Funny Things Happen in The Air Force
 

I remember some good times and times when I had to laugh. These are just some of them. I hope you guys out there can can help me by adding your own stories. (BTW BEags you rumbled me last time I was on this forum, years ago - see if you can rumble me this time).

It’s the mid seventies. Prestigious Air Defence Sqn based in Scotland, on a station near the most famous golf course in the world, is going to be given a new standard. Youngish, thrusting, high flier just been promoted and posted in as Sqn Cdr decides the standard presentation parade will be the best set-piece of drill ever seen in the RAF. Has the Sqn Warrant Officer drill the troops day and night for weeks until they are near perfect. Early start on the important day. Officers’ married quarters (days when you had to be married to get a quarter) quite a long way from the Sqn HQ so Transit van organized to collect all the officers (troops did it on foot). Sqn Cdr, fully booted and spurred in ceremonial uniform but can’t find gloves (soft brown cape leather). Transit turns up and toots horn, nothing happens. No. 1 Flight Commander calls from the bus window “come on boss it’s time to go”. Still can’t find gloves – losing reason to live - Sqn Cdr calls back “off you go I’ll catch up with you in a minute”. Sqn Cdr, a pipe smoker, suddenly realises that his tobacco pouch (soft brown cape leather) would double for a pair of gloves if folded over and held in his left hand – salvation at last. He leaps on his bicycle and manages to get to the parade with nanoseconds to spare. Sqn Cdr marches on, leading the troops and parade goes as planned. March back to Sqn HQ, dismiss officers, dismiss troops. Sqn Cdr turns to Sqn WO, says “well Mr Smith I think the parade went perfectly and I don’t suppose anyone even noticed that I was holding a tobacco pouch. Mr Smith replies “no sir they didn’t”. Sqn Cdr asks “how can you be so sure, Mr Smith?”. Mr Smith replies “well sir, they would have been too busy looking at your bicycle clips”.

This happened in the days when Kevlar was unheard of and we all wore heavy steel helmets with dodgy linings. Taceval Pt 1. HQ STC distaff have previously briefed Senior Aircraft Man Bloggs that his hangar will be blown up and he will be a casualty. About midnight, hangar is “blown up”. SAC Bloggs writhes on the floor, screaming and loving the fact the fact that he joined the RAF. Very enthusiastic Cpl nurse is despatched from the Med Centre to attend to casualties. Finds SAC Bloggs, pinches his ear, says “can you hear me” and bends down over Bloggs. Bloggs sits up and as he does so Cpl’s helmet falls off and impacts Bloggs head. Bloggs suffers NODUFF concussion. Ambulance summonsed. Bloggs goes to local NHS cottage hospital. Treatment for concussion not administered for about 30 minutes because on arrival at hospital Bloggs had a piece of paper on him which said “broken legs and severe burns”.

Practice parade at RAFC Cranwell. After several manoeuvres - “parade will advance in review order, present arms”. Parade advances 12 paces, halts and presents arms – flight cadet blogs hits his rifle too hard and it falls to the floor and makes a loud noise. Drill instructor marches across the Orange with his eyes fixed on the offender until he gets within a pace at which point he turns and shouts at the cadet next to the offender “you sir do you have an erectixn?” Adjacent cadet says “no sergeant”. Sgt roars “well you should have, sir, because you are stood next to the biggest CxNT in the Brfitish Isles".

Practice Parade at RAFC Cranwell. Drill Instructor (DI) “turning to the right in column of route – RIGHT TURN”. “By the centre quick march......Left Right left Right – swing your arms gentlemen, swing your arms shoulder high front and rear”. Front left hand marker (flight Cadet Bloggs(FCB)), plays number 8 for the college first fifteen, hurt his shoulder in practice the night before. “Swing your fxxxing arms gentlemen”. Short pause then “Squad halt! Into line left turn”. DI marches across the Orange parade square. Hat peak on his nose, pace stick under his arm, quivering with rage, steel studs on each boot biting into the gravel. Marches up to FCB and screams “Mr FCB what the fxck are you doing not swinging your fxcking arms shoulder fxcking high front and fxcking rear on my fxcking parade Sir”. FCB replies “I’m a little stiff from rugby Sgt”. DI replies “I don’t give a fxck where you come from Sir – swing your fxcking arms shoulder fxcking high on my fxcking parade Sir.


