Things My Father Told Me

Dad was a NS crab Erk doing Emergency Airfield Repairs. He recalled one winter, on a Sunday all in the Nissan hut we're freezing their collective nuts off. Some nutter (his words) decides to get the Potbelly stove working more effectively, he pours the contents of a flare cartridge in the top.
The stove turned white hot and so did the hut. Never found out what happened to the bloke who fueled the fire... Suspect it might have been him. Can't have affected his two years, he left with two stripes.
 
Grandfather Stilly was a WW1 Veteran and bored of life after demob he re-joined and got posted to India in the 20's. One dit he always regaled of his time out there was of a nasty bastard of a SNCO who was generally disliked so some smart Alec managed to nail his boots to the floor of the accommodation (GF always insists it wasn't him). Meanwhile Father Stilly was a RAF Fireman in Hong Kong, Singapore and Malaya during the 50's and would go out in the forest to catch exotic snakes (Mostly venomous) for one of the Officers who in turn sold them to collectors (Dad got a cut) ...I believe this was before CITES came into force :D
 

Offa

War Hero
Ice Cold in Alex: My father told me about a spot of leave he had as a break from flying his Beaufighter against shipping in the Aegean Campaign in 1943. Resting up in bar in Alexandria, he related an encounter with a rather boorish drunk who had disturbed the ambience of a peaceful oasis. Eventually, after pissing everybody off, the drunk made a general observation and said that "Alexandria is the asshole of the world", (which may or may not have been true). However, the reply from one quietly drinking his ice cold beer was "Yes, it is. I take it you're just passing through". Not sure if it was my father who said that, but I like to think so - he had a subtle sense of humour.
 
When you are sucking cock, don’t forget to work the shaft.

Actually I’m incorrect, my father never told me that. It was my uncle. :oops:
 
The old man told me to take a good look at the mother before marrying the daughter.

It was good advice, but regrettably ignored. The first Mrs Simmerit was mental, as I found out was her mother, but I only found out after having the first kid. Turns out the mother was schizophrenic. Absolutely mental..... as it turned out, and so was the daughter
 
schizophrenia - a sexual threesome between two people.
 

ugly

LE
Moderator
excellent
 
When Rickshaw Senior last spoke to me he said he was booking in to hospital because of a “small problem with the old waterworks”. I assumed it was bladder-related stuff. It was a quadruple heart bypass. (Remember what I said about his generation being stoic?) I was on exercise when the (dick) of an Adjutant came up and said, with a suitably serious air, “my dear chap, I am so sorry”. Now, at the time I had a wife and one young son and my immediate fear was for them. My immediate question was “what/who” only for the tit to babble something about the chain of command and it took a firm grip to reveal it was “only” Rickshaw Senior.
Fast forward to the mortuary and having to formally identify my father. I was monumentally pissed that his hair had been brushed forward and it was only when I brushed it back to the reverse slope solution and saw the post-autopsy stitching that I realised that the man I had admired so much was mortal, and dead.
This is an unusual confession for ARRSE, but it will perhaps explain why I post snippets of the life of Rickshaw Senior and I hope you will forgive my indulgence.
 
When Rickshaw Senior last spoke to me he said he was booking in to hospital because of a “small problem with the old waterworks”. I assumed it was bladder-related stuff. It was a quadruple heart bypass. (Remember what I said about his generation being stoic?) I was on exercise when the (dick) of an Adjutant came up and said, with a suitably serious air, “my dear chap, I am so sorry”. Now, at the time I had a wife and one young son and my immediate fear was for them. My immediate question was “what/who” only for the tit to babble something about the chain of command and it took a firm grip to reveal it was “only” Rickshaw Senior.
Fast forward to the mortuary and having to formally identify my father. I was monumentally pissed that his hair had been brushed forward and it was only when I brushed it back to the reverse slope solution and saw the post-autopsy stitching that I realised that the man I had admired so much was mortal, and dead.
This is an unusual confession for ARRSE, but it will perhaps explain why I post snippets of the life of Rickshaw Senior and I hope you will forgive my indulgence.
Ain't that just the truth! My old chap was such a character, and know for being a bit of a lad when younger. I never thought that he would go. In my eyes he couldn't. He'd had more than his fair share of trouble (serious burns, accidents, even losing his left bollock whilst playing cricket without a box in his 30's). It was just a shock to realise that he, of all people was mortal too. Seeing him in the chapel of rest was simply the worst thing that I could have done. Miss him every day.

What did he teach me? That only two things in life would keep me poor. Cars and Women. He was right on both.
 
I’ve been reflecting upon Rickshaw Senior- as one does - and called to mind his advice when I was sent to the officer factory. Strangely, it mirrors he advice given by my then commanding officer. “Be consistent. Be a total ****** if you must, but be a consistent ****** as your blokes need to know what you are”. Posters here will know that I have been a student of that advice throughout my long but undistinguished career. More in the fullness of time.
 
My dad was a man of very few words, but two bits of advice he gave me still resonate quite strongly. The first was "Never marry a lass ye can't lift up", the second being, "There's only one way to shove shit uphill, and that's in a wheelbarra"
 
My old fella didn't have that many wise words for me, my parents divorced when I was six and my sister and I only saw him every few weeks.

