Humour and Relaxation
Chapter 7
It may be surprising to hear the phrase 'humour and relaxation' within the context of an active tour. But soldiers, and in particular British soldiers, have a knack of putting a 'black' sense of humour on events.
I think a soldier's sense of humour must date back through the ages and is just an extension of a very human way of dealing with difficult situations and worse!
My first taste of army humour was in basic training. A very large Green Howard PT instructor called Corporal George K had a favourite saying which he made you shout out while doing leg raises; this was "pain is a sensation to let the brain know it is still alive". His side kick (or vice versa as the case may have been), CPL Mally Kirk, had a brass plaque made. This he had attached to the 'wrong' side of a bridge wall which stretched over a very smelly stream. As you were hanging over the bridge in full kit you were to read out aloud the inscription and then let go to drop into the waiting ooze. The inscription by the way read, "Mally Kirk's bridge and river".
But I digress.
Creature comforts on active duty were very sparse to say the least. North Howard Street Mill was no exception. Each room had a TV and there was a NAAFI (NAFFI stands for Navy Army Air Force's Institution and is a sort of café/store). On the rare occasions you weren't on patrol, quick reaction, guard duty or any of the other list of fatigue duties, if you wanted you could go to the NAAFI and 'socialize'. This was a real dilemma. Should you grab a bit of extra sleep? Should you wash your clothes (which always seemed to need washing)? Should you phone home? Or should you go to the NAAFI, have one of the two beers you could have per day while off duty and talk bullshit with your mates. Hhhhhmmmmmm, let me think... beer it is!
Now, the NAAFI in North Howard Street Mill was, to be fair, a shit hole. It did have one thing over the competition, however. This was that there was no competition. While on a 'Roulement' tour of duty you were, in fact, on duty all the time. You only went out of base when on patrols. So, the centre of commercial shopping was the NAAFI. It had everything you needed, but nothing you wanted (apart from beer). There was however a civilian helper, and she was a she! 'She' was both attractive and brave. Attractive both physically and philosophically. And brave in both being an Irish person working for the British Army in the Catholic area that North Howard Street Mill was situated, and in that she was the object of so many soldiers's desires (though not mine of course, because I realized I had no chance, and more importantly I was in a
relationship at that time). But for me the most important thing 'she' would do was that if you asked her to she would buy things for you on the 'outside'.
My poison was music (and still is).
This was in the era of vinyl and tape. A 'Walkman' was the must-have piece of kit.
The Army was smart, or to put it another way, thought the troops were dumb.
When the equipment which was to protect us from Remote Controlled Devices was given out, the trainer went to extreme lengths in pointing out we must not take out the batteries. This was responded to in voices only audible to your neighbours with phrases like, "no shit Sherlock", or "so what else am I going to shove up me arse". But the instructor went on to say that if you wanted batteries you just had to ask and 'old' ones would be given to you 'free'. Batteries you see were replaced after each patrol so the 'old' ones were barely used. This availability was met with much nodding and thumbs ups.
Again, I digress.
Within days of arriving in Ireland someone in 9 Platoon had worked out that suntans were going to be a little tricky to 'top up'. With all that bulky kit and clothing, the sun's rays were going to find it hard to turn our nice blue bodies white. Therefore, a sun bed was to be hired and for a small fee (and it was small, but as it turned out so were the results) all members who paid could have unlimited access (but a fair share of time) to the sun bed. And so within the week a sun bed appeared and was placed in the room of the 'brick' whose great idea it was. However very shortly thereafter it was moved into the corridor when the noise of the sun bed running 24 hours a day kept the 'brick' awake.
It is worth mentioning that even though the sun bed was as effective as lying under blue-painted fluro lights, it didn't stop people using it. I'm sure the civilians we hired the sun bed from also had a good laugh...
So, I found that one of my few pleasures was the half hour I got on the sun bed every week or so. Brown AA army batteries in one hand, Walkman in the other, I'd check that the roster was correct and the sun bed free. New 'old' batteries installed, I'd turn myself from green to white (I took my clothes off) and switched off my brain while switching on the sun bed and Walkman. Swimming goggles in place and the blue tubes of the sun bed making me look even paler, the heat of the bed and the drone of the cooling fan soon had me drifting away.
Swing Out Sister playing "Breakout" was a favourite.
