Discussion in 'The Quarterdeck' started by jockstrop, Nov 7, 2007.

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  1. How many out there have stories of past experiences of crushers. January 63 was on draft from Lochinvar (South Queensferry) to Guz. Caught the overnighter from Edinburgh to Plymouth. At Plymouth, struggled up to the ticket barrier lugging my kitbag and pusser's suitcase. Handed in my ticket and saw two crushers at the other side of the barrier. They stopped me and asked for my draft chit. On seeing that I wasn't wearing a lanyard with my no.2's, made me delve into my kitbag to get one. Because they were near the bottom of the kitbag I had to empty it to find a lanyard, and all in front of civvy passengers passing through the barrier. What a pair of shithouses. Bad enough getting a pier head jump down to Guz from god's country and being tired, dirty and miserable after a nightmare train journey, those bastards had to cap it all by showing off to civvies at my expense.
  2. I had the sheer luck of finally getting my own back on the crushers just before I left the RN.

    I had to go down to the discipline office in Harry Fazzers to give a statement regarding one of my charges being adrift. As usual it was tipping down, so wasn't best pleased by the time I got to the Discipline office. The RPO taking the statement was a right c**k, usual obstrepirous b****rd. My opportunity came when he turned around at his desk and I saw he had a hole in the arm of his wooly pooly the size of a ten bob bit.

    I gave him a right bollocking, asking hime what kind of example was that to be setting, how did he have the gall to pick up JRs etc, etc. The Killick crusher in the office was wetting himself The Joss came in to find out what was going on - and he went mental when he found out. It was a moment that you experience only once in your career.

    thankfully I left about 2 weeks after that, I think my card would have been marked.
  3. When did you have to wear a lanyard with Nos 2 Duty Uniform - (Red badges I presume )?

    Sounds a bit like the reggies were having have a windup with you .. the tinkers .. !!

  4. the killick doc on the danae in 88 got picked up by the reggies on the gate at Drake for a haircut, normal routine "Report back here 12:00, having had etc etc"

    So the doc wanders off, gets his haircut and wanders up to the sickbay at Drake, pulls the med records for the aforementioned crusher and lo and behold he is out of date for about 3 jabs.

    Crusher gets a phone call from the sickbay, duly turns up for his catch up jabs and guess who gets to administer them, thats right our killick doc.

    He told us later on he had been trying to blunt a needle for 20 minutes prior to the reggie arriving.

    Happy Days
  5. Dont blunt it just drop it on a stainless steel work top and it gets a barb just like a fish hook, goes in easily but is a b%gger to get out :dwarf:
    Never piss off the doc , writer or chef
  6. Nasty, but I like it. 8)

    Fell foul of the reggies a few times; adrift mainly.
    On one occasion I was on nines, day 5 of 14. It's that shit point where you are about as shagged as you're going to get just before your body gets used to it. Anyways, there I am at the reg. office, and the 'bad' RPO (I'm certain the Fearless had more reg. staff than a small shore-base), details me off to clean the Joss' office.
    The ship had had tiled floors, however, during a recent refit, Hypox(?) was used as a new deck covering. We were all educated in this wonder stuff and it's care. Basicly no polish, no scubbing with scotchbrite, just soapy water and a mop, they ommited to tell us why.

    "I want that floor spotless" says 'Bad' RPO.
    "Yes RPO" says a young Winsk.
    So off I goes, and the floor is indeed spotless, 'cos I was a good stoker and listened in ships hubandry classes, or probably the fact it had been cleaned by the Writer 10 mins before.
    The 'Bad' RPO returns, and turns crimson. "Under the desk, black marks, get rid of them, and remember, don't use scotchbrite".
    "Sorry RPO, right away RPO..." says a slightly flustered and still young Winsk.

    Well these black marks, made by the Joss' super polished steaming bats just would not shift.

    So I used scotchbrite.

    Just a little you understand, just over the marks, no-one would check, that would mean getting under the desk.

    Which is just what 'Bad' RPO did. To be fair, the black marks were gone, but so was the nice shiney grey coating of Hypox, that was now a flat-matt patch of about 8 inches diameter, and visible from the moon.

    Strangely 'Bad' RPO was quiet. Disturbingly quiet. He looked at the patch, then at me. Repeatedly. Very un-nerving, I thought "You've shit it here Winsk".

