Op Banner photos - some memories for the old and bold

Well I have a story which is nothing but total drift, but I feel is most worthy of the olden bolden bods viewing this thread. The events described are completely real and unembellished and are of such private revelations that could only be told by one who has reached an age where the 'feck' he no longer gives for vanity is indeed rather large. To the point:

Earlier today I was invited, nay....summoned to a NHS appointment for the conduct of an investigative procedure designed to ensure that I did not have any nasty tumours in what I believed to be the 'stomach' area.

Not being particularly well versed in physiology or anatomy, I had no idea that the large area that tends to swell up after a few bears or mars bars is in fact the large 'bowel' in which, at the far end of its 'u' shaped meanderings, lies the 'colon' - a small organ that separates fluid from what might be referred to as 'bacterial flora' by a Quaker, or in simple Arrseretti speak as 'a turd'.

And so it was that on arrival at the fine NHS establishment early this afternoon for what my appointment letter told me was a 'Colonoscopy', and having previously endured a couple of Endoscopic tubes down my throat, I was initially merely intrigued to be greeted by the reception nurse who informed me that "today's procedure will involve placing a camera into your back passage"!

Now there is indeed a small public footpath to the rear of my house...….but I was a bit more street wise than that so I responded with "well I hope it's not a Nikon with a telephoto lens".

So, having set the scene, which I am sure at least some of the Arrseretti will be familier I will cut to the chase.
After I have been suitably attired in what I can only describe as an inverse of a pair of military sized crotchless pants (the hole was at the back), and told to assume the relevant position on the procedural trolley, H hour duly arrived and the 'inserter of cameras' said she would begin.

The said camera (attached to the end of what looked remarkably like a length of super insulated electrical cable) was inserted between the cheeks of my bum and, I assume coated with a suitable jellification, slowly shoved up my arse into the bowel and at this point begins the whole essence of the tale.

In order to keep my mind focused on anything but (excuse the pun), the butt, a rather attractive young nurse places her self next to my head and begins a conversation about 'how are you', 'what do you do', 'where have you been' and so on. To which of course I responded in like manner.

I am thus able to state, that at the ripe old age of, shall we just say, a septuagenarian, I am able to report having had a delightful conversation with an attractive young lady while another, not unattractive brunette is shafting my ******** with a long rubber tube!

And I kept a straight face...….especially when the 'shafter' said, "nearly finished, if you turn your head you can have a look on the screen"! Sorry I said, I am in a bit of a hurry, I have to get back to my Arrse!
Cvnt :-D

Tears of laughter in my eyes, I'd a helluva job finding the 'funny' button after that!!
 
On CMVs, towards the end of BANNER, the brush-painted Mini thing had more or less gone away and the civvy vehicle fleet was nicely disparate - although the observant Volunteer probably spotted the £60,000 4x4s, driven by two early 20s scruffy Herberts in T-shirts and those annoying lumberjack shirt jacket things, they stood out like a bulldog's bollocks.
 
On CMVs, towards the end of BANNER, the brush-painted Mini thing had more or less gone away and the civvy vehicle fleet was nicely disparate - although the observant Volunteer probably spotted the £60,000 4x4s, driven by two early 20s scruffy Herberts in T-shirts and those annoying lumberjack shirt jacket things, they stood out like a bulldog's bollocks.
Especially when they sceeched around like Poleglass hoodie-youth in half-inched Astras. Armagh would go quiet for hours, wondering what f was going on.

Some of us, in our red Chevettes or Ladas, would try to emulate the smooth suaveté of their handbrake manoeuvres, but it wasn't the same, somehow.
 
A mate referred to the 'Bus load of Nurses' invited to the company Disco. He recons that they are still driving around Belfast in the fog, looking for Palace Barracks, and that they have blue hair now. He further stated that the stress is off, now that he has grandchildren and that his 'Dick' no longer burns a hole in his combat trousers.
A similar coach is rumoured to haunt still the Northants - Cambs border area - a ghostly battle bus of the "Kettering and Corby Commandos".
Women whose mothers and grandmothers, sisters, daughters and aunts bred with American airmen and who for generations have felt a salmon like urge to head upstream to the breeding pools that were the club's and discos of the now defunct USAF Alconbury, there to take a risk on the Yank they're shagging being their cousin, brother or maybe dad back on another tour.
 
As has been mentioned on here before. A certain Mick WO2 with a strong RMAS linage used to do a similar role in Belfast until he was seen by a bright eyed newly commissioned officer who waved and said hello sgt major.
Said WO2 was back into his drill role in No 2s very quickly!
Weren't similar greetings given to the real players in order to spread suspicion in their ranks ?
 
That will be in the officer in the mandatory Barbour and blue guernsey, trying desperately to nurture the tour tash!
In Capt Clarkes 'Contact' he refers to the SAS lot as a bit too cliched going out in civvies. Gringo tashes all round, white trainers, leather bombers jackets & tight jeans. Stood on a street corner looking like 'plumbers' from a 70's German porno.
 
Found these whilst browsing this morning...




We really did have some sh*te kit back then...
 