After watching a TV documentary about the 20th anniversary of "Sgt Peppers" being released (called "It Was 20 Years Ago Today"), the sun bed disco was joined by The Beatles (I'd always been a fan of theirs) and Paul Simon's "Graceland". Music became my escape. Eyes closed, headphones on, sun bed on, clothes off, brain off, I could for short periods forget where I was. Bliss.
I started to give myself weekly treats. Each week I'd either look through the box of cassettes behind the NAAFI counter or ask 'she' to just buy me a cassette. In this way I discovered The Pogues and The Beach Boys. Headphones on, clothes on (well, I was in the NAAFI), can of beer in hand (with the pull ring removed to stop people stockpiling beer and going on a bender), I would relax in the world's dirtiest, most uncomfortable 1970's chair while listening to my latest purchase.
Soon the smell of stale beer, sweat (surely not mine), and a decade of cigarette smoke would vanish and I'd be concentrating on the lyrics.
There was a 'concert' party, also in the NAAFI where the regimental band played and some dolly birds danced. I'm sure it was worse than average but as it was a change from the normal routine we all lapped it up.
But there were also other jokes to be played.
While on Sangar duty (watch tower), a log book was kept into which observations and occurrences were to be logged. After several weeks, strange entries started to appear. My personal favourite, which I've always remembered and wished I could have 'topped', went a little like this:
17:59 - a dodgy looking pigeon flew past.
18:02 - same pigeon flew past again.
18:07 - think the same pigeon flew past now with another pigeon.
18:11 - where have the pigeons gone?
18:20 - still no sign of the pigeons.
18:24 - flock of pigeons flew past. Not sure if original pigeon was with them, but I suspect it was and they know I'm on to them. I've got my eye on you, boyo.
18:34 - where have all the pigeons gone?
18:36 - is it something I said?
Lame, maybe. But it was these simple piss-takes that took the edge off the pressure. And some piss takes were very elaborate in their design. None more so than one designed by Colour Sergeants Jimmy Binns and Billy "you're here to work and work you will" Roache. This piss-take was simple and yet cunning in its design and played into a situation that was getting at most people at the time (myself included), that being the lack of some basic equipment and the number one missing 'gripe' item was Northern Ireland gloves.
Now, the Colour Sergeants ran the QM (Quarter Master) stores which should have had this piece of kit. Through no fault of theirs this item never made it into stock. This they must have known was bad for morale. Well, one day we had a knock on the door. Upon opening it, a member of the regiment looked up and down the corridor and whispered, "QM store have just got some NI gloves. Not enough to go around. One at a time, go down and get yours. Do not tell anyone else".
'Fantastic', I thought.
"About F'in time", I think Terry said. And then it was an argument on which one of us was to go first and for the first time in my life I won.
So, off I went down the spiral stone staircase and at last found myself outside the QM's store only to find the door was closed. "Oh come on", I thought to myself, "they can't have run out. I'd better knock just in case". And so I did, upon which the door opened and Billy stepped out. Quickly looking left and right he said, "You're here by yourself?"
"I am" I replied.
He nodded, beckoned me to enter, and I walked up to the counter.
"How many gloves do you want", Jimmy asked?
"Two, of course, Colour" I replied, at which point I was punched twice by Billy who'd slipped on a pair of boxing gloves. The two of them started laughing like girls and asked for my name which they wrote in a little book they had. At last I saw the funny side. "Pricks", I muttered. But you've got to hand it to them, I was got. I was then instructed to find the next 'victim' (which, of course, I was more than glad to do).
The upshot was after letting off 'steam' no one ever complained about the lack of equipment again. Jimmy and Billy asked if we'd all be willing to pay for gloves which would be a suitable NI glove alternative. We did and so they found a non- British Army supply and bought them for C Company.
Funny. Yes, a little. But strange-funny, no. That came one night while out on patrol.
On this night, Ben received a radio call to hold position.
Normally this was in response to something like one of the radio Jammers going off. Any movement could block the signal of the radio which was stopping an RCD from going off. After a tense wait of 5 minutes or so, Ben received another call and we set off again. He then instructed Terry to deviate off the scheduled patrol route. This new route took us down some dark alleys and back gardens. We soon had to halt again only to be confronted by a figure stepping out from behind some bushes. As one we all swung our rifles around and pointed at the figure. It was then we realised it was another 'brick' commander who proceeded to drop his pants and lift up his jacket to 'show' the ladies suspenders, stockings, pants and bra he was wearing. After much giggling we moved on. Very strange!!
