Humour: A cure for all?

Not sure if this has been done before, I’ll blame the brain damage caused by yellow handbags if it has.

Most soldiers during their time in service are witness to sights, sounds and smells that are far beyond the capabilities of current computer generate graphics, sound cards or smelly vision; they behold the real, no game!
Soldiers and their families have to address the aftermath of these circumstances. The strategies used to conquer these post situations are many, some medical, social, welfare, pastoral or unit recommended, some not so. Humour which is unfathomable to civilians, who have little or no comprehension or experience of these events. Humour, the enduring medication of the soldier; used to overcome their dire experiences. If not “sorted” these encroachments would destroy most minds, if left to ail. At times this humour can, from the outside seem a little morbid, obscene, inappropriate or somewhat sick but; it is how some soldiers “deal with it!” Humour developed and fostered during times of adversity, stressful, difficult and invariably dangerous encounters. This humour is easily transferable with others that have faced similar predicaments; doctors, police, firepersons, nurses and many others.

I have been lucky and privileged to serve with a unit for a long time, which had more than its fair share of wit, one liner’s, and extremely funny anecdotes and stories. Most of these remembered at reunions or gatherings of various members, it only needs a plural, and it has a life of its own.

No names, or units, this will protect the innocent and their LS & GC’s, if in possession of such.

What are your recollections of the humour exhibited by your mates when they have "dealt with it"?
Go on then, I'll go first.

When the Duty Sergeant, walked into the Guardroom and saw the Provo Corporal, with his feet in two plastic fire buckets; crimson faced and attempting, with great effort to lift himself. Thinks “WtF!” and attempts to investigate this surreal situation unfolding before his eyes.

A Soldier under Sentence Pte Je**** was the cause of said scene. He had and IQ of about 150 and used a great deal of his intellect trying to buck the system (reason for SuS) but, mostly pranks. Pranks like pissing the Officers’ off, by filling in the Times crossword (correctly) before the paper was delivered to the Mess from the guardroom, that sort of thing. Apparently after lunch Pte Je**** was escorted back to the guardroom and saw the Provo Corporal (ex gym queen) knocking out pull-ups on a fitness bar fitted to the restroom door frame. PC completed 100, dismounted and than walked over to the mirror to admire his physic reflected in the glass.

PC “Look and weep Je****, Adonis or what?”
“Muscles don’t equate to strength or stamina Staff” replies Pte Je****
PC responds “Knob, what are you on about”. Then jumps back onto the bar and knocks out another 100. Returns to the mirror and completes several poses, showing off his muscles.

Pte Je**** “It is not the same as lifting dead weight Staff, that a real sign of strength”
“Explain, knucklehead” said PS
“Staff have you ever tried to pick an unconscious person up, it is difficult, that’s dead weight and if you can lift that, you have strength and stamina; you do not need muscles for that” Pte Je**** explains.
PC “lay down on the floor and I will pick you up, no problem”
“That would not be the same an unconscious person Staff, and that is the test” said Pte Je****.
The PC appeared to consider knocking Pte Je**** out but, the consequences’ would be dire and retorted “go on then, how do we get and dead weight for me to lift”

That is the point were the Duty Sergeant walks into the guardroom. He considers ending this event immediately or, let it run its course. Let it run! And then continues to observe the Corporals veins in his neck bulge, and his face turning a hue of purple. At this juncture the handles of both fire buckets were ripped off in the provost’s hands.

“Tw@!!!!!! would have done it if the f***ing handles hadn’t come off”

God bless the old provo staff.
Two incidents involving the same Potential officer sent out to 8 Field Wksp in 1986. Young PO was a Rhodesian of Irish descent and we were on STANTA doing an NBC exercise. PO turns to Cfn Jack J**nes and tells him to go and get a spade to dig a shell scrape! Said Crafty buggers off and comes back with the only black guy in the unit much to the chargrain of the PO but we were pissing ourselves.

Forward 3 weeks later, unit on Ex Lion Sun in Cyprus and OC had organised a games night/piss up with Comd Wksp Cyprus. Myself and Cfn J**nes approach said PO again and tell him that as the newest member of the Wksp he has to officially open the games night, PO seeks advice from an AQMS who goes along with the prank, PO told to stand by bell at the end of the bar and when signalled to do so give it a long ring and announce that the games night has begun. Sucker did exactly that and with nearly 100 thirsty squaddies standing by the bar had to cough up the drinks which the OC and other officers had to sub him.