Hope to get some input from the guys and gals in the colonial airforces and the brown jobs as well. Happy days SOSL

Hi Bill!

Great days those were!!





.

Spot on BEags. Talk to you soon!

Mil banter at it's best, cracking stories! :ok:

RAF crewroom Raf Brize on Exercise, all the bods not out on guard are in watching TV, Neighbours as it happens, (cringe) one of the bods off duty who has re arranged his guard duty to be in to see his favourite programme is sitting eyes glued to the screen when BANG..

Thunderflash outside the window and in they come..... hands the bod whose TV is now being interupted an Inject. you.... you and you as they point to the rest of the off duty shift are injured, turning to the now frustrated bod at the fact he is now missing his favourite TV programme,
What are you going to do now Airman?? Bod picks up his SLR, cocks it and shoots the lot of them then sits down to carry on watching TV...... Incredulous Di staff look on with that WTF expression, Airman points out, well they would just tie up resources, manning etc and most probaby would not survive so I simply alleviated the problem :D


Bruggen, Jag Squadron, Inject on exercise, the outside of a HAS entrance covered in the old Ruskie anti personnal mines ( the 10 min to arm variety) what are you going to do.... Man hops onto the squadron BR Platform style apron sweeper and promptly hoovers them all up :p

RAF Robin Hood, when it was a Nav training school. Small, blonde, rather sexy (believe me I knew) WRAF Cpl in Flight Planning is counting out the tea swindle money. Flt Lt QNI enters room (he is a fully qualified txsser), says to WRAF Cpl "can you change a fiver for me". She answers "yes". He counters "dont you mean yes sir". She replies "sorry sir". He says "shall we start again?". "allright sir". "Can you change a fiver for me?". "I'm afraid not sir". I loved her then and I still love her - I wish I'd married her.

Bulk Fuel Installation No 7, RAF Gutersloh, very early 70's, Taceval. Distaff hand inject paper to young SAC- "BFI on fire - take appropriate action". Young SAC places inject paper on ground and pee's on it! Awarded 7 days and 200 Mark fine (paid for by a whip round amongst one's fellow stackers).

During Taceval at a northern outpost of the UK, the line hut was full of lineys waiting for something to do. Suddenly in walks the Distaff, and informs them that in five minutes they will be bombed and they were all casualties. Distaff then hands out wound chits to the lineys, which list their injuries. One of the line Cpls goes round al the wound chits, and picks one that says he has a head injury. Lunch had been delivered some hours previously in the form of Hot Locs (individual round metal tin containing room temperature food which was once hot). Cpl then takes a spare hot loc, empties the contents into a small plastic bag, adds a cup of cold tea, and mixes the contents into a semi liquid consistency. He then hides the plastic back in the neck of his denims, with the neck of the bag held shut by his right hand which was in the vicinity of his left collar bone. He then lies on the floor in a "I've just been bombed" poseThe attack starts, finishes, and the casualty search begins. A number of individuals from the hanger arrived to check the "bombed" line hut, and start assessing casualties. One goes over the line Cpl, rolls him over and asks "whats worng with you then". Line Cpl makes a retching noise and associated movement, and at the same time squeezes the plastic bag causing the semi liquid mess to erupt over the floor/boots of good samaritan, who promptly jumps backwards in disgust.

Training - everyone's flying from a little used satellite field - Provosts - one instructor in the "pie hut" mobile control tower - students landing on three grass runways - mid-summer dry grass. Instructor sees two students dangerously close but cannot identify them head-on so goes outside and fires very pistol ..... the flare lands and sets the grass on fire .... so now no one can see through the smoke to land.

