The social life was quite good on mountain rescue. We had our usual carousing when we were out
in the field, and were probably much worse than the reputed sailor with a girl
in every port. We had formal parties
with visiting dignitaries and stewards and we had the very private, pure mountain
rescue session, not for the faint hearted.
Sometimes though, I liked to get away on my own. I had found a little pub in Holyhead known as
The Skerries, which I adopted as my own.
The Skerries was one of the smallest pubs I had ever come across and, as
you may expect, I often had a young lady on my arm if I would visit.
It was a lovely little pub with a tiny front room and the ‘snug’
at the rear. One of the young ladies I
would regularly escort around Holyhead was Norma. Her father was ex Royal Navy and would take
me to the Royal Naval Association club where he would feed me ‘Jungle Juice’. This jungle juice was ‘Pussers Rum’ which the
navy chaps would have on toast for breakfast, if they could. It was the same rum that they were given as
their daily ‘tot’ until the 1970’s when the tradition was discontinued. Norma was well connected into the local
community, so very, very, useful except one evening she suggested that rather
than sit in a dusty old pub we go to the cinema and then a late supper.
I pleaded poverty and said that I didn’t have enough funds in
the bank to cover such a social outing.
I was quite surprised, to say the least, to hear Norma tell me I was
wrong and then divulge the exact balance in my current bank account. Maybe she was a little bit too well connected. A warning marker was placed in the water.
I also remember my first ever encounter with garlic bread. It was at an evening barbeque at 22 Squadron. It was a fantastic evening; a parachute had
been put up to act as a temporary cover.
Bales of hay had been provided for seating and I was eating some food, I
know how strange was that, especially as there was beer left. A young lady opened a cardboard box and
offered me something from within. Needless
to say this was the garlic bread and I took a piece. Like my first abseil I was
straight back at the box looking for more.
However there was one party where I picked up a friend for
life. Louis Henry, remember him, the SWO’s
man. It was a serious mountain rescue
session. There was a bit of a training lecture
first and I honestly think it was just an excuse to get all the chaps together. Then we launched into the beer and I promise
you, no prisoners would be taken. Quite
late in the evening I staggered off to the toilet.
As I went in I noticed a pair of legs underneath a cubicle
door. They weren’t moving so I continued
with what I had come in to the toilets to do.
I saw that the legs belonged to Louis Henry and began to call his
name. There was no movement, no response
whatsoever. I made my way over to the
cubicle and, standing on the toilet bowl of the adjoining cubicle, looked over
and saw Louis unconscious on the floor.
Some other chaps were coming in to the toilets and did not expect to see
me demolishing the row of cubicles.
I managed to get Louis into the centre of the floor and saw
that he was choking. Training took over
and you know the drill, but thankfully he began to cough and splutter and we
had an ambulance come and take him away just to make sure he was all
right. I mean we couldn’t sit up with
him all night and nurse him, we had beer to drink. Next time I saw Louis he couldn’t stop
thanking me and accused me of saving his life.
I asked him not to be so ridiculous, but he insisted and promised that
he would be in my debt forever. He was
still saying that six weeks ago when we got together to celebrate his sixtieth
birthday.
Louis even gave me a car once, an Austin 1100. The team car had died a death and no one was
willing to pay for it to be repaired, never mind make it legal, so it was disposed
of. Louis had one too many sherbets one
evening, at the families club at Valley, and forgot to put the handbrake on
when he parked the car. Needless to say
he was careless enough to live at the top of a small hill. The following morning the car had decided to
make a break for it and would have gotten clean away, if it were not for the
wall at the bottom of the hill.
The two front wings, front grill and bonnet were
destroyed. The car had been going at
some speed when it hit the wall, so its escape attempt looked pretty
serious. Louis, as resourceful as ever,
replaced them with an all in one fibreglass replacement. Norma and I were to attend a function at a
hotel in Amlwch, don’t ask me how to pronounce it, and it was with great pride
that I collected her from her home in my new chariot. It was a real blessing as it was throwing it
down, and this was Welsh rain, like a male voice choir, it just engulfed you.
Every time you buy, or just drive a different car, there will
be some little thing that the previous owner forgets to tell you. Perhaps a certain little twist, or flick,
with a switch or indicator arm. But as
we left Holy Island and came on to Anglesey Island everything seemed to be
going swimmingly. The rain was horrendous
but the headlights were perfect, the windscreen wipers functioned perfectly so
we had no problems.
I do remember approaching Amlwch and there was a slight dip
in the road, well; a decent sized dip and I noticed a bit of a flood was gathering
at the bottom. Like any young fellow I decided
that the best way to approach a flood was as fast as you possibly could, for
you should get two huge sprays of water splash out either side of the car. A sure fire way to impress any young lady. Well; I was wrong, there were three huge sprays
of water. You see, what Louis had forgotten
to tell me was that, as well as the wings, bonnet and grill, being destroyed
the actual chassis had cracked, and there was a huge slit running from left to
right in the passenger foot well. Norma
was not amused and actually insisted that I take her home, we were both dripping
wet but what’s a little bit of water between friends?
In fact after that Louis sort of adopted me and I was a
constant visitor at his house. His wife
Elizabeth is such a wonderful woman it’s always a great pleasure to visit them. They had two perfect children Mark and
Michelle. I used to collected pieces of
slate, or quartz, when I was up in the mountains and during the quiet moments
in my room, while the other chaps were showing young ladies their sketches, I would
be painting Walt Disney characters on these pieces of slate, that I had
collected, for Mark and Michelle.
Even the parties at their house were different. I was invited to a mattress ripping party one
evening and it was ‘bring a bottle.’ I’m
sure this was just Louis and Elizabeth adapting the mountain rescue lifestyle
into a domestic situation and trying to look normal for the neighbours. Louis was in charge of the station bedding store
so he always had access to well; anything you wanted really.
A large sheet had been placed on the living room floor and a
group of us gathered round and a lump of foam rubber was thrown into the centre. We all tore a piece off and ripped it into
smaller pieces, probably a mountain rescue interpretation of fondue. At the end of the evening we had a huge pile
of tiny pieces of foam rubber. One of
the many skills Elizabeth possessed was that of seamstress, now couple that
with Louis’s ability to get anything you needed on camp. A silk parachute was acquired; producing a four
feet square, silk cushion, filled with perfect little pieces of foam. Really comfortable and very different.
Of course the Catherine connection was there and she was often
invited to stay with Louis and Elizabeth so that they could have an evening out
and Catherine and I could babysit. Now
stop it. I know you are saying, hold on
a minute, where’s Norma? I wasn’t a
slut, far from it. Admittedly Catherine
and Norma didn’t know about each other but at least Catherine could never tell
me exactly how much was in my bank account.
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