I got posted off a Bomber squadron, my home
; my air force
and onto a newly formed Phantom squadron by a boss with whom I'd crossed swords; came from Embra ... or Aberdeen or somewhere ... right piece of sh*t he was, and I hated everything; the stupid camp, it's stupid rules .... I had to buy a new Number 1 uniform on the first day I arrived there, (they never work on aircraft in their best blues, they wear a pair of overalls on top of their battle dress/working dress ... on the Bombers we practically all wore our No 1 to work, without overalls and without the belt. They were great for work; they were light and comfortable. Pair of Trog
Boots, sea-boot socks: white: Trog Boots for the use of, and yer berry on the old cherry and
your tie might be in any one of your pockets and you were well dressed working on the line on Bombers) ... and their stupid aircraft ( on my third day there I turned around in the hangar and walked straight into the edge of a Phantom elevon;
that wing looking' thing at the back that doesn't bend when you heidy
it, and got a scar above my right eye for my trouble.
After the time it needed for me to settle into the place I picked up on something fairly quickly. Two of the chiefs; and there's a lot of them, couldn't stand each other; and one was a Flight Sgt. while the other was a Chief Tech. And it was like that from when these two joined the RAF in the war; one was always a higher rank than the other and if the Chiefy got made up to Flt Sgt ... the Flt Sgt would be made up to Warrant Officer.
They were not friends; and I was in like Flint.
Guys on the squadron were always wonderin' whose bum I was kissing or was I a nark for the chiefs? How was I always gettin' an afternoon off or a Monday or Friday?
"What's your game, mate?"
"Are you jokin' pal?"
I'd go through the hanger and when I saw either one of them I'd put on the longest face and walk passed without acknowledging, and then hear, "Whats up with you, young Hee?"
"It's not nothing
Hee. What's the problem?"
"It is nothing, Chief/Flt."
"This'll be the third time Hee, now what
"Och, Chief/Flt. I wanted the Wednesday afternoon off but if I ask the Flt/Chief for it he'll go berserk but I need it off."
"You take it off, young Hee and if the Flt/Chief says anything against it ...
you tell him that I
(Chief/Flt) told you to take it off."
Neither of them would say, "What do you want it off for?" just, "You tell him I
If the other guys couldn't work those two out, that was there problem not mine and they knew I wasn't kissin' no mule's mammy
A year and a half later it all changed; I repeatedly submitted an AOCs Complaint against Pay Accounts Section for wrongful deductions from my pay; according to my way of thinking, and remuneration of every penny.
When you submit a Redress of Complaint, you start off with the squadron's Flight Sgt and after he's turned it down three times you go to the Warrant Officer and when he's binned it three times you go the baby boss ,Flying officer, then his boss who is our Skipper, the Flt Louie then our boss, the Sqd Leader, then his, the Winco then the Groupie, the Group Captain ... everybody's boss ... and he turns it down three times too and so next in line is the Air Officer Commanding, Fighter Command.
AOC's Parade in Conningsby late June/early July 1971?
That one was down to me troops.
I got my money back in full.
Since I'd started with my redress I knew I was kissin' my wee perks away and I'd be surrounded by disgruntled Chiefs in war paint and so I called a gathering of mates into the crew room and told them all of my capers; there were other lesser ones, but when I told them how I worked the Chief/Flt Sgt game they really wouldn't believe me. I said, "How could you lot not see that? They effin hated
each other. All their air force career stuck the gither through war, peace and skirmishes and one is always out-ranking the other. I was straight intae some o' that, pal."
Shortly after I applied to come out; Discharge by Purchase. I'd done the 5 years that I promised myself I would do and the other 4 years were always subject to circumstances prevailing at any given time. I would have been happy to do the 9 had I stayed with the Bombers; I just love
They accepted my application but informed me that due to my rank and trade it would be 18 month before the could release me.
No problem. I'll wait; prevailing circumstances are always subject to current conditions; things may change.
In the meantime I booked 6 weeks leave and went up to Scotland with the wife and kids and blew what we had. When we come back we'll use the 18 month to put the discharge money aside.
Came back to base On the morning of an August Bank Holiday Monday and sat around till dinner time in an empty crew room in an empty hangar, empty of life that is. After 12 I get a call from GHQ. My Application to come out.
I can come out end of the month; there's been a wee change.
I'm broke!How do I pay it?Give us a cheque, you give it to us this week. Give us cash? Then on the day before you clear. OK. End of the month, then.
they were gettin' their own back but that was fair enough; I'd got them an unexpected AOC's Parade with all the polishing and painting and getting the camp up to AOC's Inspection Standards which means the whole camp's involved including the married patch ... and your mates; but my real mates called me a selfish boss-stud, or something but told me they were behind me all the way.
Of course when you come intae civvy street and start meetin' bosses you think Boss? I went over 7 bosses to get to the 8th and he backed me.
I practically stayed free-lance Have Tools. Will travel
till I met Mary then her boss became my 1st boss because I had to take his job at nearly less than 35% of what I was used to just so I could somehow manage to get me and her together ... now, She's the Boss
Wait a minute ... I've got my eye on a burd.
... Some try to tell me thoughts they cannot defend ...