    Then the Joss turns up.

    "Ahhh, RPO, did you manage to get rid of those black marks?"
    The RPO then looked at me, looked at the Joss, and looked at the patch. All the while his mouth was just opening and closing. Had it not involved my goodself, it would have been quite the giggle.
    After what seemed an eternity, but probably about 3 seconds the 'Bad' RPO exploded. And I mean exploded. I honestly do not remember what he said to me, I just remember the gist of it. And the gist of it was, I was in the shit, and I was going to Deeks, and may possibly get out for my pension.

    Then the Joss exploded.
    Not at me though, at 'Bad' RPO. This bollocking surpassed the one I had. I very nearly felt sorry for him. The Joss then stormed off, leaving me alone with a RPO with a reputation for being an out and out bastard, and was thown out of the SS for being too cruel.


    He exploded again, I thought I was going to cop an unfortunate one at the wrong end of a sam-bar, but we where stood outside the Joss' office in the sickbay flat. Quite a crowd had gathered to see what the hulabaloo was about.
    I was looking at finishing my nines, with 'Bad' RPO in charge of my extra work, then possibly being charged with Direct Diss. if the murder charge he'd inevitably rustle up wouldn't stick.

    'Bad' RPO then stormed off, and I turned to leave, and, as is the way of these things, Jack comes up lucky.
    The crowd in the sickbay flat included a Killick MA. "Hang on there", says the scablifter, and feels my neck and takes my temp.
    "Oooh, German measles, best you get off home, take two weeks. I'll get the MO to tick the boxes, he'll be right".

    So home I was sent, missing the rest of my nines, and the scotchbriting incident strangely forgotten about- I know not why.
    I did have German measles by the way, but this eagle-eyed LMA spotted it in the flat, and bailed me out- in a big way. I don't know whether he did it to get me out the shit I never knew, but if you're reading this Topsy, thanks mate :thumbleft:
  7. Mid 60's Key West USA Navy Base.
    Away we go on shore leave in full whites.
    My mate first window we pass off hat combs hair back and then forward with nice quiff.
    Get to main gate. Sentry is one BIG black navy guy with (3ft Yard stick)
    Sentry says to mate " Put your hat on sailor"
    Mate says "I have a headache"
    Sentry says "you have to have your hat on to pass through the gate"
    Mate " I told you I've a headache"
    Yardstick does 270 deg. from floor lands on mates head.
    Sentry "Now you've got a F***ing headache PUT YOU HAT ON"
    Hat on. Lesson learnt.
  8. Saw these a*******s in action when in Singas . AS we were in refit I was pressganged into shore patrol with a killick crusher , I know they were all killicks . Anyway we did the rounds of the brothols until the three services , Army , Navy and Airforce coppers all met at the combined HQ prior to the favourite part of the night , the Brit Club . They moved in en masse deliberately stirring anyonewho didn't move quick enough for them and rustling up a bit of business to justify their miserable existence , c***s all of 'em.
    Best one though when spare crew on the Adamant , duty watch and middle of winter . Gutless c***s had to pick up a young submariner in Edinborough who had overstayed leave . A dangerous pastime given the nature of the Jocks . Another pressgang job with three submariners in white belts and gaiters and the dreaded NP on the sleeve . When we arrived we had to have police protection while we picked this young bloke up . His mum invited us in for a cuppa though but I reckon we were lucky . It was saturday night and the Jocks were raring to go.
    Don't know what they're like now but I always thought their branch badge should be a sunflower with crossed skid marks . BTW is the chief joss still called master?
    Rant over but who could forget these things .
  9. Contributors Mode

    Now the author of this dit assures his audience it is true. Even if it is not it is a brilliant dit. I give

    Pol's Story

    The Tale of a Faslane Quarter Master Called Pol

    Pol is sitting in the QMs lobby at Neptune’s internal gate sipping his stand easy coffee ruminating on how good life is. 3 weeks to go before the great land of opportunity that is civvie street is reached, what a great number being QM is (3 weeks on 2 weeks off), wasn’t that a great colours this morning and so on. He looks up to see a Pussers Tilly draw up where it shouldn’t and discharge a Leading Regulator onto Pols perfectly swept forecourt.

