MT Tales
Tell us your
favourite prang story, about the time you drove away from a Vulcan with your hose still connected or the time the snow was so deep you
didn't notice the runway markers till they flew out of the T54's chute.
Bill* and I had been tasked to take a 4-tonner full of what I think was blank ammo or flares (it was a long time ago!) from Brize Norton (where we were based at the time) to R.A.F. Lyneham...
We parked up outside of the compound and were escorted on foot through the security gate into the office. The door opened to a long counter, sat behind this was a very nervous looking young Corporal with a rather stern looking Sergeant and Warrant Officer stood behind. The Sergeant whispered something into the Corporal's ear making him even more nervous, he turned slightly red and developed a shake in one hand. Suddenly he looked up at the pair of us and blurted out, "Driving licences, ADR's and ID's". How Bill and I managed to avoid soiling our pants at that point is beyond me and I'll tell you why.
Two hours previously, Bill and I had been lounging in our smoke filled crew room supping tea and doing crude impressions of certain Corporals. When Annie (our shift Sergeant) came in. "Des, Bill. Have you got your ADR licences on you? You're off to Lyneham." The opportunity to go on the road with Bill was not to be missed; it was a guaranteed 'laugh-a-thon', if indeed there is such a word! I collected the keys and paperwork from control, (I was driving, Bill was to act as escort). A quick DI then we jumped in the wagon and fired it up. That was when Bill turned to me and said; "Des, I've got a problem." I sat with a grin on my face, waiting for the punch line that never came.
Bill went on to explain that he had lost his ADR licence sometime ago and had not reported it or requested a new one. He had not admitted this to Annie, as he was worried of the consequences. So we drove up to Bill's barrack block to make one final search. I waited outside. A few moments later Bill appeared and shook his head.
Now it turns out, when I last renewed my ADR, for some obscure reason they had sent me two copies and I had kept both! I handed one to Bill "There you go mate!" I said with a grin, "You're sorted!". Bill wasn't convinced, "Won't they check?" I was still smiling at this point having completed many ADR runs to Lyneham in the past. "Nah, you just wave it at them. They never check properly."..
..you could have heard a pin drop in that office as Bill and I slowly but dutifully gathered the required documents from our pockets and handed them to the Corporal. Slowly he checked each document against the other, checking dates, checking names. He looked up at me, "SAC Roberts?" my mouth was dry, "Yes Corporal!" I replied. He then looked at Bill's documents, at Bill, and then repeated the process. He had a look of confusion on his face he paused. Then looked at Bill again. "SAC Joseph?" (Joseph is my middle name) Bill didn't miss a beat " Yes Corporal!"
I don't remember completing the rest of the paperwork, I just wanted to get the hell out of there and back to the safety of my cab as quickly as possible! As we left, we could hear the W.O. congratulating the Sergeant on what a good job his "trainee" had done!
The vehicle was loaded; paperwork complete, plates on and we were gone, laughing hysterically as we drove off towards Swindon. Then we started to get paranoid. What if they rang ahead with our names? The extra licence was hurriedly shredded by Bill and dispersed somewhere near the M4. We were waved straight through the gates at Lyneham, (the guards must have assumed it was one of Lyneham's vehicles). Air Movements were running behind schedule, so no time for checks. They grabbed our paperwork, ushered us into their crew room. Ten minutes later, we were back in the wagon and on the road.
We vowed that if there should be any comeback (there never was) we would just deny all knowledge. Bill reported his loss and applied for a new ADR when he got back!
I would like to thank all of those involved, if it weren't for their lack of attention and the poor Corporal's nervous state, Bill and I would have been on quite a serious a charge! Not forgetting of course we were a right pair of jammy ba****ds!
Bill*- I can't remember Bill's surname, nor his real first name; I can't even remember the reason we called him Bill! He was a bloody good laugh though and a good mate and I miss him, come to think of it, I miss them all!
Des
Roberts
In
the mid 70's they decided to re-open Wattisham and to cope
with the influx of Lightnings to the flight line brought a load
of drivers in from various units to man the Refuellers. On
duty one morning was me from Wyton, Tony Scales, and Mick
Absolume from Honington. Over the Tannoy came a message
stating that there would be numerous VIP's on station that
day and that all respects must be duly made etc, etc.
As
there was no flying that morning we were tasked to move the
Refuellers out of their bays and repaint the lines. As some of
you Wattisham guys would know tanker pool was situated in the
old control tower on the end of the flight line where everyone
can see what's going on. Unbeknown to me Tony and Mick were
in their last few month before being demobbed and couldn't
give a monkeys and were always acting the goat. We put
on our coveralls collected the paint and brushes and off we
went. Tony started at one end of a line working
backwards while Mick started at the other end facing forwards,
yes you can guess what coming. When they reached one another
Mick painted straight up the back of Tony's coveralls to his
head, they then changed places and Tony painted from Mick's
head down to the floor carried on along the line.
Neither of them smiled at one another or said a word until
they had finished the line. But what they hadn't seen was
the coach load of VIP's that had stopped to look at
something else, but these two characters had also caught their
eyes. Needles to say they were asked to see the MTO
later that day.
John
Cone
Hello
Ian,
I
was stationed at HQAAFCE, driving a coach back to the
section one evening, found a civilian car blocking my route,
so had to mount the pavement to get by. Out comes this Yank
officer, he took the bus number, jumped in the car and
stormed off. I did the same with his car number, reported it
to the Main Gate Police, and went home. In the morning, I
was called up in front of the RAF Contingent Commander, and
questioned about the incident. He told me I should go and
see the Base Commander to explain myself. So, of course, it
turns out the Base Commander was my Yank from the night
before. I explained why I was there to see him, and pointed
out that it was one of HIS regulations that civilian cars
were not allowed to park on camp roads. He was a bit lost
for words, so my apology was a bit hollow!