A bright crisp clear and frosty morning in Lincolnshire. Konsin (sp?) is spread to de-ice the runway. Shortly after dawn the first pair get airborne in full burner. Konsin evaporates, condenses in the cold air and rolls across the airfield in the vortices from the departing aircraft forming an expanding wall of fog which persists for the resy of the day. Pair divert.

A rerun of a post from earlier days.


Late '70's at an 'aerodrome somewhere in England'.

The Boss (and I mean THE BOSS) was coming to make sure that we were looking after the aeroplanes and other bits and bobs she had loaned us.

The Staish thought it was time for his Other Buggers Efforts and so decided to put on a show. A Royal Guard of Honour came top in his list of bullsh*t.

Joe the SWO trawls the unit for blokes who were 6 feet tall (not 5'11", not 6'1", he wants an Other Buggers Efforts too) to make up the main cast of this performance.

Through an accident of birth, my oppo and myself satisfied Joe's requirements (and being a pair of prats by not hiding or limping ) we found ourselves on a shortlist of 2 to join Joe's Chorus Line.

Now, my oppo was (and still is) a bit of an imbiber of most things alcoholic (he draws the line at Toilet Duck), he also appreciates being allowed to gently enter the world of sobriety in the mornings, no sudden movements etc etc.

To his horror (and to the rest of us) Joe and the Staish decided upon practice, practice, practice weeks before the main event. To make matters worse, the practices were to take place at first sparrow's fart, so's not to deny us the pleasure of a full day at work afterwards.

Oppo did not take kindly to this. His personal time to recover from the reveries of the previous night were severely curtailed. His efforts at the rehearsals for Joe SWO's Royal Variety Performance were not good. His efforts at 'Present Arms' would have made Corporal (Dad's Army) Jones look like a Coldstream Guardsman.

Joe thought he was taking the pi$$, not realising that oppo was recovering from the pi$$.

Slowly it began to dawn on oppo, that perhaps to avoid more severe listening-to's and other threats from Joe and after all, it was for THE BOSS. (Oppo was a great fan of THE BOSS). that he should curtail his nightly intake and perhaps take up cocoa for the duration instead.

The transformation was dramatic!! A figure of immaculate military bearing arose from the ashes, the Staish smiled, Joe SWO smiled, even Joe's dog smiled. Sod the Other Buggers Efforts they thought, this means Knighthoods all round. Arise Sir Staish, Arise Sir Joe SWO. I swear you could see it in their eyes.

Come the final Full Dress Rehearsal. Brigade of Guards, QCS, b@llocks to the lot of you, nobody could beat us, we were good.

So good in fact that the Staish invited the members of the Royal Guard of Honour to have a small alcoholic refreshment (at his expense) to thank us for our efforts (oh, and also to put the fear of God up us just in case it went wrong).

After drinkies and associated small talk 'it's Ma'am as in ham, not Ma'am as in farm' etc served up by Mrs (soon to be Lady) Staish. We were sent on our way to prepare for the Main Event the following morning.

Oppo, now rather pleased with himself, full of military bearing (and two halves of Staish's beer) decides that a pleasant pre-Royal evening in the company of the NAAFI'S finest barmaids is perfectly in order. Thankfully, I had a prior engagement with the future Mrs Taxydual so had to decline his kind offer of an evening of fine wines and glistening conversation.

I imagine, gentle reader, you can guess the rest.

Come the morn, you have never seen anything like it. 6' of military bearing converted into a potato sack. There were no two pounds of him hanging straight. His breath would have killed small children. His eyes had to be seen to be believed. 'There's life, Jim, but not as we know it'.

It went steadily downhill from there on in.

The March-on he stumbled. The Royal Salute he fumbled.

Then the crowning glory. During the Inspection came a barely audible bubbling noise followed an odour of such grossness that no-one could miss it for what it was. Oppo had sh*t himself. The looks of horror on the faces of the great and the good was spectacular. As to THE BOSS, she didn't turn a hair and carried on if nothing had happened. She knew though, oh she knew. I saw, for a fleeting second the look in her face as she passed me. "Tommo's sh*t himself again".

