Alan Lamb

Alan Lamb was an England Cricketer who played for Northamptonshire.  He provides the title for this days blog as he is a neat segway.

Ten hours kip does one the world of good aided and abetted by Al Cahol….Bombay Sapphire always a good duty free option.  We met the new world head on just after 10 am.  Traditional British Sunday planned and shopping to be done to add to the previous days haul. 

Samantha sent Alexa in to wake Kim and me and was slightly startled by my C-PAP machine.  I suffer from sleep apnoea so spend the night time hours as Darth Vadar.  Once re-established in my earthly guise we washed, dressed and drove into Long Buckby. 

 

Long Buckby is the village where the royal train stops when Wills and Harry are visiting their Uncle at Althorp.  It’s nice for us to be back in the area we lived for 6 years and just two miles from Little Brington our home for 24 months.  There is a smell to the countryside particularly in the Autumn and an damp earthiness that suggests coal and wood fires are just around the corner.

 

Good piece of Lamb means find local butcher and supplier.  We did.  Two nice shoulder cuts and two stuffed breasts.  Add onion sauce and all the Sunday roast trimmings and we would soon be in business.  Kim and Samantha, Alexa and I, all filling shopping baskets with goodies in the Village, bit hard on the pocket but so long since we had been together.   So it was then home and the arrival of Marcus, on his motorcycle 

 

and then Samantha’s fiancé Alan and his three children, Owen, Lara, and Thea.  Alan is a really nice guy and the children were a delight,very easy to manage, pretty sociable and independent from the outset. 

 

Alexa rushed out excitedly to give the kids Maple Syrup Suckers (Lollies).  A bit of grand-parenting good for the soul I reckon.

We took the kids out to the play area and then this old man tried a bit of football, not too shabby if I say so myself.  The kids then went to check on the chickens; say hi to the sheep and hello to the cows.  No fear of farm animals in any of them just curiosity and that is a two way street on a busy farm.

 

Meanwhile the Lamb and potatoes roasted and all the trimmings arrived on time and we sat 8 for lunch.

 

Included in the meal were lovely butter iced cakes specially selected by Samantha for dessert and a batch of cake eating kids with bottomless pits for stomachs.

We spent the afternoon getting to know Alan in between entertaining the kids and washing up.  Samantha stayed overnight again and Reece was also here stopping over. 

 

We got to bed slightly earlier than the previous night a fine day under our belts.

 

 

 

 

 

Gatwick to Gumboots

On the 28^th September at 8am carrying packed bags we pray will come under the baggage allowance weight we left Mission and headed west.  Vancouver International Airport was not only our place of departure, but now also my place of work.  So much easier to travel home knowing a job awaits on return.

So airborne, shattered before a single metre of altitude gained, we settled in our charter seats marvelling at the sardine science that is charter aviation.  Perhaps a little harsh as the newer Air Transat Airbus 330 is really quite comfortable.  I stuck the headphones on and watched The Avengers, Men in Black 3 and The Big Miracle and then a little bit of the three stooges, great entertainment interspersed with two meals, a gin and tonic, glass of shiraz and bottled water.  8 hours 6 minutes with a tailwind and we dipped out of the clouds into Gatwick.  It’s almost been 3 years since my last trip home and I confess to wondering whether things had changed significantly; particularly given the passing of so much time.  No surprises initially; a five mile walk from disembarkation to baggage at Gatwick and grubby floors.  The first impression that greets any tourist flying in is not the best and certainly not a precursor to the real and wonderful United Kingdom.  Outside of that I found myself confronting roads and countryside that warmed me instantly; a green and pleasant land, my home.  British Columbia has spectacular backdrops but the patchwork quilt that is the UK countryside is unique, special and wrap around warm.

We quickly completed our rental vehicle paperwork and left the airport making sure that the driver sat on the right and drove on the left.  South Mimms provided much needed coffee and almost a full English breakfast; sausages were just not good enough I’m afraid, a poor start to the game.  Proper sausage situation since rectified.

We were very tired and jet-lagged and just itching to drop bags and ourselves into rest and comfort.  Didn’t know it at the time but another 17 hours would pass before the sack finally presented.  But what probably matters most is that the content of those 17 hours were just magic; not to be missed. 

We continued north grateful that the accident warning signs on the M23 gave us a choice of heading round the M25.  No change there and gridlock for those poor souls with no other options.

We arrived in Northampton and hit TESCO a supermarket with alcohol on the shelves, Chavvies in the aisles and products not found in Canada on the shelves.  You have no idea how much missed things like proper sausages and pork pies, Branston with chunks and Marmalade.  It might say Cadbury’s on the wrapper but in Canada it tastes nothing like the jolly old English Cadbury’s Chocolate made with cream.  Branding has local deflection built into the ingredients to suit local pallets apparently.

 

Left a message for Samantha and headed to Marcus and the Wharf in Bugbrooke.  ‘Chef in cooking action, in his kitchen, on his birthday’.  Big Hugs and a special reunion and plenty of other friends in this old haunt.  Paul and Tracey the owners and Jim in the kitchen.  We anticipated a need for tomato ketchup which we forgot to buy and Tracey gave us an industrial sized bottle to use and loaned us a condiment set for our week at Perkins Lodge Farm in Long Buckby.

