| Subject: JLRRA (Pt.......Yawn......) |
Author:
Dave P.
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Date Posted: 15:00:16 04/20/05 Wed
Gamecock Barracks is an old WW2, Fleet Air Arm base (I say IS because I believe the Royal Sigs are currently the occupiers?) and, as such, had these huge hangers. Hanger 2 was what we called the 'Milk break' hanger and was reputed to be haunted. The story went, that during the war the base was attacked by the Luftwaffer and one of their planes was shot down and crashed into hanger 2. It's the crew of this plane that haunts hanger 2. The legend goes further that a couple of terms before (it was always a couple before your own particular term ) a certain lad, to accept a dare, walked through the hanger at the dead of night, only to be found the next morning, cowering in a corner, white haired and gibbering, to be taken away and never heard from again! Always good for scaring the bejasus out of young gullible kids. A possible answer to this legend was that, in those days, we all wore ammo boots and, in the almost pitch black of an unlit hanger, your footsteps would echo around the vast open space and seem to come from right behind you. Of course, the quicker you walked, the footsteps behind you also speeded up and with over active minds of testosterone loaded juveniles, it didn't take much more to convince one that we where in the presence of the GHOSTS! Funny, even having this explanation, I don't recall anyone ever going into that hanger at night time, certainly not whilst I was there.
Another feature of the base was the Bomb Dump at Bulkington Gate. This was the 'back door' to the camp, so to speak and was the RV point for illicit meeting with your, local, girlfriend if you had 'lost' your pass out 'chit'. Mostly during the summer months, for obvious reasons, as not many sexual liaisons flourish in freezing weather. A favourite trick was to get involved with the Cross-Country Running/Orienteering scene because the routes nearly always went via Bulkington Gate. You could always tell who had a 'date' at the bomb dump, because they would be near the back of the pack, the easier to drop out, as the pack squeezes through the gate. Then fourty mins, or so, later they would all rejoin the race as they headed for home, seemingly a lot more knackered than the people who had run the whole race (he! he! he! nudge, nudge, wink, wink).
The most ubiquitous method of punishment was the 'Extra Drill'. This was dished out by just about every J/NCO as well as the PS. Usually only one was ever awarded at a time because, such was the punishment, it was inevitable that you would pick up two or three more as a result of doing the first one. The Drill was this: At the finish of work, Sat lunchtime and after lunch, you would report to the guardroom dressed in best kit. Inspection was by the RP staff, who because they had to oversee you reprobates on this, their down time, made sure that you got at least one more extra. Then onto the regimental square for a half hour, or so, of drill. That done, it was off to your barrack room, double bloody quick, change into work clothes and back to the guardroom for fatigues for two hour. The nature of the fatigues was made to be the most sole destroying as possible. Whitewashing coal (only to have to scrub it back to black again on Sun if you had copped for another extra, as most of us did) or weeding the flag-stoned regimental square with a knife and toothbrush where a couple of favourites. Mostly though, it was gardening which is why, to this day, I still associate gardening with punishment and can't stand doing it.
Are you still awake out there?..........................
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