Shaun and Carole

Shaun is a former soldier with the Infantry. He now works at the Ophthalmic Unit. He was relaxing in the sun and kindly allowed me to interrupt him on his first day off. Unsurprisingly he played rugby, he’s Cornish so it’s a rite of passage. 

Carole was working quite happily in a small patch of garden, replacing bulbs, ready for next Spring. She doesn’t like cameras but allowed me a few quick shots. 

A few tales of long ago……

When I became a young Royal Marine recruit I became friends with a lad who had joined two weeks before me. Chris and I were on parallel tracks, wherever I went he went. We took canoes with us when our unit went to sea on a Commando Carrier. Once, in a bay off Crete we spent a pleasant morning paddling around the US Mediterranean Fleet. We were somewhat surprised to discover that their equivalent ships, full of US Marines had a contingent of armed Military Police on board. Talk about heavy handed. The evening before we had gone to sleep with just 5 or 6 ships around us. The ‘Murrikans arrived with their 23 overnight. Ye gods. 
Years later Chris and I were with 45 (pron. four five) Commando, he was in a fighting company and I was flying. I was tasked to take the Brigadier, Jeremy Moore to visit 45 in the middle of a cold part of Norway. (Jeremy Moore was the land force commander in the Falklands). While I was shutting the aircraft down I recognised a bored Corporal with a huge bushy moustache sitting in a snow drift waiting for the noise to stop. Without looking at him I said to Brig Moore, “Sir, see that Corporal, his name is Chris W. He’s a friend. Do me a favour, when you get out to meet the Commanding Officer ask Corporal W how Marion, his wife is doing; he’ll fart, blush and not know what to say.” 
The Brigadier got out, shuffled off on his snow shoes, met the C.O. then wandered over to Chris and asked how Marion was doing. Well he did fart, blush and hurl abuse at the aircraft pilot. It’s not often you see a bunch of senior officers laughing at a totally flustered Corporal. The mouthful of abuse Chris gave me as one of his blokes made coffee was just what I expected. 
I left the Corps in 1979 and went to work flying on the North Sea, based at Sumburgh, Shetland. A year later I was enjoying a late cooked breakfast on the Thistle ‘Alpha’ platform 130 North of Shetland, I was waiting for my passengers; I had no idea that Chris was working on the platform so was surprised when he walked into the galley. Pause, wait for the net to close over him……”Hi Chris, how’s Marion?” 
“Parry you bastard…..” Lots of hand shaking, hugs but no kissing, that wouldn’t be right.