We arrived at the farm and the Coach House. 

 

A beautiful old farm building, well laid out and in the thick of the Northamptonshire countryside. 

We were supposed to sleep for a couple of hours but failed dismally and at 6.30 Samantha, Alexa, Reece, Emma and Marcus all arrived and we had a fantastic evening together exchanging gifts and catching up. 

Alexa is just amazing and such a loving child.  We opened our French doors and listened to the sheep and cows on the farm and enjoyed the views. 

Alexa played with Reece and Marcus in the play area opposite our lodgings.  Reece’s girlfriend Emma is delightful and after two years of knowing she was part of Reece’s life we finally met her.  Family together at last and so much more to come. 

 

Kim faded at 10pm and I finally dropped at midnight after chatting at length with Samantha.  Three years of chatting to catch up on to be precise. 

I slept like a log happy in heart and mind.

Mr & Mrs Franklin's UK Tour 2012

Just a week from now we take off from Vancouver Airport and head for kids, family and friends back in the UK.  We will reconnect and recharge our spirits in Northamptonshire, Lincolnshire, Gloucestershire and Sussexshire.  After almost three years away, old haunts await; happy memories will abound, and missed culture, traditions, cuisine and beverages will be consumed with an insatiable appetite. 

We will be cataloguing our travels in a blog journal; we had such fun doing this after Manda and Cherie were here almost a year ago.  We will celebrate being home acutely aware of those things that make the United Kingdom very different from Canada; the things that make it a very special and unique place. 

I fully expect to be thoroughly screened as we are processed through Vancouver Airport as it is my staff undertaking that task.  They could hardly do otherwise.  I am most fortunate that my employer agreed a leave of absence to enable this trip to take place.  I need a breather and Kim certainly needs the break after a tough couple of years.  So from Sunday 30^th September visit this blog and share our travels, thoughts and images.  Throw in your comments for good measure if you so desire.

Bye for now...

 

The Twisted Soaked Tissue

When I first saw the twisted soaked tissue inserted into a large milk carton my mind started racing.  In most normal situations the first interpretation would not be Molotov cocktail.  I, however, was located in a large barn attached to a yard, which had previously been subjected to an incendiary attack by animal rights activists.  A number of vehicles had been blown up using IED’s, and we were three years in on a protection operation.  I had no choice but to report the carton of milk for behaving very suspiciously and set in train events that by the end of the day would amount to about 10,000 Great British Pounds in 1999 currency.  Helicopter, village evacuation and EOD from RAF Wittering…Better safe than sorry but a bloody expensive Pinta, which was all it turned out to be.  Why would anyone twist a tissue to plug the carton opening when it looked so obviously dodgy…?

So from an expensive damp squib I was then summonsed to attend a property recently vacated by the dearly departed and to protect belongings left in the home from local thieves who were already sniffing out opportunities.   Some areas of Kingsthorpe leave little to be desired and this particular terraced street was one of them.  The home was strangely quiet and filled with clutter.  I was surveyed as i entered and left the property.  I moved boxes and furniture to find the optimum locations for detection equipment and then having tested same on my PR Set locked up the premises and headed for base.  I thought little of the installation, moving onto other things; that is, until I spotted the column in the Chronicle and Echo referring to a live hand grenade being located in a box of belongings in said property.  I dread to think what would have happened if I had slung the box in question to one side to make space for my alarm…

Kingsthorpe was also to feature in another close run thing for me.  I had a message to install a police panic alarm in the home of a woman whose husband had domestically abused her and issued threats to kill her.  I pulled together my tools and equipment and grabbed a PR Set, which unusually for me except when testing alarms, I left switched on while mobile en route to the address.  It was just as well because, as I was entering Kingsthorpe I overheard officers on the air discussing a hostage situation where a man was holding his wife at the end of a shotgun and in a siege situation. The address was mentioned and matched that on my tasking sheet.  I immediately joined the chatter and was easily dissuaded from attending the address in question.  Can you imagine a situation where the crime prevention officer arrives at the door to meet two barrels and a trigger happy hubby.  From that day forth the carrying of police radios became mandatory for crime prevention officers.  I am just grateful to have lived to tell the tale and could not tell you why I chose to listen in that day.

The Wan Bond Chinese Restaurant in Bellinge has a lot to answer for.  Billing Mead Square on that Estate was pretty much territory operated by drug dealers and their runners.  You can imagine my excitement when I was tasked with installing an alarm in the take away.  The restaurant had shutter doors but the local offenders had literally cut them open as if with a tin opener.  I had hoped just to sidle in and sidle out but unbeknowns to me an off the rails foster kid who resided four doors down from home had take up employment drug running.  He naturally recognised me and knew my occupation.  it did't come to blows or deteriorate but I did take some heckling and had to stand my ground with them.  To make matters worse the restaurant owner offered me a free take away.  I opted for chicken fried rice.  Chicken Fried writhing pain with food poisoning more like.  The stuff went through me like a dose of salts; never been so ill.

