Something for the weekend

If all goes to plan, we (The Three Musketeers) should be going out clay pigeon shooting this weekend, and I have to say I am looking forward to it.

When I say looking forward to it, I don't mean in a "vive l'amour vive la guerre et vive le sacre mercenaire" Dogs of War, Wild Geese, lets blast everything in sight kind of a way, but in a 'looking forward to meeting up with friends' kind of a way.

We also have a plan to have a go at (our usual) Clay pigeon shooting, (not so usual) target rifles with telescopic sights and (really out of the ordinary) archery.

If anything exciting happens I will be sure to let you know.

Does anyone out there remember the "Commando" comics?

The reason I ask is, recently I was in the local library and what did I see but a volume entitled “The Dirty Dozen – The Best 12 Commando Comic Books Ever!”

The memories starting flooding back of these pocket sized pieces of action and adventure and how much fun they were to read. And before you ask, yes I did book it out.

For anybody who is not familiar with this particular piece of graphic literature (I’m sure nowadays it would be called a “graphic novel”, but it will always be a comic to me), the thing itself was about 5 or 6 inches in height, about 4 or 5 inches wide and about a ¼ of an inch thick. The reason for the rough estimate is I am not convinced that the collected volume is an accurate, in size anyway, of the original issues.

Another thing about the Commando comic was its striking covers. There was always at least one action picture on the front. The covers would have the word Commando and a graphic of a Royal Marine Commando dagger. It would then say something like War Stories in Pictures. It would feature a soldier or a number of soldiers in a pitched battle with an enemy, an aircraft dogfight, or some ship or submarine engaged in action, so you see, as a young boy, these kinds of things grabbed the attention. The back cover was also in colour and would feature a synopsis of the story, and on the side of the cover, a much larger version of the dagger would feature.

The stories themselves were, to best of my knowledge, all in black and white. I don’t remember any of the artwork being duff in anyway, but there must have been the odd thing that wasn’t up to scratch. Although, I am sure that the editors made sure that it was of the best quality that they could get. After all, they had an avid audience to please.

As I look through the collected volume, I see titles like “Aces Wild”, “Trouble Spot”, “Death Patrol”, “Battle Wagon” and “Man of Iron”. I mean, c’mon, that really grabs your attention, doesn’t it? These comics were also pocket money priced, so I could get one when the notion took me. That is to say, when the cover grabbed me by the throat and I wanted to see the heroics of the British Army (my dad and some of my uncles did their national service in the army), the Royal Air Force or the Royal Navy.

I’m not sure if the slightly politically incorrect references to German, Japanese and Italian nationals would be allowed now, and I cringe at the thought of some of the slang terms used, I am sure that these fictional remembrances of wars past would still enthral the youth of today, even with Xbox and PS3 computer generated imagery.

I just thought I would share that with you, now if you don’t mind, I am about to settle down to “Death Patrol”… lets see “The night sky over the central Mediterranean erupted into flaming death. The allied invasion of Scilly had begun – Codename Operation Husky”…. Ahhh… bliss.

Although we were RAF civilian staff, as members of the ROC we were permitted to wear their uniform.

Recently I have been thinking of something I did in the past. Some of these memories were re-ignited by the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight during the recent Royal Wedding, and regularly seeing tweets from @RAFBBMF on Twitter.

When I was young, I wanted to join the Royal Air Force. I had just left school and wanted a career, not just a job, but a career. The Royal Air Force seemed exciting and interesting and I hoped it would give me the emotional guidance and strength that I sorely needed after school. I did not want to be adrift; I wanted a purpose in life.

I had been brought up on Saturday afternoon films such as The First of the Few; Reach for the Sky, 633 Squadron, The Dambusters and many, many more. The list is long and distinguished.

I knew I was not good enough to be a pilot but there were other options. I went to recruitment events, got the literature and after a few weeks of soul searching deciding whether I should volunteer for the Air Force or go for the apprenticeship that could take up with the local council, I made a decision. I was going to do it.

One Saturday morning I made my way to the recruitment office in Glasgow. I had tests to sit and a medical to undergo. I had made a choice for my future career path; I was applying for the position of RAF Regiment Gunner. I liked the sound of it. I would be responsible for airfield security, trained to defend instillations and aircraft. I would be a first line of defence. I could go anywhere, the UK, Germany, Hong Kong, anywhere.

To cut a long story short, I passed the paperwork and was pleased to learn the next step was the medical. It was here that the decision of the Air Force, or the apprenticeship was made for me. I failed the medical. I was disappointed. It was not something that was really going to go away, so the decision was final.

I left the recruitment office and headed home. I think I may have tried to alleviate my disappointment by walking about the city taking in the scenery. A nice soothing walk along the riverside always helps.

My mother and father were disappointed for me, but also relieved. My father had served in the army and had fought in the Korean War. At the time the ‘troubles’ were still happening in Northern Ireland and knowing my luck I would have ended up serving at RAF Aldergrove in Belfast, or on facing the Eastern Bloc across the Berlin Wall. The apprenticeship it was then.