Where are you Tommo? If the telling of this doesn't force you out of hiding, nothing will.

Can't resist this. Just can't, that's all there is to it!

PLEASE keep this going gents - the best stuff for years. Should go into a book. Must go and change me pants! :D :ok:

Pre-taceval period but still ficticous sandbags.

"Fall-out warning black"

Off-shift ops officer at Waddo swimming in the open air pool. Duty Plod comes round and tells him to get in the shelter.

"It's OK Cpl, any fallout will wash off." Exit Cpl.

Same exercise, Bomber Controller starts broadcasting location of H-bombs going off all over Britain (odd but they didn't all arrive at once). First one was Waddo.

"Waddington, why are you not reporting fallout?"

"Say again, where was the first bomb?"

"Don' be a fool Batt, it's an exercise now get plotting."

Didn't do Batt's career any harm, made at least Gp Capt Regt.

I swear the GIs (gunnery instructors[drill instructors]) have got a BIG book of the funniest phrases and comments to be used on the parade ground.

Dartmouth, early 80s and we're on mid-week divisions, practising for the 'proper' show on the weekend. There's lots and lots of marching up and down the square but the equally young and equally green Snotty marching in front of me really couldn't get his act together. It was tick-tocking at its very, very best. Luckily he was going through as an Observer, as I think his lack of co-ordination might have hampered his style as a pilot. Anyway, from the rear of the squad comes an incredulous squeal of 'halt' from the PO GI and up he marches, with pace stick of course and the whitest gaters you have ever seen in your life. Face literally millimeters from the disco-dancing marcher:

'Do you know what, Sir, because you're a young officer and I'm a Petty Officer I'm not allowed to call you a c**t. I am only allowed to THINK you are a c**t. AND do you know what, Sir? I THINK you are a f**k**g c**t. Now double round the ramparts, shouting to everybody what the PO thinks you are, Sir'

The only trouble was we were all laughing so hard that tears were literally flowing and it took a good few minutes before we could even see again, let alone march and, even as we did try, there was still this poor bugger running around the ramparts shouting, 'the PO thinks I'm a c**t', which set us all off again.

H&S wouldn't permit that sort of thing nowadays......as for the bullying, well heaven forbid....:rolleyes:


PS: I know the thread says 'Air Force' but seeing as I spent so long with you poxy crabs, then I get to add Senior Service stuff too :}

Sorry Pontius I should have included the Rum, B & B Brigade in my original post.

Finningley, 1975.

0745, a steady stream of airmen walking down the main drag to work.

Joe the SWO appears on the Guardroom Verandah. The cry of "YOU, AIRMAN" rents the peace of the morning.

200 Airmen halt mid stride.

"WHERE IS YOUR HEADGEAR?" bellows the SWO.

199 airmen breath an audible sigh of relief.

From the throng, emerges 1 small LAC minus top cover "I have a chit from the MO, sir". He bleats.

"WELL, WEAR THE F****ING CHIT THEN" is the response.

199 Airmen wet themselves laughing.

A 'colonial' air force, somewhere south of the equator, in Africa, and there is a war on .......

Officer Cadets on daily parade and drill practise. Gobby little drill corporal (known as 'Klinger' behind his back) taking the parade. Said corporal, during a lull in proceedings, thinking he is being smart, walks down the front row asking individuals, "Does you sister f**k?" Several answers of "Perhaps, Corporal!", "Yes, Corporal!" or "I don't know, Corporal!"

This continues until the corporal reaches a big, burly ex-army chap who is the holder of a gallantry medal:Assembled Cadets crease up, 'Klinger' has a crinkle, and the Cadets all have to take another run around the parade square several times. We eventually 'broke' 'Klinger' so that he didn't mess with us again. :ok:

I absolutely L O V E this thread!

I have personally spilled the coffee -- mercifully, not on the keyboard!! -- twice already!!


Go for it fellas! This is fabulous!!



:ok::ok::ok:

Half way through my time in the RAF I had lost the required Juniority to be allowed to work on aircraft and was employed on fulltime duties moving pieces of paper sideways across a desk.

