Open Writing

Somewhere amongst my reading over the years I remember a series of jokes and anecdotes being published in a periodical under the title, ‘Laughter in Uniform.’

The following accounts -- all of which are true -- would form my contribution to such a collection.

Some time ago I made the acquaintance of a one-time commissioned army officer who had served in a peacetime tank regiment. He did not enjoy the best of health, and in his own words was “as blind as a bat without my glasses”.

Taking part in tank exercises on one occasion, all personnel were ordered to wear full protective clothing, which obviously included gas masks. That made the wearing of glasses impossible for our officer friend.

When the now ‘blind’ officer was about to give the order to move off, his sergeant respectfully enquired if he might speak. On being given permission, the NCO said, “I have to tell you, Sir, we are pointing in the wrong direction!”

Shortly after that episode the poor officer was found to be suffering from diabetes and received his discharge from the army, much to his regret.

Although his tank crew may have breathed a sigh of relief.

During the Second World War a friend of mine serving in the RAF was stationed on an airfield in the north of Scotland. For whatever reason, an American bomber paid an unscheduled visit to the station.

With its crew away doing whatever it was they had to do, the plane attracted an audience of RAF sightseers. A handle on the side of the fuselage intrigued them. That all the more so, as it was clearly marked with a message, ‘Relase in Emergency’ or something to that effect.

In such circumstances it seems there is always one person who cannot contain his or her curiosity. That particular time was no exception. A quick tug on the emergency handle revealed what up to that moment had been kept secret from the group of puzzled rubbernecks.

Instantly, efficiently and quietly the side of the aircraft fell away and out leapt a rubber dingy which commenced to self-inflate on the runway. The performance received no applause since the ‘audience’ speedily vacated the theatre of operations.

What the outcome was is unknown as there were no witnesses available to answer investigative questions.

Staying with RAF, another friend of mine fulfilled his National Service in that branch of the armed forces, part of which he spent in Germany. He told me there was only one occasion when he was in the company of Russian troops. That was on a train journeying into Berlin.

Attention was drawn to one Russian soldier in particular who was involved in a transaction of barter with a British airman. The airman was wearing a wristwatch and the Russian wanted it. The Red comrade drew back the sleeve of his tunic to reveal an armful of wristwatches. Those he made clear he was prepared to exchange for the airman’s single watch.

Why such munificence?

Since the event took place in the days before quartz-operated watches came onto the market, the ones in question contained spring winding systems. The watches owned by the Russian were stopped. They all required winding. That was not appreciated by the would-be trader, who thought that once they ceased to function they were defunct, whereas the British-owned timepiece was fully operational!

Like so many other incidents, the outcome here is lost in time past.

Finally an anecdote from the army.

A work colleague of mine took great delight in telling this incident to which he was witness during his wartime service.

Each morning troops under training were enmassed on the parade ground. They were supervised by the Regimental Sergeant Major. Each morning that august officer would issue the same command:

“C of Es to the right; RCs to the left; other denominations to the rear.”

When the order had been issued, he would slowly complete a 360° turn, so by the time he faced his front once more the parade ground would be empty.

There came the day, however, when that did not happen.

The order had been given, the ceremonial turn had been made, but on its completion the parade ground was not empty. One solitary private remained.

With steps filled with military menace, the RSM bore down upon the lone soldier, and the following conversation took place.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” barked the RSM.

“Yes,” said the private, the order had been heard.

“Then why are you still on parade?” barked the RSM.

“Because I am agnostic, Sir,” was the reply.

To which the RSM responded, “Oh, and I suppose your bloody church is miles away! Fall out by the kosky.”

“Where is the kosky, Sir?”

“Over there, man, where do you think you telephone from?”