Safe Journey

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Twas the night before Christmas,​
And all over Arrse​
Was jollity, banter, humour and farce​
Then along came a walt, intent on impressing,​
The results of their efforts proved completely depressing…​
They pompously made a few interjections,​
Interrupting a NAAFI thread on erections​
And multiple others on sin, booze and vice​
And topics The Guardian wouldn’t find nice​
Kind AWOL said' No! Give them a chance!'​
The rest of said 'Oi, you're in bloody France!​
You don't have to read the crap that it posts​
We fear that it's one of Blonde-bint's many ghosts!'​
'We no longer have Sluggy to save us this night,​
By offering them out for a one-sided fight,​
In which their face gets comprehensively sliced​
And their innards ripped out and thoroughly diced,​
As Ange sets them off on the way to their doom​
Accompanied by a nice little choon.'​
Still anxious to blend in,​
The Walter got worse​
They decided -​
God help us-​
To treat us to verse...​
It said ‘I have here a poem, in tribute to you,​
Our soliders, sailors and heirs of The Few,​
I dedicate it to all those at the front....​
Twas the nigh.... how dare you call me a c____!"​
They flounced with great drama: 'Delete my profile,​
You horrid soldiers are beastly and vile!'​
They left in a huff, with tears and a pout​
And the door hit their arse, as they made their way out.​

That one, you mean?
A worthy successor to Sassoon.
I'll inform Buckingham Palace that there's a new Poet Laureate in the wings.


Starts with 'R', ends in 'F'.... for air, SNCF for surface - two trestles collapsed under trailers on a gentle trip across the Med. The trestles looked too small and the trailers were not chained down anyway...
I was once on the rampage in the Moray firth. Things were going badly as the squadron responsible for the offload were making a right pigs ear of it. Admittedly it was about 2 in the morning, about minus 10 and the rain was coming in horizontally from the N sea but even so.

I was going to sack the OC responsible the moment he hove into view.

"Steady on Sir" said the WO1 Navigator who was there at the time as I was blowing a fuse

"If this was easy we would let civvies do it"

One of those perfect interventions that stick with you, always.
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Animals? We don’ need no steenkin’ animals! Send them by sea …View attachment 620230View attachment 620231View attachment 620232
We learned about slinging animals on my Port ops course, but we never put it into action. Many years later, whilst working in Thessalonika we actually witnessed it in action, as some cattle were being loaded onto a grotty greek two-hatch freighter.

The beasts were wilder than wild things whilst the greek stevedores got the slings onto them but once the crane driver got them in the air then were perfectly still. As soon as their hooves hit the bottom of the hold though, all hell broke loose again with the Greeks getting battered to bits as they took the slings off.
That was all I remember. Please elucidate.
The complete poem is quite long. However, the opening passage which is usually quoted is:

“Near this Spot
are deposited the Remains of one
who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferosity,
and all the virtues of Man without his Vices.
This praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
if inscribed over human Ashes,
is but a just tribute to the Memory of
Boatswain, a Dog
who was born in Newfoundland May 1803
and died at Newstead November 18th 1808.”

It’s inscribed on Boatswain’s tomb at Newstead Abbey, Byron’s home. He (Boatswain) died of rabies, yet Byron (“mad, bad, and dangerous to know”) nursed him throughout his illness.


Water bowser.

It provided for everything inc. washing and shaving

Back in the day before plastic bottles were a thing.

And you would not want 16FK22, the very early (almost a S2) S3.

It was a hateful thing in every sense of the word.

Which is why I was on the bike having ridden for 2 hours in freezing rain. Still better than a freezing noisy painful ride in the landrover
My Co went to Nigeria
Yup it was 5 Hy but I was a loosely attached truckie. So I managed to avoid having my dins emptied on my head. I must have had had my eyes shut when it came to any totty although I recall there was much lusting after the assistant adj.

I was much too in love with my Beesa to notice obvs.....

View attachment 620074
It's funny how memories can be brought up. The Ach Adj, of which you talk, was a tiny petite thing, she had a golden retriever.

When I was ATC before I signed on, we had a couple of sheds. One was full of radio gear (A full Halifax radio system) the other had not been opened in years. I opened it and found a couple of Bantams. I managed to get one running, least said about that the better. Dumping the clutch, didn't work, neither did pointing it at a wall and trying to pull the HT cable ended with lots of FXXXXXX