Funny Moments on Ops

[dutchman]

belfast early may 1981 , bobby sands had just died and tensions were running high to say the least and lisburn hq (i assume) in their wisdom decided they wanted to know who was frequenting mr sands family home to pay their respects (lets be honest the choggy could have told him).
the resident comapny on the ground near his home in twinbrook happened to be 'a' company 1 rwf so four of us were briefed and tasked to carry out an op,
myself ,lew 17, barry howells and an attached signaller whos name escapes me bt for this story we call him jammy git .the night arrives and we are mobiled in some mile and a half away from twinbrook in a posh estate and while the moblie carries out a vcp we merry 4 sneak off to walk into the op .
we first go through a garden into a wooded area and then come to some waste ground facing twinbrook so for obvious reasons we go super tactical noise to a minimum, quiet the order of the day as we dont want any dickers hearing or seeing us as it could get very dicey .
order of march was lew 17 - myself - jammy git - barry , there we are super sas style lurking when all of a suden lew 17's silluoette disappears from my sight and i hear a splash and loud gurgling, rushing forward i find lew over his head i a huge hole full of water and being super tactical i have to stifle the huge guffaw that is about to break out when i step back into another huge hole and disappear underwater .
the other two super tactical patrol members rush forward and the laughter starts when all of a sudden barry dsappears into exactly the same hole i fell into and by now all hopes of a silent entry are gone as everyone is hysterical including the signaller who was the only guy not to get his feet wet (incidently earlier he had won the company sweep for the national by choosing aldaniti ridden by bob champion hence the name jammy git).
now our options are looked at no radio as anyone who served at the time will
tell you if you sweated onto a pye phone they were u.s so 20 gallons of belfasts finest water will do it no good good at all our rifles were not in much better shape as mine for example was tangled in the weeds so it was decided to go to the pick up point and wait and sure enough hq sent out a mobile patrol to see why we never answered our comms and the patrol was written off as a washout .

disclamer - no person was injured in this incident no animals abused andto protect the anonymity of certain indviduals names have been changed i.e
jamy git was really a beep lucky m^&*(&* f*&^&* and bob champions real name was robert

[benney]

O THE GOOD DAYS

[davidrmac]

Maybe Nasher can help me out on this one .
It was Belfast 81 B Coy .
Luker was on sangar duty covering the back gate at Whiterock . It was one of the tall sangars that had a vertical steel ladder that led to a trap door . Quite difficult to get up there sometimes with all your kit especially at night when carrying the night sights .
Anyway , the section com did his usual rounds and whilst checking Lukers sangar he could not open the trap door .
The conversation went something like this ;
"you okay in there Julian"
No reply
"Luker what's going on"
No reply just plenty of movement
"Luker if you don't let me in you are in F*****g serious trouble"
The trap door opened just enough for a hand and a bayonet to poke through and the response was ;
"F***k off"
By this time the Plt Sgt was involved the Ops room had been informed and there was a bit of a commotion going on .
To cut a long story short , Luker did not emerge from the sangar for several hours . When he eventually came out it transpired that he had stolen a full barrell of beer , climbed the sangar with this barrell on his back , and got it into the sangar through the trap door , how on earth he managed it I do not know . Then he proceeded to relieve the barrell of it's contents using a bayonet and a mess tin and got absolutely hammered .
Whatever happened to him after that I am unsure but , what a great bloke he was although sometimes erratic , he would be one of the first I would want on my side .

[jcj]

Belfast 1972, A Coy 1 RRW were stationed in St Finians school opposite the Old Park sports fields. Every evening the local yobs would give us the normal aggro nothing too serious bricks petrol bombs etc. Our OC was getting p***** off with this and decided to sort them out. The plan was in the early hours my Sect would smash down a section of the railings that skirted the sports field using the crash bars on a Saracen, this would give enough room for C/S NEPTUNE (Water Canon) to drive at full speed onto the sports field and soak all the rioters with green dye. NEPTUNE would be followed by snatch squads to lift the rioter’s. We did our bit, at daft o clock I duly smashed down two sections of railings. At the normal time the rioters started giving the expected aggro, NEPTUNE trundles onto the fields then the plan went horribly pear shaped. The comms between the OC and NEPTUNE did not work and the visibility of the crew was very poor. NEPTUNE starts spraying all the players of a soccer match which had nothing to do with the rioting both teams were soaked with the dye. The OC was going apoplectic my section one of the snatch squads just fell about laughing as was every one else bar the OC. Next day apologies all round plus the bill for dhobi of two soccer strips and repair of two sections of park railings, again it could only happen in Ireland.

