NUFC1892 - Priceless! I would have loved to have seen all that foam!

bspatz, you remind me of my Taceval deployment to Gibraltar, aka OMQ at St Eval. Now it was a Part 1 Taceval and having been out of UK the previous 4 years I didn't know anything about Part 1s.

Anyway, enjoying my second unexpected day at home, and no telephone in those days (too expensive), I didn't find the note through the front door later that night "Where the hell are you?"

No one had told me the exercise had finished the day before. :}

Early '90's, I had an SAC in my flight called Colin Andrews (I've changed the surname but not the first name). He was universally known as Col.

Now Col was a slightly out of the ordinary SAC. For a start, he was in his early 30's and, although he looked like a sack of spanners in uniform, his civvie dress was always immaculate. Blazer, flannels, military tie etc.

It came to pass that Col was selected for a 4 month tour in the Falklands. So come the day, Col presents himself (immaculate in MUFTI) at Brize for onward transportation to all points South.

As it happened, also travelling South that evening was the roulemont for the Resident Infantry Unit. The DAMO had been informed that the CO of the pongoes was turning up at Brize to see off his guys. The CO was a Colonel Andrews.

Enter SAC Colin Andrews with his carry-on briefcase marked 'Col Andrews'.

I think you can guess the rest.

To give Col his dues, he managed to bluff his way through a considerable quantity of G and T in the VIP lounge before being rumbled.

I know of a certain mature Flying Officer RAF who was wined and dined in Washington by a certain American Agency, who thought he was a Naval Flag Officer. He quickly realised and pulled it off all the way through.

A long time ago when I was brave.....or silly
 

At a secret training base near W*-S*-Mare in the mid 80s, we had the usual round of morale boosting weekly bull nights in the 18-man rooms. As long as our rooms were 'generally' clean, we were allowed to put up posters on the wall. There was, however, one rule in that topless models could be shown but pubic hair could not be seen - it was long before the PC brigade got involved...

Young Belle decided to put up a picture of a young lady 'sans bush'. I was given a quiet chat by the block SNCO after inspection and that I was taking the pish and that the poster was to be removed and I was told that no female genitalia was to be on show. The following week, young Belle was goaded into putting up a picture of a gentleman 'sans bush' (no, I cannot recall where I got it from). At this point, the OIC of the block decides to have a chat with me and offers me the chance of cleaning the Flowerdown Centre for the next 10 years unless I started playing the game. The following week and young Belle puts up a picture of a chimpanzee with a huge tadger and choking his chicken. For some reason, this was followed by several weekends of cleaning the Offrs' Mess kitchen.

In the early sixties I had the doubtful privilege of being detached to Beihan whilst serving at K****aksar ( I do not wish to embarass anyone). Every so often we used to be sent back to 'K' for three days R & R.

In typical service manner they used to put us on patrol duties the first night back (B*stards!). On one occasion we were in one of the hangars being briefed for our nights duty. The Guard Commander was a Flt.Sgt from the base, I was the Deputy G.C. plus about a dozen personnel. In those days the guard were equipped with 303's. The drill was to have a magazine with five rounds in your pocket, the magazine was only placed on the weapon if attacked.
The G.C. had the guard in a circle and made ready using the following procedure -
1. Five rounds in a clip
2. Magazine on the rifle, charge the magazine
3. Close the bolt
4. Remove the magazine
5. Clear the action

You may have noticed that actions 3 & 4 were carried out in the wrong order. No one said a word, but were very careful to point their weapons into the air. Thunderous burst of fire. The G.C. was somewhat suprised but went through the same procedure again - with the same result.

Alarms sounding - attack imminent - Guard Commander departs under a cloud - RAF has the world's largest pepper pot!

Belle and Sebastian. Mmm. Which side you your dress :)

1986, MPA about to become RAF Mount Pleasant. Departing Tri* has on board members of the Falklands' Families Association, and is taking off in a substantial cross wind. Loud bang, plume of flame and the jet stops on the runway, just. Taxies in on 2 engines and the BA Station Engineer leaps up a ladder and announces the surged engine is siezed - until someoned gently suggests turning the compressor, rather than the static bit at the front (inlet guide vanes?)!