That was typical of the squaddie humour I came across where if you gave it out you were expected to take it back.
Thanks MT :D, I'll try another to try get the ball rolling.

Rottweiler, a dangerous dog?

A very good mate of mine from Yorkshire, while on a course in Liverpool met the love of his life. This Scouse beauty, Jenny after a seemly courtship, Dave married and they lived happily nearly ever after. Came the date of 22yrs service completion, the decision to be made; where are we going to put down routes as a family? Now Dave and Jenny after much discussion plumed for Liverpool. Apart from the occasional visit to the outlaws and the odd course, Dave had very little knowledge of Liverpool. Unfortunately at this time there was a great deal of bad press about this geographical area. So with some apprehensions Dave agreed with Jenny and set about finding a home to their satisfaction, which they did just outside Liverpool.
Dave thought that, he had put off being a dog owner long enough, while he was in the Army. He decided, it would be appropriate at this juncture to purchase a 1 year old, house trained Rottweiler. This hound gave him a sense of security, moving to an area, he was not savvy with. On the day of the move, every thing went extremely well and with military precision, on a beautiful summer day.
Their immediate next door neighbours were the model neighbourliness in their welcome, cups of teas and bacon sandwiches, delivered during the move in. When the removals van left late in the afternoon, Dave’s new neighbour invited them over for a couple of beers and a burger on their patio. This was a wonderful end, to a lovely day; which had alleviated all his doubt and apprehensions about the move from his beloved Yorkshire.

At about 7-o-clock in the evening, his neighbour, told him that he, his wife and two teenage daughters where leaving for their two weeks annual holiday in Spain, early the next day. He also said he would have excuse himself in the next hour, to drop of the two pet rabbits belonging to the girls at their Grandma’s in Blackpool. Dave was having a great time and possibly due to this and the alcohol, volunteered to take care of the pets; while their neighbours were holiday and save them the drive to their Nan’s. Dave and his good lady made it back to their new home in the early hours, a tad worse for wear. Dave awoke in the morning feeling a little jaded, as he trudged in tracksuit to the back door and let the dog out, for a quick comfort break. He carried out his usual ablutions, made himself a tea and then wandered out to the back garden patio to join the dog. Taking a seat out of its’ wrapping, he made himself comfy and surveyed his empire with a slight smugness, while sipping his tea. He glance over to his neighbours side of the fence and saw his dog emerge from a hole under that fence. It bounded up to were Dave sat and placed a dead black, with a small white patch just above it’s nose, rabbit, from it’s jaw, at his owners feet, wagging it’s body as only dog’s can. Now this is where Dave’s empire came crashing about his ears as he leapt to his feet and confirmed his worst imagines there was only one rabbit in the hutch of the house next door.

Franticly for the next few days, Dave scoured the yellow pages for any pet shops with black rabbits in stock; he managed to find quite a few all over the north of England. Armed with the dead rabbit in a Tesco plastic bag, he started the rounds of all the leads gained from the yellow pages. Eight days’ and over a thousand miles of travel and he had a passable match for the black rabbit with the small white patch above its’ nose. Although it was little larger than the original, Dave placed the rabbit in the hutch to get to know its fellow occupant. Now Dave was fretting over the remaining days before the return of his next door neighbour but, like dental appointments, the time very quickly passed to their return. On the dreaded day Dave was on his way to walk the dog in the local park when he was spotted by neighbour, returning from shopping at the front of his house. Dave asked the normal pleasantries, how was the trip? How was the holiday? Eventually he broached the subject of the health of the rabbits. The man said “Well weird thing was, the morning we went on holiday, the kids wanted to say goodbye to their rabbits, Janet the youngest came back to the house, absolutely distraught, saying her rabbit was dead”. He continued “Because we had little time before the taxi was due, I quickly buried it in the back garden and thought it best to get Janet away as quickly as possible”. He took a deep breath and added “when we came back Janet wanted to put a cross on the grave that I had dug. She went out to the garden and found the grave empty and her rabbit in the hutch with her sisters. It must not have been dead when I buried it, but how it got out of the ground and back in its cage is beyond me. My daughter said it has put on some weight since we have been away as well” Dave let the conversation be totally one sided from this point.

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