    Strange thinks the QM, yon Crusher is not wearing any webbing. Yon Crusher then proceeds to crash into Pols lobby and plants himself in front of the full length mirror (which the Booties had rigged to preen in) and commences to pull and tug at this bit of kit and then that bit of kit and brush frenetically at his nice blue suit. Of course thinks Pol, it’s the Commanders Table this morning and yon man is going up for an award.

    “Morning Leading Reg†says the always polite QM, “are you going up for your third badge then?†“NO I FECKING AINT†screamed the Crusher, “GET OF THAT FECKIN CHAIR AND START ACTING IN A SEAMAN LIKE MANNER YOU GREASY SUBMARINER YOUâ€. Nice thought Pol but par for the course. “REPORT TO THE REG OFFICE AFTER YOUR WATCH AND TELL EM I SAID YOU ARE TO GET A SERVICE HAIRCUT†bawled the uncouth twat and then disappeared through the internal door to the Admin block giving it a slam that must have been felt in Sauchihall Street.

    Now next door to the QMs Lobby was the office of the OCRM which he shared with his Sergeant Major, a Colour Sergeant of the RM Provost Branch. Both of these gentlemen were ensconced in the said office at this time munching on the tasty bacon wedges and the sipping delicious coffee (Nescafe, not Pussers, posh QM me) that Pol had made with his own fair hands 5 minutes before the erupting Crusher arrived.

    “Pol†called the OCRM “was the man who just left your lobby the same prick that jumped out of the illegally parked Tilly?†“Yes sir†says Pol “the very sameâ€. “Did I hear him swearing Pol?†“Yes Sir indeed you did†replied the honest QM. “Was he swearing at you Pol?†“I’m afraid so Sir, he was very annoyed at me†“Was he now†exclaimed our Green Bereted hero “did he slam that door upsetting my standeasy?†“Oh yes Sir†cried our valiant servant of the Submarine Service “AND he used the Booties mirror.†“Utterly disgraceful†muttered the now irate Officer.

    “May I make a suggestion Sir†pipes up the SM “Some of the Duty Section of Booties are a bit rusty on vehicle search procedures, shall I take them out and hone up their skill in this highly technical operation as practiced in Northern Ireland?†“What a splendid idea SM, carry on forthwith and remember to ensure that all the seats come out of the vehicles as per SOPs and check especially the Pussers Tillys as these Irish are very cunning at counterfeiting Tillys and impersonating sailorsâ€

    The SM then mustered his band of highly trained killers, SLRS et al and doubled them down to the main gate where they proceeded to cause havoc.

    After a short while the OCRM shouted “Pol have you ever watched a thorough vehicle search†“No Sir†Pol replied “I’m afraid not†“Come and watch this,†said OCRM “you may learn somethingâ€

    Those Booties were soooo professional; the Crushers van was in tiny bits, seats out, engine mangled, spare wheel stripped, linings ripped, dashboard on the pavement wire hanging everywhere, just wonderful it was. The Booties then had to go for dinner leaving a pair of forlorn looking Leading Regs doing a crash course in vehicle assembly.

    Pol had himself a severe haircut, just to clear his yardarm, but for some reason felt ecstatic and found himself with an undying regard for that fine body of men - The Royal Marines.

    After Pol had opened the Navy the next morning the OCRM called him into his office, “Nice haircut Pol, your mate the Crusher was at the Commanders table yesterday wasn’t he?†“Yes Sir†Pol replied “Do you know why Pol?†“Not a clue sir†said Pol but the feeling came upon him that something surreal was about to be revealed. “The Jaunty had trooped hi for scraping the paintwork on a Patrol Tilly, careless sod; he got a hefty fine for that!!!â€

    Moral of the story: Only idiots Feck with the Marines - Sub or Royal.


  10. Another dit from the Submariners v Crushers story book.

    Dolphin-blockhouse Alecto colonade Reg office.

    In walks cheif and seeing two leading reggies sat at desks says in
    loud voice '' Ok then which of you is reading and which is writin'

    Joss in his office shouts '' I think Cheif that you should go away and come back later''

    Ten minutes later Cheif returns walks in and says
    '' All right -You've had ten minutes now which way round is it '' ??

