Hands, knees and boomps a baby

1975, I was duty guard commander at the Commando Training Centre. It was a Saturday night and that meant that the Nods (Recruits would always 'Nod' when told to do something - hence Nods) had their weekly thrash at the River Exe Club, the ancient camp cinema was used as their version of the Hammersmith Palais. Literally the whole female population from Exeter to Exmouth would descend on the camp, terrified virgins to terrifying grannies, everything in between. They were after the very fit, very lusty young lads who were waiting desperately to fall deeply madly in lust for anything up to half an hour, or if they were really lucky "Up-Homers." Taken home to have brekky with Mum & Dad.

The scene is set, furtive fumblings ensued in the deepest darkest corners, the assault course came into it's own, literally. Except in all my time I never ever heard or knew of an assault, the lads were very mindful of their responsibilities, plus most of the aggressive stuff came from the older visitors who were on their worst behaviour. Wrens had been introduced to the camp as administrative staff, nurses, photographers, they were revered and protected by everybody.

Well, on a Saturday night as guard chappy you could go looking for problems or wait quietly, because as sure as there is a tooth fairy it will come your way. I had nipped down to Dutchy's, our own Dutch Holland, former Corporal now turned entrepreneur, he had, as his son now has, the best burger van in the world. Full of sage advice and compassion, Dutch would listen to a sad recruit, give him a fatherly word of advice and send him on his way happy again. Topped up with a Cheese/Egg/Bacon Burger and a coffee I wandered back to the guard room to wait for the fun to start; and it was fun, never any fights, the lads were too intent on the female of the species for any stupidity, plus after three pints most of them would collapse as they were exhausted from the training and unused to alcohol.

Outside the front door was a chap in the civvy uniform of the period. Think Bay City Rollers with a tie. His trousers were huge white Oxford bags, huge clumpy shoes, tight tank top and huge curved collar shirt, plus the obligatory tie. As I walked past him I simply said, "Do not move from there, stand still!" Inside his 'Pash' (short for Pashion - Love of his life) was signing out. He had already presented himself to the Lance Corporal at the guard room window and handed in his liberty card, been inspected then told he had until 0600. I asked his Pash to take a seat as her paramour would be five minutes as he had to change. Not being a military type person she immediately went into Hollyoaks mode and enquired why her very own Stud could not escort her to the family abode. I called him inside. She then started blushing and pharting. His white knees were in fact green grass knees, the back of her dress was covered in grassy streaks as were the heels of her shoes.

She waited demurely while he ran and changed. The Lance Corporal got a quiet lecture on the reason for the mirror in the hallway, ie you cannot see what is under the edge of the hatch, and all went well.

It is at times like these that you remember that terms used by civilians have duplicate meanings in the forces, especially the Royal Marines. For example, in the context above, the Chosen Frozen or 45 Commando would go to Norway for Arctic training from 2nd Jan - 30th March each year, whether they wanted to or not. White-Out has nothing to do with falling cold precipitation, rather it refers to the point at which one's sperm count obscures one's vision. In which case you have been there too long.


Baggy Trousers