I still took a great interest in aircraft and Royal Air Force related events. My parents and I regularly went to air shows and I would still look forward to The First of the Few; Reach for the Sky, 633 Squadron and The Dambusters whenever they came on TV.

One day, after work, watching the television I saw an advert that featured a man in Royal Air Force uniform apparently plotting where bombs were dropping on the population of the UK. Obviously, it was not happening, it was a simulation, but it looked interesting. I got the details of how to contact the organisation and sent away for brochure.

The rest, as they say his history. I volunteered to join the Royal Observer Corps. It wasn’t exactly frontline battlefield, but it seemed like fun. The ROC Group locations were not a secret as almost all were listed in the local phone book under Royal Observer Corp giving the phone number and its address. It wasn’t secret as you can see but the majority of the public knew nothing about the existence of the Royal Observer Corps or its ‘parent’ organisation the United Kingdom Warning and Monitoring Organisation. Those of in it felt a certain excitement and thrill about being in this secret yet not so secret organisation. Although we were RAF civilian staff, as members of the ROC we were permitted to wear their uniform.

The major difference was the cap badge. We had our own. The badge, in a stay-bright material, depicted a ‘beacon lighter’ from the times of Queen Elizabeth the First. These ‘beacon lighter’ were the first warning that the enemy was invading, they did this by lighting warning fires along the coast and when the Observer Corps was formed in the early years of 20^th Century it seemed appropriate to make it the badge.

The UKWMO broke the ROC down into divisions, or ‘Sectors’, each ‘Sector’ had a number of ‘Groups’, and each group a number of ‘Observer Posts’.

The ‘post’ was self-contained unit that worked as part of a cluster of posts, with one post in particular being a ‘master’ post. All Observer Posts were linked by a landline connection; the ‘master’ post had a radio. I had to learn this as well as all the other pieces of kit that we used.

I was part of one of those ‘post’. In fact, in the 9 years I was in the ROC I was part of three posts. I peaked by achieving the rank of Leading Observer, equivalent to the rank of Corporal in the real world. I was also the Instructor and that I really enjoyed.

We wore Royal Air Force uniforms, we ate in the airmen’s mess, we abided by the rules and regulations of the Royal Air Force and we all felt we were part of the bigger picture.

One of the things I really liked about it was the fact that we went to annual training camps on Royal Air Force Bases. Thanks to the Royal Observer Corps I visited RAF Scampton (home of 617 Squadron ‘The Dambusters’) on two separate occasions, RAF Waddington (at that time home of 50 Squadron) sorry to say just the once, RAF Leeming on two separate occasions and a little trip to the RAF College at Cranwell. Other training courses took place in different locations, but those were the highlights for me.

I was also part of two ‘Colour Party’ honour guards (that’s carrying the Flag to those who want to know, but don’t know the jargon). I didn’t carry the ‘colours’ but three of us guarded the officer who did.

I also attended a Royal Garden Party at 11 Group Headquarters at RAF Bentley Priory.

In 1991, the Royal Observer Corps was ‘stood down’ as a result of Defence cuts. It was a sad day for all who wore the badge, but as long as the memory lingers on, it still lives. It was not always great, but I did enjoy the majority of my time with the ROC. If you want to know more about the Corps, you can check it out on the internet.

Battle of Britain over the duvet...

The conversation went something like this.

“Did you see that documentary about the Dam Busters and the bouncing bomb?”

“Yeah… yeah I did.”

“Did you ever build the Airfix Lancaster?”

“Yeah… yeah I did.”

“Have you checked out the Airfix website?”

After that, I went misty eyed at the thought, ah, Airfix. What a wonderful creation. To be honest I wasn’t even sure that Airfix was still that big, but after checking out the Airfix website, I was back into a world of nostalgia.

The website is great. In my opinion, it’s really great.

I did, of course have to look at my favourite kits from my childhood. My favourite kits were the Supermarine Spitfire, the Hawker Hurricane, the Messerschmitt Bf 109 and the Messerschmitt Me 110, all in 1/72 scale. When I was about 8 or 10 maybe even up to 12 years old, I must have made a squadron of these things.

With the Supermarine Spitfire and the Messerschmitt Bf 109, I use to fight the Battle of Britain over the duvet, because the duvet could form the shapes of the rolling landscape of Dover. Whether or not Dover had a  multi-coloured rolling landscape, I didn’t know, but in my mind it did.

The Spitfire always won of course. Well, it would, it was after all a Royal Air Force Spitfire, and I would never let the ‘jerry’ Luftwaffe win.

Another thing I was glad to see was that they still made the figures, the little box of soldiers that my friends and I fought many a battle with. These came in two sizes 1/72 scale (small about 1 inch tall) and 1/32 scale (not as small about 2 inches tall). The detail was always great on these things, no matter how small they were. Faces had expressions. Hands gripped objects, whether rifles, pistols, machine guns, or mortar rounds.

I remember having small ‘skirmishes’ with the British 8^th Army (The Desert Rats) and the Deutsches Afrikakorps (German Africa Corps). The ground was sandy and gritty, small boulders littered the landscape, there were no trees and no oasis. The troops hid behind the sand dunes and fired single shots at each other until the order came to begin the bayonet attack.

