver knob. We did, however, have a genuine Luftwaffe stationery cupboard complete with swastika symbol ............
As Met. was civilian, albeit with strange "dormant commissions", and as Gutersloh Met was the scruffiest part of the Ops/ATC complex, we never ever saw an AOC or indeed a SWO with silver knob. We did, however, have a genuine Luftwaffe stationery cupboard complete with swastika symbol ............
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Military Personal for lunch. Chips at the aircrew feeder. D Reg and I met for the first time when he was eating his chips post taxi trip to Leeming on the day of Mike Seares funeral. Missed that for the job. So did D Reg as it was not his lot and a working day. The real world of that day in Sep 2005. Friendship started.
Major client office presentation in London with a contingent who had flown down on the first BA Shuttle. Catered buffet lunch delivered. Participants returned at the end. That evening got a significant upset; next morning, reporting sick, found that my colleagues were the same, so were those in an internal meeting next door who had a same-source lunch. Not trivial; I was out for over a week.
Salesman contacted the clients. Had been a good office session, apparently, but oh dear, the BA meal served on the flight home has given us all food poisoning. People off for days after. Appalling. BMI for us in future ...
One meal stands out above all others:
Aircrew survival exercises, North Yorkshire, January sometime in the 1980's.
6 days of nowt to eat except a lovely table bunny toasted on sticks over a fire after five days. At ten to five on the Friday we were lined up, told that we had all failed the course due to bad attitude, and were to collect our kit and march to the next RV. Not too sure what was happening but . . .
Five minutes later we were taken into a clearing in the woods and served a three course slap up meal!
Good thing we could all take a joke.
Aircrew survival exercises, North Yorkshire, January sometime in the 1980's.
6 days of nowt to eat except a lovely table bunny toasted on sticks over a fire after five days. At ten to five on the Friday we were lined up, told that we had all failed the course due to bad attitude, and were to collect our kit and march to the next RV. Not too sure what was happening but . . .
Five minutes later we were taken into a clearing in the woods and served a three course slap up meal!
Good thing we could all take a joke.
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Dulles burgers... Yummy, got into a spot of bother running the APU on a Ten to power the galley so I could heat my burger up, how was I to know we had just recieved a signal telling us to save fuel as the budget was about spent, the underspend years were much more fun when we were told to basically burn it. 
Some of the Royals I did had some nice food, though most of us flicked the Caviar off the starters lol.
Probably the best meal I had on a Ten was coming back from Canada post engine change where it was just the basic crew and the two of us that went out to change it, no hosties, so instead of catering the food had been purchased at a local supermarket and we had a whacking great Steak with all the trimmings knocked up by the loady followed by Ice Cream and washed down with a few bottles of ahem...Beer.
Some of the Royals I did had some nice food, though most of us flicked the Caviar off the starters lol.
Probably the best meal I had on a Ten was coming back from Canada post engine change where it was just the basic crew and the two of us that went out to change it, no hosties, so instead of catering the food had been purchased at a local supermarket and we had a whacking great Steak with all the trimmings knocked up by the loady followed by Ice Cream and washed down with a few bottles of ahem...Beer.
Avoid imitations
One meal stands out above all others:
Aircrew survival exercises, North Yorkshire, January sometime in the 1980's.
6 days of nowt to eat except a lovely table bunny toasted on sticks over a fire after five days. At ten to five on the Friday we were lined up, told that we had all failed the course due to bad attitude, and were to collect our kit and march to the next RV. Not too sure what was happening but . . .
Five minutes later we were taken into a clearing in the woods and served a three course slap up meal!
Good thing we could all take a joke.
Aircrew survival exercises, North Yorkshire, January sometime in the 1980's.
6 days of nowt to eat except a lovely table bunny toasted on sticks over a fire after five days. At ten to five on the Friday we were lined up, told that we had all failed the course due to bad attitude, and were to collect our kit and march to the next RV. Not too sure what was happening but . . .
Five minutes later we were taken into a clearing in the woods and served a three course slap up meal!
Good thing we could all take a joke.
He took great delight in agitating the chickens before launching them one at a time, whilst nominating which group it was for. Ours (we were deemed to be the fittest group) was obviously crossed with a racing pigeon and it set off, flying into the woods. It took some catching and took a while then I was nominated to despatch it, which I duly did by smartly hacking off its head with my Wilki knife, across the top of a fence post. We gutted it and set about cooking it.
Next to us was another flight who had stated earlier in the week (when true hunger hadn’t fully set in) that not having done it before, none of them thought they could actually bring themselves to kill a chicken. We weren’t too surprised when we got back with our spoils to find one of them actually plucking their bird while the rest of the flight were away to collect firewood. When the bird was completely naked, but still intact, it was laid at rest by the fire. Suddenly, it sat up and squawked! They were mortified and didn’t know what to do. I picked the poor thing up and despatched it in the same way as ours. They then admitted that one of them had knocked it on the head with a stick and hoped for the best. Obviously, it was only stunned!
