DXW - Pardon, you need an excuse?

Ok, Treble One's Mess Cannon a couple ago (ineptly fired by Flt Lt P*** N**d**) was rubbish! 43's design much better (had it worked....)

S41

I'm enjoying reading all these stories - keep them coming!

Also may prove to be useful as I'm joining the RAF and this seems to be a good "what not to say" guide!

You could sell it on Ebay with 100% proceeds going to H4H. You can get CDs copied in bulk at pretty cheap rates.

Benson AOCs parade dress rehearsal.
Staish: Airman, haven't you got a better pair of shoes than those?
Airman: Yes Sir
Staish: Well why aren't you wearing them?
Airman: Cos they are brown sir.

Next day at the parade proper, AOC asks ginger F/O Nav
Are you enjoying your tour here?
Nav: No. I will be out of the RAF in a couple of weeks.
AOC: And what will you do then?
Nav: Cartwheels up the blxxdy A1 sir.

Keep them coming guys and gals
 

Many thanks to all, it's going great - I'm cutting and pasting all the stories into a word document which I will make available to a military charity. I won't make a penny from it but if any of you don't want your story to be published please let me know. I will take NTR as agreement to publish.

RETDPI - see BEags latest post. Sgt R...a did indeed seem to be as thick as 2 short planks but I wonder.. He certainly did have a heart of gold under his crust. BEags do you remember the 13 year old air cadet who ran out of money on summer camp because of the slot machines in the Cranes Club?

Squirrel 41
 

I guess you weren't on 43 when they flew Phantom FGR2's and lived in 2 Hangar (No HAS in those days). Eng Wing stole the live Bantam cockerel that lived in a coop outside the hangar and replaced it with a frozen Buxted chicken. Sqn aircrew thought it was mildly amusing - Sqn SEngO went ballistic. BTW the cockerel wasn't harmed.

Test of the mettle of an IOT flt cdr was generally reckoned to be "how far will you let a cadet march in the wrong direction?". SPTA, night, flight has just been thrown out of a helicopter. "Which way, Bloggs?", I asked. Bloggs, who wanted a career inthe RAF Regt, replied "South, Sir", and duly set off in a northerly direction. "What's that up there?" from me after about 10 minutes. "Star, Sir". "Bright isn't it", I hinted. Rest of flight mutter in Bloggs's ear. "Norf Star", says Bloggs brightly, and is about to set off north again. "Where is the North star in the sky?", I hint again. Muttering in the flight. "Sorry Sir, we need to go the other way". We start retracing our steps - "What's that Bloggs", as a very bright light appears ahead. "'Nuver star, Sir", replies Bloggs. "So why is it making that bloody noise?" as Bloggs realises he is about to lead the flight under a landing helicopter. No, he did not reach "the standard required for commissioning".

SOSL, no, I didn't have much interest in 13 year old space cadets.....:suspect:

Valley 1975. Friendly Gnat student spots 2 lads in blue wandering around the 2 Sqn Ops area looking a bit lost. "Hi chaps, my name's W**t*n. You must be here on Summer Camp - which ATC sqn are you from?"

"Err, no. Actually sir, we're from GRSF and are here to fix your Hadley Box!"

Ooops!

Sadly W**t*n later Cat 5'd himself in a Hunter at Brawdy - probably after becoming disorientated following a low level abort into cloud.

Just to keep lurking spacies happy, someone once asked how to spot the difference between an older ATC cadet and a young airman. The answer is easy - the ATC cadet will be the one with the smarter turn out...:\

During a heightened security state, gate guards at a secret HQ just outside Huntingdon were given a mirror mounted on rollers which could be pushed under a vehicle to see if there was any unwanted "cargo" attached to the vehicle. Our orders were to check every vehicle entering the camp.

Up rolls the Padre with Mrs Padre in the passenger seat. 'Good morning Padre. Sorry, but we have to check under every vehicle". "No problem" he says "Go ahead".

Phil C*******n, from the ever-so-secret photography place that hid in a corner of the camp, slides the mirror under the car. He has a long, slow look under the vehicle.

