DON'S MEMORIES

By Don HigginsEngines

I used to give blood regularly and it was during one of these events that I managed to get a date with one of the young nurses present. We arranged to meet in Oxford the following Sunday afternoon and, as luck would have it, I had hidden a suitcase with civvies up in the loft.

The said day was warm and sunny and, would you believe, I decided to camouflage my outfit with a "Trog-mac" and beret. I furtively left Block 5 and crossed to the two sheds - those in No. 2 wing will know what I mean - en-route to the bus at Main Point. But then, right in between, coming the other way, was Sgt Graham, the drill instructor. He must have realised something was amiss but, "luv 'im", he just nodded and went on his way.

I can't remember much about the date and soon forgot about the whole incident; however, a couple of weeks later there was a note left on my bed inviting me for a chat with FS Sven Capal. He had been skulking round the loft and found my suitcase behind the water tank! He read me the riot act, promptly filled in a Form 252 and I subsequently got 14 days janks. Another five days were added because the very nice RAF policeman found a miniscule speck on my mug!

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Brassed off with seemingly always being stuck in the back of the mess queue, we decided something had to be done. Various ideas were muted, but the old prisoner and escort scam was deemed favourite. We hadn't seen Joe Bollard for a while and thought perhaps he was on leave, if he ever contemplated such a thing, which I doubt. We set off from workshops, before the hordes, and headed for Main Point. Twink Hills in front, Terry Fry the prisoner, me bringing up the rear and a brand new L/A/A, in the shape of dear old Bill Verdin, in charge.

We were just passing the tennis courts when up ahead we heard the dulcet tones of Joe berating some poor erb. Never have four Brats straightened their backs and swung their arms as we did, wishing we could just disappear in a puff of smoke. Sure enough, there was Joe watching our approach with great interest, especially in Terry. We passed so close we could see the whites of his eyes but I don't remember him saying a word, much to our obvious relief. We shot up the hill through the woods and headed for the mess where the spam and mash had strangely lost its appeal.

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I celebrated my 80th birthday recently. I know all of you are there, or thereabouts, but the memories of Halton and chaps I met there still burn brightly. I consider myself very lucky.