Ah, good old THOM! Had to stay there for the first bit of BFT before rooms became available in York House. Returning there after YHOM happy hour one Friday evening, met by some crusty old Sqn Ldr in the reception who wanted to know why we didn’t attend happy hour in THOM, as “it is, after all, your mess”. “can we wear our flying suits then?”, “oh no, absolutely not”.
Think you may have your answer, sir.
And being chewed out for not wearing a tie to dinner at the weekend. When mess rules expressly said it wasn’t necessary. And then getting even redder and grumpier when I brought him the Mess Rules from the foyer to show him when he wouldn’t back down.
Think you may have your answer, sir.
And being chewed out for not wearing a tie to dinner at the weekend. When mess rules expressly said it wasn’t necessary. And then getting even redder and grumpier when I brought him the Mess Rules from the foyer to show him when he wouldn’t back down.
I am surprised that none of my fellow SH brethren haven't mentioned the many Army Cook Houses in Northern Ireland, They always served Steak & Chips when ever we seemed to pop in. Now the Army were issued with Irons, Knives and Forks to us, so we had to make do with plastic. You cannot imagine how many broke trying to cut steaks. Maybe that's why British Airways and British Midland lost so much cutlery on the NI Shuttles!
The Wardroom at Portland sussed out Princess M’s appalling etiquette very quickly. Having consumed no soup at all due to the behaviour described earlier, at the precise second the Royal Knife and Fork parted company with the surface of the table for the main course, a hundred and odd plates of meat and 2 veg disappeared in around 10 seconds flat. Same with the pud.
No doubt that her nephew Andrew was cast in the same mould. Whereas in the Wardroom Charles had been perfectly happy with the name Wales (as in “Oi Wales it’s your round”), Andrew insisted on being addressed as “Your Royal Highness” at all times. To**er.
No doubt that her nephew Andrew was cast in the same mould. Whereas in the Wardroom Charles had been perfectly happy with the name Wales (as in “Oi Wales it’s your round”), Andrew insisted on being addressed as “Your Royal Highness” at all times. To**er.
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Entertaining as these dits are, we are rather straying from the topic of ‘officers lunch’ to ‘royal PIta’.
But then Lunch is not such an entertaining conversation!
But then Lunch is not such an entertaining conversation!
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* Unless you can count the 2nd Coningsby and Tattersall Scout Troop, whose leaders were RAF, and allowed us to indulge in activities that I suspect would not pass modern Risk Assessments.
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Sorry, Tim00 … if you’re happy, let the ball keep rolling. Just pleeezzze let us not stray into Dining In nights and their ilk, else we shall be here forever!!
Ah yes, LSE as it was known in my day. Late on in our survival week (1977) we were brought a basket of chickens by the Station Commander (name of Gubb?).
He took great delight in agitating the chickens before launching them one at a time, whilst nominating which group it was for. Ours (we were deemed to be the fittest group) was obviously crossed with a racing pigeon and it set off, flying into the woods. It took some catching and took a while then I was nominated to despatch it, which I duly did by smartly hacking off its head with my Wilki knife, across the top of a fence post. We gutted it and set about cooking it.
Next to us was another flight who had stated earlier in the week (when true hunger hadn’t fully set in) that not having done it before, none of them thought they could actually bring themselves to kill a chicken. We weren’t too surprised when we got back with our spoils to find one of them actually plucking their bird while the rest of the flight were away to collect firewood. When the bird was completely naked, but still intact, it was laid at rest by the fire. Suddenly, it sat up and squawked! They were mortified and didn’t know what to do. I picked the poor thing up and despatched it in the same way as ours. They then admitted that one of them had knocked it on the head with a stick and hoped for the best. Obviously, it was only stunned!
He took great delight in agitating the chickens before launching them one at a time, whilst nominating which group it was for. Ours (we were deemed to be the fittest group) was obviously crossed with a racing pigeon and it set off, flying into the woods. It took some catching and took a while then I was nominated to despatch it, which I duly did by smartly hacking off its head with my Wilki knife, across the top of a fence post. We gutted it and set about cooking it.
Next to us was another flight who had stated earlier in the week (when true hunger hadn’t fully set in) that not having done it before, none of them thought they could actually bring themselves to kill a chicken. We weren’t too surprised when we got back with our spoils to find one of them actually plucking their bird while the rest of the flight were away to collect firewood. When the bird was completely naked, but still intact, it was laid at rest by the fire. Suddenly, it sat up and squawked! They were mortified and didn’t know what to do. I picked the poor thing up and despatched it in the same way as ours. They then admitted that one of them had knocked it on the head with a stick and hoped for the best. Obviously, it was only stunned!