Then he taps on the passenger's window, which is then wound down. "Good morning ma'am"" he says to Mrs Padre. " Do you realise you've got chewing gum on the sole of your shoes......and your seams aren't straight". Look of red-faced horror appears on face of Mrs Padre as she tucks her skirt under under and draws her feet and knees together. Padre see's the joke, laughs out loud, pauses, looks at wife then says "Thanks lads, I don't think she'll be dragging me down to many more coffee mornings".

BEagle
 

OK - I tell you. Young ATC cadet on summer camp at RAF Cranwell gets into the Cranes Club on the first night. Has never seen a slot machine before, loses his entire weeks spending money in about half an hour. Later that evening Sgt R...a found the lad crying in a corner of the club and asked him what was wrong. Cadet explains and to cut a long story short uncle Les gave him fiver (lot of money in 1969) to get through the week so long as he didn't go near the slot machine again.

Happy days - SOSL

Sorry - off thread - not a funny story. mea culpa

Second hand story which might need verifying, although I knew pilot and was based there. RAFG Premier Jaguar Wing, early '80s. Young Jag pilot, recently arrived and working up to CR on an early sortie, runs in and breaks to land. Liney watching and there in HAS on shut down.

Liney: 'Blimey Sir, that arrival looked a bit quick! What speed were you doing?'

YJP: 'Dunno, I was too f*#%£@g scared to look'

Boots!!
 

Just a wee while ago at an airshow on the south coast, one young and punchy FS aircrewman has just finished showing 30 ATC cadets around his steed. Having done this in time that could have been spent in the bar, he was feeling particularly pleased with his sense if 'Espirit De Corps' . . .and stuff. Not however impressed by the RAuxAF Wg Cdr in charge of said cadets who then approached and said " Thanks for that F/S, oh, and by the way . . .your boots, little dusty aren't they.
" Boots operational, NOT decorational . . .Sir " . . . How I larrrrfffed.

SOSL, I'm sure the RAFBF would be intersted in your suggestion. I can provide contacts should you need.

Thanks Shandyman please pm me with details.

SOSL
 

Have you considered publishing it via BLURB.COM ? You can download their publishing software (free) and design the whole thing yourself. Upload it back to them, they'll price it for you, you then state the price you want to sell it for and they will list it for you. They then pay you the difference in price between cost and your selling price. You can also purchase copies for onward sale.

When its available, put a link to its listing on BLURB on here and wait for the sales to roll in. Although my blue suit days are long since past, I for one will be buying.

Many moons ago..........we were off for some adventure training at a rather run down ex POW army camp near the Faslane Navy base on the Clyde. Choice of catering, either RAF Turnhouse supply the raw nosh and we come up with our own cook, or leave it all to the army. Well, who would you choose? Last minute cock-up; we've no cook. No worry though, we've got an F/O with us who can do everything and cooking in a nice warm dry cookhouse looks to him like being preferable to getting cold and wet in the Argyllshire hills. Said F/O does walk round of cookhouse with resident army cook and signs for all of the CBS windows (that's Cracked Both Sides for those of you who don't know), cleaning materials and all the other odds and ends that the army are kindly donating for our welfare.

Lunch is supposed to be cold meat but with the weather typically West of Scotland (i.e. f*****g awful) we persuade F/O Cook to convert some of the spam into spam fritters as us occifers need something warm inside us. Flour is duly fetched from the army flour bin and the batter is mixed. Fat is heated, first battered fritter is lowered gently into hot fat, batter disappears off fritter faster than snow off a dyke in summer. Add more flour. Try again. Same result. At this point the army cook is seen walking past and is summoned to give advice. He dips finger into batter and tastes. “Where did you get the flour” asks he, to which F/O Cook replies “the flour bin over there”. “Sir, responds army cook, that bin is scouring powder, the flour is over there”. Never mind, Vim fritters were never on the menu anyway.

SOSL, yes, that would be a typically kind 'Uncle Les' thing to have done.

We were so lucky to have such people to introduce us to the RAF way of life!

theredbarron, brilliant story!

I think I'll get rid of me telly , the best comedy script-writer in the world couldn't write stuff like this !!
Keep it coming , brilliant stuff !!
Cheers , Grandfer :ok::D:D:)

SOSL, no, indeed not - I was watching the more modern iteration of the chicken abduction contest between 43(F) and the Essex-Wide-Boy-Militia of One-Hundred and Eleven Squadron... :ok:

Something about chicken bbqs Treble-One?

