Random stuff from your past..

HE117

LE
Sorry if this is a bit of a roundabout story..

The Long Haired Adj spotted a suspicious moth a few days ago, and declared that "something had to be done". After much net activity, a box arrived containing an assortment of chemicals vaguely resembling Zyclon B, which, it was declared, had to be applied to the wardrobes and drawers in the bedroom. A secondary target was also declared on "all the stuff at the back of the wardrobe". Looking for a quiet life, I emptied all the stuff and drenched and sprayed the contents with the supplied agents.. all went well (although no moths were spotted either alive or dead)..

Moving on to the secondary target, I had to go through some piles of odds and ends one accumulates at the back of the wardrobe and the depths of the sock drawer.. One of the items I pulled out was a Rattan stick which I had been issued with at Sandhurst, and has just been transferred, wardrobe to wardrobe over the years...

My other half demanded to know what the rattan stick was for, as she had never seen me use it (... quiet at the back!) Oh, said I, "you had to carry it if you had an appointment at the Cambridge Hospital."..! Is that right or has my brain become addled over the years? I also discovered one white cotton glove, issued at the same time... (I think I gave the other to some guy called Jackson..?)

My wife suggested I carry the Rattan on my next GP visit...!
 
I have trouble differentiating between weird shit dreams and actual reality, given I've spent thirty odd years of my life half-cut. Eg. Shagging Su Pollard. Did that really happen (in the Britannia Hotel in Stockport), or has my sick, polluted imagination simply conjured it up? I honestly don't know... and hope I never find out.
 
A (very dim!) distant memory tells me that it was supposed to be carried during Officers Patrol - only ever saw it once, on the square.

That same worthy (Old Ted, Gawd bless 'im) also told me that it dates (allegedly) from when Roman officers and officials carried a vine branch as a symbol of office.

. . . he also alluded that it's other purpose was to keep an Officer's hands out of his pockets.

I didn't quite fall for that one . . .
 
I have trouble differentiating between weird shit dreams and actual reality, given I've spent thirty odd years of my life half-cut. Eg. Shagging Su Pollard. Did that really happen (in the Britannia Hotel in Stockport), or has my sick, polluted imagination simply conjured it up? I honestly don't know... and hope I never find out.

Dear God, man! have you no shame?

Stockport?!
 
I am beginning to wonder.
 

Grumblegrunt

LE
Book Reviewer
anyway how is the moth?
 

overopensights

ADC
Book Reviewer
Sorry if this is a bit of a roundabout story..

The Long Haired Adj spotted a suspicious moth a few days ago, and declared that "something had to be done". After much net activity, a box arrived containing an assortment of chemicals vaguely resembling Zyclon B, which, it was declared, had to be applied to the wardrobes and drawers in the bedroom. A secondary target was also declared on "all the stuff at the back of the wardrobe". Looking for a quiet life, I emptied all the stuff and drenched and sprayed the contents with the supplied agents.. all went well (although no moths were spotted either alive or dead)..

Moving on to the secondary target, I had to go through some piles of odds and ends one accumulates at the back of the wardrobe and the depths of the sock drawer.. One of the items I pulled out was a Rattan stick which I had been issued with at Sandhurst, and has just been transferred, wardrobe to wardrobe over the years...

My other half demanded to know what the rattan stick was for, as she had never seen me use it (... quiet at the back!) Oh, said I, "you had to carry it if you had an appointment at the Cambridge Hospital."..! Is that right or has my brain become addled over the years? I also discovered one white cotton glove, issued at the same time... (I think I gave the other to some guy called Jackson..?)

My wife suggested I carry the Rattan on my next GP visit...!
While at Sandhurst, I was once placed in charge of the 'Orderlies' these were 16 exceptional cadets that were drilled for 20 min or so two or three mornings per week on old college sq, The drill was to make them smart and upright in order to escort the General to church each sunday morning, the onus was on the 'slow march', of these cadets two were selected each Sunday morning to breakfast with the General before church. The General's orderly cadets were issued with a 'Rattan' cane for use while escorting the general, the Rattan canes which they were allowed to keep.
 
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I have trouble differentiating between weird shit dreams and actual reality, given I've spent thirty odd years of my life half-cut. Eg. Shagging Su Pollard. Did that really happen (in the Britannia Hotel in Stockport), or has my sick, polluted imagination simply conjured it up? I honestly don't know... and hope I never find out.
If you did the above, you wouldn't love to tell the tale. The Britannia hosts a 6 monthly convention my better half and I attend. We don't stay there. Every time there are at least 3 cases of food poisoning from the bacon forge (nominally the kitchen but if you had seen the condition the bacon comes out in you would understand!).
 

Chimp

ADC
Chap I know has spent his whole life telling everyone it was me who carried a 66 through customs - utter cnut.
 
If you did the above, you wouldn't love to tell the tale. The Britannia hosts a 6 monthly convention my better half and I attend. We don't stay there. Every time there are at least 3 cases of food poisoning from the bacon forge (nominally the kitchen but if you had seen the condition the bacon comes out in you would understand!).
I was there for the drink-fuelled naked Twister, not the hors d'oeuvres... probably.
 