We had that big hat for a parade at Norton Barracks Worcestershire. Five companies formed up with 'Hats Big. Only one company had their hats on after the March off. The CSM was asked "How on earth are their hats still on in this wind?" He was old school, his reply was "Company office glue on the head band Sir! Buckets of it!!"
I remember a passing off parade at Bassingbourn. It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky and very still. The whole parade ( under a female RSM - R. Sigs, I believe). All was going well until the arrival of the "special guest", a Merlin heli, arranged by the very keen adj. It hovered from just behind Kitchener Coy offices and then over the square. Not a hat survived, the trees around the square suddenly thought it was autumn, and the company offices - in which windows had been left open in order to enjoy the sun etc - were wrecked. We never had another one after that.
Didn't your grown ups know they had chinstraps - you know the black shiny strap thing above the peak. The clue is in the name.

My battalion used to use them when on parade in inclement weather. Our hats stayed on...

Even the crabs figured that out FFS...
 
Yes, I Hamps, but it was the dog wot found him, skulking under a bush, protesting that he was someone called 'Duffy', from Buncrana. Before that photograph was taken, my boss was in two minds about shooting him as a prelude to making sure that he hadn't booby-trapped himself. The 'Duffy' story mitigated in Hughes' favour. A highly committed opponent, and one worthy of respect if not for his propensity to kill anything in his way, including schoolchildren.
It was not known that he was even wounded. When it was heard the next day that he had been picked up in the sweep we were astonished he hadn't been run around the field a bit. FWIW it was a 9mm ricochet which entered around the knee and traveled the length of his upper leg. And they say the 9mm has no power . . . Anyway, when inside he started exercising before the leg was healed and ended up with one leg shorter than the other. He was certainly a hard bastard, but astonishingly cold blooded and callous even by the standards of PIRA.

His bio in Wikipedia is factually accurate, but makes no mention of the collateral damage, as you say, schoolchildren.
 
In Capt Clarkes 'Contact' he refers to the SAS lot as a bit too cliched going out in civvies. Gringo tashes all round, white trainers, leather bombers jackets & tight jeans. Stood on a street corner looking like 'plumbers' from a 70's German porno.
It always alarms me a little that no-one ever seems to consult history for similar stuff that has been done before, everything seems to be relearned from scratch. In the 70's people were available who would have trained, enabled or actually taken part in activities where survival let alone success depended on you looking like a native in Occupied Europe. B20 is another example, did no-one think "Lets ask the old and bold what it was like in desert and see if they have any advice?" The unpalatable truth seems to be that things are done with the lack of what @jumpinjarhead would call grown-up supervision.
 
It always alarms me a little that no-one ever seems to consult history for similar stuff that has been done before, everything seems to be relearned from scratch. In the 70's people were available who would have trained, enabled or actually taken part in activities where survival let alone success depended on you looking like a native in Occupied Europe. B20 is another example, did no-one think "Lets ask the old and bold what it was like in desert and see if they have any advice?" The unpalatable truth seems to be that things are done with the lack of what @jumpinjarhead would call grown-up supervision.
Spot on - the British armed forces have/had a long history of covert operations stretching back to the 19th century. Frank Kitson is generally credited with the adoption of the Pseudo Gang concept, but he didn't invent it: the attachment is taken from some work I have in progress.
 

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Closed down circa 1974, as a consequence of a humongous brawl between many wearers of that plethora of gaily coloured uniforms and capbadges, all of whom were in town either just prior to, or just back from one of a series of BANNER emergency tours. RRF and RGJ were among the willing participants, and IIRC a Jock mob(?)

The local RMP were less willingly engaged.

It is said that their 1st IA was to call out the guard from each of the inf units, who all turned up in their best combats, mit pick helves, marched smartly into the premises together, and promptly set about each other with the pick helves.:-D

It is also told that the RMP sent in a war dog mit handler, who both went in through the entrance, only to exit moments later, via the windows through which they had been thrown. :-D

The place stood vacant for something like a decade, before being demolished and the site redeveloped as a NAAFI(?) supermarket.
Sure about the date? We regularly frequented a NAAFI club in the centre of the garrison during training 75-6. I also remember doing fire picquet there in combats and with self-loading pickhelve.
 
Have you tried Facebook or LinkedIn ?
I leave that sort of thing to younger, fitter more sociable men.

Edit - just thought, I'll post it on that Grindr site a er, a friend told me about
 
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So it has been Rifles I've seen drilling in the Tower in the recently finished series on Channel 5.

I'd wondered if it was some successor to the Glorious Glosters.
When The Rifles were formed each of the constituent regiments was allowed to bring something from their lineage with them into the new regiment. 1 RGBWLI brought their back badge.

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That's a real shame, it was always such a refined and sophisticated place. A place where one could get a decent dry sherry as a pre-dinner aperitif before enjoying a sumptuous yet inexpensive repast, in good company with a decent cigar to finish.

Or was it egg and chips with a fairly flat brown ale. Memory is such a fragile thing.
Whereabouts in Catterick was it situated?

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His bio in Wikipedia is factually accurate, but makes no mention of the collateral damage, as you say, schoolchildren
It's a Wiki page - anyone may edit it.

If you have details of the collateral damage, edit them into that page, with references (CAIN database of fatalities will have the names, dates, places and attribution to IRA). Then hit the stopwatch, and see how long before they get edited out. Keep a soft copy - then you can keep pasting back in until you (or his fanbois) can't be arsed any more :)
 
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