    :nemo: :nemo:
  11. Many watches ago doing my year at sea on the Cherry Bee mess square pit alongside somewhere. Crusher tells the rest of the mess to leave me sleeping, finally wakes me at 0750 and tells me if I am not at my place of work in 5 minutes I'll be trooped fro being adrift. Quick shave off to my place off work thinking [email protected] show the git. 30 minutes later he shows up tell me I'm a crappy little git and as I didn't have a proper dobex I,ve got a kit muster that afternoon at 14 dubs.

    !4 dubs the crusher walks into the mess square to find a huge pile of rolled up kit on my rack and if he wants to muster it he can fill his boots. Promptly turns purple explodes and now its a kit inspection in 3 days time.

    Dropped the whole lot of at the choggies and got them to band it with white as well 47 quid laundry bill and one mega hacked off Crusher who from that day on made my life misery.
  12. Fan...kin...tastic dits :thumright:

    That dit of Pol was ace - the staff here are looking at me trying to hide my chuckling (very unsuccessfully) .. :lol:
  13. Crusher came into the RA in Gosport once on patrol.He was sporting a set of Dolphins.
    He left with life intact ,just,but minus Dolphins,never did come back.

    Sadly I have a relative by marriage who is an ex crusher but as I told him I wont hold it against him(Much).
  14. There is more!!!!!! Chapter 2 for your delictation:-

    Pol was sat in the QMs lobby at Neptune and all was not well in his world.

    The Dustbin Men of Glasgow were on strike and refusing to ditch the gash. The fair city streets were piled high with stinking black plaggy bags which the Shitehawks were taking great delight in ripping open and rats the size of Shetland Ponies were knocking the crap out of the Jockinese cats and dogs.

    The then Government decided that the answer to the problem was to import 1000s of English Percys into Scotland to clean up the shi*e and Faslane duly had 200 or so of the Armies finest billeted on camp beds in the gym area of the Sports Centre.

    For the first couple of days everything was fine and Pols night shifts were flying by but then the brown stuff hit the fan! Percy found that the low key level of discipline in the Base was totally different to the crap that he was used to. Most of the Pongoes had just finished part 2 training and were awaiting drafts and the absence of Psychotic Sergeants and Corporals screaming at them in high pitched voices went to their heads. They felt as though they were now adults and had entered a mans world. Percy, full of bravado and Tennants and after receiving many knock backs started to slag off the Jenny’s which in turn upset Jack. Jacks perception was that it was OK for him to give the Splits a hard time but as the Jennys were Pussers issue Percy should keep his mouth shut. Knuckle stations erupted and poor Perce not having the education of Commercial Road, The Strip and the Helensburg boozers or the longest battle ever fought by the RN – Skimmers v Submariners beat a hasty retreat. Then over the next wee while the OD stuff started, Automat machines gubbed, broken windscreens, tyres deflated etc of which Jack of both denominations soon became heartily pi**ed off. Orders came from on high that Crushers, Dooty Booties and Gate Staff were to go to a high state of alert and attempt to prevent trouble.

    One evening in the midst of this turmoil Pol was ordered by the Duty RPO to have the BM take over the watch and present himself forthwith at the Reg Office. The Duty RPO was an old shippers of Pols from Dolphin days when the said RPO was sane. He was now a one badgeman and was being fast tracked to the Bunroom. On reaching the Reg Office Pol found the RPO confronting six or seven pi**ed up Pongoes who were giving him a right hard time shouting “We are not Navy, you can’t tell us what to do†and other such inane bo**ocks.

    The RPO ushered the Perces into the corridor and asked them to line up which they did but they still continued with the gobshi**ing. In a very quiet and calm voice the Crusher informed the Pongoes that he was the equivalent of an Army Provost Sergeant and pointing at my two lonely GC stripes said that I was his winger. The effect was electric, the Pongoes leapt to attention with a tumultuous clicking of heels and stamping of feet the backdraft of which sent my Bells all aquiver.

    “Pol I will deal with these ODs one at a time starting with him†indicating a fat ugly bast**d that had been the most mouthy “march the others down to your lobby and at your own discretion exercise you powers of command, when I’ve finished with this one we will swap them one for oneâ€. Feck me thought Pol, my latent leadership qualities have been noticed at last and he marched the remaining Percys away to the front of his lobby where he lined them up and started them doubling on the spot in the approved manner. Perce was putty in Pols hands and when some of Pols oppos passed the lobby on their way to catch the last pint in the Trident Club they asked him what the score was. “I’m just playing with my privates replied Pol†“Play nice†they laughed and continued on their way.