In ten years installing police radio alarms I met some pretty dire people and some good folk in dire circumstances.  I also met the persons responsible for the direness on a few occasions.  My colleagues also had some close encounters.  The least savoury was a female colleague who encountered an offender armed with a samurai sword.  Said offender was the opposite side of the door to my colleague who had the presence of mind to de-scale the situation by indicating that she was armed with a baton and wouldn’t hesitate to use it.  Bravo I say.

If I were to cite one day that had a massive impact on me it would be the day I visited two homes both the sites of murder.  The first home was in Kings Heath Northampton and where a woman had been found hanged on a hook in her bathroom.  The intention of the murderer had been to present a suicide scene but he had made a serious omission.  The chair supposedly kicked away in the bathroom was still in the living room.  The offender realised the error while officers were on site and attempted to sneak the chair into the bathroom under police noses.  He failed.  I had to install an alarm to protect the crime scene and found opening the bathroom door and glancing up at the hook chilling.  The picture in my mind’s eye presented and I could not erase the image of someone hanging there.  I returned to work contemplating the experience but didn’t have too long to languish.

News was coming through that an escapee from a prison had murdered his wife and two young children.  The horror that accompanies such a pronouncement is profound.  Sometime later I was tasked with providing alarm protection at the crime scene.  I was required to collect keys and make my way to the property and do the necessary.  I’m not sure what I expected; nor was I prepared for what was to confront me.  As I opened the door I had already made my mind up that I would get this installation done as quickly as possible.  It was already getting dark and that simply added to my discomfort.  I opened the door and the first thing I saw was the children’s shoes still lined up on a shoe rack in the front hall.  I hesitated and filled up for a few seconds.   In the kitchen I could see the stained floor with the outline of a person quite recognisable there.  What is the price of a life and what possesses people to commit such heinous crimes? 

At the end of this day I arrived home absolutely shattered and emotionally drained.  Seeing my own children alive and well I thanked heaven for small mercies and pressed them close.

During our lives and just through coincidence we come into close contact with situations that are noteworthy for one reason of another.  While serving at the Defence Nuclear Biological and Chemical Centre Winterbourne Gunner, Salisbury, Wiltshire, I provided administrative support to a range of senior officers from all of the Combined Services; Navy, Army, Royal Air Force and Marines.  In two years you establish quite strong relationships with colleagues regardless of rank superiority.  One of these officers Squadron Leader Nick Tucker appeared no different to any of the others.  It was after I left DNBCC that I got to hear of him murdering his wife and then attempting to conceal the act by arranging a road traffic accident. 

My plan for the future is to steer clear of explosives, murderers and dastardly deeds; it is only after searching through my own memory banks that I found a collection of slightly unusual events and I thought them worth recalling for posterity. 

My RAF Stations, Squadrons and Aircraft

During my Royal Air Force service I came into contact with a wide variety of aircraft; some are still flying, some should never have taken off in the first place, and the final quota, the fast jets, just make the hairs rise on the back of my neck.

When I arrived at Swinderby in May 1976 I had already had a haircut to remove my Golly Locks.  I have a framed collage to my right as I type which includes an image of said hairy person.  I was one curly haired member of a group of anarchists totalling three including Sean O’Reilly and Lance Ford.  The “Gollies”….What the hell were we thinking when we made that decision?  No wonder the babes crossed the road.  Anyway back to the air force thing.

Prior to 1976 I had only experienced one flight experience and that was as a baby under a year old.  So no conscious memory at all really.  It was a trip to Guernsey with the whole family aboard; good job we didn’t crash because the Franklin blood line would have terminated.

During RAF basic training there is a schedule on the timetable entitled flight experience.  Our Squadron were treated to one of the last flights in a Belfast of No 53 Squadron RAF based at Brize Norton.  The Belfast was decommissioned in September 1976 and we flew in May 1976.  RAF Coningsby was where we were taken through a series of circuits and bumps and with the rear loading door open got to see the Lincolnshire countryside from a somewhat precarious perch (harnessed of course).  It was an awesome experience and it makes sense that every airman / airwoman in RAF Service can hold his or her hand up and say “I’ve flown”.

I next came into contact with aircraft quite quickly which is perhaps unsurprising given that the point of the RAF is aircraft.  RAF Northolt in North West London was home to the Queens Flight,

To No. 207 Squadron, RAF Northolt. By 1984 this unit operated 13 DE Havilland Devon’s, nine from Northolt, plus a detached flight of three aircraft at RAF Wyton, Cambs and one from Edinburgh/Turnhouse. Ferried senior officers of all three services around the UK and Europe, and also operated a regular ‘round robin’ courier service, carrying documents and packages between UK bases; another task was the transporting of Technical personnel to recover RAF aircraft reported unserviceable away from base.