Was summonsed to deliver a briefing to a nearby Gp Capt (unusually for the rank he was actually rather quick witted). He always sat with his back to the window of his second floor office so as I delivered said brief I had a full view of the large sports field.

It was late spring and the groundsmen had just cut the grass, painted the 7-a-side goal thingies and laid them out at the side of the field to dry in the sun.

Back to the briefing - drone, drone, blah, blah. Suddenly loud clattering noise as a Mk 2 Wessex swoops across the sportsfield, heading for the Helo Pad. Grass blows every where and the goal thingies covered in wet, white paint are blown all over the place. I involuntarily exclaimed "What a mess!". Gp Capt looked behind him, understood why I had interrupted his briefing and said to me "Don't worry Bill, the goalposts allways move when the C-in-C comes back from London".

OCTU RAF Henlow, late '70s, learning how to polish prototype Lightnings and trying to avoid the cameras filming 'Fighter Pilot'. On the parade ground early one Winter morn, being taught how to march in a big group, things were looking good from my viewpoint at the back apart from a hint of tick-tocking just ahead. Suddenly, 'Left, right, left, right, right wheel, left, right, etc' was interrupted by an explosive, high pitched 'WHHALT!!'.

RAF Regt DI, at a pace that would please the boss of the Carabinieri's Mountain Division, and, yes, with Paystick under arm and slashed peak causing him to lead with his chin, singles out said tick-tocker. Stops, immaculately, millimetres from TT's face and enquires, 'TT, why the f*ck do you want to become an officer in the RAF Regt?!?!?'

TT, loudly, 'Because I like the outdoor life, Flight Sergeant!'

DI, 'Have you ever thought of becoming a f*cking farmer?!?!'

Parade adjourned to re-compose itself.

Taceval at tiny Yorkshire Group HQ.

Exercise staff throw a smoke canister towards a gaggle of airmen patrolling the perimeter. One of the airmen dashes forward, picks up the smoking canister and hurls it back, scattering the officers. Later while being bollocked, the Sergeant Discipline asks, "What would have happened had it been a real grenade?" The airman replied "I probably would have been standing in front of the Queen receiving a medal instead of getting a bollocking from you Sarge!"

Wittering 1966. The SWO had got his usual revenge on Victor Line Sqn. by nominating most of them for Guard of Honour, including an ethnic Nigerian electrician known to everyone as " Joe ".

Having all drawn arms, the SWO sized us into 3 ranks and " Joe " found himself in the rear rank. Enter a young Nav. Rad. who had lost the toss for O i/c GoH. He spotted "Joe" in the rear rank, pointed at him and told him to swap places with the man in the centre of the front rank.

" Tell you what, Sir, I have a better idea " replied Joe, " Why don't you put me on a lead and stand me in front of the band "

As mere civie who has only worked alongside the heros in blue these stories are priceless. I agree with previous poster - please someone get them compiled into a book and sold for a mob charity.

Monday 22 April 1974 - Coltishall -1st Encounter with Lightning
 

Talkdown Controller Plt Off Dave L, Lightning Pilot Flt Lt Jack B

ACT 1 - The Talkdown

First day of first tour DL leaves Satcos office after arrival interview, " we'll start you off on Talkdown - lets see how good you are - the last one straight out of Shawbury lasted a week!" DL is hastily thrust in the seat and the screen controller gives words of encouragement along lines of " 2 & 1/2 degree glidepath not 3, clearances at 8 & 4 miles not 6 & 3 and dont forget its a bit quicker than a Jet Provost, thats him just coming on at 9 miles".