Blogg

LE
I have trouble differentiating between weird shit dreams and actual reality, given I've spent thirty odd years of my life half-cut. Eg. Shagging Su Pollard. Did that really happen (in the Britannia Hotel in Stockport), or has my sick, polluted imagination simply conjured it up? I honestly don't know... and hope I never find out.

Britannia Hotel Stockport


Sue Pollard

1595014953568.png


Yes, I would call that as a credible match....
 

Dr Death

War Hero
I once got a blow job off the then GF as I drove up the M1 doing 70mph.
 
For some unknown reason, this tale has been bouncing in my head for a few days , sort of like an earworm, and I have to exorcise it, it could be the start of my dementia journey who knows? , who gives a shit?
Now this may have been told on here before,( DKDC), it could have been total bollocks , or it could have been the absolute truth, I like to think it is a true story though
More than a few years ago a couple of years after my demob, and having had a few civvy jobs , council driving , agency driving , and a spell setting up a small powder coating business that although moderately successful, I punted and got a job with local RAF in the MTMS section
It was there I met "Dinger" (can remember his surname though) a really nice bloke , an older almost finished his 22 years full screw painter refinisher
he'd had an interesting past , had joined up and had been with Air Sea Rescue and had been the bosun on one of the last High Speed Launches , stationed in Gib, and when they were removed from service the crews were offered redundancy or retraining , he decided to retrain as a painter ( as he said tech pay, without having to be a tech)
I used to occasionally wander over to the paintshop at lunchtime, usually on the scrounge for paint or filler , and it was on one of these visits the theme of our chat got round to my previous postings . My final posting had been to the station workshop in Stirling (now DSG, and when I had told my mum this she had said that after Dad had been pulled off the beach at Dunkirk, he had been moved up there and he had been tasked with setting up a new set of "buildings" (large nissan huts that are still there or in the area) and there were shiploads of crates containing American trucks , in parts , and it was his task to get the place sorted out and get them assembled,, before he went off to Africa on his holidays
Dinger asked me what regiment my old man was in , and I said RASC , and he said so was his granddad, and told this tale
So, like most young men at that time , he was called up at the start of the war, he was a little older than the others, was married ,and had a young child , it was when he was doing his basic training , his wife and kid had been killed in an air raid on Manchester. He had been sent to the RASC as he was a time served mechanic, so away he goes and starts mechanicing. but he wanted to do something a bit different , and one day later on during the war he sees on orders a call for volunteers to become dispatch riders , what could be better , away from the workshop, riding a bike all day so off he goes on the DRs course , passes and is posted to the south coast where he find s out it isn't going to be the swan he was expecting , and off he goes to france , during Overlord, life expectancy for DRs was not good there , being constant sniper targets , accidents ,etc , and it was there , that the incident happened
He was on task early one morning riding along a narrow French road he sees another bike coming towards him , fast , out of the early morning mist , of course he is on the wrong side of the road , and the German DR coming the other way wobbles a bit not knowing what way the other guy was going and the inevitable crash happens, they both hit on their right sides he breaks his arm and smashed his knee , and the German guy did the same ,they are laying on opposite sides of the road he is desperately trying to get his Sten , and the German lad is desperately trying to get his schmeisser but both are right handed and they get the weapons but cant cock them , then they look at each other and start pissing themselves laughing, he crawls over and they have a fag, he speaks a little English , they agree that whoever finds them, the other will surrender , luckily the brits get to them first , they are both treated , and before he goes he checks out the German guy , and he gives him a slip of paper with an address in Germany , and asks if anything happens could he let his family know

War ends , Dingers granddad is demobbed , flits through a couple of jobs , dissatisfied with his life over the last couple of years , has by now got his old motorbike back and repaired , he decides he needs a holiday, thinks , I'll go over to the continent for a couple of weeks on the bike with a tent , and check out if the German guy got home safely, he finds the address in a village outside of Dortmund, and goes and knocks on the door, which is opened by ( in Dingers words) the most beautiful blond blue eyed girl he'd ever seen
He asks this young lady if this is the right address and if the German guy lives there , He does , there is a great reunion

And what became of the beautiful blond haired blue eyed German girl?
That was his late Granny

nice tale , nice ending , as I said , may be true, may be total shite, he may have just read it in Womans Own when he was waiting the get his piles checked out at the med centre
 
My other half demanded to know what the rattan stick was for, as she had never seen me use it (... quiet at the back!) Oh, said I, "you had to carry it if you had an appointment at the Cambridge Hospital."..! Is that right or has my brain become addled over the years?
Addled. The Canes Rattan were issued to Occifers so that when the men were On Parade the Occifers could perambulate behind the formed body of men and on the Command "Officers Take Post" they could then march smartly in front of the troops and take their place on the Parade. Otherwise they would be ticktocking using both arms.

And it was useful for beating local servants etc.
 