[jcj]

Have too be careful I don’t give true names of individuals most of whom are still serving. Picture a large SF base in NI surrounded by lovely trees in the late 90’s.The base was occupied by BHQ the QM’s and a Rifle Coy. One day the OC of the base approached the QM and complained that the lower branches of said trees were blocking the arcs of fire from some of the sangers.The QM being a most helpful and pleasant chap said “no problem” I will get G4 estates to arrange for some grounds men to TRIM some of the foliage. The grounds men duly turned up the next day, the QM then told the OC to brief the men on exactly what branches to be TRIMMED. The QM then left the base to spread more joy and assistance in other areas of the Battalion. In the meantime the OC handed over the briefing of the task to the Coy CQMS, don’t you just love delegation. Late afternoon and the QM returns to the base looking forward to the evening meal and a glass of wine. When he approached the base what he saw almost caused instant coronary seizure. The beautiful trees that had adorned this lovely spot for many a year were cut down to the stumps resembling pictures of the Somme. Even worse was to follow the CO was screaming for the QM and for an explanation of what on earth possessed him to order the wanton destruction of the trees. By now the OC and CQMS were conspicuous by their absence and the QM was left to face the wrath of the CO alone. However most QM’s are survivors and quick as a flash he says to the CO “Sir sadly the trees were found have Dutch elm disease and had to be felled”. The CO was still not happy but luckily took the word of the QM; well you would wouldn’t you. To finish the QM said to the CO “Sir lets look on the bright side, we now have plenty of logs for the Officers mess fire”

[John Turner]

One day I decided to take my usual pre-breakfast 'stroll', as I used to call it, into the majambi, or jungle, to see if I could catch sight of the very rare 'Chukawati Bati' or Bird of Purgatory, which 'Trusty' as we all called our faithful native ghabi or guide had reported seeing the previous latbani (evening) while we were looking for Harry's leg.
I had only been 'strolling' along the majambi (jungle) ortobam (path) for a few minutes when I became aware of a large and rather fierce fritbangowonkabmaki, or lion, which was standing partially hidden in the pteee, or clearing. I had strayed so close to him, absorbed as I was in my ornithological questi (quest) that when the splendid old thing opened its massive goti (jaws) to roar, revealing as fine a womba, or set, of teeth as I have seen in an adult male, each one as bewapsiptoof (sharp) as a Welshman's head, I could, without so much as leaning forward, have taken his magnificent uvula in my left hand.

Taking advantage of my good luck, I did so, tweaked it hard, an old English colonial officer's granwi, or trick. The lion was rather bemused by my ploy, and so I was able to get in a couple of good straight lefts, keeping my guard well up, to his upper palate and follow them with a cracking good right cross, moving my weight into the punch (as old 'Buffy' Spalding had taught me so many years ago, prior to the needle match against Uppington when 'Spindly' Crabber got up off the floor six times so pluckily only just to fail to win the draw which would have halved the batwel or match), right into my opponent's mane.

Then dancing back a couple of paces, I weaved about causing fritbangowonkabmaki to miss wildly with his crude haymakers while I notched up a few useful points with my left strati, or hand, and I soon found that by this simple strategy of keeping him from getting,in close, where his mighty jaws could have done a lot of nagasaki, or damage, I could pick him off pretty much at leisure, In fact it was only after some twenti (20) minutes, by which time I was well in rogambi (front), that, after a particularly nifty sidestep, I happened to glance around the clearing only to discover that our contest was now being watched by a circle of some fifteen odd of fritbangowonkabwaki’s chums, some of whom were already beginning to edge forward, manes bristling and teeth akimbo, towards our good selves.