DL makes a promising start only mildly thrown by the clipped punchy r/t from the pilot unlike the clear relaxed civvy pilots at Shawbury - he overcomes the first hurdle of remembering to announce himself as Coltishall Talkdown and not Shawbury - all he has ever known! First clearance is duly remembered at 8 miles and DL settles into the patter even remembering to begin descent for a 2 & 1/2 degree glidepath. All is going nicely as DL does his best to achieve a good centreline line up. The 4 mile clearance to overshoot is obtained with a hasty prompt and a "tut" from the screen controller. But now the speed of the approach begins to overtake DL who is struggling to keep a rythmic patter going and remember all his half mile range calls, he is working hard to keep up and some stressed breathing adds to his difficulties. " Dont forget the surface wind" urges the tutting screen swiftly followed by "and watch for Decision Height". By now DL's commentary is failing to keep up and the gap between each blip on the fast scanning radar is rapidly increasing! Finally DL utters the finishing phrase "passing Decision Height look ahead and take over visually radar service terminates" by which time the blip has passed off the screen and the jet can be heard roaring past the Tower.
Headset off DL wipes his brow and nervously looks to his screen for reassurance only to hear " the Boss wont be too impressed with this - you need to speed up - best you sit over there and get on with reading the Order Book". Unknown to DL JB had been briefed to cleanup and open up at 4 miles and was probably doing about 300 kts over the threshold!

To add one I was told.
Airfield ATC Simulator excercise with a painted scene of said airfield on one wall. Student has everything under control. WAAF acting as assistant alogside. Testers decide to increase pressure on student by adding more and more urgent and increasingly serious situations interspersed with phone calls to the assistant stating Farmer Giles who owns a field outside perimeter fence needs a word. Student getting more and more harassed keeps telling the WAAF he cant take the phone as he too busy. Testers keep increasing the pressure and make one more call to WAAF - she passes message on that Farmer Giles says he must talk to SATCO as some of his sheep have got through the peri fence and are on a runway. Student now at breaking point stands up glares a painted scene and yells 'I CANT SEE ANY F****ING SHEEP. WAAF disolves in tears and testers rolling about on floor in helpless laughter

Sometime mid 70s, on detachment in Germany, FJ eng line controller. One of the aircraft required a refuel so I said to no-one in particular, "What's the number of the refuelling flight?" (mistake of course). Quick as a flash one of my guys comes back with an extension number and I promptly dial. The phone rings for ages and I mutter that refuelling flights are all the same, supposed to be manned 24/7, never answer the phone etc. Then a ladies voice answers the phone with a (very posh) "Hello". I replied that I didn't think I had the right number, especially as I now notice that all the troops are rolling round the floor laughing. The voice continued, "This is the Station Commander's wife and I have just got out of the bath to answer the phone!". Quick thinking, I replied, "Do you know who I am?". "No", came the response. "Thank heavens for that" I replied and put the phone down. At least I had another 'volunteer' for sh!t jobs for the next few days!!

Monday 22 April 1974 - Coltishall -1st Encounter with Lightning
 

POST 25 Refers -ACT 2 - The Debrief

Talkdown Controller Plt Off Dave L

"Lightning Pilot" Flt Lt Dick D - Atco in disguise and the Producer of the play

DL is sat in the corner of the Approach Room trawling through the Order Book and nobody has spoken to him in the 20 min that have elapsed since the talkdown finished.

In storms "the pilot" DD in a flying suit with some maps stuffed in pockets "Where's the Supervisor - I want to see that ******* GCA controller" The Supervisor says " He's over there ... it's his first day". DD storms over to DL and gives him a severe one way interview about the shocking GCA which ruined his students sortie and which would have to be flown again! DL was left ashen faced with bottom lip beginning to wobble!

10 mins later the phone rings and the Supervisor calls DL over saying " its for you" and DL finds himself speaking to JB who says "My name's Jack B I'm the pilot you talked down and you didn't do a bad job -welcome to Colt mate - see you in the bar for a beer." DL puts down the phone and the controllers and assistants in the Approach Room collapse into laughter. Another brilliant set up from a master of set ups Dick D!

I knew DDs' name would pitch up here at some point, I just knew.

Flew him in a Frightning at Colt. DD wants gentle aero-type manoeuvres.
Had little bark in bag - felt much better.

Next day me airborne, DD on Approach. First RT response from erstwhile controller: "Carrots over Yarmouth muther?".