I flew one training sortie with a handful of suited officer types to visit Guernsey to collect a sizeable order of alcohol for the Officers Mess Christmas Party.  Bloody Rodney’s always looking for a corner and cost cutting deal even if the fuel costs outweighed the alcohol savings.  The most memorable part of the sortie was the instruction given to me by the good Flight Lieutenant Henson as I recall.  "Whatever you do Franklin, do not open the Thermos Flasks above 10,000’".  Righty Ho Sir says I and dutifully comply.  We gain some altitude when aforementioned Flighty Louis says anyone for tea?  He then opens a Thermos and the hot water escapes into the cabin space dousing all there assembled.  Tit! I served with 207 Squadron and really enjoyed working with these old boys…

32 Squadron was a different kettle of fish.  HS125’s and the spiffing little jets transporting all other than the Hoi Polloi. It was the great divide between the prop jobs and the jet propelled.  32 Squadron Aircrew exuded superiority over their adjoining and to be fair longer in the tooth colleagues at 207 Squadron.

The Queens Flight and those beautifully polished red helicopters from RAF Benson and HS 125’s.  We also had Wessex Whirlwinds and Gazelles routinely zotting back and forth. I do have a shot of the BOB Flight in the fly Past in London for the 2002 Golden Jubilee, but cannot locate said image.  Finally on the subject of aircraft the Red Arrows in that same Jubilee celebration along with Concorde; sadly now grounded.

Have I ever been aircrew; technically yes and on one auspicious occasion I played an injured pilot trapped in the cockpit of one of our fire crew training aircraft.  I think it might have been a DC6 but not sure.  I had my instructions to play unconscious and almost became so as fire crew and rugby buddy Alex Mills bounced my head on the ladder down from the cockpit.  Happy days.

Northolt was where I enjoyed seeing the Battle of Britain Flight on the tarmac at the same time as the Red Arrows were lined up on the pan.  The BOB Flight was a regular sight in my skies not least over Little Brington in Northamptonshire long after I had turned in my RAF Beret. 

Leaving Northolt was timely.  I had spent over four years on the base and had become far too established a fixture.  I obviously had ideas above my station as well, feeling inclined towards the WRAF Accommodation one fine evening along with brothers in arms, Mick Chester, Nigel (Legin) Williams, Dennis Andreozzi.  Our cover was blown and the Group Captain clearly felt we needed to be made an example of….I secured 10 days in the Regional Services Detention Rooms in Gloucester with Mick and Legin.  Dennis miraculously escaped incarceration.  Guess he must have made a deal with the Snowdrops.

That period of time served stood me in great stead when lecturing Police students on jail time. “Believe me I know how it feels” I often said when tutoring.

I was posted to RAF Bruggen and worked as a Mission Planner in the Combat Operations Centre (COC). Fantastic job at the ebb end of the Cold War.  I was responsible for creating Combat Mission Folders for Jaguar Bombers operating from the base.  I had an insight into target locations East Germany and beyond.  We had four Squadrons and an atmosphere hard to describe but I have a crack anyway.  The Officer class particularly the fly boys were top of the pile and we had four squadrons worth of bloody jockeys.  There was something of the camaraderie that comes with being in a threatened zone; an enemy target area that bridges the ranks and classes, to a degree. A bit more give and take.

In TACEVAL and MINEVAL Exercises we rehearsed our combat roles.  I now wear a face mask to address sleep apnea and it’s a doddle after wearing a respirator for 6 hour stints during exercises.  Gas, Gas, Gas, was the shout, military boys and girls know the form.  The priority for airfields that might be subject to imminent attack is to get their aircraft off the ground and airborne as quickly as possible. The mass launches from RAF Bruggen were bloody awesome.  I will never see anything like this again in my lifetime.  Some 30 odd Jaguar Aircraft from four Squadron locations at each quarter of the Bruggen Airfield.  Jaguar traffic congestion with pairs offset by no more than 10 metres getting airborne on short takeoff to be immediately followed by the next pair once the back thrust had dissipated.  All 30 airborne within 26 minutes.  Living to fight another day and at GBP 7,000,000 each these AC are expensive commodities.  I love the smell of AVGAS in the morning. 

I spent three years in Bruggen and during that time we lost seven Jaguars and a handful of aircrew.  I’ll never forget the tradition when an aircrew death occurs.  The Squadron who had suffered the loss would open their bar that very night and the bill would be written off against the bar tab of the lost soul. Drowning of the sorrows.  Tradition that might sound a little harsh but makes a whole lot of sense.

I remember the COC acquiring a Saracen for little journeys across the Peri-track to deliver combat mission folders to aircrew who’s HUD had malfunctioned.  Our combat mission folders into the hand of the bomber aircrew and our careful analysis protecting these elite fly boys en route to their targets.

One of my MP buddies was to find himself in Desert Storm One undertaking his duties in a war zone and later I can share my own close encounter with that theatre of war.  I will also talk to my friend and colleague Max Collier who was to lose his life in the conflict.

I left Bruggen in October 1983 and arrived at RAF Uxbridge.  My only aircraft contact was the static gate guardian the Hurricane.  Urban RAF and a different excitement.  It would be 6 years before I would again scent that great AVGAS smell and hear the jet engines roar.

