Who,
me?
It started at breakfast, not the normal time for a rumour to start the rounds, but this was not your run of the mill event.
“Guess what?, the BC’s pranged his wagon”. Initially this was in hushed tones. Soon, however, the talk at every table was the fact that the Base Commander, the most powerful Bluey on the Rock had smashed his car up on the way back from Main Camp.
Another Friday night, another victim. Had he over indulged perhaps? Or maybe hit the claw of a threatened crab? Maybe even a blow out. It didn’t really concern Yorkie and me what had been the cause of this event, what concerned us was the “treasure” that could be obtained.
High speed demolition of brekky and off we rush to get our faithful truck out of bed. This was too good an opportunity to miss.
Being Saturday morning, not too many people were up, and those that were obviously weren’t aware of the potential of this wrecked Vauxhall Vanguard. Yes Super Car for a “Super Guy!”.
Off we go like a couple of secret agents, waving our fishing rods as though were going to drown a few wierdies.
Soon we find the “pranged wheelie” (Islandese for Knacked Vanguard).
The question now is what bits from this wheelie can be converted into Austin 1 Tonner?
To cut a potentially long story
short,
The item rescued from the wreck was the entire front bench seat. A little bit of carving at front centre, a couple of extra long bolts, and we were sitting in the lap of luxury.
Let’s be serious, the last place anyone would look for a missing seat from that car would be in the front end of a knackered truck.
I’d like to know what the “Snowdrops” (RAF Police) made of this. For all we know they could still be searching for it. Or looking for overfed Landies.
If the Base Commander ever reads this story. “You’ll have to be a sharp Bluey to out run a Squaddie” Sir!.
©: P.B.Chatfield 10 Aug 01
The following snippet was related to me
by Graham Dangerfield (Danga) during one of our recent reminisces:
Taxi!
It seems that after quite a heavy session in one of the Island’s many establishments of Liquid Refreshment, a few of the Yanks down from main camp were stuck for transport. Not that a short walk wouldn’t have done them any harm. Unless of course they happened to bump into a few famished Landies. (They loved bad meat)
When push comes to shove a British squaddie will even help a Yank.
On the night in question, an RE Plant Operator was willing to help out. However, it must be said that his vehicle left an awful lot to be desired when it came to its passenger carrying capabilities.
His vehicular pride and joy was his “Grader” As you can observe,( see photo ) this was not your actual London Bus or Taxi. In saying that, a “Full” squaddie, be he Brit or Yank, is always willing to accept even the most outrageous of challenges.
I’m told that there were bodies hanging on to any protuberance that could be gripped with trembling digits.
Off they went, destination, Main Camp. These vehicles don’t steer like cars. Instead of turning, the front wheels lean, like a motor bike. Even sober it’s quite a skill, pi**ed, it’s an impossibility.
Needless to say it wasn’t too long before things were being hit, sheds and buildings being reduced to rubble, in fact it was a disaster from start to finish, and they hadn’t even left the Port area.
It must have been like winning the Lottery for the “Snowdrops”. They’d got themselves a rogue “Pongo”. Our kind and generous chauffeur was soon languishing inside the confines of the local RAF cells.
In the morning justice was swift. The Plant Op, (sadly his name has long been forgotten) was before the Beaks, and he was sentenced to 21 days detention. Not bad considering the destruction and risk to life.
Due to the length of the sentence, his “Lockup” time could not be served in the Rock’s nick. So off he goes, under escort to the nearest Military Prison, which just happens to be Changi Prison in Singapore.
He doesn’t know how lucky he was, 30 years earlier he would have been eating rice and building Railway bridges.
It wasn’t until he was gone that it suddenly dawned of people that they now had a Grader, lots of work to do in a hurry, and the only trained operator was holidaying in Singapore. Whoops!
Solution, get him back again quickly, set him to work, and provide him with a security escort to follow in his footsteps and track marks 24 hours a day until his time was served.
This was unbelievable. Why have someone guarding him that closely?
Christmas Island, 1200 miles due south of the Hawaiian Islands, shark infested seas. What was he going to do, swim? Build a tunnel? Your guess is as good as mine. Once again the Commissioned ones had made a quality decision.