I
was at RAF 'Secret Location' for about a year. We were
mostly employed on convoy work, with a disguised fire engine, and
RAF police escorts. Sometimes we were allowed out on our own, if
the load wasn't too secret. I was on a trip with a Hippo, had to
call in at another station with some spares for one of our
vehicles that had broken down, and had been dragged there.The
Chiefy in the MT Office said, "You will have to stay and help
with the repairs". I explained that I couldn't do that, if I
didn't arrive at my destination by a certain time, search parties
were organised. "Where are you from" says Chiefy,
"Sorry, I can't tell you" says I. Well of course he hit
the roof, demanding to see my 658, 1250, etc. He got nowhere with
the 658, as it had a unit stamp not from my unit, and the most
ambiguous wording imaginable. ( If the unit that supplied the
stamp was phoned, they always denied all knowledge of us !!). I
let him burn for a while, then asked to see the Station Security
Officer. Two RAF Policemen turned up to escort me to his office.
He turned out to be the Station Adj. and I told him the same
story. We had been given a phone number to pass on in dire cases
of embarrassment, so I gave him this. Soon, all was sweetness and
light, and my two escorts took me back to my Hippo, then on to the
Camp gates, where they waved me goodbye.
A
similar thing happened to another of our drivers, he broke down
and was dragged into Farnborough. Being broad Irish didn't help,
so finally he gave them the magic phone number. I was coming back
from somewhere down south, and was told at my last port of call to
collect Paddy. When I got to Farnborough, I was directed to the
RAF site there, and found Paddy in some Wing Commanders office
drinking tea and munching on Rich Tea biscuits. The WC explained
that Paddy had done all the right things, and they still didn't
know where we were from, but he wished us well and sent us on our
way.
For
the convoys, we used AEC 6 wheelers, cannot remember the type.
They were pretty ancient, flat out at about 30 mph. On the dual
carriageways, we used to knock them out of cog, and coast down
hills until the convoy commander called for a reduction in speed!
One old sweat used to dip the clutch, rather than selecting
neutral, and the noise this made at 40 plus was truly incredible.
We never could get him to see the light, and change his ways.
We
weren't allowed to stay overnight on RAF camps, had to stay in
civvy digs. We got a Rate One for this. One such place was an old
pub, where we got B&B plus evening meal for about ten bob, in
old money. We slept on a row of cots in the bar, a bit like being
back in the billet! This left another 11 shillings for beer
money!! Another place, we slept five in a normal front bedroom.
After a night out, on beer and curry, the gazzunder was usually
full to overflowing, so a hasty trip, down the stairs and out the
back to the privy was often called for. One old sweat used to
sleep in his cab, across the engine, so he could spend all his
Rate One on ale.
Civvy
Drivers
Bill
Briggs, Bill was an ex MTD, he was at Marham whilst I was
there. He lived in a little touring caravan just off the airfield.
His diet was beer and boiled eggs. The eggs were prepared in the
Civvy Drivers' restroom kettle, much to the disgust of his mates!
He did mostly Aircraft Towing with the Tugmasters. I never knew
him to use the low reduction gear box, always at top speed! He
used to put the fear of God into the poor old Flight Line Chiefies.
The civvies were called to MT Control with a buzzer, Bill had
three buzzes, his mates used to chant, Come, On, Bill, (get it?)
when his call came .
Zeb
Holt, Mr Holt was a firebrand, always up in arms about
something. He was banned from watching the local boys football
because he swore at the officials so much. There was a system to
supposedly stop pull-offs on the fuel installations. The Leyland
tankers had a master switch on the back of the cab, behind the
drivers' seat. The switch had a T handle that came off and fitted
into the installation works. The T had to be in place before the
hose could be removed from the pump equipment, and could only be
removed when the hose was replaced. Zeb was the only man I knew
who managed to circumvent the system! We had an AEC tanker,
(Mammoth Major?), the pumping gear was at the side, just behind
the drivers door. The cover for the gear hinged upwards and
outwards. When driving, the cover had to be securely closed, or a
warning hooter sounded continuously when the hand-brake was
released. Idiot-proof, you might say? Poor old Zeb managed it
though. The road off the Perry track was narrow, and on one side
was a stack of jet engine cases. I was going out with a loaded
tanker one night, Zeb coming back empty. I saw a glow of light
from the side of his tanker, the pump gear illumination, but not
the door, as it was edge on. I couldn't get off the road anyway,
for the engine cases. He hit the corner of my windscreen, tore the
door right off his pump compartment. Luckily the Leyland had a
pretty strong cab, the screen was bust, but I wasn't injured,
shaken not stirred! Most of the civvies were great blokes, I was
on my last tour of duty, and corporals were supposed to be good
examples to the erks, by keeping busy when not actually driving. I
used to hide in the civvies rest-room, so got to know them well.
Mr Mcquitty was peeling pickling onions in there one day, so I
gave him a hand, you can imagine what his weeping mates thought of
that caper. Mr Mackintosh was a great friend. He took me pigeon
shooting on several occasions, on land owned by a farmer friend.
Mac used to come to work on a scooter, collecting "road
kill" on the way, to feed his dogs. We daren't look in his
bag to see what he had collected.
Ken
Elliott |
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