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Dalneigh & Ferry Memories


Guest Jock Watt

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17 minutes ago, Scarlet Pimple said:

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!         IBM--International ballistic missile.

Floored me. Back to the memory bank to remember which ICT guy it is and hope that he will come forward with a big grin on his face.:ponder:

 

 

Well Scarlet I have been called many things but never that :lol: given the fact you are a senior citizen I thought you were getting a bit confused but I need not worry :wink:

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IBM it depends on the hour of the day . Since my memory is definitely going downhill fairly rapidly ( I was on the phone to me son a couple of days ago and I forgot HIS name so what hope do I have of a peaceful run-in to the finishing line?Smile.) I now know why people  call Alzheimers  one of the worst diseases known to man. It's fatal, by the way. Anyway are you sure that it was not you that chatted with me --I remember thinking at the time that the man I had been conversing with was "across the ferry" and had definitely told me that he had been stationed at another airfield  in the north of Germany etc. Maybe it was your  father ...eh what?:sad:

 

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He posted this in 2014:

 

RAF Schleswig, We had quite a team in those days, Got to the BFPO Germany final, I was demobbed three weeks before the final was played and never have heard what the result was.  :cry:

Yeah Scarlet we did meet up, Twas the accent that gave us away and as I remember we had a beer together at the customary post match ''**** up''

 For me they were great days, I learned more than I ever did at school, I was super fit, I played table tennis, squash, cricket and anything else that would excuse me from duties down the dungeons where the radar screens were housed. When I did have to go on duties we did hourly shifts with half hour intervals when we played bridge.

'Square bashing' was hard I admit and my first encounter with the Corporal i/c was when we arrived at Bridgenorth laid our kit out on the bed for inspection, he picked up my razor examined it very closely then hurled it to the back wall of the billet shouting rooost. ,when I moved to go and collect it there was a loud scream of ''stand still'' which in a flash I did.After humiliating 90 percent of the other lads he, much to our relief, left the building. I asked the lad standing by the next bed to me what it was about my razor he didn't like he said I think he meant it was rusty!!!   He, a lad who's head it had just missed and had brought it back to me looked closely at the razor couldn't find anything wrong with it so we decided if it had been rusty then the best way to get rid of rust was to throw the item against a stone wall.

Next day 7am after washing and shaving in cold water we turned up for p. t. in shorts vest and gym shoes. OK fine, shorts and vest but it was raining so we had to put on our boots and double quick at that. After breakfast then it was on parade and if these boots weren't gleaming on parade then you were in big trouble.

 Route marches, cross country running in boots were common place. Then the real training started when we were put to test by the RAF Regiment.  Gas attack routines, bayonet practice, unarmed combat,  shooting, rifle, Bren  and grenade practice.  You were ready for anything by the end of these weeks believe you me!

 Life was much easier after that and full marks to them they did make you stand on your own two feet.

 My two postings were Middle Wallop for educational training and then Germany, both of which I thoroughly enjoyed.

 We had the Vulcan bombers on our airfield, noisy beasts but thrilling to watch take off and land. Fortunately we were only about five miles from the town so to walk that and stagger back after a few beers was nothing to what had gone before.............and yes Scarlet the girls were there at the dances in the beer houses.

 Reach for your own stars Scarlet !!

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Yngwie :tongue:

Thank you for that update.! Perhaps I should dub you "My Upkeeper" since this growing-old thing is the most bizarre thing I have yet experienced. One time your mind seems to be clear and then ...plonk.. you are up to your neck in  "stuff".

Whew! Thank you very much  for the memory.

I simply don't remember this posting. Maybe I just missed it! After returning from the bathroom I just went to the next post or something.

You know ,now I recall , it was Bughtmaster and does he not live "Over the Ferry"? I will contact him, however, and see if he is still frisky and friendly...

