I suppose for most people it takes a wee while for the fact
that you are moving on to sink in. A
sort of emptiness faces you. Most people
in the armed forces love travelling and at short notice too, but this, a new
posting is a major event. I did have
time to get my head around it as I was told that I had to attend a specialist
course at Shawbury. This was an area
radar familiarisation course. This was the air force and air traffic
control. I promise you, if I was running
my own private company, I could have taught what little information was given
out, over that week long course, in ten minutes flat.
For some reason I was not in my car, I cannot remember why. I do remember that using public transport to
get to Shawbury was a real pain. I
arrived at Shrewsbury and rang MT flight at Shawbury. They told me to get a bus, they were
busy. I made my way to the correct bus
stop and waited. There was no
information about bus times so I had to wait and hope. A car pulled up and a fellow called out to
me. “Going to Shawbury?” I nodded.
“Come on,” he called, and I threw my kit bag onto his rear seat and sat
myself down beside him on the passenger seat.
As we drove along he informed me that he was actually a civilian,
that he always wanted to join the air force but never did. He liked giving young RAF men lifts. He liked helping out. He then began to morph into a standard pervert,
talking about naked young men in a shower together. He asked me if I liked sport. I decided to frighten him. “No,” I said. “I don’t have time for sport I’m on mountain rescue.”
This was a polite way of saying if you
come near me I’ll rip your fecking head off.
Unfortunately this information seemed to excite the driver who now began
to comment on how strong my thighs must be.
Having the most loveliest legs in Ireland had me accustomed
to people, mainly women, swooning and adoring my legs. Some chaps would often comment about how
lovely my legs were and, having studied the classics, I knew that there was a group
of people who practised ‘the love that dare not speak its name’ however I can
honestly say I never had any interest in becoming a friend of Dorothy or even a
passing acquaintance.
The air force had a very blinkered view toward homosexuality. It wasn’t allowed in any shape or form. In fact there was quite a good rumour that went
around stating that if two airmen were sitting on a bed together they had to
have both feet placed firmly on the floor otherwise they were guilty of
homosexuality. They didn’t bother me but
this fellow annoyed me. He was a predator
and what’s more he was driving past the turn off for Shawbury.
“Stop!” I said, forcefully
enough for him to pull over to the side of the road.
“You’ve just driven past the turn off for Shawbury.” “Have
I?” he said, turning and looking at the road I indicated. “Are you sure?” he said, as I climbed out of
his car. “Get back in and I’ll run you
down there.” I grabbed my kit bag from his rear seat and thanked him for the
lift. I told myself not to engage in any
more chit chat with him, instead I took out a little diary and pen and wrote
down the make of car, the colour and the registration number. I was quite angry
so threw my kit bag up onto my shoulders and marched off toward Shawbury.
I did mention before that stewards are regarded as the
trade group with the lowest average intelligence in the air force. I was about to discover a lower group of
people who were not really in the air force.
The Ministry of Defence Police. I
arrived at the guard room at Shawbury and went to report in. The fellow behind the desk was dressed as a
civilian copper, but something just didn’t fit right. The uniform was too shabby, he was too portly
and the grey hair, suggested that he might not be up to chasing many criminals
down dark alleys.
Having ‘arrived’ I explained that I wanted to report a
predatory pervert. I produced my little
slip of paper and set it before the copper.
Did I want to make a complaint, press charges? “No,” I said.
My concern was that a seventeen year old lad fresh from basic training
might be approached by this pervert and we should take action to prevent him from
approaching any person in the future. “And
how will we do that sonny?” “Well; by going around to his house and
warning him off!” I said. It would
appear that the copper had no understanding of perverts and the long term
lasting effects they could have on their victims. As with most useless feckers he announced that
there was nothing he could do.
I sloped off to my accommodation and a bar where I could pour
some beer over my raging temper to cool it down. I can only remember two things about the course
at Shawbury. Well three actually. I wanted to find the squadron leader, him
with the missing arm and eye patch, to inform him that the punishment posting
he had sent me on to Valley was in fact a brilliant posting, apart from the
failed fast jet pilots. I don’t know if
he was still at Shawbury or not, but I never came across him again.
A meteorologist came in to give us a lecture. There was about twelve of us on the
course. He had just returned from Northern
Ireland and was wondering if he should have been entitled to a medal as
military personnel would have been given a medal for serving there. I wondered why they didn’t give the normal people
of Northern Ireland a medal for having to live in the middle of all the crap that
was going on. He then, for a laugh,
produced a tape recorder and played a real bomb warning that the met office he
had worked at in Northern Ireland had received.
It sounded fake to me.
He thought this was so funny, I however had just heard a bomb warning
and that was enough of an excuse for me to leave the classroom. I could hear the remainder of the course
laughing and explain to the met man that I was Irish. I decided that it might be nice to revisit
old haunts and spend the afternoon in the local civilian pub. And it was a very pleasant afternoon.
The only other thing I remember about Shawbury was that we
piled out of the classroom one lunchtime and began making our way to the mess
for some scoff. The mess was quite close,
no more than fifty yards away, so some of us couldn’t be arsed putting our
berets on. New chaps wore their berets
with pride, hairy arses polished their shoes with them, and rather than wear
them on your head, usually had them stuffed in a back pocket. Three or four of us sported our berets as
such, while the other guys would have their peaked caps on.
The classroom was on one side of the parade square, the mess
behind that. On the far side of the
parade square, away from us, was the SWO.
He noticed us shambling along and in a shrill voice shouted, while
pointing at us with his pace stick “Airman!!”
For a millisecond we all stood still, till some Irish nutter among us
pointed at the SWO and shouted “SWO!!” After
which we all belted towards the mess and mingled with the other guys who were
enjoying their lunch. The SWO came in
puffing and panting. He was fuming and looked
as if he would have chewed somebodies leg off.
He paced about a bit and then left.
We all breathed sigh of relief and made sure we were properly dressed
when we left the mess, for although he thought we couldn’t see him, the SWO was
hiding close by, waiting to pounce on some unsuspecting airmen or woman who
were going to get a beasting they would never forget.
No comments:
Post a Comment