Terry played a classic prank at his own expense one day. He came into our room and said to no one in particular, "They're making us get new Identity Cards and they make you look like a right prat".
"What the fuck for", said Chris.
"I don't know, maybe to stop us getting bored or having a break between patrols", said Terry.
"That would be about right", I said.
(I must add that it is the God given right for a solider to 'bump' (complain) when out of ear shot of the NCO's and Officers and nobody can 'bump' like a squaddie).
"How do you know about the I.D cards", asked Ben.
"Got mine done already", said Terry.
"Bullshit", said Chris.
"Did you want to look", asked Terry?
"Go on then", said all.
At this stage Terry pulls out a 'Guinness' promotional card with a picture of a Toucan bird on it. Terry, you see, had a very large nose.
But possibly the most envied encounter happened to Chris.
This was while patrolling during the daytime. The sun was out and we were moving down Falls Road on a route that would take us past the Sinn Fein office, an area where you could always expect a 'warm' welcome.
As we neared the Sinn Fein office I noticed Gerry Adams standing outside with a group of 'followers'. Quickly scanning this group for people of interest, I didn't see anyone from my list. Chris's path, however, took him directly past and through this group. As I passed them on the other side of the street I turned around in order to observe that Chris got through them okay. I saw Chris smile and say something to Gerry Adams, then Chris's smile widened.
A few meters on Chris shouted over to me, "Hey, guess what"?
"What", I shouted back, noticing the group of people outside the office glaring at this exchange.
"I said "Good Morning, Mr Adams", to Gerry Adams", said Chris, "and you know what he said to me"?
"No idea mate", I replied.
"Well", said Chris, "he said 'Fuck off, Brit'".
"You lucky bastard", I said.
"I know", said Chris, and on this went until we were out of earshot of the Sinn Fein office at which point we stopped shouting across to each other and continued our silent patrol.
Later, back in North Howard Street Mill, Chris went up and down the corridors telling everyone he saw that Gerry Adams had told him to" F Off".
The lucky bastard....
Chapter 7
It may be surprising to hear the phrase 'humour and relaxation' within the context of an active tour. But soldiers, and in particular British soldiers, have a knack of putting a 'black' sense of humour on events.
I think a soldier's sense of humour must date back through the ages and is just an extension of a very human way of dealing with difficult situations and worse!
My first taste of army humour was in basic training. A very large Green Howard PT instructor called Corporal George K had a favourite saying which he made you shout out while doing leg raises; this was "pain is a sensation to let the brain know it is still alive". His side kick (or vice versa as the case may have been), CPL Mally Kirk, had a brass plaque made. This he had attached to the 'wrong' side of a bridge wall which stretched over a very smelly stream. As you were hanging over the bridge in full kit you were to read out aloud the inscription and then let go to drop into the waiting ooze. The inscription by the way read, "Mally Kirk's bridge and river".
But I digress.
Creature comforts on active duty were very sparse to say the least. North Howard Street Mill was no exception. Each room had a TV and there was a NAAFI (NAFFI stands for Navy Army Air Force's Institution and is a sort of café/store). On the rare occasions you weren't on patrol, quick reaction, guard duty or any of the other list of fatigue duties, if you wanted you could go to the NAAFI and 'socialize'. This was a real dilemma. Should you grab a bit of extra sleep? Should you wash your clothes (which always seemed to need washing)? Should you phone home? Or should you go to the NAAFI, have one of the two beers you could have per day while off duty and talk bullshit with your mates. Hhhhhmmmmmm, let me think... beer it is!
Now, the NAAFI in North Howard Street Mill was, to be fair, a shit hole. It did have one thing over the competition, however. This was that there was no competition. While on a 'Roulement' tour of duty you were, in fact, on duty all the time. You only went out of base when on patrols. So, the centre of commercial shopping was the NAAFI. It had everything you needed, but nothing you wanted (apart from beer). There was however a civilian helper, and she was a she! 'She' was both attractive and brave. Attractive both physically and philosophically. And brave in both being an Irish person working for the British Army in the Catholic area that North Howard Street Mill was situated, and in that she was the object of so many soldiers's desires (though not mine of course, because I realized I had no chance, and more importantly I was in a
relationship at that time). But for me the most important thing 'she' would do was that if you asked her to she would buy things for you on the 'outside'.