That evening and the "cross wind" is now a gale. Aircraft is parked at upwind end of pan for a ground run and OC Eng takes the left hand seat and starts the "seized" engine and starts running up to full power. Cue Duty Supplier in the freight shed who sounds the attack alarm, claiming bullets are coming through the walls of the freight shed. No, it's not bullets, it's gravel propelled by the Tri* engine at full thrust, followed by a severely bent mains electricity pillar and bent walls to the freight shed. Exit very quiet OC Eng, and there was not even a UI!!

Funny at the time, but in retrospect rather sad - 9 IOT students walking across Salisbury Plain early one very clear frosty January morning. 20 or 30 metres in the rear, one student carrying 2 pine poles and a load of 40 ft lashings - unfortunately it was his "lead"

1985/6 time and a young SAC N4 was on on the Base side of UKBags. 4 day Minival is about to called. Part of the Base shifts war role was to reinforce the grown up side of MAMS and deploy to meet the invading hordes. I was looking forward to 4 days of gas masks / NBC suits etc / compo sausages in the mess but was told to come in for the ex with my kit packed as I was being deployed. So thinking it would be like Bspatz's deployment - as far as the MAMS crewroom, I came in with minimal kit to be told that we were off to Gib....GIB!! Well a quick dash back to the block grab more appropriate kit then DPM and Tin hat (shorts / T-shirts) and 3 of us spent 4 days enjoying the sub in Gib. Even more so when the Movers out there said they had no idea what we were doing there as they hadn't asked for reforce and especially as they had no more aircraft through until the one we were due home on.

Distantly related to 'Pontius Navigator' and

A mate of mine (called Steve) worked at the 'not very secret ATC centre' in West London. Every year or so they would have a exercise for a week, when the ATC bods were expected to dress-up in green, wear respirator masks, carry a 'bang-stick' and play-pretend at being guards. Steve had done this once, and hated every minute of it, especially when the Hereford Hooligans showed-up and didn't play by the rules!
The exercise brief was that they would be on stand-by for the whole week, and on one 'unannounced day/night' they would have to take part in the exercise 'proper'.
Now Steve had a girlfriend, who had a brother who lived in the housing estate directly opposite the base. Every house in said estate had a hand-delivered notice saying that on Wednesday evening/night and Thursday morning there would be a major exercise involving guns and explosions, and that they were not to 'phone the Police, etc, yada, yada. So Steve knew when the exercise was due to start, and how long for.

On the Wednesday evening, heads home after a day pushing blips around the sky, and then goes out and stays with his girlfriend that night. At about 8pm they start the exercise, and phone-up everyone to come back to the base and play at being soldiers.
Except Steve ... he lodges at a friend's grand-mother's house, who's a bit of a doddery old bat at the best of times. When they phone-up, she says Steve is not there, and she will take a message, and leave it for him where he will read it in the morning. This is all pre-mobilephones, so there's no other way to contact him.

The following morning Steve goes to work by bus in his normal 'blues', and is met at the gate by everybody in 'green' and wearing respirators and carrying guns. The Sgt grills him about his uniform, and lack of exercise kit, and asks if he had received the message. 'No' says Steve, 'havn't been home since yesterday!' The irate Sgt says that he will have to go home and get them, so Steve walks out the gate, and in full view of the Sgt stands at the bus-stop outside. After 10 minutes the Sgt comes and asks him what he's doing ... 'Waiting for a bus Sgt, you sent me home to get my kit. Should only take about 2 hours, can you wait for me?'.

CO's Cup Swimming Event, local swimming pool near to a Hercules base 1988.

Everyone not on task on the day finds themselves down for the event. Apparently you got a point "just for turning up and we need as many points as possible" says Flt Lt A*** F********th, the MAMS Ops Officer. So everyone will go and "I don't care if you say you can't swim, I've heard all the excuses..."

So on the morning 35 or so movers assembly and catch the bus to the pool accompanied by one of God's gifts to mankind otherwise known as the PTI. Arrive at the pool - 1 point each in the bag - time to go back. Oh no says God's gift PTI you have to swim.

After the 5th mover being pulled out of the pool by God's gift for swimming as effectively as brick, he starts to realise something is not right here and ask if the assembled movers can swim - No not a stroke says half of them.

So why are you hear at a swimming event says he - ordered to and we did say we couldn't swim but....