S41

Thanks Theredbaron, I'll bear it in mind when I've got something worth publishing. Glad I didn't have to share your highland cuisine!

You're right BEags we were lucky.

Some years ago, it seems that a tortoise leaving HQ SC was mugged by a gang of snails. There was a big fuss and the RAF Police were called in. They interviewed all the witnesses but no one could really help them because it all happened so fast.

The joys of MT

Being shown how three people can drive a landrover, the one in the drivers seat working the pedals, the one in the middle of the front bench seat doing the gears, and the bloke behind the driver leaning over his shoulder doing the steering.

In the landrover going to duty supper, the armourer driving quietly sets the hand throttle and asks the young LAC in the front seat to hold the steering wheel while he blows his nose. Once the LAC had the wheel, the armourer opens the drivers door and climbs onto the roof while the rover is doing 25 MPH, with the LAC wondering how he is driving the rover.

Finding out how many people you can get in an MT chevette estate - 8.

Pulling up outside the mess for duty supper, and watching all 8 people get out of the chevette estate to the astonishment of the copper standing by the mess door.

Asking the fairy chief why he's in the WO's bad books, then him admitting he had a bit too much to drink at the last beercall, was intercepted by a RAFP dog handler on his way back to the car park, and showed his ID card to the dog!

Freedom of Lincoln Parade during the mid noughties. Everything is going well, rousing tunes from the band, everyone in step, the sun is out and a fairly big crown watching. The 'Eyes.... Left' for the dias is given and smartly carried out by all as the fly past goes overhead right on time. :ok:

But why is OC Eng Wg taking the salute? Where is Harry and the Mayor? :confused: Who knows! 'Eyes.... Front' and carry on up High Street towards Ann Summers.

Suddenly, near Marks and Sparks and out of nowhere comes the order 'Eyes.... Left'! Again smartly carried out by all who then see 1 x flustered looking Mayor and 1 x seriously :mad: hacked off Harry returning the salute. 'Eyes.... Front', carry on and off we go back for the all ranks drinks in the Naafi. It wasn't long till Harry came in to tell us all that the Mayor had been too busy getting some drinks down range, and despite Harry's repeated warnings had fubar'd his timings spectacularly. Cue 1 x hand written apology note delivered to the Stn that same day.

Winter in Germany. Lineys build snowman which RAF Police knock down with Landrover. This was repeated a couple of times. The next snowman was built round a water hydrant...and yes, they did.

Aaargh - Freedom parades....

Some years ago, long before the pongos got their hands on Wattisham, I was volunteered to 'command' a freedom march through Ipswich. There would be the RAF, some RAFA, ATC etc all following my sword-toting stroll through the streets.

Come the day and the weather-guesser said that there might be the odd spot of slight drizzle, but nothing worse. So, Plan A was to get out of the bus at the drop-off point, meet the old timers and cadets, then march down to the god-shop. Plan B (if pissing down) was to take the bus direct to the god-shop.

The 'slight drizzle' began to look a little more than 'slight'; in fact distinct raindrops could be seen on the road. But nothing short of a cloudburst or thermonuclear war was going to persuade the old buggers of RAFA to take the bus. So off we all went....and, somewhat predictably, at about PNR the heavens opened!

We arrived at the god-shop pretty well soaked, then steam came off our uniforms as we did the stand up and pretend to sing, kneel down and mumble, daydream through the god-botherer's sermon routine. Then we fell in outside looking rather less than pristine in crumpled No.1s which by then smelled like a pack of wet labradors.

Off we squelched, with a copper on a motorbike keeping our path clear. After marching past the dais, some tosseur on a pushbike decided to make some sort of 'peace protest' by riding across my bows holding up a 'peace salute'....

"F*ck off right now, or this sword goes right up your ar$e", quoth I, somewhat sutto voce.

"And I won't see anything", said the copper.

So f*ck off he did!

We finally made it to the RAFA building bordering on hypothermia. But the old boys had loved it, they'd marched through the town with medals clinking and were as proud as Punch. So they pressed copious libations on us until we finally poured ourselves back on the bus and made our way back to the station!

OCTU at Henlow in the late 1970's. My flight included a couple of Nigerians and on one of the early field exercises (might have been to STANTA) the officer cadet leading orders the flight to take up "All-round defence" in the middle of nowhere.