It was the work of a moment to divine from their magnificent expressions that they were taking a decidedly partisan attitude to our match, and that they would have few qualms about joining in on my opponent's side if necessary; and so, judging that, if they did, they would eventually subdue me by sheer weight of numbers, I took the better part of valour, and feinting away from another of fritbangowonkabwaki's wild rushes, I got in a parting short jab to the base of his tail (not a blow I was proud of although it put him down for several minutes, but which I felt was excused by the exigencies of the situation, due, after all, to the unsporting behaviour of his colleagues in the first place) before springing upwards towards a lowly hanging branch of an enormous bwinda tree (a species related distantly to our own Elm (elm), but easily distinguishable by its broad unevenly veined leaf with its characteristic cheetah's paw shape, and the peculiar purple-ochre colour of the outer leaves of its gimbi, or buds), some fifteen feet above my head.

I had leapt not a moment too soon, for, although I had gained a firm grasp upon the handy branch, two of fritbangowonkabwaki's pals, leaping with me, had each seized one of my trusty boots in their jaws whilst a third had succeeded in firmly embedding his fangs (teeth) in the seat of my pants, albeit not in my sit-upon itself but in the surrounding material thereof.

What a strange sight I must have made, hanging unshaven from the branch with three enormous lions attached to me! It was not, indeed, without difficulty that I pulled myself up until I could take the branch in my mouth, thus freeing my hands for the more important work of detaching the determined trio, whose bites, however, proved to be so woki, or vice-like, that I eventually decided, not without regret, that it was only by actually abandoning the relevant apparel that I could free myself of their attentions.

Unlacing a jungle boot while hanging by one's teeth from a tree with three angry lions attached is not as easy as it might seem, with the lions' concerned companions beneath, but eventually it was done, and right boot and lion plummeted back into the clearing, followed rapidly by their opposite numbers.

With the vastly reduced load the shorts were a formality and in a trice I was seated comfortably on the branch looking down at the enraged horde beneath, who by now, incidentally, must have numbered well over a hundred. I must say they were making a truly memorable din (shindy).

However, I was feeling distinctly peckish by now, and so doffing my sola topi rather humorously in their direction I turned for home and breakfast, hoping fritbangowonkabwaki and company would lose interest in me if I stuck to the trees for the first couple of miles. Another old trick, or granwi.

Imagine my surprise, when I discovered sitting next to me on the branch, blocking my path, one of the largest yumbotos (Congolese gorillas) I have ever set eyes on, and I've seen a few in my time, including one old female at Chukambara, or New Bolton, who, in fit of pique (rage) brought on by being struck by lightning, tore an anvil in half - much to everyone's surprise.

It is said that his extraordinary strength, allied to his almost legendary short temper, makes yumboto the most feared creature in the whole of Africa, although many claim they will never attack a man unless he comes within three miles of them.

Well, this fellow was certainly a magnificent specimen, with forearms as thick as a poti's nangatwami, or sitpu, and judging from the malevolent expression upon his face bad tempered to a fault.

I handed him my topi, as a gesture of friendship, but he merely started poking holes in the crown of it with his index finger while looking at me in what seemed to be a deliberately significant way.

With the lions below, this chap barring my way, and no other branch within leaping distance, I decided there was nothing for it but to sit tight and hope that something would turn up, but before I could put this plan into operation yumboto started edging towards me, and reaching for my head.

I backed warily away towards the end of the branch, which served only to infuriate him further; the reason for which I soon discovered, when I bumped into a second gorilla, who had obviously been sitting between me and the end of the branch throughout, and who was equally obviously my pursuers mate (wife).

In a flash it became clear to me that he had interpreted my sudden arrival between them as an attempt to infringe their relationship, and my subsequent retreat from him as the first step in my campaign to win her favours. What an amusing notion!

Time was running short, however, and so I formulated a ruse. If I could persuade the jealous husband to rush the last few inches towards me, it was possible that the branch would snap under our combined weight and activity and that I would then use the split second before we fell to employ him as a kind of vaulting horse, executing the simple half somersault 'Buffy' Spalding had taught me all those years ago, to gain the branch beyond him and above the point where it would probably break.

I could then return to breakfast unhindered, as my erstwhile companions would be forced to continue their quarrel with fritbangowonkabwaki and his chums beneath, So I turned to yumboto's mate, slapped her bottom in a lewd sort of way, and planted a kiss full on her lips. This produced the required rush from yumboto, the branch snapped and everything went according to plan.