The order came, “Charge!”

A small number of khaki clad troops headed towards the enemy, Rommel’s elite desert troops, supported by machine gun wielding ‘Tommy’s’. Of course, the British Army won, yet again.

The desert landscape was obviously not a real desert. It was actually a piece of board about 2 feet wide by three feet long, covered with sandpaper, the boulders were just big stones and the sand dunes shaped by placing things under the sandpaper. My dad helped me make it and I thought it was wonderful. It may not have been a very accurate depiction of the western desert, but it seemed great to me when I was small.

This landscape also doubled for the Battle of Waterloo (it has to be said that 1940’s North Africa does not really look like Belgium in 1815, but it didn’t matter to me). The Scottish Highlanders and The British Infantry of the Line took on of the might of Napoleons French Imperial Guard. Obviously, they won, they were British, and there were more of them. That sometimes changed when one of my friends got a box of French Infantry of the Line (1815), but I still somehow managed to get the British on the winning side.

Anyway, that was part of my childhood, a misty-eyed nostalgic part, and a wonderful time. Why do we have to grow up? Although I have heard that just because we age, we don’t necessarily ‘grow-up’.

You have to excuse me as I have a website to check out… “Oh look, they do a full Battle of Waterloo set piece… the farm house and both armies… wow…”

My right foot

It has now been a week since the discovery of my gout and a week since the intense, mind gripping pain that I felt.

I have been religiously taking the medication that I have to take and it’s great to have a ’normal’ sized foot again. I can walk without wincing and can tie my shoes tightly again.

I feel somewhat smug. 

That is all.

"... may return more often than a badly digested onion ring."

I am sorry to say that my walking will have to be put on hold for a bit due to a seriously annoying condition known as gout. This, I have discovered, has been passed on from my mother. And there was me thinking all I got was long eye lashes and a rare blood-group.

Gout is an off-shoot of arthritis which causes inflammation in the joints. It causes pain (which is severe and excruciating, believe me. I have been there and back, and hope I wont go there again) and swelling, usually in the big toe. Thing is it can affect any joint, but for me it is the big toe.

If you ever suffer any of these symptoms you may have gout and should see you doctor:

• severe pain in your joint (can be any joint, don't just go by my example)
• swelling and warmth around your joint (it feels like some one has peeled your skin off and then dipped the raw meat that was formally your foot into burning hot sand. Honestly, it's that bad)
• red and shiny skin around your joint (your joint swells up to the size of one of Shrek's limbs)
• mild fever (a sort of cold sweaty feeling is more the mark)
• firm, white lumps beneath your skin - these are urate crystals called tophi

I was not pleased to learn some of the facts about gout. It seems I can have a have gout attack for up to two weeks! Two feckin weeks! You have got to be kidding me? Almost 4 hours was bad enough. Apparently if you leave it alone, it will go away. After two weeks I would be prepared to kill.

With treatment, it can go away in less than a week. An attack of gout might only happen once in a lifetime, but it might not, and may return more often than a badly digested onion ring.

I am now on tablets to reduce the swelling and the monumental pain, soon I hope to return to what I joking refer to as normal. Maybe tomorrow my foot will be able to once again fit into a shoe and I will be able to walk like an adult human being and not a zombie from The Walking Dead.

The house has some of the best wall paintings in Scotland. Apparently it also has a ghost...

I know that I have visited this area before, but in this case I am going to look more closely at some of the subjects I have already covered. So please bear with me as I think I am starting to get the hang of this thing now.

I begin my journey at Kinneil Museum. This is a small red roofed building in front of Kinneil House. The museum has an extensive display of the history of the Kinneil Estate.

From the museum I follow the red bales path and head towards the imposing Kinneil House. The oldest part of the house dates back to the late 15th century. It was remodelled in the 16th century and turned into a stately home for the family of the Dukes of Hamilton in the 1660s.

The house has some of the best wall paintings in Scotland. Apparently it also has a ghost. I am sorry to say I did not encounter this ghost, but if I ever do, I will let you know.

The family of the Hamilton’s has a long and distinguished past. One of the best known members was Air Commodore Douglas Douglas-Hamilton, 14th Duke of Hamilton and 11th Duke of Brandon. Sounds posh and he was. His big claim to fame occurred in 1941 when Adolf Hitler’s Deputy Furher, Rudolf Hess flew to Scotland in the mistaken believe that the Duke of Hamilton would be sympathetic to his cause and would arrange a peace treaty between Germany and Britain. He was wrong. And as we know the Second World War lasted until 1945.

As I stand in front of the house, I look to the right of the building and see a wall. In this wall there is a door that is just asking me to go through it, which I do. As I do, I come to a roofless 18th century building. This building was used by the engineer James Watt. Here he carried out early experiments in order to develop the steam engine. He carried these experiments out with his friend John Roebuck, who was leasing Kinneil House at the time.

After looking at the old cottage and soaking in the atmosphere, I head towards the small foot bridge and head towards the next part of the walk.