Nigerian cadets' response "where de fence, I doan see no fence!"

Rest of flight collapse laughing....

MB

This was told to me by Lt Cdr the one only Pete Shepherd, longtime ardent beer drinker and super Sea Fury display pilot.

It seems that a young Prince Charles was invited aboard Ark Royal, then with Sea Vixens and Buccaneers (Pete did a brilliant display in the SV too!), and was invited to join Pete as the duty DLO. He told HRH that some Bucs were due anytime and the landing deck was a place that could be 'nasty.' He then proceeded to explain to the young prince that when an aircraft approached the carrier is was all "guess work" and "chance." At this time they were standing very close to the escape chute and began his lecture to HRH on what happens "if an aircraft gets in trouble or a cable breaks" and then proceeded thus; "Sir, if something nasty does happen you must jump into that chute and get out of the way ASAP." Then followed with "now, your mummy must have told you that you are first in line of descent, but I am here to tell you its wrong, I am first and you follow me."

Great guy was Pete.

Ahhh... Freedom Parades.

Scene: Durham in the early 80's. No. 2 Squadron RAF Regiment for whatever reason is set to march in the Freedom Parade. Back then, (they've probably "improved" it now), the road up to the Cathedral was surfaced in nice shiny cobbles.

The parade started at the very bottom of the hill and arrived, uneventfully, at the Cathedral and the Sqn. sat through the ceremony inside. Sermons etc. over the squadron reformed for the march back down the hill and all the dignitaries and their old biddies lined the route down to applaud and watch the spectacle in awe.

The Acting WO at the time was a true gentleman named Dave B****t, (RIP), who, through "unofficial channels" had manage to acquire himself a nice shiny set of AP boots... the ones that are almost all metal on the soles :ok:. Dave was a big man with a big voice and, for those who remember Windsor Davies, they could have been brothers - right down to the moustaches. For those of you unfamiliar with Durham, the hill generates quite a sweat on the climb up such is the incline. Off we march with Dave duly offset to the side calling cadence. As luck would have it, right in front of the oldest and most frail of the dignitaries and their biddies Dave's boots began to slide out from under him on the cobbles. For a full five seconds his feet kept slipping out from under him only to be replaced, quite remarkably, by the other foot like a frantic ice dancer. This entire gyration was accompanied by Dave, in his finest Drill Pig voice, saying "OOOOOOHHHHHH FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKKK"... This was immediately followed by a fluttering of hankies and much muttering and whispering behind old hands.... It was all we could do to reach the bottom of the hill in step... ;)

Would that be a Russian lady with comfortable boots or a Cumbrian dry stone wall?







hat, coat, gloves

One dark night in the middle of Salisbury Plain we were acting as hunter force against a group of senior nav studes who were supposed to be evading.

Naturally we were all hiding revealed only by the white moon glow from so many clean faces, all that is except for our two Ghanian studes. All that could be seen of them, if you knew where to look, was the slight lightening of their dark slate-grey flying jackets.

Then one of the distaff, sotto voce, "Awuvery, where are you? Smile you bastard, smile." Where upon a brilliant white light became visible :)

(Couldn't get away with that today)

And the Senior Nav Studes? Well one method of evading capture was to leg it as fast as possible before hunter force was deployed. Well not this lot. Leg it they did, but straight off the plain to the local hostelries in Warminster. No idea what the locals thought with the boosers filling up with a bunch of officers all in scruff order camouflage. :)

Distaff were 100% unimpressed. We thought it a great scheme.

Late 70's, a young Fortissimo was participating in very wearisome TACEVAL at famous Anglesey training base. Despite exalted position as FJ student filth, was detailed to do control of entry to ops building...

Given that said base was part of the then Support Command, the operational focus was a tad blurred and most of the staff had not seen the front line for several years. So Fortissimo is now looking out of the entrance hall at some lovingly crafted rectangles of white tape on the ground, marked 'CPX slit trench', while clutching a broomstick bearing the label 'CPX rifle' - we clearly could not be trusted with the real thing (or more probably, they didn't want to go to the trouble of breaking out the weapons as it was only TACEVAL).

After sufficient time on shift for boredom to have become a real issue, OC Ops ( a genuine poison dwarf) arrived at the door to liven things up. I asked him for his ID and got the classic "Don't you know who I am?!!" snarled reply. "Yes, Sir." quoth I.