But reading it again I do remember one drill corporal who picked me out of a squad after returning from some drilling when at initial training  called "square bashing"and proceeded to make  me feel very small without telling me why. Maybe he just disliked my  face or something . He then shouted at me only 7-8 feet away from his face to come and stand to attention in front of him. Which I did but it was wet on the tarmac and I slipped and fell, hurting my backside and smashed my mug. Then inside of me my temper flared and I eyeballed him and he simply told me to get back to the billet without saying another word. He was a mean-spirited piece of work I must say.

Me ; what did I do as a radar operator? Usually went down 35 feet into the ground  and did various jobs -e,g. Watched a radar screen for several hours and , through a headset, reported any blips  and their exact location and trajectory at the point where I saw them appear to the main floor tracking table  below us where their location was identified with a piece of plastic moved around by the girl (sometimes men) with a wooden rod.

Other times at least 6 of us sat at a round table  in the "TrackTelling" room and when a pilot phoned the controller (who sat with us, but at an ops desk) to say he was lost we sprung into action and each pulled out pieces of twine by means of a ball attached to each piece across the  GeoRef table and where they all intersected that was the point on the map that he was at precisely. This information was then immediately reported back to the pilot through the Flight Lieutenant sitting at his control desk who told the pilot exactly where he was via the Georef language .Meaning the geographic reference told to him by the leading aircraftsman sitting at our table. Most of the jets we had at Broxeitel aerodrome  in Northern Germany were Hawker Hunter jets which, when revving up for takeoff, would nearly drive you crazy with the reverberating roar of their jet engines. I don't know how we got to sleep sometimes. Other times the yanks ,who shared the airfield with us Brits ,used to also rev up their Super Sabre jets and go like crazy for takeoff and they were only slightly less noisy. But we were young and soon got used to it. Cotton-wool in the ears was helpful...smile.

The food was absolutely terrible. One evening I came back late from my shift and immediately entered the canteen to get something to eat at about 11 30 p.m. and I think I was the only person in the room. An officer came by my table and asked the usual really stupid question "is everything all right.?" I put my fork down and just looked up at him and said nothing, as if to say "well, Buddy, it's right there what do you think?" He saw the look of disgust on my poor little face and just quickly turned on his heel and disappeared. It was THAT unpalatable.

When off duty I spent a lot of time studying by mail for the Scottish Bank Exams  and kept at it for at least 18 months. I did well too but it was so hard sending in tests and stuff to Edinburgh every week and never really knowing when you could study depending  on whether or not you were assigned to day shift or night shift. i.e not the most ideal environment for studying. But losing two years of study was never an option so you find ways and means to get it done. Was the whole National Service a thing of value.?I think so because I learned that I could travel anywhere in the world by using my tongue to ask questions and for help and to stand on my own feet which was very helpful to my self-confidence. But being paid 7 pounds 7 shillings every fortnight was NOT a just reward for all the disruption to your life that National Service entailed. for two whole years. IMHO.

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1 hour ago, Scarlet Pimple said:

7 pounds 7 shillings every fortnight was NOT a just reward for all the disruption to your life that National Service entailed. for two whole years.

Couldn't agree more - BUT - 7 Pounds 7 shillings !  Blimey, in the navy we only got 25 shillings a fortnight in 1954 !!!  ?

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Good Lord, Jock, you could hardly buy s daily cup of coffee for that for a week in the NAAFI, I suppose. Smile

Was your Navy food as bad as ours, pray? Awful stuff sometimes. Mind you I was never sick...Ha!Ha! .?

Jock , I have read your monologue on your past adventures and life's progress through your time in Scotland  and then the Navy and then the major life-changing decision for you to emigrate to Australia. with your subsequent challenges and progress in the Newspaper field. What a revelatory and stunningly great ride that has been for you and was for me. as I read on..and on... Wonderful and well charged life-story  so thank you for that, One of the best pieces of writing that I have read in years. Just a fantastic experience so that if any of our ICT lads and lasses  want a thrill a minute ride  make sure you read Jock's Autobiographical stunner. Talk about life's challenges,,,phew? I just could not put the mouse down old chap. Roderick

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