My poison was music (and still is).
This was in the era of vinyl and tape. A 'Walkman' was the must-have piece of kit.
The Army was smart, or to put it another way, thought the troops were dumb.
When the equipment which was to protect us from Remote Controlled Devices was given out, the trainer went to extreme lengths in pointing out we must not take out the batteries. This was responded to in voices only audible to your neighbours with phrases like, "no shit Sherlock", or "so what else am I going to shove up me arse". But the instructor went on to say that if you wanted batteries you just had to ask and 'old' ones would be given to you 'free'. Batteries you see were replaced after each patrol so the 'old' ones were barely used. This availability was met with much nodding and thumbs ups.
Again, I digress.
Within days of arriving in Ireland someone in 9 Platoon had worked out that suntans were going to be a little tricky to 'top up'. With all that bulky kit and clothing, the sun's rays were going to find it hard to turn our nice blue bodies white. Therefore, a sun bed was to be hired and for a small fee (and it was small, but as it turned out so were the results) all members who paid could have unlimited access (but a fair share of time) to the sun bed. And so within the week a sun bed appeared and was placed in the room of the 'brick' whose great idea it was. However very shortly thereafter it was moved into the corridor when the noise of the sun bed running 24 hours a day kept the 'brick' awake.
It is worth mentioning that even though the sun bed was as effective as lying under blue-painted fluro lights, it didn't stop people using it. I'm sure the civilians we hired the sun bed from also had a good laugh...
So, I found that one of my few pleasures was the half hour I got on the sun bed every week or so. Brown AA army batteries in one hand, Walkman in the other, I'd check that the roster was correct and the sun bed free. New 'old' batteries installed, I'd turn myself from green to white (I took my clothes off) and switched off my brain while switching on the sun bed and Walkman. Swimming goggles in place and the blue tubes of the sun bed making me look even paler, the heat of the bed and the drone of the cooling fan soon had me drifting away.
Swing Out Sister playing "Breakout" was a favourite.
After watching a TV documentary about the 20th anniversary of "Sgt Peppers" being released (called "It Was 20 Years Ago Today"), the sun bed disco was joined by The Beatles (I'd always been a fan of theirs) and Paul Simon's "Graceland". Music became my escape. Eyes closed, headphones on, sun bed on, clothes off, brain off, I could for short periods forget where I was. Bliss.
I started to give myself weekly treats. Each week I'd either look through the box of cassettes behind the NAAFI counter or ask 'she' to just buy me a cassette. In this way I discovered The Pogues and The Beach Boys. Headphones on, clothes on (well, I was in the NAAFI), can of beer in hand (with the pull ring removed to stop people stockpiling beer and going on a bender), I would relax in the world's dirtiest, most uncomfortable 1970's chair while listening to my latest purchase.
Soon the smell of stale beer, sweat (surely not mine), and a decade of cigarette smoke would vanish and I'd be concentrating on the lyrics.
There was a 'concert' party, also in the NAAFI where the regimental band played and some dolly birds danced. I'm sure it was worse than average but as it was a change from the normal routine we all lapped it up.
But there were also other jokes to be played.
While on Sangar duty (watch tower), a log book was kept into which observations and occurrences were to be logged. After several weeks, strange entries started to appear. My personal favourite, which I've always remembered and wished I could have 'topped', went a little like this:
17:59 - a dodgy looking pigeon flew past.
18:02 - same pigeon flew past again.
18:07 - think the same pigeon flew past now with another pigeon.
18:11 - where have the pigeons gone?
18:20 - still no sign of the pigeons.
18:24 - flock of pigeons flew past. Not sure if original pigeon was with them, but I suspect it was and they know I'm on to them. I've got my eye on you, boyo.
18:34 - where have all the pigeons gone?
18:36 - is it something I said?
Lame, maybe. But it was these simple piss-takes that took the edge off the pressure. And some piss takes were very elaborate in their design. None more so than one designed by Colour Sergeants Jimmy Binns and Billy "you're here to work and work you will" Roache. This piss-take was simple and yet cunning in its design and played into a situation that was getting at most people at the time (myself included), that being the lack of some basic equipment and the number one missing 'gripe' item was Northern Ireland gloves.
