In this part of the world there is an urban myth, connected
to the armed forces, where people would whisper the warning, ‘Never volunteer
for anything.’ I however would advocate the
exact opposite. Volunteer for
everything. I once had to act as a
casualty for a course of baby pilots who were in the field being taught
survival skills. They had gone foraging
for food and I was placed in some scrub alongside the path they would return
along. A parachute had been laid out and
I had been given a false arm, well, half an arm really, connected to a pump I controlled
with my hidden arm, that would splurt blood out though the protruding bone.
They would have to build a stretcher and use whatever they had
with them to patch me up and get me off the hill. One chap stood back and said “Why don’t we
call mountain rescue?” He was advised
where to go and in short sharp jerky movements.
Not by me, may I add, but by the supervising staff. They managed to build a stretcher and carry
me back to their camp. It was the final exercise
in their week long course. They had been
promised a cooked meal on completion.
I was invited to join the training staff who sat, inside a
tent drinking beer, watching the students.
A staff member came out to the waiting, hungry, students with an old
potato sack that was moving. He dumped
out four live chickens and said, “Gentleman, your lunch.” It was such a laugh watching them chase the scattering
chickens but even more so to see the team work come into play. One held the body, one the head and another hacked
away at the neck, with the sharpest stone they could find, to try and despatch
the poor chicken.
One job we would often be asked to do would be to position
ourselves in cover, to observe aircrew who would be dumped in the wild and
would have to recover themselves. The
head of the pilot training school was a stickler for aircrew to carry the
correct equipment at all times, so as you would walk from the operations room,
to an aircraft, you would be taken away, put into a helicopter and dumped in
the wilderness. No problem if you had
the correct equipment. One fellow
actually sat on a rock and began to shout ‘help.’ The best one I ever saw got
up, looked about and then wandered off.
He found a road and walked along till he came to a pub. He telephoned Valley and asked for a driver
to be sent out to collect him. He then negotiated
credit with the landlord and spent an enjoyable afternoon drinking beer.
Another time I volunteered was when 22 squadron rang and
asked for a volunteer. I was at the head
of the queue before anyone had time to think.
I had to go and get on the ferry to Dublin. Occasionally 22 squadron would have to lift casualties
off ships or smaller vessels and so would practise when they could. The guys on the ferry were marvellous and before
I was winched off they had suggested that any time I wanted to travel home to
Ireland I was welcome to use their ship, free of charge.
The next day I was on my way to Dublin and home for a few
days. I hadn’t bothered going through
the normal channels to get security clearance, they were all probably very busy
so there was no point in annoying anyone.
As usual I had a great time and was surprised on my return to see Louis
waiting for me in one of the team land rovers.
The team had been called out twenty minutes before and Louis knew I was
coming in on that boat so came to get me; he had even collected my kit from my
room.
That was a very gloomy call out as it was an elderly gentleman
who had gone for a walk with his dog. He
had been reported missing and we were informed that as he hadn’t taken his medication
he may be disorientated. A large police
team joined us and we scoured the countryside for the poor fellow. We found his dog guarding the body and I have
to admit I found it very sad indeed.
We considered ourselves very lucky on mountain rescue because
we were paid more money than any comparable rank in the real air force. We didn’t actually get paid more, we just
didn’t get charged for anything. Our accommodation
was regarded as being substandard which we laughed at, as it was far superior
to anything on camp and we didn’t pay for food as we were constantly in the
field. One day we were told that the AOC
was coming to investigate the team to consider if we deserved danger money.
We were going to have to put a display on for the AOC. A suitable cliff face was chosen and we were
told that two people would bring a casualty, on a stretcher, down the cliff
face. Another half a dozen troops would
abseil either side of the stretcher to provide assistance if necessary. The remainder of the team would spread
themselves out and look busy. The AOC
would be flown out in a 22 squadron helicopter and observe the exercise from
two hundred and fifty feet.
Docker was volunteered to be the casualty and two guys, one
of whom was Rick Mewes, were detailed to guide the stretcher down. I was one of the abseilers. This wasn’t the sort of thing you see on American
movies where twenty SWAT men abseil down the side of a building. With the stretcher at the bottom of the cliff
we would need men to carry it over to the helicopter where Docker would be
winched up and taken away. It wasn’t
just us being assessed as 22 Squadron were being considered for the extra payments
as well.
This took on the same formality as a standard military parade
and the day before the AOC’s visit we went out and inspected the cliff,
abseiling down it a few times, to ensure we were all very familiar with the
rock face. On the day itself we
positioned ourselves in good time and on the nod from Jack began to get into position. Once we could actually see a helicopter in the
distance and were told that it was the one we were waiting for, we swung into
action. Well; when I say ‘we’ swung into
action, all of us began to descend, apart from the stretcher, which was now
stuck.
Harsh words were spoken and there was a great rush as three
or four of us scarpered over to break it free and allow it to finally begin its
descent. I often wondered what explanation
would have been given to the AOC. Thankfully we
got to the base of the cliff without further incident and six of us lifted
Docker and the stretcher and yomped across the boggy ground to the waiting winch
cable. It was as we attached it that Docker
wished us all a lovely day and expressed hope that clearing away all the equipment
wouldn’t be too arduous, he would be thinking about us, as he expected to be
enjoying a hot cup of coffee in a soft armchair in the section house.
Paddy Cross raised his arm in the air to indicate to the crew
of the helicopter that they could begin to lift away. As the stretcher lifted off the ground we
were amazed to see Paddy lash out with his boot and kick one handle of the stretcher,
which sent it into a spin. We all collapsed
into a heap laughing as the helicopter, gaining height and flying away along the
valley, had Docker, on the stretcher, imitating the rotor blades by swinging round
and round as they went.
It was a few days later when I was in my room and Rick Mewes
knocked at the door. “Jack wants you in
his office,” he said, before moving on. I went into the corridor and shouted after him. “What for?”
Rick shrugged his shoulders, but said.
“I’m not sure, but I think it’s about some sort of detachment.”
I couldn’t contain myself.
Bruce had just been sent to the Pyrenees, a combined forces unit was looking
for volunteers to tackle Everest. The
possibilities were endless and exciting.
My secret hopes were that I would be sent to the Far East. My favourite film was Lawrence of Arabia and
I so wanted to get into the desert and experience some of the adventures Pib
would often tell us about.
I presented myself before Jack who handed me a piece of
paper. It was a standard memo.
I read it then looked at Jack. Jack shrugged his shoulders. I was being sent to Cranwell for three
months. Cranwell, in Lincolnshire, was
the officer training school. I wasn’t being
sent there to become an officer. I wasn’t
even being sent there on rescue related duties.
I was being sent there as a fecking assistant air traffic controller.
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