Flt Lt F********th took part in the competition. His entry into the water assisted by God's gift and a number of others. I always thought you were meant to swim in trunks not tracksuit and complaining that his watch was ruined....

It was hilarious at the time but...... In 1959 there was an RAF Leave Centre on the beach at Kilindini, Mombasa on what is now a very expensive piece of tourist real estate. It was run by the Naafi, but staffed largely by a bunch of WVS ladies of indeterminite age, [but probably late 30s!] who were an absolutely formidable bunch.

Three airmen getting a panic tan on the white sand, when a loud scream came from the direction of the "bashas' accommodation, shortly after which a fourth airman arrives and spreads out his towel.

"What was the screaming about?" he's asked.


"WVS lady cornered a snake apparently"

A bit of a pause followed by the comment: "How's the snake"?

Foam
 

- just to prove that our transatlantic friends can do everything bigger/better, have a look at this;

YouTube - Fire Foam Test Goes very Wrong !

Working on a Bird Control Unit did get a bit boring so to liven things up we used to find uses for bird scarer cartridges other than scare birds. At this base, Rutlands finest Tornado base, I fired a scarer into a rabbit hole, not expecting a shower of rabbit droppings to expel themselves out of the hole at a great force of knots straight at me, as the scarer exploded deep inside the hole.

On another accassion I decided to reinact the Dambusters but without a dam or bomb, except that we had noticed the we could bounce the scarers off the runway so the small fishing lake the other side of the wire was going to be my target. So drive up to fence, have quick look around line up the target and bang, perfect ! 3 or 4 bounces before it exploded. Just about to fire no 2 and a voice from infront and below shouts 'OY What the :mad::mad:' Dumb old me did'nt see the fisherman under his green tent and umbrella and his head was about 2 feet from the scarer when first fired ! Cue me driving like hell and hoping he did'nt report me. Guess I must have scared him as I'm still waiting 23 years later !!!!

As told to me by an ex-Army colleague................

Scots Guards RSM in recruiting office to potential officer recruit (POR) who has listed his preferences as follows:

1. Scots Guards
2. Parachute Regiment

RSM, 'Does your daddy own half of Scotland, Sonny?'

POR, 'N-no Sir.'

RSM, 'Parachute Regiment!......Next!'

After 130 guardsmen from the Household Brigade boarded a Britannia at Lyneham an air movements corporal ran up the steps clutching a next of kin form and headed for the OC Troops, a young subaltern who's chin was rather challenged.
"Sir", said the corporal, "I am afraid you have not filled in your next of kin details."
'Pardon?" said the young officer.
"You have not specified who your next of kin is."
The OC Troops looked puzzled.
"I can complete the form for you," the corporal said helpfully, "if you tell me your next of kin."
"Daddy of course!" came the shocked reply.

Wonderful wilds of Salisbury plain and continuation training held by Flt Lt O/C RAF Regt, every one walking round bored out of their tiny's thinking, God please make this short, next demo by O/C Regt on setting trip flares, flare set up and really over emphasising the point on the need to get as low as you possibly can when pulling the pin out of the flare in case of mishap when out over the top of the bored witless throng gently arcs a branch that lands perfectly on his trip firing his lovely flare and showering his best DP with lots of little sparks burning holes in it...... End of Exercise and generally agreed by all assembled as a damn good moral booster. :E

Funny looking back at it!!!!! You need a Chit.
 

Not so funny at the time but there is a sort of humour in the event.
Yours truely, 16 year old Boy Entrant in 1957 Cosford. Fulton Block

A Wednesday afternoonn "Sports Afternoon".

Mid afternoon prior to last Tech training session of the day.
Started to feel very ill, Letting loose at both ends!!!!!!!
Said to the lads I cant make it , I'm going special Sick.

Normal procedure was to get a "Chit" from the decip. office to be allowed to go special sick.
Problem, Sports afternoon no one around to issue said "Chit"
Feeling really very ill and in pain, lower stomach area.

Eventually I decided to make my way to the Sick Quarters about a mile away.

It took me ages to hobble the distance to the Sick Bay.
By the time I got there I was doubled up and could hardly walk.
Rings bell, Orderly arrives, quote "Where's your Chit", can't go special sick without Chit.
Explained how bad I felt but still said go back and get a Chit, still insisting on a Chit even though no one available to issue the "X%&+ing" thing.

By this time I was literally laying down on the doorstep in agony.