Poison Dwarf: " So if you know who I am, why do you want to see my ID card?"

Fortissimo: "Because I have been told to check everyone's ID."

PD: "And why do you think that might be?"

I looked meaningfully at the sign on my CPX rifle (which was of course pointed in a safe direction) and said: "Because there is every chance that you might be an inflatable replica, Sir!"

Cue explosion of unusually eloquent vitriol from PD. But it was worth every day of the extra SDO duties!

The SWO of old
 

Flt Lt walking to work with dog off lead and trundling behind, cocks leg on MGR wall at Oxfordshire base and scents (dog not the officer). SWO on seeing this asks said Flt Lt to stop his dog pissing on MGR wall unless he wants to undertake an Ord Officer and clean it with the airman on restrictions. As Flt Lt and dog amble off to work the SWO advises the good officer that he hasnt finished and would like a word with the dog, SWO bends down and in a quiet but firm tone says to the sitting Jack Russell 'Tell your Dad to get his f*cking hair cut'. Straightening up he salutes and says 'carry on sir'. It still makes me laugh whenever I think of it. God Bless Mr Robertson one of the last of the professionals.

One for the Matelots
 

During the mid-ninetys, a certain Naval Air Squadron was deployed to DJ Barracks, Split......... During a rather late drink in the JR's bar, 2 Red Caps decided to pay a visit, wanting to know why the bar was still open and who was in charge.... Que voice from the back.....
Matelot.....'I am'
Red Cap....'who are you....?'
Matelot..... 'I'm the SMR....!!!!'
Red Cap......' SMR....???? whats that.....?'
Matelot.....'The same as your RSM but spelt differently....Now f@?! off...!'
2 rather red faced red caps beat a hasty retreat....... Happy days......!!!!

The Joys of MT II
 

RAFG - early 90's. It's always the armourers.... SAC armourer going a tad too quickly through the HAS site, clips the grass skids and flips the Landrover (luckily fitted with roll bars so no one seriously injured). Subsequent radio traffic goes...."Crusader Eng, this is XXXX, I've rolled the rover over, over!"

AOCs parade in the late 60s at Kinloss.

At the head of the WAAF contingent was the famous Warrant Officer Sue Cassidy who was a legend in Coastal Command and about to retire from the RAF.
The Man, who knew Sue Cassidy as an Operations Assistant in 1943 when he was a young F/O on Sunderlands, approached her and stopped.

"Hello, Warrant Officer Cassidy", he said, "I understand you're soon leaving the service............what are you going to do ?"

Looking straight ahead she replied, " I'm going to Tangiers sir, to open up a brothel .........and any time you're passing through Sir, you can have one on the House !"

Look of horror on AOCs minions and broad smile from AOC as he continued with inspection.

Late 70s Rockape Central North Yorks. Tasked with provision of light blue presence for Durham BoB parade accompanied by RAFA, Air Training Corps, Air Scouts etc.

Do the religious biz fall in outside Cathedral for Sunday afternoon amble through city centre with Band of the RAF Regiment to keep us in step. Close behind band our parade commander (BPGH) The plan is to follow the band who will then peel off down a side street and play as we march past them.

All goes well until the moment the band veer off down the side street. BPGH instead off leading us straight ahead follows the band into the "cul de sac" Bands are extremely well versed in the art of countermarching, sadly the same could not be said of us. As BPGH faced the man with the mace leading the band he realised his error.

Cue rapid invention of new drill movements which to this day remain unwritten. The band in five files march through our three files opposing each other. We in turn having shuffled round approach them from the rear (a naval movement I believe) and our three ranks now pass through their stationary ranks emerging the other side to the amusement of those members of Joe Public who knew how these affairs should be conducted.

Regrettably D**** B*****t was unavailable that day to provide guidance and words of wisdom to our parade commander.

As penance BPGH was "offered" the opportunity to enhance his drill skills by commanding parades for the forseeable future.

In the mid 80s I was a flt cdr at DIOT. We were out on STANTA with the Camp 2 for one of the IOTs. Also there was a detachment of the Queen's Dragoon Guards with their Scorpion tanks.