....and how about the Beagle Club at Colt.......??

Still, an absolute professional; if ever I met one. With a fire warning at night he answered my Mayday call with "Roger, radar listening out".

Ok, back to the funnies guys.

Ejector SeatTraining
 

If memory serves me correctly,
11th November 1973. RAF Church Fenton halfway through the Chipmunk course prior to posting to Linton.
Potential Steely eyed Jet Jockeys gathered outside for ejection seat training (think fireman’s ladder with an MB Mk4 seat strapped to the front, a ratchet on the seat to stop the seat falling back down and a ground operated cable to lower the seat). First student wants to see what the view looks like flying up the ladder and goes for the pan handle. Head back, neck straight pulls handle. There is a slight pause and then nothing. A hush descends. Keep still Sir, don’t move a muscle, it might be a dud. Eventually the cartridge is removed and everyone relaxes. Second go, another pause and the seat leaps three foot up the rails. Wind up seat, disengage the ratchet and wind down. Wait for new box of cartridges and on the third go our hero bangs to the top. Winch the seat up and a call to the student to release the ratchet. There is no answer. Student seems to be frozen. More shouting. Eventually student responds, disengages the ratchet and is wound down. What happened we ask? He replied "I thought I had blacked out. I could hear you all shouting but everything had gone grey". It seems he hadn’t set the ‘G’ lever on his shiny new bone dome and the visor slammed down.
I thought it was funny until it was my turn.

Late 70's, young Lovechild is in basic training at Swinderby and has been dicked for escort duties on a mate's charge. Standing at ease in the corridoor outside the offices, an hossifer approaches with an overflowing boxfile and more loose paperwork on top. Lovechild snaps smartly to attention...

Well, not quite smartly enough. I had failed to notice that one foot was on the end of a carpet and the other was on the lino. As my feet came together, the carpet got caught and raised up between my shoes.

The Officer tripped, flat on his face, boxfile and papers up in the air.

Thinks 'Bugger me, I've only been in the Air Force a week and I'm in the **** already'

By the time he had regained his composure, and gathered his paperwork, I had managed to straighten the carpet back down to its original position.

I don't think he sensed the terror in my eyes, or the subsequent relief, when he said :

'Oops, silly me'

(Over 30 years ago and my Dad still makes me re-enact this one for his friends)

There have been a few like this, this one I actually witnessed ........

Airman stepping out of the mess bereft of headdress. A young shiny acting Cpl policeman about to enter the mess takes it upon himself to take the offender, a rather large old FLM, to task over his attire.

“SAC, Where’s your beret”
”In my pocket”, came the reply, said without even looking up or slowing down.

But the best bit was the young policeman who didn’t know what to do as about 20 junior ranks are now wetting themselves at his expense, he turned round wandered off and wasn’t seen in the mess for weeks.

'Are your hands cold?'

'No Sir, they're in my pockets'

See item 1 in post #1. When I was posted in to said station (near golf course etc) I was a newly promoted Flying Officer having spent 3 years as a Pilot Officer.

We used to record our arrival on RAF stations by walking all over the base with an increasingly dog-eared piece of blue card called an arrival chit, which had to be signed by about 20 people in positions of more or less power over you.

One of the more powerful was the Mechanical Transport Officer (MTO). I arrived at his office with blue card, but not knowing that MTO was on leave and MT Warrant Officer was covering for him.

Knock, knock....."come in". Fg Off SOSL opens door and steps in, right foot connects with wooden batten nailed to the floor to stop the MTO's carpet from curling up any more. Fg Off SOSL falls to his knees and utters an expletive. MT Warrant Officer looks up from his paperwork and sees in front of him a Fg Off on his knees holding up his arrival chit. Warrant Officer opines "D'you know, Sir, I think you and I are going to get on".

Happy days - keep 'em coming guys and gals. We haven't had any gals contribute yet.... or have we?

Kinloss, late '80s.

My first love, the Nimrod, had those intercom/radio tx paddle switches. By flicking it across quickly, one could turn a radio transmission into merely an intercom one in mid-flow, without this being obvious to the rest of crew.

