Right old stink since last report old boy; it seems it was Carruthers who had bought up all the weekly rag. Seems the blighter had taken them all down to the allotments to try and dispose of the ‘evidence’. He decided to light a small bonfire behind a potting shed which turned out to be the general’s wife’s; right next to her compost heap. Silly arse hadn’t looked to see what the last thing was that the fearsome lady had deposited on there. Turns out old boy that she had been cutting all the dead shoots from last years herbaceous border and it only took one spark and the whole bloody heap was ablaze! Well that soon spread to the potting shed itself and then the wooden fence running up the side of the allotments, before he could do anything about it the large garage with the general’s staff car, six tanks, three lorries, four small Landrovers and the vicar’s bicycle was well alight. No-one’s quite sure what the vicars bicycle was doing in there but we think it may have been something to do with Mrs. Peabody, she’s been seen coming and going at the vicarage at some very strange times of the day and night. She has her convertible car in the next garage and that was missing at the time. Bit of skullduggery there I feel! The fire crew turned up and started spraying water in all places and put his original bonfire out before the papers had had a chance to burn! Of course some bright spark happened to notice the picture on the front page and now the pictures are on every notice board on camp! Down at the bottom end of the camp where the road bends sharply around the sergeants mess; going away from camp the ‘bend’ sign has been painted with the words ‘not bloody likely’ and the other way the sign has ‘Carruthers, ridden again!’ Carruthers was last seen in the fetal position in the back of one of those wreckers parked behind the parade ground gibbering about mummy so the story goes. No one’s seen Carstairs since, damned poor show I say.
Field telephone is ringing corporal, need to go, over and out.
Sunday, 16 October 2011
3rd Septmember
Speaking of Carruthers bout of old syph, took a bit of a twist the other day, talk of the officers mess it was! Well, you remember how I told you that Carruthers was a bit quiet for a few days before the film at the NAAFI? Well, turns out that the chaps in the mess had got old Carstairs just a bit drunk one night and Caruthers even more so. Carruthers doesn’t remember bugger all about it, which is quite an appropriate turn of phrase given the circumstances! In a drunken state the chaps managed to convince old Carstairs that the new barmaid in the NAAFI bar that everyone has been going on about had got the hots for him in a big way and she was waiting for him in the cellar. Of course there are no lights down there! Managed to convince him that as she had got the painters in she would take it up the arse! Well Carruthers had been suitably prepared and left down there and then enter Carstairs, in more ways than one! Too pissed to tell any different he was just about to hit the vinegar stroke when on went all the torches, and cameras were everywhere. Carruthers was convinced that his piles were playing up again the following morning and has been buying all the pile ointment he could put his hands on until this morning, well, it’s all over the camp newspaper! Carruthers hasn’t been seen since; although rumour has it that the shortage of the camp rag is due to the fact that he has bought them all up and he may be responsible for the fire down at the General’s wife’s garden potting shed. Carstairs can’t work out why everyone is walking funny when they pass him. Bit of a rum do all round I’d say!
Any how old boy gotta go. Need to organise the re-building party for the potting shed.
Any how old boy gotta go. Need to organise the re-building party for the potting shed.
27th August
Corporal Cock-up, good morning old boy.
