Are you serving on Tracey Island?

Are you on Whale Island?

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Lantern Swinger
Just out of interest, and not after any names, desk numbers or logon details, how many people on here are serving on Tracey Island at the moment? I can see Portchester Castle, but that's all I am giving away at the moment!
Not heard it referred to as Tracey island before. Where do they hide the rescue ships then?

That said, my view is remarkably similar to Auldyin’s. Very tranquil at this time of year & much better than being hemmed in like lemmings in the large grey monstrosity across the road!
Ah, however I am not one of the battery hens in there....At the great risk of identifying myself, I don't feel the pressure of the open plan view is uncluttered, my environment is gentle, quiet and air-conditioned, and I can be trusted to sit near a window which opens!

I have my own rescue ship, but it's not a nice shade of International Rescue green. It still gets me away from HQ on a regular basis though!
I did once go there in 1965 to complet a morning's Sten (yes sten) Stirlings had not reach the submarine service by then, nor had SLR Rifles, course.

Did not like the place or its strange clean and shiny inhabitants who all had gleaming boots with soles 1" thick and 2047 hobnails in the bottom of the soles to make them noisy.

Some poor deeps once went to Viccie Barracks and met a GI here is his story.

"A Clash of Cultures

It’s the early 60’s when one of Her Majesties sleek black messengers of death enters Portsmouth dockyard for dry-docking. ‘Deeps’, the Tanky, an able assistant to the Coxswain and oppo of the Leading Chef is instructed to run an errand to Victory Barracks by the No1.

Resplendent in his battery acid honed No.8ts. trousers, salt encrusted steaming boots, off grey submarine roll neck sweater and nicely yellowed cap with bow strategically placed over his left eye, our hero enters Barracks. He strolls across the parade ground contemplating lighting up a DF when the strangulated cry of a “That creature there†rents the peace.

A Chief Gunnery Instructor, testicles tightly bound with black masking tape to obtain that required pitch, stands quivering on his mirror like boots with inch thick soles and 200 polished hobnails. Deeps thinks, ‘not me I am only a visitor’ and ambles on.

The Chief of the Parade, who, as we all know never runs any where, walks at great speed, pace stick clenched firmly between the cheeks of his arse, no under his arm really. When he gets in front of our hero he places the tip of his pace stick on Deeps chest to prevent any escape and eyes him up and down. Deeps, having suffered the wrath of various Submarine Chief Stokers, is totally unfazed by this apparition and awaits the next move.

Chief of the Parade, “There is a bit of shit on the end of my stickâ€

Deeps, “Not at my end Chiefâ€

P.S. CLANG, “Mind your fingers ackâ€

Me thinks there are more than a few but they’re a little shy … or worried about being identified.
I think the inhabitants of Tricorn Mk2 are far too busy e-mailing each other. Either that or they're scared to post in case they're spotted by someone in the same massive office and accused of enjoying themselves. :)

Me, I'm watching the rain on a lovely Gosport summer day!
Thank god I never went to the place (not even anywhere near the front gates), is it case of the place surviving only because it is the home of the one time darling of the fleet –the gunnery branch? Just look at the amount of uses the place been put to.
Me I did serve at the mark 2 version (Cambridge) twice as Ships Company I must add and seeing that was bad enough god knows what brainless central was/is like.

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