The biker. I was told the following by someone who swore it was true. I knew the characters involved and can well believe that this incident did happen. No one liked being based at New Sarum for a call-up. The only advantage was that you were close to home and probably could, if you played your cards right, sleep at home. The disadvantage was that you had to be properly dressed at all times, and because you met officers around every corner you suffered from tennis elbow in the right arm constantly. If you were visible you would be sent off on some stupid errand, so you tended to play safe and remain on the move continually, with an official looking piece of paper in your hand. The main guardroom at the gate was hell! Security was no place to be, at any time of the day. With a volatile WO Williams screaming in his high pitched nasal voice, and his henchmen ready to kill at the suggestion of an irregularity, even the devil feared to tread there. There were days however when WO Williams was away, no doubt called to some other place to exact torment on some unfortunate souls. On these occasions the henchmen, usually regular corporals or sergeants, had a rough time at the hands of the TF and A & B reservists who were quick and eager to bring about retribution in ways that were not so very innocent, or kind. And so it happened that one particular day WO Williams graced the guardroom with his absence. The corporal on duty, whom I shall refer to as D, was a youngster, blonde, immature, and thoroughly ignorant in most things pertaining to the real world and life as we know it. D was strutting about in his blues imitating, to the best of his abilities, the actions of his beloved superior. The guardroom was full of reservists who were, in the absence of the WO, taking refuge at security to escape the harsh ‘Big Brass’ filled base. D’s shouted commands, and veiled threats, did not engender much love among the older men on call-up. How does a young regular corporal tell a big, bearded, director of a company, grandfather of three, aircraftsman, that he must move his ass out of there and fetch a Land Rover from MT Section? At about this time the Air Force received a couple of Suzuki 175 motorcycles, and one found its way to security where it was used by the security staff for cheap transport. It stood, resplendent in red and chrome, under the roof of the car park adjoining the guard room building and D, being the corporal on duty during the day time, was the designated rider of this brand new machine. Like a prowling lion D went about his duty, very agitated that the A & Bs generally ignored him. Then one elderly and balding reservist called D over and asked him how he liked the new motorbike. The youngster jumped at the chance of being in some way accepted by the reservists. Yes, he liked the new bike a lot, thank you very much. “Must be great having a reverse gear hey?” The older man went on. “Reverse?” D frowned. “Yeah, sure. These new Suzukis have a reverse.” Without a smile the man went on. “You must just watch out OK, you have to make sure the radiator is always topped up or you will burn the motor out.” In those days you did not get many bikes with water-cooled engines, and this one definitely was not one of them. D excused himself; he had an important errand to run. He collected his helmet and disappeared outside. Everyone inside the guardroom congregated at the windows to watch young D. First he conducted a very thorough search for the radiator cap, which he never found. Then he swung himself onto the motorbike and started it. Working the clutch he went through all the gears in turn, each time the bike leaped forward a foot or so. Soon he was up against the curb. He pushed the bike backwards a couple of feet, and then tried again, but each gear he found just jerked him forwards. He could not find the elusive reverse. He went through this exercise three times before, very perplexed, he turned the bike around and roared off down the ring road. Inside the guardroom the guys were having hernias from laughter; even D’s regular mates were wiping away tears. D never raised the subject again, and no one ever asked. No doubt a friend enlightened him; that is if he had any. My apologies to the WO Derek Williams, who years later become a good e-mail friend.
Posted on: Thu, 04 Sep 2014 10:57:18 +0000
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