QMG's

Discussion in 'Diamond Lil's' started by The_Jimmy, Oct 11, 2008.

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  1. Well as his 'olyness LAMRI hasnt told me where the effing jokes section is here is another one....
    Ladies and Gentlemen - enough of this inter-branch quibbling and claims of status from the great unwashed - as we all know, if you're not Gunnery you're just along for the ride! They could change our rates but had to abolish the branch to get rid of us.

    Here is:

    "The World".

    In the beginning there was only one world and this was known as "Pussers".

    In the centre of the top table sat the Chief Gunnery Instructors, on their right sat the Gunnery Instructors, on their right sat the Quarters Armourers and on their right sat the Gunners Armourers and on their right sat the Gunnery Office Writers and to their right sat the Fire Control Armourers who had temporarily fallen from grace, by attempting to rise above their station and claim unspecified privileges not available to others at the top table.

    To the left of the CGI's sat the Chief and PO Coxswains, who had been surgically and ritually removed from the Regulating Branch and returned as Seaman, to their left sat Underwater Weapons, on their left sat Underwater Control and to their left sat the Radar Plotters, who had committed the same sin as the FC's and must serve their time below the salt, below these sat the Clearance Divers, who could never redeem themselves after their show of supreme arrogance in assuming that they were untitled to sit at the centre of not only the top table, but every table.

    In the centre of the next table below the top table sat the Chief ME's, to their right sat the POME's and to their right sat the ME1's and ME2's who had temporarily usurped the places of the Leading ME's, as these persons had attempted to hog the steak, eggs and bacon sangers during middle watches at sea, which should have been shared with the Gunnery Rates keeping Watch on Deck, to their right sat the Engineering Office Writers who had yet to show proper respect to the CME's and were a strange and mysterious race.

    To the left of the CME's sat the Mechanicians, whose only saving grace, was that they had one been stokers and to their left were the Radio Operators, whose Chiefs were the only known race of Supervisors in the Pussers and to their left were the Tactical Operators who had strange affiliations with bunting, flashing lights, flinging and flags, to their left were the Ordnance Artificers who could only aspire to the top table, but were considered human enough to be set above others, to their left sat the Electrical Branch, a strange and wondrous group who were never seen at sea and almost never ashore.

    At a small table set off to the right side were the Electrical Artificers, Engine Room Artificers, Naval Shipwrights and Tradesmen who were to be pitied as they were neither flesh nor fowl and were treated with disrespect by all others, except for two badge Boom Defence and Sailmaker rates who had no one else and who wandered friendless from one end of the Pussers to the other.

    In the centre of the lowest table sat the Chief Cooks, to their right sat the PO Cooks and to their right sat the entire Cookery Branch, as no one could tell the difference between Leading Cooks and Cooks, to their right sat the Officers Cooks, who had attempted to rise above this lowly position by offering bribes to Gunnery Rates keeping middles as Watch on Deck, but all attempts had been rebuffed, to their right sat the Officers Stewards who were desperately attempting to cling to this lowest position on the lowest table.

    To the left of the Chief Cooks sat the Writers, who were never split up, as this had disastrous effects and rendered the whole branch inoperable, to their left sat the Stores Assistants (Victualling) and to their left sat the Stores Assistants (Naval Stores) both of whom were often seen scuttling around but were never seen actually doing anything and so were condemned to remain in the semi darkness.

    At a small table to the left sat the Wrans. These were a strange group who existed on the periphery of the Pussers and were known to immediately disappear in a puff of rice when the word "married" was used in their presence. Wran Cooks and Stewards were known to be light and fluffy and of no consequence, Radio Operators were only seen in the company of Senior Rates and could show contempt in fifteen ways without moving their lips, Radar Rates were known to be attempting continual gender realignment, but Writers were known as loving, nurturing and caring and were seen to adopt and keep Gunnery Rates as pets, but the most feared and to be avoided at all costs, was the dreaded Wran MTD, who could lash up and stow a hammock with one hand tied behind their backs.