One dark and dirty night, a crew was coming home on a PAR at about 0200. The lead Nav was a guest, and happened to be the Sqn Nav Leader. His wife was an ATCO at Kinloss.

Female PAR Controller: "4nm - check gear"

Flt Lt pilot: "C/S three greens...(flicks paddle switch to intercom)...and any chance of a blowj*b?"

Growl from the back: "Flt Lt ****, my wife does not give blowj*bs"

Flt Lt pilot: "Bad luck, sir!"

Well, that's how I remember it...

RAFC circa long ago, junior mess parade ground, wind coming from the Urals, Sgt A....o " did you shave this morning sir", " yes sergeant" did you use a mirror" "yes sergeant" "next time use a f.....g razor" !!

Goose Bay 1974.

An ageing Cpl. Steward turns up to work in the officers mess. No SNCO steward being on base, I was given the dubious honour of showing him around. A day later I ushered him into the bosses office for his welcome aboard chat. " Sit down" says the boss," I've been looking at your file, and you are just the man we are looking for, I need someone to look after the RAF water polo team during Winter Carnival and I see that before you joined the RAF, you were in the Navy" " Sorry Sir, but I can't swim" says the steward. "What !!, 11 years in the Navy and you can't swim" says the boss. "Yes sir, and it gets worse, I've been in the RAF for the past 6 years and I can't f***ing fly either"

SOSL - that tale will be impossible to beat! I roared with laughter, fortunately my drink was not in my hand at the time.

The scene: RAAF Butterworth, Friday 1800, darkish, just landed having taken AOC on a ten hour patrol in a P3 Orion. Crew go to the 'Scruffs Bar' ie on the lawn outside the Mess. Captain Neppie and Tacco called to Ops. Russian Submarine and Destroyer escort in Malacca Straits, so we are tasked to relocate on Saturday morning. Neppie suggests that AOC (ex Knuck) might prefer to see the Reds than his planned inspection of a Barrack Block. PA calls AOC and all is agreed. Neppie and Tacco join crew under a tree behind the Mess, (dark, remember) beers in hand, and Neppie announces to the rest of the crew that tomorrow, we shall have on board the RAAF's highest paid co-pilot. From the shadows under the trees, steps forward said AOC, who graciously said;
"Thanks Neppie, just get me back to the golf course by noon!"


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Two Scaleybrat/NAAFI stories, the second one has 'connotations' but occurred with childhood innocence.

Wyton in the early eighties

My mate's missus in the queue at the Families NAAFI with sprog. Checkout lady exchanging pleasantries with the customer, when the toddler leans forward and says -

'I've got a secret'

'Have you?' says the checkout lady 'But a secret shared, is a secret halved'

'But I've got a secret'

'If you tell me, it won't be a secret anymore, will it?'

Toddler ponders for a moment

'I went downstairs last night and saw Mummy kissing Daddy's willy'

Many years ago at a former strike base near Bury St Edmunds Joe SWO shouts at airman walking on the grass 'Airman only 2 things walk on the grass at this station.

Birds and God !






And God has to ask MY PERMISSION !!'

Tacevals
 

1. UK Taceval in final nuclear phase. It's a hot day, and sitting in our "NBC shelter" (a barrack block with CPX sandbag labels on the windows) after a long period of NBC black, the sweat starts to pool in the S6 respirators. Having seen no distaff for a long time, we decide to relax the dress regulations, but with 1 man delegated to keep an eye out for anyone important approaching the door. Cleverly recognising a potentially career-altering individual approaching in full NBC kit, our lookout donned respirator in the required time scale, exhaling sharply and shouting "Boss, boss, boss!"

2. RAFG Taceval where OC flying in the field is required to carry a Storno in case of no-duff incident, and so that he can be recognised in NBC kit. Realising battery is flat during particularly hectic phase, said officer goes to Eng Ops and asks "Chief, charge this battery for me, please." CT places battery on desk, wags finger at it, and says loudly "Battery, you're on a fizzer."