As I made my way back to camp through the trees some otwanibokotwikatanafryingpanibwanabotomafekazami (five) minutes later I noticed to my surprise on the majambi, or stakawi, or chittamba, or jungle path below me, not only the sixty or seventy lions who had been following me since I'd left the vicinity of the clearing, but also, hurrying along in the middle of this group, and peering constantly up at me, none other than yumboto's mate!

From this I was able to glean that far from scrapping among themselves as I had hoped, fritbangowonkabwaki's pals and my gorillas had joined forces and were now pursuing me, as it were, hand in glove. At that moment I heard a sound behind me and, turning, I spotted, swinging through the trees towards me, yumboto and thirty or forty of the more agile lions. As luck would have it, I was at that moment within half a mile of the Wananga River and so I set off at full speed in its direction, reasoning that if I could find a convenient creeper straddling its surging waters I could reach the far bank, thus making further pursuit more difficult.

I had a head start and managed by brachiating, to hold my lead all the way to the river, where, to my delight, I spotted a solitary creeper suspended from a tree just upstream, across the cascading torrent, to the forest the other side.

Ideal! Once I had crossed, I could destroy the only method of doing so, and complete my 'stroll' on foot.

It was the work of a moment to gain the tree whence my creeper hung and soon I was well on my way towards the far bank, admiring the magnificent view of the raging Wananga directly beneath. Indeed I was not halfway across before I began to realise that my 'creeper' was not all it might be, and looking towards the far end of it I was astonished to see, staring back at me from a wak-wak tree, the unmistakable square head, yellow-green criss-cross markings and fearful fangs of an anaconda! I will admit I was astounded!

An anaconda in Africa! How it could ever have found its way there from the banks of the Amazon, let alone why it should have been asleep in this strange position, I shall never know but as I soon confirmed from the characteristic heptagonal scales and the suffused neutral colouring I was grasping an anaconda it was, and one that clearly took exception to being demoted to viaduct. So with one mighty flick of its rippling body, I was sent spinning where I had to dodge a passing eagle, high, high up into the air, before being able to plunge downwards into the waiting maelstrom (river).

I had already surmised that my new surroundings would pose a different problem, for the Wananga is notorious both for the quantity of its hippopotamus and crocodile, and also for the degree of rancour with which these two species regard the human race, and sure enough, on surfacing, I saw the huge shapes of the former setting off towards me from their station upstream, while several thousand of the latter bore down on me from the other direction; so I struck out for the shore with a fast crawl and must have gone some fifty yards before I came up for my first breath, quite against old Algy Bartlett's sound advice to breathe regularly and look where you're going no matter what stage the race is at, which I forgot so disastrously in the three cornered match against Oundle and Haileybury when, after being almost ten yards up after eight lengths, I got so tangled up in the ropes separating the lanes that in the end I had to be content with fourth place and a solitary point.

Anyway I paid for ignoring Algy's guidance because, when I surfaced only some ten feet from the shore, with the crocs and hippos hot on my heels, I found myself to my disappointment, confronted by a line of gorillas and lions at the water's edge, yumboto and fritbangowonkabwaki well to the fore.

In the excitement I had struck out for the wrong bank!

What a pickle to put myself in! Still I had to make the best of a bad job, so I swam straight at the nearest crocodile, waited until he opened his enormous jaws and then quick as a flash spurted forward and, snatching a full lungful of air, hurled myself into his mouth, pulling the jaws shut after me, and scrambled down his throat, while he was still surprised, to the relative safety of his stomach, where I stayed, holding my breath, until I guessed the coast was clear.

Then; gambling all on a quick getaway, I worked my way back up his thorax and started insistently tickling the back of his throat. I did not have long to wait, for the jaws opened suddenly and I was hurled out into the light of day by the force of the mightiest cough I have ever experienced at such close quarters, right onto the bank of the river, believe it or not about 10 (ten) yards from the point where the rest of the fellows were just tucking into their devilled kidneys.

I must say they were pretty amused to see me appear from a nearby crocodile without my shorts, but I took their jesting in good part and rejoined them to salvage what I could from the pan of kidneys.


It may seem that I have rather padded out a commonplace enough tale, but the real reason that I have recounted my adventure in perhaps rather unnecessary detail is that exactly the same thing happened to my wife the very next day.