Whilst ships company at Whale Island in 1970, some bright spark had the idea that we should launch a series of commando style raids on the WRENS block to steal under ware. It wasn't that we were short of it but the challenge was too great to resist. With insider help, a certain young lady from the pay office (where I worked) I was able to gain entrance into the block and get to the drying room. I must explain that the idea had been stolen from a film, but whereas the hero in celluloid left money for clothes, we decided that embassy coupons would suffice, so having pegged about 20 coupons in exchange for a set of suspenders, bra and knickers I made good my escape. The piece DE resistance of the exploit was to then enter the Whaley club around 8 ish wearing your spoils. I adorned the stolen articles, bra, knickers, suspenders and black stockings and then put my civvies on over, the plan being to disrobe in the dive bar (duty watch wear [email protected] bit) then enter the main club room with a fan fare from my mates. In my haste to get to the club I attempted to run across the main drag that separated mess blocks from club, and was hit by a very fastly driven lorry. I was considered to bad to be treated at Excellent so was taken by ambulance to Haslar despite my protests. When the nursing sister started to undress me,............... I was called Stephanie by all who knew me for months and also had a mixture of is he ain't he looks for months. It was being caught red handed up to my nuts in guts at the back of west battery three weeks later that managed to restore my credibility. I loved that security patrol and even took the pun with a smile.