He was just about to close the door when a voice from way back inside said
in a bored/irritated fashion "oh, you better come in and I will look at you".

MO takes less than one minute to diagnose accute appendicitis.
PANIC stations, rushed to the hospital at Cosford , on the slab within 30 Mins.
told afterwards it was near to Bursting.

The saga didn't end there, wound went sceptic, they should have put a "Drain" in, discharged with 2 weeks sick leave. again could hardly walk
due to pain of infection.
First night at home woke up to pure bliss "No Pain" but bed covered in blood.
The wound had opened up and discharged all its muck.

So again rushed to Local city hospital (Bath) where they fixed me up , but not without a big confrontation with the RAF Medical bods at Cosford!!!!!!!.

Final outcome was a total of five weeks out of training so had to be Backclassed to catch up .
Often wondered what my life would have panned out like if I had passed out with my original entry, different first posting etc etc etc.

OPF

IOT - Camp 2 on Salisbury Plain. End of "Top Dog" and all are taking a breather at the top of the ridge just beyond one of the "Battalion DZs". Excited buzz growing in a flight containing younger brother of a Jaguar pilot (you know who you are!). Clearly, "something" is about to happen. At the far end of the DZ apears a Jaguar at "200ft" (oh, yeah) going fairly fast in our direction. What pilot does not know, and brother cannot tell him, is that at our end are the Commandant and DDIOT. The Jaguar smokes over the top of us to rousing cheers. "Did you see that?", says the AVM. "What?" replied Robbie Roson, with one eye shut.

Enjoying the thread. Found this today; anyone want to own up?

Not Always Right | Funny & Stupid Customer Quotes When Judgment Is Clouded

The scene:

RAF Guterloh was closing. The Army was moving in and about to change all 5188ft of runway into a parking lot for 3 tonners or something.

We are at the guardroom. SAC Snooks is on duty. An Army Staff Car flying a pennant rolls up:

Snooks: May I see your ID please, Sir. Politely.

Top Rodney: Don't you know who I am? Officious

Snooks: No Sir. If I knew who you were, I wouldn't have to ask for your ID now, would I sir? Still a polite tone.

Top Rodney: Do you know this place will be Princess XXXX Barracks in 3 months? High handed tone of voice.

Snooks: Yessir!

Top Rodney: Well? Expectantly

Snooks: Sir?

Top Rodney: Are you going to let me in? High handed tone of voice

Snooks: I think you had better come back in 3 months, Sir when this place is XXXXXXXXXXXXXX Barracks

Newly promoted Cpl 4mastacker was on shift on a large Oxfordshire airbase which operated some large, shiny, new aircraft numbered in the 'XR' and 'XV' series and some older ones in the 'XL', 'XM', and 'XN' series. He had drawn the short straw to accompany the new OC POL on his weekly dips. The new OC POL was keen and, with rapid career progression ambitions, had obviously listened to, and taken on board his fuels training and was meticulous, nay, obsessive, about water detection checks. Every dipstick and tape had copious amounts of water detection paste applied during the course of his checks. On this particular occasion, each tank was dipped and water checked without a problem until we reached an old aviation fuel installation that had been converted for the storage of other bulk liquids.

As one of the team lowered the dipstick into a tank, OC POL shouted "Cpl 4ma!! There's no paste on the dipstick". "We don't use paste on this one sir, it's...". " I want detection paste on every dip stick". " But it's.." " Don't argue Cpl, I said I want detection paste on every dip-stick". "Very well sir, as you direct"

Cpl 4ma applies a small amount of paste and lowers the dip stick into the tank. Out comes the dipstick and, lo and behold, the paste has changed colour. "Water!" exclaims the OC POL "Cpl!! There's water in that fuel". "Yes, sir" says Cpl 4ma in a resigned sort of tone. "Put more paste on the dip stick". "But, sir..." " Cpl I've already told you once, do I have to repeat myself? I want detection paste on that dip-stick". Cpl 4ma complies with the instruction and puts more paste on the dip-stick. This process is repeated until the whole bl**dy dip stick is covered in the stuff and OC POL is bordering on having an apoplexy. "We are not allowed any water in the fuel and according to the dipstick, that tank is full of water!! There is obviously a very serious problem here".