Camp 2 for the cadets culminated in a set piece attack and defend on nominal "base camps" at dawn. Having had a few beers with the Dragoonies we thought we would set up a bit of a surprise for the following day's excitement.

The cadets were briefed on the exercise and off we all went in the dead of night to get into position for the dawn attack. All were in position when mysterious rumblings and sqeakings and clankings could be heard from behind which got louder and louder and then stopped. And dead silence apart from the odd pheasant calling.

The cold grey light of dawn finally arrived and, at the appointed time, the cadet in charge gave the order for the "attack".

At which point 4 Scorpions opened up with blanks just behind them.

It was estimated that at least 75% of the cadets had to change their underwear. :eek:

Casex
 

Back in the 50's I was briefed for a Casex with some of the Grey Funnel line's finest and as a special treat had HRH DofE as a passenger. All went well until we arrived on scene, not a ship in sight, the ASV was off but the Nav was certain that we were in the right place. We were about 250+miles off the coast of Sardinia so climbed a bit and dumpted the ASV, a fix on the land confirmed our position so up pipes the Tac Nav with "trust the f**cking navy to be a) late and b) probably in the wrong place. HRH was sitting in the right hand seat plugged in and sat there with a wry grin on the royal visage. The radar also picked up what could only be the frigate that we were waiting for going balls out to get to the area and a few minutes later a submarine surfaces obviously also p*ssed off with waiting. After landing "Sir" said I shall have a few words to attempt to find out what happened, so I imagine that there was one frigate captain that went without bikkies!!:=

During a tour at MPA we had a SWO who was "a bit eccentric" -- he left a life-size photograph of himself at the main gate of his parent unit in deepest Buckinghamshire to remind folks "he was still keeping an eye on them".

He used to 'patrol' 12 Facility during the early morning melee, looking for airmen who weren't properly dressed. One morning, he must have thought it was Xmas - a young lad had no rank tabs on his DPM. He homed in on the lad like a missile and bellowed "You there, and what f*****g rank are you today?"

"Private, Sir" came the reply from the young Sherwood Forrester.

Hey SLC

Is that the same Mr Robertson who was Cranwell college Warrent Officer who was a Rock, do not what he did to others but he scared me to death. 175 SERE took him out to dinner at the end of the course as an acknoledgement of his skills in turning a group of unco-ordinated plonkers into a flight who could shuffle along in a straight line and even wheel around. Nice guy though off station.

Air pig

IIRC all CWWOs (AKA the Cobbly-Wobbly men) were experienced and highly respected Rock WO's.
However, I would not be at all surprised if even that hallowed position might not have have been minced down a lot later on - under the "NU Officers" MFI flatpack furniture inspired system.

April 1976 and RAF Little Rissington is being closed to save money (code for giving it to the Army).

As Commandant of CFS, Her Majesty The Queen Mother is coming to pay her last respects. We studes are fingered to line up in a hangar to meet TQM. At the practice we get the usual briefing about calling her "Your Majesty" and then if she makes small talk, call her "Ma'am" as in meat and not orange jam.

We are also briefed that on the day we will know she has arrived by the reaction of the mascot - a pelican normally kept at Birdland who cannot stand TQM.

On the day, we all line up next to the cage which contains a remarkably calm pelican. Sure enough there is one helluva commotion as the pelican spots TQM - squawks, flapping wings and guano all over the hangar floor - it must have been the pastel lemon clothes that set him off.

Anyway I am standing next to our token Foreign and Commonwealth QFI - a lieutenant from Malaysia. He is absolutely thrilled to be meeting TQM almost to the extent of being overwhelmed by the whole occasion. As she is moving down the line towards us, he mutters to me "WIDN what do I say", I mutter back "Your Majesty and then Ma'am". "OK" he says and I can hear him going through it over and over again.

TQM arrives and CFI introduces me to TQM. She asks me where I am posted to and I say "Leeming" and she says "Oh yes, I have had to go to Aberdeen because they are resurfacing the runway there". How do you tell TQM she is having a senior moment and that Leuchars is probably the airhead for Balmoral? Anyway after some confusion she moves on.

"Your Majesty, may I introduce Lieutenant xxx of the Royal Malaysian Air Force"
"How do you do, Lieutenant"
"How do you do, Your Majesty"
"I do think Malaysia is a beautiful country, don't you?"
"Yes , Sir"