One piece of advice he did give me was not to take the credit or the blame for something I didn't do. I actually do live by that and fully expect it of others, losing all respect for those who do the former.
 
So anyway.... way back in the Dark Ages, I had a weekend leave and as two of my chums were heading west, they agreed to drop me off at Rickshaw Towers. Come Sunday afternoon, there is a knock at the door and, before I can answer it, Senior does so. My two pals, both Afro Caribbean, are enquiring “cha mon, you got da Paddy in dere?” Upstairs, I know my life in the battalion has just ended. All confirmed when the old man calls up the stairs; “you didn’t tell me you were in the colonial infantry”.
Packing up my kit becomes an exercise in slow motion as I don’t want to confront the arparheid event in the sitting room. Minutes pass and I pluck up courage to tippy toe downstairs. To the sound of huge laughter as phrases such as “this big black bugger” and “those effing Africans” came out of the sitting room. I managed to drag my chums out of the house and braced myself for, at best, a beasting and, at worst, the end of company friendships. Instead, I got an outpouring of how cool, how right on, how straight Senior was. Willy and Malc had picked up on the fact that Senior wasn’t a racist, per se, but was a child of his time but, more importantly, was an old soldier with a common bond with them.
 

jmb3296

Old-Salt
My father never served, he did his national service in the merchant navy, tramp steamers to South America and Africa.
He was always a well of good sense and I miss his wise counsel now.
He had a dark, dark sense of humour which I inherited and helped me many a time in some awful situations in my own adult life.
Two examples.
I was about 8 years old in the living room with mummy and my two younger sisters. Something vaguely something was on telly, utterly unmemorable, that pinged something in my fathers memories. Utterly unprompted he dropped into the conversation. “I got flung out of a brothel once”
Cue stunned silence and mummy choking on her Special Brew.
Apparently on ship leave a group of young officers visited some bars in buenos Aries and ended up in a brothel. Daddy being a good boy just had a cup of tea whilst some bagged off with the locals ( and the band played believe it if you like!) one of the group apparently propositioned / groped the madam and they all got flung out. Daddy never even got to finish his cup of tea apparently.....

Unfortunately his apprenticeship in the shipyards and a lifetime in heavy industry as an engineer gave him asbestosis and resulted in a slow and lingering death. He bore it with dignity, strength and wicked good humour and of course it gave us time to say proper goodbyes.
My foolish youngest sister who knows everything but has zero common sense decided to do a memory book of life for him to capture the memories for the next generation.
Panicked phone call from youngest sister who had asked him, tell me something that would surprise us about you.
The answer “ you may have black brothers and sisters “ certainly did.
She asked me what to do. The answer
Say duck all until after he has passed and the estate is settled or your share may be much smaller if we split this more than three ways was apparently insensitive.
 

Fang_Farrier

LE
Kit Reviewer
Book Reviewer
Suffice to say at my Father's funeral, we had his wife, the lady with whom he was dancing when he suffered his heart attack and a lady who " had come to know him very well in the last few months" (since his brother's, my uncle's funeral in fact!)

He joined in 59 and served until 92. had various jobs, such as with UN in Bosnia, East Timor, worked on cruise ships, Secretary Royal Nepal Golf Club, professional golfer, sailed his yacht around the Med. Died in 2003.

A wealth of stories and anecdotes, that I can not do full justice to.

That's all he left us, stories and tales. No life insurance, had only just decided to settle down, so only one payment made on his house, so it was cheaper and easier to let bank repossess it. A slack handful of worldly possession to be split between my brother and me was about it.
 

ericferret

War Hero
My old fella didn't have that many wise words for me, my parents divorced when I was six and my sister and I only saw him every few weeks.

One piece of advice he did give me was not to take the credit or the blame for something I didn't do. I actually do live by that and fully expect it of others, losing all respect for those who do the former.
Dont bleat with the sheep.

Tried to stick to that, not always easy.
 
Distinctly remember my father telling me (early 60's) that these new computer programs, and computerised robotic mechanisms were the future.

And that the effect of them on our society would be that would all eventually be working 2-3 day weeks, would have lots more time for leisure, and that would itself spark more jobs.

I think his natural optimism and goodwill towards men got the better of him on part of that forecast.
 
Two comments that my father made have stuck with me, one I have mentioned before on another thread and is more of a philosophical musing than advice, the other financial advice.

Father was a Lancaster air gunner 43-45 and completed a tour of ops, when he visited my family in Fally I took him down the tank park to have a look over one of my CR1's. After a while he paused whilst sitting in the Comds seat and looked me in the eyes and said

"What is it about countries that sends its young men to war in such confined spaces"

one of the few ever comments I ever heard him utter about his wartime experiences.

Second comment was when we were considering buying our first house (late 80's) he said when you get a mortgage just go for a repayment mortgage don't bother with an endowment they will come back and bite your arse. How true that turned out to be.
 
I mentioned in an earlier post of Senior’s demise. He went in a in a suitably juvenile fashion. Neighbours’ slippers were lubricaled with KY (other brands are available). Door handles on either side of the corridor were stringed together and nurses were propositioned in a manner that he could never honour. At his wake the landlord- who paid for the booze- said “ I never saw your father drunk.... but there again, I never saw him sober”. Not the last of his generation, but one of the last casualties of the 39-45.
 

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