RAF Marham was home to the Tornado GR4, was the crew home for the AVRO Vulcan and the Nimrod.  Big players at around the time I was in residence 1989 to 1991.  I was selected to form part of a protection team escorting Cluster bombs From Marham to Brize Norton.  These sizeable bombs were loaded on RAF flat bed trucks in cradles and ratcheted to the eyeballs.  Neatly sprayed on the side of each green coated weapon in yellow was the bomb designation and weight.  In traffic I glanced at a car driver in the next lane and watched him mouth the words cluster bomb and then gasp; it was hilarious…What mate? Never seen a big bomb before?

In May 1990, Marham played host to a visit by the Royal College of Defence Studies (RCDS) for the third successive year.  It was a spectacular event with static and flying displays, during which nobody would have envisaged the wind of change which was shortly to bring Marham rapidly into Transition to War (TTW).   Mum, John and some family attended this event and with access to all areas I was able to give them an end of runway view for the Tornado bombing run.  It was a full speed low level attack of the runway, with simulated bomb tosses, and ground explosions.  The aircraft moved so quickly and the slipstream wind lifted Mum off her feet and deposited her on the bonnet of her Vauxhall Cavalier.  It was an awesome day.

Iraq invaded Kuwait in August, and within weeks, crews from No’s 27 and 617 Sqn’s deployed to the Gulf. By October the contingent from Marham had grown to some 250 in number. As these personnel returned in December, Nimrod tankers from 55 Squadron were deployed to Bahrain, where 70 personnel remained over Christmas.   By this time Marham the main airhead, was fully active as Hercules aircraft ferried equipment by day and night from the base to the Gulf - a massive logistics exercise.

The operation, known as 'GRANBY', continued into 1991. Numbers 27 and 617 Squadrons were again deployed to the Gulf where, on 16 January, the operation to liberate Kuwait began with the bombing of Baghdad. Crews from both Marham Squadrons took part in the offensive. The Station was honoured when the Honorary Air Commodore, Her Majesty the Queen, gave a morale-boosting visit to the Unit that same month, and this was followed by a visit from the Chief of the Air Staff in February.  I was actually on duty in full dress uniform when Her Majesty dressed in blue walked within an arms length of me in full salute posture.

With Kuwait liberated, a cease-fire was called at 5am on Thursday 28 February 1991. Shortly afterwards, in March, all 3 Marham Squadrons and the support personnel returned to tumultuous welcomes. Later, on June 6 Tornados from Marham supported a Gulf Victory parade flying over London.

SAC Chris Anderson was on a field line from Riyadh when his unit came under attack from Saddam Hussein’s Scud Missiles.  It was a surreal experience hearing him shout that he and others would have to cut the call short to take cover.  The whole Granby episode was an exercise in painting all things salmon pink for the desert theatre of war including bicycles which were thrown onto C130’s along with the rest of the supplies.  Ground crew had the unpleasant side netting in the fuselage to hang onto as they were transported.  It was the closest I was to come to actually deploying and it would have been my familiarity with Mission Planning that would have got me a ticket.  Similarly to the Falklands conflict my task was not to join the fray but support from afar.  That is the way the cookie crumbles…as they say.  Would I have gone?  Absolutely, and probably with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

Flight Lieutenant Max Collier was a Tornado Navigator having previously been a Mission Planner at RAF Bruggen.  I had the great pleasure of serving with him on both RAF Stations Bruggen and Marham.  He was shot down in the Gulf and may he rest in peace.  I still get a buzz when I walk through an airport or see fast jets in the air.

Gods Game with Funny Balls

Rugby first became part of my life at 11 years old when as a fresh face at John Fisher Grammar School, Purley, Surrey; I started my competitive contact sport education.  1969 and an average sized lad I confess to having some enthusiasm for the game but not bitten by the bug.  That was to come later.  Between 1969 and 1975 I experienced inter house competitions; coaching with Mr Legg, Mr Perry and Mr Pat Liddiard, and a regular birth in the 2^nd XV through each year.  Pat Liddiard was a regular with Richmond RFC and I recall a trip to watch Richmond play London Scottish.  The teams around the top end of the amateur game then were a different set to those now at the top of the pile.

I was a reasonable centre but not likely to set the world on fire.  I still had to locate my courage bone and my killer instinct.  I remember some quality players, Pete Drewett was a fine if arrogant scrum half, Nick Mitchell a very good fly half; Chris Dallison the fastest person I had ever seen.  The general plan in matches was to get the ball to Chris and then watch as I recall.

Between 1975 and 1976 Rugby was not on my radar at all.  When circumstances had me walking into the RAF careers information office Regents Square London and military basic training things changed.  In May 1976 I began 6 weeks training and became the fittest I would ever be.  I took to military life and the camaraderie like a duck to water.  I embraced fitness work and team work and my appetite for sport and achievement changed.  I abhorred cross country at school and yet three weeks into RAF Swinderby I won a cross country race competing against my whole squadron by 300 metres clear.  I’m not sure what possessed me to take up the gauntlet; I must have had something to prove to myself.  It was an extremely satisfying achievement.

