A few shorts to fill space while I patiently wait for more Donors

Hooked on fishing

Yorkie and I, although not your actual “Rex Hunts” of this world, (a world renowned fisherperson) knew a little bit about fishing. Mainly the art of trace making and “Can Casting”. We had all the tools and equipment required to make any trace required to catch any kind of “Piscatorial Plonker” willing to latch on to our handiwork.

We used to get visits from all sorts of potential fishermen for advice or assistance, but the one that sticks in my mind is the visit from “the Matelot”.

There we were, sitting quietly in our billet one Sunday morning going about our manufacture of traces, when suddenly through the door came this sad looking sailor.

With a sort of nasal tone he enquired, “Anybody in here who can help me out?”

The screeches of mirth had to be heard to be believed. We all had tears in our eyes, especially him.

Hanging out of his nose (the Septum) was this enormous hook with about a foot of heavy nylon line attached.

During his trace-making adventures he’d attempted to use his teeth to tighten the nylon trace to his hook. As we could see, this was not a method to be recommended. He had lost the grip with his teeth and he’d pulled the hook straight through his nose.

Where were the cameras when you need them?

Needless to say we had the side-cutting pliers required to do the necessary. With a deft snip of the pliers the eye of the hook with nylon was quickly removed. We let him drag the remaining bit out at his own speed.

Rumour has it that he used to get others to prepare his traces after that. I do recall that our delicate operation earned his gratitude and a couple of “Gulpers” in return. I wonder if he now uses the resulting hole to sport a gold ring.

Yorkie gets the Hump

As mentioned in a previous anecdote, Yorkie and I had the use of a 2500 gallon tanker. Quite often we’d do the odd run to and from the Airfield tank farm. This was a nice little trip out and used to keep us busy for the odd morning here and there.

One of the good points about this tanker was the fact that the windscreen could be raised to ensure you got a fine blast of cooling air.

We’d been to the airfield to drop off a load of fuel, and on the way back Yorkie took the wheel. The first thing he did before we pulled away was to put up the windscreen.

We were going along at a leisurely pace, enjoying the breeze, discussing various topics, when suddenly Yorkie’s eyes almost popped out of his head.

Heading our way, like a flying bomb we could see this hornet. Hornets on the Island weren’t little things like you find over here, they were huge, bad tempered beasts, and this one was soon to have reason to get an absolute cob on.

We could go nowhere except straight on. Too late to hit the brakes, and not too easy to get out and run.

Whoosh, this bloody great missile came screaming through the window and got lodged between the seat and Yorkie’s back.

By now we’d come to a standstill, and Yorkie and I departed the truck like a couple of Para’s exiting an aircraft.

Yorkie was chuntering away like a man possessed, frantically waving his arms behind his back. I assured him that the “thing” had gone, but it had certainly left its mark. You could actually watch these two Humps forming. In the end they became quite impressive.

Nothing too serious became of this event although Yorkie was in considerable discomfort for the rest of the day. We were a lot more selective from then on as to when the windscreen went up. It was a case of screen up, shirts on.

Another one for the “Prof”

This short story which came to mind while writing the “Hump” demonstrates how lucky Yorkie and I were to survive our period of time prior to the “Prof” being posted away.

We had loaded up our Austin 1 Tonner with a large amount of very large, very loose lumps of hardware. The reason it was loose was because the “Prof” insisted that we were only going to the Airfield and he wouldn’t drive fast, so we could hold it in place.

So off we set. Through the London Village, and heading off towards the airfield.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly, the “Prof” was keeping the speed down to about 25 –30 mph, the bits and pieces in the back were keeping pretty stable. We were nice and cool in the breeze. What more could you ask for?

I’ll tell you. Anyone but the “Prof” at the wheel.

Suddenly the vehicle started swerving all over the place. From inside the cab came these shouts of “Gerroff!” “Gerroff!” ( loosely translated Get Off, Get Off)

Out of the door of this out of control truck we witnessed our favourite Sgt doing an exit that would have been the pride of any acrobat.

He hit the side of the road at about 15 mph, while we sat there praying that we’d roll to a sedate stop before we ended up being crushed by vast amounts of jagged machinery. Luckily this is what happened. We stopped about 50 yards beyond the point of the “Prof’s” exit point.

On enquiring why he’d decided it was time to leave the truck, he kindly informed us that he too had been graced with the presence of a large hornet, and no way was he going to stay in the cab with that thing.

Luck had once more prevented the Greystone curse from taking an innocent life.