After a gentle prod by a RR member I'd just like to add.....
The above story is my story. I claim copyright for it so I don't expect any friggin walts to start copying it on to various websites or "authors" using extracts from it. Yes, Stephen Preece that means you as well. You've written quiet enough shite about the Corps as it is.
Hey my number was P9----- when I joined in 56, it then became C9----- when I became a Chats rating. It reverted back to P9----- when Nore Command was closed. But once I passed has a S/m I used P S/m 9-----.
I came on this earth with nothing, I'm doing well I still have it if I can find it.
Hey Blobs, have you seriously thought about writing your own novel?
Maybe the title could be
''Getting amongst the Marines''
Do you partake in any martial arts that you could relentlessly boast about for pages on end along with tales of boozing and wailing, whinging and filling blokes in just cos they looked at you queer like?
For my sins I was drafted to 40, once I realised the Corps sent all it's best looking young thrusting sun worshippers there I was quite happy. As it happens 40 was playing away in the sun at the time so I had to go to RM Poole for 6 weeks with all the others drafted from my kings squad and mark time till they returned. Poole was a bit of an eye opener for a young sprog, a real mixed bag of bootnecks, people were there on drivers courses and the like and there was also a large group of really fit hippies bimbling around in blue overalls, I thought "wow, them matelots aren't as unfit as everyone reckons". Some of us sprogs tried growing growlers so we'd look the part....not me I might add....I just used to get the black marker out in the morning and colour some of them in so they'd look better...
40 came back from it's latest sunshine trip so with one easy pack of a seamans kitbag, pussers sausage and cardboard suitcase I was on the back of a 4 tonner headed for Somerset. Upon arrival we were allocated fighting companies and after been detailed off into troops then sections told where we'd be living and moved in. At the time 40 had only just taken over Norton Manor Camp on the outskirts of Taunton, it was unsure if we'd be staying there so the accom was pretty basic, the old WW2 Nissan huts set up in a "spider" with the ablutions being the "body" and 6 legs going off that forming the sleeping quarters, they where fab, zero rated because they where falling apart but bonus......we didn't have anything docked from our pay for living in them. The general consensus was we'd end up staying at Norton Manor because the Officers had a manor house to live in.
Anyway, just like anytime a unit comes back from a major deployment there was a great exodus of the more experienced men and an influx of new blood, I was part of the new blood, the lads left in B Coy had previously been the sprogs but with all the older hands going they now viewed themselves as the old sweats, it was pretty comical. Now, I've never looked down on anyone who has less time in than me, be it in the Corps or in civvy street, I just dont get off on that. People who do give me hours of enjoyment tho, they just don't realise it's themselves who are looking the tit. So I endured the shit, swamped pit, cut up uniform, shaved bolloxs etc and one day this lad walked into the grot, we were living in 12 man blocks, he plonked his kit down, sat down and said hello. The self appointed old sweats started to gather, our new hero was totality unfazed. The "old sweats" who'd been out of the box themselves probably a whole 10 months circled our new hero's bed space and moved in for the kill. The conversation was quite funny, at the time regimental numbers could give you an idea of how long someone had served, our old sweats were all PO43.... I was PO44 and the new lad just wandered in was PO45...
So our hero had PO45.... MNE...... stamped on the front of his cardboard suitcase, he started to unpack. All our false old sweats circled and moved in for the kill, fcuk did I laugh, the banter started with..."you just out of the box then?"......"god, there issuing 45 numbers now"......."Fcuksake, what are they letting pass out now..."
I wont mention names but lets just say "R" didn't say a word, he looked up, clocked about 5 of them and just carried on unpacking. The "banter" started to get nastier, "R" didn't bat an eyelid. He opened his pussers cardboard, took some clothes out then pulled out some framed photos off the CGRM handing him a trophy for winning the Corps middleweight title, the "old sweats" went a little quite, he then handed one his suit cover and said "hold this", he then unzipped it to pull his blues out complete with GSM, Cyprus and SA ribbons. Our "R" was a re-joiner who'd been issued a new number on re-enlistment, fcuk did I laugh, brilliant bloke, he ended up keeping them fit hippies in overalls in shape up at RM poole.