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Rich Angove RiP

JAD

LE
F*uck me, this is Cat D nick is only 4 miles from my grid. It's the lowest category of chokey there is, where you are free to roam Gods green earth, basically. We are routinely given newsletters as to the free range these cuntz have.
I didn't know Rich personally but will gladly said slot the w*anker Ca*ey if I see him. PS Is Rich any relation to *ick Angove, if so stay by Mr. Cas*y.
 
Had a glass of port yesterday and couldn't help but remember my old friend Rich. RIP brother.
Wales.jpg
 
I think it'd be a huge shame if some of the more outrageous Angove tales were to disappear - post here any you would be happy for the family to see. My contribution:

Early 80s, probably around 1983, Sig Angove rocks up at Garats Hay after a weekend. He is shaved bald across half his head and is missing an eyebrow and a big chunk of moustache. It appears that, after a splendid Saturday night (something tells me it was Cardiff, can anyone confirm?), he was overcome with fatigue and found a nice comfortable skip to have a snooze in, around 4 a.m.

Imagine Angove's surprise when he wakes up in the early dawn light to discover that he is firmly attached to the contents of the skip, notably to the industrial adhesive in which he laid his weary head just a few short hours before. I was Guard Commander when he appeared late Sunday evening and the story took a good half hour to tell. I waved him off to bed, confident that there would be a much longer and somewhat more pointed conversation, involving at least the SI in Radio Wing and possibly the badge, the following morning. My abiding memory is of his beaming face as he recounted the tale, clearly enjoying every second of embroidering the story and not in any way embarrassed.

He was a fine man and I completely agree with my old mate lightning47 that it was already clear that he was destined either for a court martial or a superb career. It's to his credit that his natural intelligence, enthusiasm, boldness and sheer balls saw the latter. I hadn't seen Rich for probably 20 years, but I feel that the world is an emptier place without an Angove in it.
 
I think it'd be a huge shame if some of the more outrageous Angove tales were to disappear - post here any you would be happy for the family to see. My contribution:

Early 80s, probably around 1983, Sig Angove rocks up at Garats Hay after a weekend. He is shaved bald across half his head and is missing an eyebrow and a big chunk of moustache. It appears that, after a splendid Saturday night (something tells me it was Cardiff, can anyone confirm?), he was overcome with fatigue and found a nice comfortable skip to have a snooze in, around 4 a.m.

Imagine Angove's surprise when he wakes up in the early dawn light to discover that he is firmly attached to the contents of the skip, notably to the industrial adhesive in which he laid his weary head just a few short hours before. I was Guard Commander when he appeared late Sunday evening and the story took a good half hour to tell. I waved him off to bed, confident that there would be a much longer and somewhat more pointed conversation, involving at least the SI in Radio Wing and possibly the badge, the following morning. My abiding memory is of his beaming face as he recounted the tale, clearly enjoying every second of embroidering the story and not in any way embarrassed.

He was a fine man and I completely agree with my old mate lightning47 that it was already clear that he was destined either for a court martial or a superb career. It's to his credit that his natural intelligence, enthusiasm, boldness and sheer balls saw the latter. I hadn't seen Rich for probably 20 years, but I feel that the world is an emptier place without an Angove in it.
It was the time of his brother, Gary's, wedding. Either late 1984 or early 1985. The skip was a cover story.
We had been in Anston, near Sheffield at Mark Shaw's house for the weekend. As far as I can remember there was Rich, Mark, myself, maybe Ian Williams and Rich's mate from Cheltenham, Steve, the ariel rigger. Rich and I were much the worse for wear, asleep on the lounge floor, early hours, and the others had tried to do the IMAC trick on me but I just wasn't that fast asleep (I can't remember them trying). So they tried Rich, smearing half his head, one eyebrow and half his tash. It workded. He was a sight and didn't want anybody getting into trouble so he came up with the skip story. He had to completely shave his head, tash and other eyebrow, and the following weekend, I believe, attend his brother's wedding.
 

Glad_its_all_over

ADC
Book Reviewer
It was the time of his brother, Gary's, wedding. Either late 1984 or early 1985. The skip was a cover story.
We had been in Anston, near Sheffield at Mark Shaw's house for the weekend. As far as I can remember there was Rich, Mark, myself, maybe Ian Williams and Rich's mate from Cheltenham, Steve, the ariel rigger. Rich and I were much the worse for wear, asleep on the lounge floor, early hours, and the others had tried to do the IMAC trick on me but I just wasn't that fast asleep (I can't remember them trying). So they tried Rich, smearing half his head, one eyebrow and half his tash. It workded. He was a sight and didn't want anybody getting into trouble so he came up with the skip story. He had to completely shave his head, tash and other eyebrow, and the following weekend, I believe, attend his brother's wedding.
Comes as absolutely no surprise whatsoever. I thoroughly enjoyed his story and I rather think the hierarchy did, as well. Star performance, all round, really - Shaggy gave me the outlines of the real story years later, before his own untimely death, when we happened to be stranded at Paddington together one evening.

RIP to the both of them, fine men and fine representatives of their trade and the Corps.

I worked with the guy who commanded the 14 composite squadron which went into Iraq in 2003. He told me that Rich, by then a Captain, calmed him down and got him to relax before H-Hour by teaching him to juggle. I had this vision of Angove, ugly as it gets and a thoroughly respectable LE Captain, with his constant grin, standing under a cam net solemnly juggling litte red rubber balls while a slightly nervous parachute-trained Royal SIgnals mainstream Major watched in awe.
 
I have the Sgts’ Mess photo from David Meyer’s dine out in 2001 on the wall of my shed. Rich is on the front row. I tilt my glass in his direction when remembering absent friends. Great bloke.
 

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