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!