The rugby was the consequence of chatter with my new service buddies.  A Rugby Sevens tournament had been organised alongside a few other sports and I can remember a ginger haired Welsh buddy, Taff Davies (would you believe) and I running the rest of the lads ragged.  I had obviously taken on board the theory while at school and now had the fitness and physique to turn that into a talent.  We won the competition and had a riot en route.  What was unreal at the time was that Kim who was to become my wife in 2004 was just a couple of hundred metres away with family in Haddington and neither of us was any the wiser as to the future.

After four weeks training at RAF Hereford I was posted to RAF Northolt.  It was here under the coaching hand of Cpl Tony Green RAF PTI that I expanded my game and learned the skills that were to secure me a weekend long trial with the RAF under 21’s at RAF Cosford alongside dozens of other hopefuls. The successful squad members were announced after the weekend and I was among the 18 or so players selected.  It was an immensely proud day for me.  It was not just the skills that secured me that trial birth it was something equally if not more exciting.  The signal message that clattered in from HQ was intercepted by Sgt Alan Leahy (playing buddy) and he called me to give me the heads up.

RAF Northolt were supposed to be playing HMS Warrior 2nds in Stanmore and someone had cocked up the fixture arrangements.  Instead of running out against Warrior 2nds we found ourselves facing their 1^st XV.  Undaunted we took to the field and the challenge.  Skipper Alan Leahy led the team that day and for most of the first half we had to defend with resolve and energy.  I recall making a wrap tackle of an opponent after they had crossed our try line and saving a try.  After 40 minutes we were 14 point to 0 down and under pressure.  I played at fly half that day and had by this time secured responsibility for goal kicking for the team.  I had one of those red letter days where despite the score I was firing on all cylinders.  During that second half HMS Warrior failed to score again and RAF Northolt whittled the lead back to 14 – 12.  Four of the sweetest goal kicks I can ever remember.  All were from penalties, and all from the Warrior 10 metre line or thereabouts.  Some were quite wide out from the posts as I recall.  We lost the game but with some honour and retired to the changing room.  There was a knock at the door and our skipper Alan was summonsed to talk to a guest.  That guest had requested permission from the skipper to approach me with an offer to play club rugby for Harlequins U21’s as a 20/20 member. It was a proud day and a season to remember.  How many people get to say they were scouted and recruited by a top flight team. 

The playing highlight was taking on Madrid at the Stoop Memorial Ground.  I have to say the best rugby colours I ever wore.  The harlequin quartered shirts were quite noticeable in those days.  The socks black with the six coloured diamonds around the calf.

So back to the RAF U21s.  I was selected to tour Wales with the U21s and wore the sky blue with pride and my sky blue jersey with wings also with immense pride. 

Of the three fixtures against South Wales Police, Neath and Cardiff College of Education I played in the latter.  I had a memorable moment playing at centre when I collapsed an opposing flanker with a ferocious tackle that had my buddies chanting.  I now had the shoulders and tackling ferocity that carried my game.  I was to play a number of times for the U21s during that next season.  There were some memorable fixtures against quality opposition.  The hardest outing for me was against London Irish when the coach trekked into the changing room just before kick off and asked who was the heaviest of the substitutes.  It appeared to be me so I suddenly found myself selected to play tight head prop.  My opponent had a chat with me after the first scrum where he politely suggested that I just lean like an inanimate object for the rest of the game or experience neck tweaks that would last me a lifetime.  I took the survival options and have never ever been so knackered in any game of rugby.  The stamina needed for front row work is incredible, respect.

Rugby can be a game of extremes and so it proved for me.  Against Oxford University Whippets I found myself selected on the right wing.  No wonder I was perhaps slightly confused at times.

At RAF Northolt I skippered the side for two years; I designed the Sword and Wheel logo rugby sweaters and I enjoyed being part of a great bunch of people.  Some of the guys could be into their 70s by now.  I remember Howie Davies, Dennis Andreozzi, John Hanson, Chris Hills, Chalkie White, Alex Mills, Legin Williams, Squadron Leader Ken Wright,and then the  intervening years take other names from my memory.  I remember playing some quite frightening opposition.  John Orwin, was an England lock and actually captained the national side for a short tenure.  He was a brute of a man and with issues outside his rugby.  He was actually jailed at Northolt for a spell and I recall we tried to borrow him for a home game once.  The Regional Services Detention Room staff were understandably reluctant.  Billy Steele of RAF and Scotland was around at my time and I played against him.

Like any self respecting rugby team we borrowed lots of things on our travels.  In Germany we removed a roadsign across the road.  On the way to Tiverton Legin scaled a 40 ft flagpole and removed a large Hotel Flag.  The only time it really came back to haunt us was when we cleared a pub on the way back through the cotswolds near Oxford.  Garden furniture, paintings off the walls, chairs and tables and finally a rather large pewter shield.  The next day in a sobering moment the Group Captain contacted Flying Officer Bill Wilson and aroused him from his hangover.  We were ordered to Oxford bearing gifts and flowers along with all the ill gotten gain.  The pewter shield was apparently worth many thousands of pounds and  our actions deemed beyond the pail.