" Yes Sir, there is a problem here. Now Sir, if I can be allowed to explain. The tank we are dipping is not fuel, it is what is known as a miscellaneous fluid. To be precise, sir, it is AL28, which is also known as Water Methanol…. there is a clue in the description…....Sir". Did he learn??. Only after he decided to do a water detection check on a pressurised, pre-heated black heating oil tanker and found himself standing in a group of one as the rest of us departed, rapidly, to a safe distance. Afterwards, the FS POL conducted a closed door, but very loud, WTF-type de-brief with OC POL giving him a good listening to.

Many, many years later, the now FS 4ma is tasked to brief a visiting a group of students from a training base near Sleaford, led by... you guessed it, his former OC POL who, after a scintillating career in the RAF, had now reached the rank of Flt Lt.

RAF Patrington [Master Radar Sation....near Hull] 1965.
SAC Chiglet has just returned from Borneo. It is a bright, warm summer day, when F/O bloggs RAF Reg decids that as we are "going on the Range" next week, we will learn how to use the then "New" [to the RAF] SLR
In a typical Wodney voice, he starts to describe how to strip said SLR, but SAC Chiglet "learned" how to use the weapon with the Army in Borneo.
As Wodney starts to ramble, my SLR is in its component bits....and I mean bits. Wodney goes ballistic..."You follow my instructions, airman"
"Yessir" says I, rapidly reassembling the SLR [Scene from "Carry on Sergeant" springs to mind]
It turns out that all he wanted was for us to clear the weapon. :confused:
However, on the Range, I did have a jam, and couldn't clear it, the "Official" way. Wodney had a rant, but he couldn't clear it, neither could the RAF Reg Sgt. Turns out that it had a defective round extractor..
Could I have sorted it? Prolly not. That's why I was an ADO :ok:

Chiefy Goddard
 

Circa 1964 a 90 Sqn Valiant XD863 was in the hanger at RAF Honington being subject to a major service, I was replacing a faulty Orange Putter cable that ran from the cockpit bulkhead right up to the tail. This involved removing numerous panels each one held in place with wirelocked bolts, a job that was anticipated to take about two days. The Crew Chief was the infamous Gerry “Effing” Goddard and Gerry told me to take a break and go for a coffee. I willingly agreed and went to the hanger coffee bar, quite a number of groundcrew were already there, playing cards or reading newspapers. I had just picked up my coffee when in stormed our Gerry shouting words to the effect “ I told you blank blank lot to get out and work on the blank aircraft”. This was combined with Gerry snatching up the playing cards and newspapers and throwing them out of the window, rapidly followed by the crew rushing into the corridor towards the hanger.
I assumed Gerry did not mean me, so I stood my ground only for a hand to grab the collar of my overalls, then another on by behind, I was spun round and ejected into the corridor and landed up against the wall, next second same hands, same grip, I assumed I was now to be propelled into the hanger, only to be spun round and thrown back into the coffee bar with the words “sorry wrong one”.
Gerry may have been somewhat hard on us but just a couple of days later we were stopped by Gerry’s wife who asked how was Gerry acting at work, we told her he was a bit grumpy at the moment and she just nodded. The next day Gerry called us all together and said “ Look chaps whatever happens at work don’t tell the wife, she’s giving me hell!”

IOT Cranditz, mid 80s. Drill. Prospective WRAF PTI unable to do "stan dat ICE" properly due to big thigh muscles and tight skirt. After nth attempt, Rockape FS shouts "Don't you know what 12 inches looks like, Miss H...?".
"OH, YES!! Flight Sargeant". Only time I've seen a DI lost for words.

Brawdy in deepest Welsh Wales, late 80s. BIG party at Air Show (e.g. 2 F16s invited, 16 show up. 2 Tornados became 8, etc). Rummage around in 234 Sqn loft has turned up WWII gun camera film, rapidly converted to video for backdrop at Aircrew P*ssup. Much amusement for all, including Luftwaffe/Marine FJ types, until a German Transall crew turns up. Captain sees video & stomps off, demanding all his crew follow. Dutch F16 dude shouts "Can't take a joke - shouldn't have started it!"

Location joke: Try explaining to a German policeman, in French (my German's rubbish), why a Norwegian pilot in a British flight suit is hanging upside-down from a lamp-post 20 foot off the ground singing rude songs, at 2am. Talk about looking after your wingie. Arrests avoided.