Just checking in to make sure that the Saturday night sortie to the bunker is still a goer. Speaking of goer’s reminds me of the time when old Spotty Carruthers got himself caught up with that little hottie from the driving pool, she wouldn’t leave him alone! Mind you I don’t think she could leave any of them alone to be fair, different one every night so the story goes, just don’t tell the wife, eh? Old Carruthers was a little quiet for a while after that, until they had that film in the NAAFI cinema, some bright spark got the wrong end of the stick completely and billed it as “See Phyllis in Technicolour”! Well most of the chaps went along thinking they were going to see a film about some actress called Phyllis, got the shock of their lives! There were some very ashen faces coming out of there that night and the queue for the medic was much longer than normal the following morning, Carruthers was right at the front wearing his trench coat with the collar turned up, hoping no-one would notice him. The nurse on duty that morning had a voice like a foghorn and the medics were right next to the junior school and all the kids and their mums were all stood there listening to the noise! Be nice to know exactly how they explained that away at the tea table that night! At least it kept Carruthers nocturnal carnal activity to an absolute minimum for a while and the young girls of the
Just checking in to make sure that the Saturday night sortie to the bunker is still a goer. Speaking of goer’s reminds me of the time when old Spotty Carruthers got himself caught up with that little hottie from the driving pool, she wouldn’t leave him alone! Mind you I don’t think she could leave any of them alone to be fair, different one every night so the story goes, just don’t tell the wife, eh? Old Carruthers was a little quiet for a while after that, until they had that film in the NAAFI cinema, some bright spark got the wrong end of the stick completely and billed it as “See Phyllis in Technicolour”! Well most of the chaps went along thinking they were going to see a film about some actress called Phyllis, got the shock of their lives! There were some very ashen faces coming out of there that night and the queue for the medic was much longer than normal the following morning, Carruthers was right at the front wearing his trench coat with the collar turned up, hoping no-one would notice him. The nurse on duty that morning had a voice like a foghorn and the medics were right next to the junior school and all the kids and their mums were all stood there listening to the noise! Be nice to know exactly how they explained that away at the tea table that night! At least it kept Carruthers nocturnal carnal activity to an absolute minimum for a while and the young girls of the
20th August
20th August
Corporal MacCockup more like, the poor girl was devastated at being missed orf your previous missive old boy. Caruthers is orf down there now to comfort her and console her. You know, I can’t help but wonder why he was so keen to miss out on a quick sortie and buzz a few Gerry before morning coffee, rather strange that, I’m sure he must feel in some way responsible for your omission.
Now Corporal, to business! A bit of bunker work you say, now just checking on the old diary reveals one or two nasty stains on the page, is that anything to do with you? Damned near stuck the pages together! This weekend, old chap, appears to be taken with paternal duties so there’s a bit of an impasse on that one I’m afraid old boy. Now next week, on the Friday I have a funeral to attend in Essex, if it’s mine then no-one’s told me yet but I don’t know what time I will be home. Saturday is looking likely at the moment, so bookings taken for that one if required. Going to have to go old boy the Colonel is approaching and he looks to be in a frightful stew over something. Perhaps the cling film over the lavatory wheeze was a bit misplaced after it turned out that Carstairs had already laced the blighters breakfast with laxative.
Got to go old boy; need to make myself scarce. You know how it is.
Corporal MacCockup more like, the poor girl was devastated at being missed orf your previous missive old boy. Caruthers is orf down there now to comfort her and console her. You know, I can’t help but wonder why he was so keen to miss out on a quick sortie and buzz a few Gerry before morning coffee, rather strange that, I’m sure he must feel in some way responsible for your omission.
Now Corporal, to business! A bit of bunker work you say, now just checking on the old diary reveals one or two nasty stains on the page, is that anything to do with you? Damned near stuck the pages together! This weekend, old chap, appears to be taken with paternal duties so there’s a bit of an impasse on that one I’m afraid old boy. Now next week, on the Friday I have a funeral to attend in Essex, if it’s mine then no-one’s told me yet but I don’t know what time I will be home. Saturday is looking likely at the moment, so bookings taken for that one if required. Going to have to go old boy the Colonel is approaching and he looks to be in a frightful stew over something. Perhaps the cling film over the lavatory wheeze was a bit misplaced after it turned out that Carstairs had already laced the blighters breakfast with laxative.
Got to go old boy; need to make myself scarce. You know how it is.
13th August
Corporal you’ll never get your promotion if you carry on like this! With blunders like Friday night in the NAAFI bar you really should have started higher up the chain of command,
Reminds me of old Carstairs you know, he couldn’t have organised a tea party in Boston! Every morning he used to take one of the little jeep things the Yanks had left behind and drive down to the village for his morning paper, if the weather was fine he would walk back and next morning would take another jeep. He couldn’t understand where they were all going as slowly one by one they were all disappearing, kept blaming the tinkers camped behind the squadron HQ so he had them moved on, but still the pool was getting fewer in number. Then he started blaming the home guard, called them a bunch of amateurs and when they denied it he tried to have the platoon disbanded. Would have done too if it weren’t for the Colonel’s daughter, but that’s another story. Shan’t divulge here old boy in case the wife sees this! Anyway, as the car park at the paper shop got ever fuller he assumed that the bloody yanks were there visiting the newsagent’s widow. Feeling a bit randy one morning he tried to take advantage of the poor woman believing that if he tipped her a few shillings she may have been a little morecompliant, given his rank and all. What the blighter didn’t realise was that the dear lady was also the daughter of the General at HQ. The very next day he was moved to a desk job in Whitehall somewhere. Left in charge of naval operations in Scapa Flow towards the end of the war I believe. Caused a right old ballyhoo there, the Gerry fleet were coming over to surrender, and, well, the old spin doctors had a right old headache trying to come up with a plausible story to release to the press about that one!