I was involved in two rugby tours from Northolt.  The first was to Gutersloh in Germany and the second to Tiverton in Devon.  Both were fantastic outings and just like what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas I cannot share too much here.  I do remember a 50 foot flagpole being felled outside our hotel in Tiverton and there being some issues over payment.  Cost 400 quid as I remember in 1979.  I also remember turning up for a fixture against Bideford 3rds only to find the first team pitch, first team and a crowd waiting to play the RAF.  Cock Up enormous but we played anyway.  86-3 was the final score and I managed to secure the penalty.  The afterwards in the bar was one of the most memorable nights ever.  It was a riot.

Two fixtures that always stick in my mind while at Northolt were against the US Marines in Stanmore and Baliol College Oxford.  The away games found us treated royally at both venues.  The hospitality of the US Marines was legendary.  No money for beer and a requirement to build a stack of beer cans from floor to ceiling before we were allowed to leave.  Awesome.  The rugby was somewhat unusual as well.  Soldier’s fresh from a life playing American Football often blocked off the ball and some allowances had to be made by the referee.  These fixtures were always played at the home then of London Wasps. I do remember a rare sidestep which left an opponent totally confused and resulted in a lot of back patting and hellfire man how the hell did you do that?  I not sure really to this day; sometimes a sidestep just happens instinctively.

Baliol College was the great atmosphere.  Excellent rugby always and masses of support.  There would probably be a couple of hundred academic type folks on the sidelines normally baying for RAF blood.   I recall one such game where I played at full back, a position that I was often given as my tackling meant I could be relied upon as a last line of defence.  In this one game the crowd were a tad close to the touchline; my Chinese opponent had taken a wide path looking to dot down in the corner and I was having none of it.  I jinked to force his hand and a line for the corner and then met him about 2 metres from the touchline mid way in our 22.  I had left the ground about 4 metres away from him and met his upper thigh in one of the most satisfying tackles ever.  To then realise that my tackle had actually taken out five other people on the touchline added to my satisfaction.  Baliol College had their own bar and served a fine real ale Varsity Ale.  They also had a very silly game which required visitors and others to hand over hand the length of a long beam in the bar.

Rugby songs and bar games are legendary.  Get em down you Zulu warrior, Bar Diving, Bomb Runs and Dead Ants.  There are just hundreds.  As a bit of a singer I was easily managing a sore throat every game.  I used to sing a mean "the lords my shepherd" and "Jerusalem" as well as the "Hairs on a Dicky-Di-Do" and "the Mayor of Bayswater" and "Its Only me from over the Sea", so truly Gods game.

I suffered a number of injuries none that felt serious at the time.  The only strange situation was the dislocated shoulder which as I recall was put back in on the field by out dentist Squadron Leader Wright.  Some 25 years later that shoulder injury came back to haunt me and become the source of my back pain.  Interestingly the shoulder had not quite fixed back in the socket correctly resulting in spinal imbalance.  Three heavy concussions one taking out my vision for over 30 minutes.  I had a serious achilles injury and three months physiotherapy.  Bloody wobble board!!  Never mind the injuries, all part of the package as far as I am concerned, and I would not trade the injuries for the pleasure of playing the game. Fair price I think.  My shins are heavily scarred and look like battlefields or craters on the moon.  I have three head wounds and one scar over an eyebrow.  I have three broken, now repaired teeth.

Rugby continued in Germany and I played for RAF Bruggen 2nds.  My priorities had changed somewhat in Germany and my focus rightly or wrongly was on enjoying myself beyond sport.  That said I skippered Bruggen 2nds and for three years enjoyed playing in Europe.  I picked up a scar I still carry to this day as Alan Grizedale one of my own team managed to drag a stud across my abdomen tearing the skin.  The scar has moved since then as my stomach has expanded but it’s still there.

During my time in Germany I was picked up along with two or three others to play for a local Dutch side.  I recall the pronunciation but my spelling will undoubtedly be wrong.  De Grauwert was the team.  The fixture and I played just once for them, was against their fierce rivals and it was patently a serious business.  It was a good game, end to end stuff and our team with seconds to go found itself either a point down or the scores were tied. Anyway, yours truly caught a pass from the scrum half and slashed a drop goal between the posts.  Victory was ours and I enjoyed hero status for the rest of the night.  De Grauwert had a pub for home fixtures and their owner a local millionaire decided that us visiting Brits deserved an outing to his mansion and to avail ourselves of his fine liqueurs. We did including a 25 year old Brandy he suggested tasted like angels pissing on your tongue.  How would he know?

RAF Uxbridge gave me rugby for five years and again I got to skipper the team.  Again I designed the rugby sweater and logo and again I experienced great friendship and camaraderie.  While at Uxbridge I got to know the great Rory Underwood.  Rory was an RAF Pilot but more memorably one of the greatest wingers ever to don and England or British Lions shirt.  I do remember being selected to play for RAF Support command against REME and taking Rory’s place on the wing for that fixture.  I scored two tries that day.

My most memorable rugby fame moment was outside Twickenham after the Middlesex Sevens tournament.  It also involved Rory.  I was emerging from the stadium when I heard a shout. “Hey Mick”, I turned and it was Rory busy signing autographs.  The attention suddenly turned to me and I experienced an insane few minutes of attention.  By association it appeared I too had become a legend.  I was asked for an autograph and supplied.