Late 90's.....an airbase somewhere 'just' south of Iraq

We were there on ops but the Regt Section decided that we didn't live under enough stress so we would have a practice Scud attack. Our boss decided that rather than all suit up and mask up, we would just hide in the 'Snake Pit' - an underground air raid shelter converted into a recreational facility complete with TV, games console etc. Junior navigator was posted at the bottom of the stairs leading down to Snake Pit to warn of approaching Regt snoopers.

The 'All Clear' was sounded and a Regt Sgt appeared in the shelter.

"Right, now you need to send someone outside to do a sniff test and see if its safe to go outside"

The boss says "You go and do it, Sgt"

"No, no, Sir. You need to send one of your men outside"

The boss pulled himself up to about 4 inches shorter than the Regt Sgt and said.....

"F**k off, Sgt. All my aircrew are much more expensive than you so you go outside and do the test. Come back and tell us if its safe. If you don't come back, we'll assume its not safe and we'll stay here and watch another episode of Coronation Street"

Regt Sgt quickly left the room....reported boss to Base Detachment Cdr who told Regt Sgt to wind his neck in.

It’s just possible that some on this site may relate to this tale….

30 MU, RAF Sealand, early 70’s, E&I Wing workshops were 50-50 service/civilian manned, ruled with a rod of iron by WO Triggs and FS Mick Thurston, with the civvies either ex-RAF ( e.g. Chris Clynes, Paddy Howlett, Ron Howell) or, like the writer, graduates of the on-site MCCTTS* . This integration also extended to the social activities such as the Expedition Club, which organised an annual Scottish trip using the Auchallater bothy near Braemar, administered by RAF Leuchars.
On this particular occasion, the trip had been arranged by Cpl. A., but he found himself unavailable to lead the trip. At the final briefing on the Thursday before the Friday departure, Cpl. A. handed the lead over to Cpl. B., a relatively new member of the Exped. Club with the assurance that all arrangements had been made, and a signal sent to Leuchars with an ETA at the Guardroom for collection of the bothy key. His parting comment was “ Hey, Pugwash, you’ve done this trip a couple of times, you can act as 2i/c, and BTW, the Nuffield minibus is not available, so I’ve booked one from MT”
Now, the cunning plan was to depart after work at 16:30 on the Friday evening, and drive to Leuchars, with a fuel stop at RAF Carlisle, arriving in Fife in the early hours of the morning, collect the bothy key, then head off to Braemar to get some sleep.
The MT J2 turned out to be a heap of junk, but loaded with JT’s, civvies, rucksacks and compo ration packs, we set off for Scotland, arriving at Leuchars about an hour and a half after our notified ETA of 01:00.
Cpl. B. enters Guardroom to obtain bothy key, and returns empty-handed, then asks me to return with him to explain to duty dog the routine for key collection. Having done so, the duty dog confirms that the key is not available at the guardroom, then helpfully suggests that the Phys. Ed officer could issue it. Despite our protestations, he then proceeds to ring up said officer ( at 02:40hrs) , and when eventually it is answered, he has to hold it at arms length for a short while. Having hung up, he says that the Phys. Ed officer wants to see us in his office at 09:00 later in the morning, so we all crashed out in the Guardroom until then.

As was the civvy fashion in the 70’s I normally had my hair rather long ( think Cavalier King Charles spaniel) but shortly prior to this trip, I had been to a family wedding, so my locks were unusually shorn, almost passable as a servicemans.
Anyway, Cpl. B. and myself made our way to gym office at the appointed time to see Flt. Lt. C. and were immediately subjected to a tirade of abuse and invective, being made aware in no uncertain terms that the Flt. Lt. was not at all happy for his slumbers to be disturbed in the early hours. When the rant eventually wound down, Cpl. B. very quietly said “ I haven’t done this trip before, but Mr. Pugwash has, so I have asked him to accompany me to explain”.
Cue long pause while Flt. Lt does a good impression of a goldfish. You could almost see a thought bubble “ Mr.???? This spotty oik is much too young to be a WO …..Have I just b0ll0cked a civilian?”
Then, “ Both of you get out of my sight, and think yourselves lucky I am letting you have the key” .

Well, we found it funny, and the rest of the trip was fairly uneventful.