    Below this table was the primordial soup in which organisms of unknown origin existed, these included Junior Recruits, who were yet to metamorph from the chrysalis stage to useful members of the Pussers, Survey Rates, Sick Berth Attendants, Dental Assistants, X-ray Technicians and Naval Bandsmen.

    But in the most remote and foul part of the swamp, which existed even below the primordial soup, were the most despised of all, the Regulating Branch, who were never allowed to mingle and partake of food, drink and pleasant conversation with the people of the Pussers.

    Occasionally a strange life form would be washed up on the shores of the Pussers, these strange creatures were known as Naval Airmen and were from the fabled land of The Tross.

    In this exotic land, somewhere south of the fabled harbour of the great grey war canoes, walked the race known as The Aircrew. These beings appeared, made loud and offensive noises, rose into the air, landed and then disappeared in a roar of vehicle exhaust fumes. Surrounding these people were the servants of the great and good, but who only spoke in arcane numbers such as 723, 724, 725, 729, 814, 815, 816 and 817.

    Chief among these were the Handlers who were that in name only, then came the Armourers who coveted the secret bang seat mechanism, these were followed by the Safety Equipment souls who were only interested in round things made of rubber and the demented creatures of Airframes and Engines who actually believed they knew something and then there were the only two rates which were allowed to mingle with the Pussers people, but were kept apart at The Tross out of fear of contamination.

    First, the Meteorological Branch who were sent to sea in the great grey war canoes as Navigators Yeoman, to spy on the people of the Pussers and report their findings to The Aircrew and then there were the Photographers, who kept pictorial records of everything, in the hope of proving that The Tross really was the centre of the world but who kept leaping into darkened rooms to see what developed.

    Occasionally Gunnery Branch members of the Pussers, who were beyond redemption and were known to frequent places of ill repute and excessive drinking and womanising and had made numberous trips to that place of myth and legend "Up Top" in various great grey war canoes, were required to visit The Tross for ritual cleansing, these were kept small in number so as not to terrify the natives of The Tross and were required to meet daily in The First Lieutenant's Yard to recant of their sins and draw lots as to who would be banished to The Pig Farm. After short stays in this supposed perfect of places, they were returned to the Pussers with a profound change in attitude and a commitment to never return.

    And finally there were those beings of myth and legend, the Air Electrical and Air Radio Branches. No one could focus on these beings; they were always just a movement in the corner of an eye, a slight shimmering in the distance. They were never seen in the presence of mere mortals and were spoken of in reverential terms, even by The Aircrew who secretly desired to be amongst their number.

    So, above this perfect world, on his seat between the polished brass canon, the Commander (X) (G) looked upon his chosen people of The Gunnery School and branded each soul with the words "Si Vis Pacem Para Bellum" gave unto them their own patron saint, Saint Barbara and commanded them to go forth and ensure that order not chaos remained the Order of the Day, then smiled his terrible smile and sunlight and bliss washed across the Gunnery School Parade Ground and the world was good.
     
  2. Jimmy you are obviously a DinkyDoo :pukel: Gunner :pukel: Well just to put you straight about the pecking order in the land of Pusser read below and inwardly digest.

    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 ar-s, 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 sh-t on the end of my stickâ€

    Deeps, “Not at my end Chiefâ€


    P.S. CLANG, “Mind your fingers Jackâ€



    Now you know why they do not have gunners on boats anymore.


    Nutty RP2
     
  3. Nutty me? a dinkydi gunner?! The only time I had a pace stick in me hand I was stopped from giving it back to the owner via his arse.

    Ceremonial Officers there called now.
     
  4. tiddlyoggy

    tiddlyoggy War Hero Book Reviewer

    Jimmy,
    "if you're not Gunnery you're just along for the ride!"
    But without us clankies there would be no ride for you to be on!
     

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