Quartermaster - v -
All you need to know by way of translation: Enjoy!
Crusher - Member of RN Regulating Branch - Naval Policeman
Tilly - RN Utility vehicle (Land Rover etc)
Bootneck/Bootie - Royal Marine
Wedge - Sandwich
Pol was sitting in the QMs lobby at HMS Neptune’s internal gate sipping his stand easy coffee ruminating on how good life is. Just 3 weeks to go before the great land of opportunity which is Civvie Street is reached, and what a great number being QM is (three weeks on and two weeks off), what a great colours job this morning and so on. He looks up to see a Pusser’s Tilly draw up where it shouldn’t and discharge a Leading Regulator onto Pol’s perfectly brushed forecourt.
Strange thinks the QM, that the Crusher is not wearing any webbing. The Crusher then proceeds to crash into Pol’s lobby and plants himself in front of the full-length mirror (which the Booties had rigged up to preen in) and commences to pull at this bit of kit and then that bit of kit and brush frenetically at his nice blue suit. Of course thinks Pol, it’s the Commanders Table this morning and this man is going up for an award.
“Morning Leading Reg”, says the always polite QM, “are you going up for your third badge then?” “No I f****** ain’t.” screamed the Crusher, “Get out of that f****** chair and start acting in a seamanlike manner you greasy little f****** submariner you.” Nice, thought Pol, but par for the course. “Report to the Reg office after your watch and tell ‘em I said you are to get a proper service haircut.”, bawled the uncouth bastard and the disappeared through the internal door to the Admin block giving it a slam that must have been felt in Sauchiehall Street.
Now next door to the QMs lobby was the office of the OCRM which he shared with his Sergeant Major, a Colour Sergeant of the RM Provost Branch. Both of these gentlemen were ensconced in the said office at this time munching on tasty bacon wedges and sipping delicious coffee (Nescafe, not Pusser’s, posh QM me) that Pol had made with his own fair hands only 5 minutes before the erupting Crusher arrived.
“Pol” called the OCRM “was that man who just left your lobby the same p***k that jumped out of the illegally parked Tilly?” “Yes Sir” says Pol “the very same.” “Did I hear him swearing Pol?” “Yes sir indeed you did”, replied the honest QM. “Was he swearing at you Pol?” “I’m afraid so sir, he was very annoyed at me.” “Was he now?” exclaimed our Green Bereted hero, “And did he slam the door upsetting my stand easy?” “Oh yes sir” cried our valiant servant of the Submarine Service “and he used the booties mirror too.” “Utterly disgraceful.” muttered our now irate Officer Commanding Royal Marines.
“May I make a suggestion sir?” piped up the SM, “some of our bootnecks are a bit rusty on vehicle search procedures, shall I take them out and hone up their skill in this highly technical operation as practiced in Northern Ireland?” “What a splendid idea SM, carry on forthwith and remember to ensure that all seats come out of the vehicles as SOP and check especially the Tilly as the IRA are very cunning at counterfeiting naval vans and impersonating sailors.”
The SM then mustered his band of trained killers, SLRs at the ready, and doubled them down to the main gate where they created havoc. After a short while the OCRM shouted, “Pol have you ever watched a thorough vehicle search?” “No sir”, Pol replied, “I’m afraid not.” “Come and watch this,” said OCRM “you may learn something.” Those booties were so professional; the crushers vehicle was now in tiny bits, seats out, engine mangled, spare wheel and all tyres deflated and stripped, linings ripped out, dashboard on the pavement and wires hanging everywhere, just a wonderful sight to see. The Booties then had to go to dinner leaving a pair of forlorn and confused looking Leading Regulators doing a crash course in vehicle assembly.
Pol had himself a severe haircut, just to clear his own yardarm, but for some reason felt ecstatic and found himself with an undying regard for that fine body of men – the Royal Marines. After Pol had opened the office the next morning the OCRM spoke to him. “Nice haircut Pol, your mate the Crusher was at Commanders Table yesterday wasn’t he?” “Yes sir.” Pol replied. “Do you know why Pol?” “Not a clue sir” said Pol but a feeling came over him that something surreal was about to happen. “The Master at Arms had him trooped for badly damaging and scraping the paintwork on a Patrol Tilly, careless sod; he got a very hefty fine and a demotion for that!!!”
Moral of the story: Only idiots f*** with the Marines – Sub or Royal.
Polaroid – many thanks for the dit mate.