Oh, the reason the key was not available at the Guardroom, ---- Cpl. A had indeed sent a signal to Leuchars, but it said ETA was 1 o’clock Saturday, not 01:00 Saturday.


* Maintenance Command Civilian Technical Training School

Video? What video???....
 

...Andy you might want to review what you actually posted.

The Ancient Mariner

RAF Deci, the pimple of Italy,

Tasked to go out and defuel Hotel so the Armourers with their manual crux bars can remove the droptanks off the Mighty Jag, Job done, and out go the armourers to remove the tanks for the fun and games..... almighty bang as they decrux the tank and it hits the ground at warp factor 9 splitting open and disgorging its full contents all over the apron......
One Irate Armourer Chief suddenly in front of my face after passing through the sound barrier when he sees my location, wh"*&!)*$*"()( F(£*"$ you ")$*$! told you to defuel Hotel "(£$**&$&% etc etc etc... Not a happy chappie

"I did" I replied, "but why are you are taking the tanks of Juliet?, that is full"!

And then it sunk in... :p

Late '80s out on Feldon Moor, North Yorkshire just a stones throw from the RAF Regt Depot. It was a very cold rainy November night, just perfect to be on Feldon (...not!)! We had returned from a lengthy night nav ex, cold and wet looking forward to getting a brew on. As we entered the harbour area we found some fellow studes had already made it back and were busy trying to warm up. One stude attracted our attention as he has hunched over his Hexi stove desperately trying to light a small white block, with damp matches, in the pouring rain. Gradually we gathered round, offering advice on how best to light said block and trying to provide some cover. To one side was a RAF Regt Cpl intructor who watched with some interest for about 10 minutes before stepping forward, reached down and picked up the white block.....which he promptly put in his mouth and chewed! It rapidly became apparent that our unfortunate 'brew meister' had been trying to light Kendal Mint Cake for some 20 minutes.....:D

As one who once fished out a piece of chocolate from his DPM's on a wet and windy night - to then find he was trying to chomp a chunk of hexy, I can assure you the latter process is no less humiliating.

After a towing 'incident', a ground power unit (houchin) appeared outside the line, battered and bruised and awash with tufts of grass and mud.

F731 (serviceability form) stated: "Turns over but will not start!

The first task we did when on detachment to Sylt was remove the underwing tanks from our NF11's. The procedure was for four guys to hold the tank and on command, the guy in the cockpit activated the appropriate switch.
In a fore runner of Granddad and the chandelier as we all held the starboard tank the port one fell to the ground!

Here is the link andyjor forgot:

USAF bad air drops:

YouTube - Bad Air Drops

music: Creedence Clearwater Revival - Bad Moon Rising

While at Lossie in the 80's an associate of mine on the nearby Nimrod line up the road recited an exploit of his :- While racing two Houchin's up the taxi-way on a weekend, one of them became detached from its rover :\ jacknifed :sad: and flipped over several times!
The poor power set was righted and left outside GEF with a 731 one on it reading....... "turns over - won't start!" ;)
I still larff over 20 years on!

P.S. I think WO GEF is still in orbit now :E

A secret Wiltshire base many moons ago and an SAC borrows the gliding clubs landrover at night on guard and rolls it, part of his punishment was to use our Rover on the weekend and work all weekend towing their gliders about...... never having done this before he promptly hooks the first glider up to recover it back to the winch at the other end of the airfield and sets off....... hearing a lot of commotion he looks back to see the said unmanned glider flying along behind him above roof height attached to the back of his Rover :E

1971, and the Commonwealth Prime Minister's Conference is being held in Singapore. Myself and Charlie C are downtown from Tengah for the evening, in the Orchard Road "Pig's Bar" (the Hilton).

We chat to an English civilian at the bar, who turns out to be a diplomat from the High Commission, and he is looking for some UK expats to attend a reception at the Presidential Istana. Sounds good--drinks, food, girls etc.

On the day we roll up with invitations, dapper in our tropical lounge suits, and have a high old time, circulating and getting to chat to Ted Heath, Lee Kuan Yew et al. All as advertised--drinks, food, girls.

Gravitate eventually next to a group which has AOC FEAF, his ADC, the Tengah staish.....and our CO. Grinning winningly, we start having a good conversation with the AOC, who is in official-reception-chat mode. Charlie and I, who are both ex-minor-public-school, can at least "talk proper" and have half decent social skills.