Uxbridge was an extremely fulfilling rugby experience.  The USAF had a unit on the base and I was made an honorary member of their club and bar.  A number of the American guys ran out with us week on week at Uxbridge and became key players in our team.  Hank Ramey from Little Rock Arkansas, Tony Bacon, both good mates.  We got the best of both worlds here.  We had our own events and they were many but we also got to celebrate Labor Day, Thanksgiving and some major barbecues.  I’ll never forget the whole bloody cow cooking on a giant rotisserie that had to be hand turned for three days.  Its back suddenly broke and it fell into the fire.  I have never seen people move so quickly to order in a few hundred dogs and burgers.  I got to play with some fine guys here.  Another Taff Davies was our Hooker and also played for London Welsh, Mark Thomas an RAF regular played at centre, Phil Greenwood, Ade Edmondson, John  Murray, Chris Saroka, Spider Strickland, Nigel Tonge, Vic Moore.  We won a plate competition at RAF Coningsby and I skippered that day.  It’s the only photograph I have of my rugby experiences and that is a little sad.

I lived in Hayes for a long spell whilst at Uxbridge and one of my housemates was Andy Green.  Andy was not an RAF lad but played rugby for Aberavon in Wales and also had the honour of running out for the Barbarians on one occasion.  My rugby experiences were rich as you can see.

We toured Jersey from RAF Uxbridge and a great time was had by all.  There was considerably less hair on the return trip compared to the outward but that was largely down to Mark Thomas.

I played for Uxbridge Town on a few occasions and enjoyed the cut and thrust of good club rugby for a spell.  I was also filmed as part of a documentary called Your Life in Their Hands.  One of the RAF Uxbridge players whilst on tour in Amsterdam was seriously injured in a knife attack.  It was touch and go for a long time.  The filming was to celebrate recovery and a return to rugby.  It was the only time actual play was choreographed I can remember and the only time I appeared on television playing the game.

I did pick up another injury while at Uxbridge Town and it involved a guy called Nellie.  Can`t remember his second name and probably wouldn`t want to.  He was a psychopath; very useful on the field of play but he had a character flaw.  He couldn`t switch off after the final whistle.  Long story short he decided to tackle me in the bar and I ended up full contact with a radiator.  I ended up with a three inch deep cut in my elbow and the largest scar of my rugby playing career.  What a pity it wasn`t on the field of play!

From Uxbridge I went to Winterbourne Gunner where we had barely enough folk to form a basketball team and from Winterbourne Gunner to RAF Marham.  I played at RAF Marham with energy befitting a 30 plus player and retired from the game on my 3rd concussion in 1991.  Funnily enough one of the most memorable games I had for Northolt was against Marham in a cup game.  Marham were one of the giants in the RAF Station Rugby world and Northolt definately a minnow.  We gave these guys a real run for their money on their home pitch and I have a distinct tackling memory in my archive.  Playing full back and having to take out two prop forwards within five seconds of each other deep in our 22 left me shaken and stirred.  Our whole team played heroically that day and the opposition supportes applauded us to a man as we left the field.  Boy did we have some beers on that trip home.

I still love this great game.  I have taken my boys to Twickenham to watch England play Italy.  We had the greatest day out.  I have never pushed my boys to play Rugby believing you come by the game honestly of your own choice.  Marcus has embraced the game and all its accessories and I`m sure it will add fibre to his being and to his stomach.  Bugbrooke Rugby watch out!

I have watched some great games and stewarded at Twickenham as well on a number of occasions.  There is or was a down side to rugby and that was 57 old farts referred to by Will Carling (ex England Captain).  I stewarded for the Rugby Great and Good in the box and was treated like a piece of dirt by the assembled morons.  Insulting behaviour by people who should know better.  These are the same folks that are running our institutions and the country.  No wonder it’s going to rat shit!  I even remember being walked through by some misguided pompous arse.  Should have decked the bugger and run for it…

I`ve watched numerous big games at Twickenham.  I`ve enjoyed rugby at the Recreation ground in Bath and then beers with best buddy Phil Hodges at the Huntsman for afters.  I`ve watched numerous Northampton Saints games and my allegiance to club rugby is there having lived in Northampton for 16 years.  I`ve watched some legends in action and had that sharp intake of breath as some magic plays out on the field.

I watched my mate Cpl Tony Green play against the All Blacks for the Combined Services and in Aldershot.

A short spell in coaching here in Canada with the Maple Ridge Bruins was stalled by a particularly busy work schedule and my efforts to put back into a sport that gave me so much was short lived.  I could not commit to train young lads the game if I found myself unable to turn up each and every week to continue that education.  Now 54 years old I am now an armchair rugby fan, extremely vocal and still able to recall those fine tunes.  I list among my LinkedIn contacts Rory Underwood, John Sleightholme and Frank Packman all players at the top end.

Rugby Union is Gods Game and I am blessed to have been so much part of it, particularly at a time when amateurs became internationals and were connected more to the grass roots! Not that I regret the move to professianalise Rugby Union.  It has certainly elevated the game.