Now, Carruthers arse! What a story that one has turned out to be, in a manner of speaking! Nudge, nudge, wink, wink, eh? After the incident with the very large small boy at the lido he was put under surveillance by the military police. What a revelation that turned out to be! No one was quite able to explain why half the junior class had the same strange auburn hair and that same facial tic. It seems the bounder was single handedly responsible for the midwife’s breakdown due to over work. The General suggested that if he perhaps had only been using a single hand he might not have been in the trouble he now found himself.
Anyway corporal, incoming, need to put the blackout curtains across the window.
Tally ho!
Reminds me of old Carstairs you know, he couldn’t have organised a tea party in Boston! Every morning he used to take one of the little jeep things the Yanks had left behind and drive down to the village for his morning paper, if the weather was fine he would walk back and next morning would take another jeep. He couldn’t understand where they were all going as slowly one by one they were all disappearing, kept blaming the tinkers camped behind the squadron HQ so he had them moved on, but still the pool was getting fewer in number. Then he started blaming the home guard, called them a bunch of amateurs and when they denied it he tried to have the platoon disbanded. Would have done too if it weren’t for the Colonel’s daughter, but that’s another story. Shan’t divulge here old boy in case the wife sees this! Anyway, as the car park at the paper shop got ever fuller he assumed that the bloody yanks were there visiting the newsagent’s widow. Feeling a bit randy one morning he tried to take advantage of the poor woman believing that if he tipped her a few shillings she may have been a little morecompliant, given his rank and all. What the blighter didn’t realise was that the dear lady was also the daughter of the General at HQ. The very next day he was moved to a desk job in Whitehall somewhere. Left in charge of naval operations in Scapa Flow towards the end of the war I believe. Caused a right old ballyhoo there, the Gerry fleet were coming over to surrender, and, well, the old spin doctors had a right old headache trying to come up with a plausible story to release to the press about that one!
Now, Carruthers arse! What a story that one has turned out to be, in a manner of speaking! Nudge, nudge, wink, wink, eh? After the incident with the very large small boy at the lido he was put under surveillance by the military police. What a revelation that turned out to be! No one was quite able to explain why half the junior class had the same strange auburn hair and that same facial tic. It seems the bounder was single handedly responsible for the midwife’s breakdown due to over work. The General suggested that if he perhaps had only been using a single hand he might not have been in the trouble he now found himself.
Anyway corporal, incoming, need to put the blackout curtains across the window.
Tally ho!
6th August
6th August
Ah yes, Caruthers, bit of a cock up on the cock up front the other day, silly arse leapt into the cockpit being one over the eight, missed his footing, his foot went straight through the side of the canvas fuselage and the joy stick…. Well I don’t think we shall be seeing the end of that again for a while.
Last I saw of him he was wandering around the NAAFI trying to buy up all the rubber rings he could find. In the end he tried to pinch one from some little kid down at the lido. Trouble was the kid wasn’t as little as he thought he was and stood up and gave him one almighty great push and he fell backwards, straight on his rather tender undercarriage. He let out such a long and loud howl that the old squadron leader thought there was an air raid warning. Dashed bad luck I say!
Ah yes, Caruthers, bit of a cock up on the cock up front the other day, silly arse leapt into the cockpit being one over the eight, missed his footing, his foot went straight through the side of the canvas fuselage and the joy stick…. Well I don’t think we shall be seeing the end of that again for a while.
Last I saw of him he was wandering around the NAAFI trying to buy up all the rubber rings he could find. In the end he tried to pinch one from some little kid down at the lido. Trouble was the kid wasn’t as little as he thought he was and stood up and gave him one almighty great push and he fell backwards, straight on his rather tender undercarriage. He let out such a long and loud howl that the old squadron leader thought there was an air raid warning. Dashed bad luck I say!
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