    The news of Pols exploit was soon passed around the Trident Club and Hoolie bar. The thought of Pols privates excited many a female heart that night and a large noisy crowd gathered at the QMs lobby to watch the show. The OOD was required to sleep in a room above the lobby at that time and the noise aroused him from his slumbers. “Pol†he shouted from the window (he was SD submariner) “Take your Privates up the hill and go play in the heather, I’m on silent routine†and this Pol dutifully did.

    If anyone has not encountered the Faslane Midge they should count themselves blessed. This species is formidable!! They have airborne radar that would grace a Sea Harrier, each foot is equipped with running spikes and their biting tackle is telemotor assisted. The bloodsucking capability of these beasts can be likened to a Tampax. Midges live in the heather and when not on duty they tend to get their heads down, upset them and their low tolerance threshold kicks in and the surest way to upset them is to wake the wee bast**ds up! Obeying his last order Pol took his Privates off into the heather where they were promptly attacked by squadrons of indignant insects who soon thought they had reached Nirvana! Acres of hot, sticky and sweaty flesh in which to plunge their proboscises and a totally different flavour to Jack. How they enjoyed the free meal but Pol being a switched on kiddie stayed well back on the roadway and avoided the mayhem.

    The outcome of the matter was that OC Perce paraded his troops and gave them a choice; either carry on playing the big OD and be shipped off back to the Regular Army or pull their necks in and continue to enjoy the cushy number. Common Dog prevailed and all was peace once more in the QMs lobby.

  15. A bit like the recruit at Royal Arthur who on returning was asked by his Divisional Officer to carry his golf clubs to his Sirs cabin.
    On passing through the Main Gate the Jaunty facetious, to the n'th degree ,asked him "Been playing golf then have we sonny"
    "No Master" he replied " I've just been ashore for a haircut"
    " Check this cheeky sod out Leading Patrolman"

  16. F*cking magic. Nearly laughed my bits off.
  17. Many years ago whilst on detachment to Helmstedt on the inner German border, we were “guests†of the resident RMP Company. We were out for a jolly, watching the Russians and East Germans watching us. I was one of the unlucky ones dicked to drive the Land Rovers. Whilst in the MT yard I decided to drive over to the other side of the yard, about 50 yards, to pick up my rear seat pax with some of their bulky kit. My front seat pax, an officer was not wearing a seat belt. The end of the world came suddenly in the form of a RMP Staff Sergeant who screamed at me because my pax was not wearing his seat belt, for a trip of around 50 yards. FFS what a nobber.
  18. Pol, two classic dits. My claim to fame came in Gib. No, not the usual Jack story, I was a civvy.

    On a hot afternoon I was walking towards English Steps, (by Navy No 1 pitch) when a tilly pulled up just in front of me. Out hops a Leading Reggie. He then approaches me and launches into a tirade about not wearing a cap, not having "Rate" shoulder badges, wearing non service white shoes and also needing a hair cut. A Joss, who was in the passenger seat, had also got out. Only he was leaning on the front of the vehicle laughing his head off. Well, he was my neighbour in Edinburgh House.

    Having run out of things to pick me up for the L/Reg looked to the Joss for praise. The Joss said casually "not bad, but you never asked for an ID card". "Right, show me your ID card" demanded L/Reggie "and tell me who you are". So I fished out my ID card and told him I was a civilian and that I worked for MOD(N). "Why are you dressed in "whites" then?", he asked. "Got nothing to do with you", I replied, and I went to move past him. His arm shot out and he got hold of me by the shoulder. Before he could go any further the Joss intervened and told him release me and nodded towards me to leave it to him.

    Later that evening I got a visit from the Joss, who thanked me for a glorious performance, and would I like to attend the Reggies mess for a DTS. My host would be the over zealous newly qualified L/Reg. Needless to say I could not pass up this opportunity and got merrily pissed, I also won the raffle. The prize? A bottle of Pussers, not the real macoy though.

    Semper Strenuissima.
  19. sgtpepperband

    sgtpepperband War Hero Moderator Book Reviewer

  20. Poor Crushers. :hug:

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