So, picture the scene.
It’s midnight, John Zammo and I are in bed. Stop it.
It was a four man room with four beds.
John was in one bed and I was in another bed, a different bed, the one opposite
him. Anyway, we could hear a ruckus
outside on the balcony which rumbled along and then came in to our room. A group of the lads poured in most of them,
well; all of them drunk. They were carrying
another drunk who was close to passing out.
They threw him on one of the spare beds and told us that it was a one
hundred squadron sergeant. One hundred
squadron were the Canberra guys who dragged the target around for us to shoot
at.
It was like having a new born baby in the room. John and I lay there listening for the fellow
breathing. However, unlike a new born
baby, this fellow got up and peed in the locker beside the bed they had put him
in and then lay back down again. This was
of course totally unacceptable; I mean he wasn’t even on our squadron. John and myself then decided to get a little
pay back. We shaved his eyebrows off. Not satisfied, we lifted the mattress off the
bed, with him still on it and dragged it out onto the balcony. It was as we were wondering how to get the
mattress into a nearby tree that one of the group who had dumped this fellow in
our room came along.
It was Jimmy Orr. Jimmy
asked what we were doing and when we explained that we wanted to put the
mattress complete with recumbent drunk into a tree he suggested that this might
not be a very good idea. The sergeant
had been on one hundred squadron but with immediate effect he was now on our
squadron and might take an unfavourable view of any persons hoisting him into a
tree rather than looking after him. They
already had looked after a fellow squadron member by ensuring he had a safe
place to sleep rather than have him wander off into the bondoo. We took the mattress back in and placed it on
the bed hoping the sergeant wouldn’t be too hard on us.
Luckily he didn’t notice and on waking went off to his own accommodation. John and I always denied shaving the eyebrows
off and thankfully Jimmy Orr never mentioned the fact that he had discovered us
trying to get the guy into a tree. Jimmy
was one of a small group on the squadron who needed locking up. Sure, John Roe and Dave Magee were the worst
offenders but there were a couple of others who were just as bad. One evening we were outside the mess probably
having a beer when Jimmy had a great idea.
There was a small gift shop where we would buy cigarettes. The cigarettes were rationed and the Cypriots
seemed to enjoy controlling our purchases.
Jimmy went over and began to look at a child’s bicycle.
He began to communicate with the guy behind the counter, a Cypriot
called Chris, well; probably called Chris.
Jimmy was talking loud enough so that we could all hear him. He was going through the motions asking how
much for the bike, how fast would it go, were there any other colours, did it
have a warranty? By this time Jimmy has
taken the bike to the counter, which is next to the main door. Chris was wanting to know if he was going to
buy it when Jimmy says he must have a test drive and leaves the shop with the
bike. By the time Chris has come out
from behind the counter and out of the shop Jimmy is now riding the bicycle on
his test drive.
We of course are falling about laughing. If
Jimmy had rode in little circles in front of us it might have been funny but
Jimmy was on the roof of the building riding along the red sloping tiles. Anyone who has ridden a bike before knows
that a level flat surface is normally the best and safest place for cycling. Jimmy may have had one too many drinks for he
was quite careless with his manoeuvring and signalling. It was quite obvious that he had forgotten
everything from his cycling proficiency test, if he had ever done one, because rather
than stop, look and listen, he shot straight off the roof into a clump of bushes.
Being quite drunk Jimmy had achieved rubber bone status and
was unharmed the same unfortunately could not be said for the bike which Jimmy
returned to Chris who was stunned. Not perhaps
at seeing Jimmy fly off the roof like something from E.T but because Jimmy told
him he wasn’t going to buy it as it wasn’t fast enough. I don’t know how that got sorted out, if it
ever did. There were a couple of things
we would buy when in Cyprus. There were
tailors on the unit who would knock you up a pretty decent suit for fifteen
quid. John got a suit made as he was
getting married when we returned. Apart
from the brandy which we smuggled back by the gallon, people tended to go after
hanging carpets, leather pouffes or sheep skin rugs.
I wandered in to the mess one afternoon having finished
work. I was at a loose end. The only other person there was John
Roe. He was playing pin ball and asked
me what I was up to. I explained that I
wasn’t actually doing anything. John told
me that he was about to go in to Limassol to buy some sheep skin rugs and if I
was interested he would take me with him and show me the best shop in Limassol
for these items. We went off and caught
a bus into Limassol. John led me along various
back streets to a small shop that was overflowing with rugs and carpets and pouffes.
I didnt buy anything but John bought two huge sheep skin rugs
and we made our way back to the main drag.
We sat outside one of the hotels having coffee and then wandered off to
get a bus back to camp. As the bus pulled
away John began punching me and I wondered what was wrong but followed him as
he was shouting that he had left his sheep skin rugs at the fecking hotel. We raced back to the hotel and were pleasantly
surprised to see the rugs lying beside the table we had been sitting at. The bus was the last bus of the day to camp
so we would now have to get a taxi back.
John announced that as we were getting a taxi back it didn’t matter what
time we left at. I agreed.
John declared that we should celebrate the recovery of his
rugs. I added that a celebration was
most defiantly in order as it was my birthday.
I suppose I wish I had never said anything. We were sitting outside quite a plush hotel
and I assumed that we would remain there and celebrate. John had a different idea. He explained that in order to celebrate properly
we would have to go to the worst brothel in Limassol. As I have said before it was quite common for
us in Germany to nip into various brothels for a beer but I had never even
thought about brothels in Cyprus. I
followed along wondering how John knew about this place.
That evening I needed as much brandy as I could get, not to
drink but to sterilise myself after what John had put me through. It was the most disgusting place I have even
seen in my life. Unlike Germany where
the brothels were quite welcoming and comfortable this place was perfunctory. I sat outside while John did what he had to do
inside. I still feel unclean just
thinking about the place and all I did was sit there and grimace at the running
commentary John provided me with throughout the encounter. In
fact the Cypriots didn’t have a very good reputation for hygiene, in any shape
or form. Roger Greenwood, one of our
navigators, was telling me that he had been posted to Cyprus and had shipped
his car out. The day his car arrived he
went to the docks to collect it and was told that he couldn’t take the car
until it had been officially fumigated.
As far as Roger was concerned it was just another hoop he would have to
jump through. He was quite surprised when
the fellow fumigating the car dropped a bucket, on the end of a rope, into the
sea and pulled up a bucket of sea water.
He then threw the bucket of water over the car, held his hand out and
said, “Ten pounds please for the fumigation.”
I always wondered if John Roe ever needed fumigating.
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