Now, the Colour Sergeants ran the QM (Quarter Master) stores which should have had this piece of kit. Through no fault of theirs this item never made it into stock. This they must have known was bad for morale. Well, one day we had a knock on the door. Upon opening it, a member of the regiment looked up and down the corridor and whispered, "QM store have just got some NI gloves. Not enough to go around. One at a time, go down and get yours. Do not tell anyone else".
'Fantastic', I thought.
"About F'in time", I think Terry said. And then it was an argument on which one of us was to go first and for the first time in my life I won.
So, off I went down the spiral stone staircase and at last found myself outside the QM's store only to find the door was closed. "Oh come on", I thought to myself, "they can't have run out. I'd better knock just in case". And so I did, upon which the door opened and Billy stepped out. Quickly looking left and right he said, "You're here by yourself?"
"I am" I replied.
He nodded, beckoned me to enter, and I walked up to the counter.
"How many gloves do you want", Jimmy asked?
"Two, of course, Colour" I replied, at which point I was punched twice by Billy who'd slipped on a pair of boxing gloves. The two of them started laughing like girls and asked for my name which they wrote in a little book they had. At last I saw the funny side. "Pricks", I muttered. But you've got to hand it to them, I was got. I was then instructed to find the next 'victim' (which, of course, I was more than glad to do).
The upshot was after letting off 'steam' no one ever complained about the lack of equipment again. Jimmy and Billy asked if we'd all be willing to pay for gloves which would be a suitable NI glove alternative. We did and so they found a non- British Army supply and bought them for C Company.
Funny. Yes, a little. But strange-funny, no. That came one night while out on patrol.
On this night, Ben received a radio call to hold position.
Normally this was in response to something like one of the radio Jammers going off. Any movement could block the signal of the radio which was stopping an RCD from going off. After a tense wait of 5 minutes or so, Ben received another call and we set off again. He then instructed Terry to deviate off the scheduled patrol route. This new route took us down some dark alleys and back gardens. We soon had to halt again only to be confronted by a figure stepping out from behind some bushes. As one we all swung our rifles around and pointed at the figure. It was then we realised it was another 'brick' commander who proceeded to drop his pants and lift up his jacket to 'show' the ladies suspenders, stockings, pants and bra he was wearing. After much giggling we moved on. Very strange!!
Terry played a classic prank at his own expense one day. He came into our room and said to no one in particular, "They're making us get new Identity Cards and they make you look like a right prat".
"What the fuck for", said Chris.
"I don't know, maybe to stop us getting bored or having a break between patrols", said Terry.
"That would be about right", I said.
(I must add that it is the God given right for a solider to 'bump' (complain) when out of ear shot of the NCO's and Officers and nobody can 'bump' like a squaddie).
"How do you know about the I.D cards", asked Ben.
"Got mine done already", said Terry.
"Bullshit", said Chris.
"Did you want to look", asked Terry?
"Go on then", said all.
At this stage Terry pulls out a 'Guinness' promotional card with a picture of a Toucan bird on it. Terry, you see, had a very large nose.
But possibly the most envied encounter happened to Chris.
This was while patrolling during the daytime. The sun was out and we were moving down Falls Road on a route that would take us past the Sinn Fein office, an area where you could always expect a 'warm' welcome.
As we neared the Sinn Fein office I noticed Gerry Adams standing outside with a group of 'followers'. Quickly scanning this group for people of interest, I didn't see anyone from my list. Chris's path, however, took him directly past and through this group. As I passed them on the other side of the street I turned around in order to observe that Chris got through them okay. I saw Chris smile and say something to Gerry Adams, then Chris's smile widened.
A few meters on Chris shouted over to me, "Hey, guess what"?
"What", I shouted back, noticing the group of people outside the office glaring at this exchange.
"I said "Good Morning, Mr Adams", to Gerry Adams", said Chris, "and you know what he said to me"?
"No idea mate", I replied.
"Well", said Chris, "he said 'Fuck off, Brit'".
"You lucky bastard", I said.
"I know", said Chris, and on this went until we were out of earshot of the Sinn Fein office at which point we stopped shouting across to each other and continued our silent patrol.
Later, back in North Howard Street Mill, Chris went up and down the corridors telling everyone he saw that Gerry Adams had told him to" F Off".
The lucky bastard....
Chris on the left author (Shaun) on the right
Terry
