Funny Dit from The Bosuns call by Hugh Willis

[scouse]

VD was endemic in the Med in those days, and naval medical science deemed the wearing of gloves ,would somehow prevent this unsociable ailment from spreading^_~^_~ Will and Fatso, we're detailed off by the LHOM, to be cooks of the mess on Loch Scaviag that day. Having prepared their delicacies of Figgy Duff and Clacker. The show wasn't over till the Fat Chef had sung!!!!! Whilst carrying their works of art to the galley for cooking, they would note which Chefs wore white gloves!!!! Those with white gloves,we're under treatment for VD, those without had just possible recovered:razz::razz: It was the same rule that applied to the stewards. It sometimes occasioned innocent visitors to the wardroom ,to applaud the custom of stewards wearing white gloves!!!! Especially in these days of falling standards. Which usually made the ships officers to choke in their soup:blob2::blob2:

 

[2badge_mango]

Don't know which days you are referring to Scouse, but in the fifties cooks were put on "light duties", ie. no contact with food, ie. permanent sink bos'n, until cleared by the medics. We, correction they, did not wear white gloves.:smile:
There was, however, one trap (usually in the for'ard heads) designated CDA, which we ignorant peasants translated as "caught disease ashore", but I suspect that one of our knowledgeable medical fraternity will be able to provide a more legitimate translation

2BM.

 

[stan_the_man]

???????? What the the fcuk you 2 pissy smelling fcukers on about, must be time for my bed!!!

 

[2badge_mango]

All children should be in bed by this time.:salut:

2BM

 

[stan_the_man]

Been hiding behind the sofa, now stop watching the 70s porn movies on the dodgy old tv channels and dust yourself in talcum powder, put on yer jammies, teeth in the glass by the bed get the missus to turn off the lights, feel her titties which are probably nearer to her knees than her chest and dream of the days when you guys had a navy.

xxxxxxxxx
:smile:

 

[scouse]

One morning at breakfast Geordie asked Jock to pas the syrup! Jock says that's nay syrup it's trickle,with a Gaelic conviction. Theres nowt about treacle on the label, it's golden stuffing syrup says Geordie!!! I'm telling you mon it's trickle, and both rose from the mess table and squared up to one another. Meanwhile the LHOM a man of some education and discernment ,who enjoyed my mythological status as a " Toffologist" said let Will decide??? Ah! i said in the West Indies it's called molasses, however your both right. Hamish McTavish an early distiller,introduced molasses in 1745 and referred to molasses as Trickle. Jock smiled and Geordie glowered. When it was introduced over the border trickle was called syrup, because of its golden colour, people soth of Hadrians wall,came to use its more common Saxon name of syrup. It was a close run thing but honours were satisfied, and the LHOM gave me a wink

 

[Ageing_Gracefully]

You sure it was a 'wink' the LHOM gave you and that you have not made a typo?? :angel10:

 

[scouse]

Aubrey Featherston De Witt was an ordinary seaman doing his national service. De Witt was born of wealthy parents, and his background was unimpeachable, furthermore he had been educated privately. He was ingenuous beyond belief, and oblivious to the realities of his new found environment. With naval connections in high places. Whilst at the Commanders table for defaulters, Aubrey, was given one days stoppage of leave, and before the MAA could repeat the sentence. Aubrey piped up ....I'm awfully sorry Sir, but that won't be convenient tonight, I'm dining with Uncle!!!! The collective look of incomprehension around the defaulters table, was complete. What Uncle asked the Commander in amazement??? The Flag Officer Flotillas, Sir. I shall of course be delighted to do my punishment tommorrow, or whenever is convenient to yourself!!!!......Aubrey went to dinner that night with his Uncle lol
,

 

[Seaweed]

Every now and again an educated NS would slip through the net and turn up as an OD (I remember the odd one) - most of those who weren't fit to commission became Coders of whom many were sent off the learn Russian. This was partly a by-product of how fly a boy had to be to get into the RN for NS, usually via going RNVR at 17, as we didn't take very many. So on the messdeck they were something of a minority, even oddity. As Mids they were mostly a damn nuisance.

 

[jesse]

Reminds me of one of the most arrogant cunts ever a N. S.Public Schoolboy on the Plover. He looked like that other twat George Osbourn come to think of it. Anyway he swanned about with a bad smell under his nose telling us plebs how he "Would jolly well shake us all up when he was commissioned. The dozy git failed his C.W with flying colours and finished up on the psyco ward.

 

[stan_the_man]

OOD HMS YORK in the 90s, stood at the gangway chewing the fat with the QM and BM, taxi pulls up at the bottom of the gangway, out pops a young gentlemen in a suit and the taxi driver gets out and removes some smart luggage out of the trunk.
I tell the BM to go down and collect his bags and me and the QM man the gangway, up he strides at the top me and the QM salute him - it was the new fcuking MA - I gave him a bollocking for dressing like a twat - then told the QM and BM not to breathe a word, did I get the piss taken out of me in the mess next day.

 

[scouse]

Much to Aubreys delight he had discovered a small heads up forward which had head high cubicles and protected him from prying eyes. Since this discovery he had chosen to make the long trek forward for his daily George, they now noticed that Aubrey was only seen in their heads for the occasional pee. So they etched a short ditty on the bulkhead with a marling spike...... Poor Featherstone de wit ..can't have a shit ...till his bum is quite hidden ... in his own private midden. Lol

 

[Sharkey]

Used to go ashore with a lad who drove a racing green MGBGT with a hard top, when we drove into Cochrane (shithole) the bods on the gate always saluted us, I returned one of them royal waves