I remember answering the AOC (truthfully) that we were "aviation engineers" when he asked us what we were doing in Singapore, when our CO starts to twig and thankfully gets a twinkle in his eye and starts to smile. Still grinning winningly, we sidle gracefully away.

At the end, the AOC spots us and invites us to guest at the Changi OM "as it's near to where you are at Payar Lebar". Our CO, by now highly amused, gently suggests the Tanglin Club as an alternate, so off we go for an hilarious couple of hours getting pi**ed.

The next working day, the CO calls us in. Still greatly amused, he congratulates us for not embarrassing the AOC or the staish, and "gently suggests" that we keep absolutely schtum about the evening.

I wonder if today's crop of hoccifers would have the good heartedness to act as he did!

Helping out the local AFCO with running some stands in the middle of an "undisclosed" city as part of a recruitment event. Theres the front of a Tornado done up with a cockpit (A few LEDs and a TV screen showing some low-level flying), and a few UAS studes to garnish it with flying suits and aviator-ish talk - our instructions were "leanr how fast it goes, how high it flies, and how much it drops - that should be enough". Basically, show the kids around, talk to the parents and flirt with the totty. Brilliant crack and a good weekend.

RAF Regt are also there with a couple of stands, and of course, hate the fact that a bunch of students in grow-bags are getting the attention off the skirt which is out enjoying the mid-summer sun. Queue the hatred mill running at full capacity.

Day rolls on, WannabeCrewman and a couple of mates (One of whom I shall name "Dave") are chatting to a Flt Lt on the AFCO, when an old, and slightly batsh*t crazy woman, smelling strongly of cat p*ss and twigglets, walks over to us. "How old do you have to be to join up? I really fancy joining!"

Flt Lt detects the potential for very good banter, and directs one of our lads to take her over to the RAF Regt lads so she can have a crack at the SAT range and a look at some of their nice shiney new gats.

He walks her over then comes back crying with laughter.

10 minutes pass, and angry RAF Regt Cpl (with major short-bloke syndrome) steps out of the stand, as the old dear toddles off, looking like thunder. He points out my mate from across the square and tells him to come over. Dialogue continues as follows:

Regt Cpl: Are you taking the f**king piss!?!? Do you think that was f**king funny?!
Dave: Well, yeah, we all did to be honest Cpl.
Regt Cpl: Stand to attention when you talk to me! UAS c**ts!

Mate raises an eyebrow, slowly gets into the most slobbish attention you ever did see. We (UAS lot) all had tonnes of respect for serving bods, regardless of rank, but not when they were acting like complete kn*bs.

Regt Cpl: Are all you UAS lot complete c**ts? Or is it just you?
Dave: No Cpl, we just thought it'd be a good bit of banter, as did the rest of the AFCO guys - if your lot cant take a joke then thats fair enough.

At this point the Regt Cpl is hitting critical mass and about to give my mate a thorough interview without coffee - in the middle of the square of this busy, mid-saturday-afternoon city shopping centre. Until the AFCO Flt Lt strides up.

Flt Lt: Cpl, whats the issue?
Regt Cpl: That old woman that this tw*t bought over, that wasnt called for sir, these UAS lads are taking the p*ss.
Flt Lt: Actually Cpl, I told him to bring her over, thats what we're here for, to put on a good show for the public and all that.

Regt Cpls face drops. He looked like England had just lost a Semi-final on penalties

Regt Cpl: Oh, ur, right sir.
Flt Lt: And I dont think giving this lad a dressing down for all the public to see is terribly professional, do you?
Regt Cpl: No sir.
Flt Lt: Good. Now... F**K OFF.
Regt Cpl: Yes sir. (Promptly scuttles off)

Ends up that "Dave" isnt allowed to go anywhere on his own for the risk of him being jumped by several pissed off Regt lads, who spend the rest of the afternoon directing visual venom at us.

Quality weekend.

Cannon ...
 

Back in the Roaring Fifties, Celle and Fassberg had a good cannon-"exchange" going, until Fassberg's Stn Cdr threw a wobbly when Celle also 'alf-inched his Coronation Coach (which was duly returned rather quickly).
Happy, happy days, with the great Don Kingaby (DSO, DFC, triple DFM) as Wingco Flying ...