HE117

LE
Addled. The Canes Rattan were issued to Occifers so that when the men were On Parade the Occifers could perambulate behind the formed body of men and on the Command "Officers Take Post" they could then march smartly in front of the troops and take their place on the Parade. Otherwise they would be ticktocking using both arms.

And it was useful for beating local servants etc.
Yes... I know what it was supposed to be used for, but I cannot recall it actually being used post 1970 except by Sandhurst Cadets attending appointments at the Cambridge in No2, leather belt and brown shoes..!
 
Yes... I know what it was supposed to be used for, but I cannot recall it actually being used post 1970 except by Sandhurst Cadets attending appointments at the Cambridge in No2, leather belt and brown shoes..!
That's because it wasn't used. I NEVER used it even for beating the servants. And have no idea where it ended up.
 
For some unknown reason, this tale has been bouncing in my head for a few days , sort of like an earworm, and I have to exorcise it, it could be the start of my dementia journey who knows? , who gives a shit?
Now this may have been told on here before,( DKDC), it could have been total bollocks , or it could have been the absolute truth, I like to think it is a true story though
More than a few years ago a couple of years after my demob, and having had a few civvy jobs , council driving , agency driving , and a spell setting up a small powder coating business that although moderately successful, I punted and got a job with local RAF in the MTMS section
It was there I met "Dinger" (can remember his surname though) a really nice bloke , an older almost finished his 22 years full screw painter refinisher
he'd had an interesting past , had joined up and had been with Air Sea Rescue and had been the bosun on one of the last High Speed Launches , stationed in Gib, and when they were removed from service the crews were offered redundancy or retraining , he decided to retrain as a painter ( as he said tech pay, without having to be a tech)
I used to occasionally wander over to the paintshop at lunchtime, usually on the scrounge for paint or filler , and it was on one of these visits the theme of our chat got round to my previous postings . My final posting had been to the station workshop in Stirling (now DSG, and when I had told my mum this she had said that after Dad had been pulled off the beach at Dunkirk, he had been moved up there and he had been tasked with setting up a new set of "buildings" (large nissan huts that are still there or in the area) and there were shiploads of crates containing American trucks , in parts , and it was his task to get the place sorted out and get them assembled,, before he went off to Africa on his holidays
Dinger asked me what regiment my old man was in , and I said RASC , and he said so was his granddad, and told this tale
So, like most young men at that time , he was called up at the start of the war, he was a little older than the others, was married ,and had a young child , it was when he was doing his basic training , his wife and kid had been killed in an air raid on Manchester. He had been sent to the RASC as he was a time served mechanic, so away he goes and starts mechanicing. but he wanted to do something a bit different , and one day later on during the war he sees on orders a call for volunteers to become dispatch riders , what could be better , away from the workshop, riding a bike all day so off he goes on the DRs course , passes and is posted to the south coast where he find s out it isn't going to be the swan he was expecting , and off he goes to france , during Overlord, life expectancy for DRs was not good there , being constant sniper targets , accidents ,etc , and it was there , that the incident happened
He was on task early one morning riding along a narrow French road he sees another bike coming towards him , fast , out of the early morning mist , of course he is on the wrong side of the road , and the German DR coming the other way wobbles a bit not knowing what way the other guy was going and the inevitable crash happens, they both hit on their right sides he breaks his arm and smashed his knee , and the German guy did the same ,they are laying on opposite sides of the road he is desperately trying to get his Sten , and the German lad is desperately trying to get his schmeisser but both are right handed and they get the weapons but cant cock them , then they look at each other and start pissing themselves laughing, he crawls over and they have a fag, he speaks a little English , they agree that whoever finds them, the other will surrender , luckily the brits get to them first , they are both treated , and before he goes he checks out the German guy , and he gives him a slip of paper with an address in Germany , and asks if anything happens could he let his family know

War ends , Dingers granddad is demobbed , flits through a couple of jobs , dissatisfied with his life over the last couple of years , has by now got his old motorbike back and repaired , he decides he needs a holiday, thinks , I'll go over to the continent for a couple of weeks on the bike with a tent , and check out if the German guy got home safely, he finds the address in a village outside of Dortmund, and goes and knocks on the door, which is opened by ( in Dingers words) the most beautiful blond blue eyed girl he'd ever seen
He asks this young lady if this is the right address and if the German guy lives there , He does , there is a great reunion

And what became of the beautiful blond haired blue eyed German girl?
That was his late Granny

nice tale , nice ending , as I said , may be true, may be total shite, he may have just read it in Womans Own when he was waiting the get his piles checked out at the med centre
I like a nice story. Here’s one.

My Grandparents were missionaries in Kalimpong, teaching at Dr Graham’s home. They got married in the 30’s and that being the time there were no cars so the trip from church to reception was by elephant. Apparently the wage for the elephant was a bottle of beer which he drank using his trunk.

It didn’t end well however. He joined the Chaplains Corps at the outbreak of war, was captured at Singapore and never came home. Nobody knows what happened to him but it was probably an unpleasant way to go.
 

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