Trev was truly a terrifying individual. It seemed that whatever I did annoyed him. Either my questions were stupid, my tone was inappropriate or I breathed too loud. Work soon became a succession of avoiding actions.
If work wasn't scary enough, exercises were torture. There was no way to avoid him as I was on the same wagon. Not only that, his methods of ensuring 'lessons were learned were positively sadistic. I learned that one of the junior mechanics at a previous unit had made the mistake of leaving his toolbox at their base location. They deployed to a location about 15 miles from base and started on a gearbox change on the tank they had been sent out to. At first Trev didn't realise that his crewman had forgot his toolbox as they were both working from his. When he did realise he decided that the best solution was for the lad to walk back to base and get the box and bring it back.....on foot, cross country. The unfortunate mechanic was making his way back to base when Jim Fuller, Trevs boss who was out in his land rover checking on his repair teams found him. Jim, being an inquisitive sort, stopped when he saw the miserable mechanic making his slow way back to base. He took him back in the 'rover and dropped him back with Trev. When he told Trev it was 'inappropriate' to send junior mechs on a 30 mile cross country scavenger hunt it would be fair to say the big man was mystified. It had seemed perfectly reasonable to him!
This was the man I was dealing with. Even barbecues at his house were scary. First you were 'invited' and then with a sense of dread you armed yourself a trusty crate of beer and consoled yourself that at least there would be women there and that being the case, he would have to be on best....or at least slightly less murderous behaviour. One occasion sticks in my memory for the simple reason that it involved Trev, barbecue lighter fluid, alcohol and hospital. I arrived at his house with Jill, my wife, and a crate of beer. We'd already decided it would be a flying 'show our faces and go' visit. Trev greeted us with his customary foghorn voice (imagine Brian Blessed at his boomiest best and multiply it by eleventy-twelve times) I was dispatched to the garden while Jill sat down with 'the wives'. The afternoon was beginning to settle down a bit when Trev decided things were getting too quiet. Most of the guests (males) were already wet as he'd come up with a game the rules of which I forget but the conclusion of which seemed to involve getting thrown into a paddling pool and sat on. I emerged from the pool just the right side of drowning. So, as I mentioned things were quiet "too quiet" as they say in the films. It was at this point that Trev recharged the barbecue with charcoal and then got annoyed that it wasn't ready to go immediately. He added some lighter fluid which helped, then for reasons best known to himself he decided that it would be far more effective if he filled his mouth with the lighter fluid and spat it out over the barbecue. It wasn't completely successful...or maybe it was if you were a poor, put upon Craftsman ;) The fluid ignited as it hit the 'cue and then we all watched in fascination as the flame front made its way back to Trev. After what seemed an age but was only a split second the flames hit his lips casing him to open them and spit out the last dregs of the fluid. In a second it was all over he'd lost his eyebrows, moustache, sideburns and the hair from the front of his head. All the craftsman were watching him, none of us able to utter a word. All terrified that we'd be the first to break the silence and pay for the misdemeanour, I don't know how long we were there looking at each other scared that we'd be the one to crack. It was his wife in the end who broke the silence "That was a fucking stupid thing to do wasn't it?" she said. Instantly the spell was broken and everyone could laugh. Trev was driven to the Medical Centre and returned looking like a mummy. It was truly a memorable afternoon :)
So how do you deal with a man who has lost a total of 7 tapes, LOVES to administer a good old fashioned hiding to you at the drop of a hat and, has the temper of a rabid rotweiller with its nuts caught in a mangle?. You're on exercise with him on his vehicle in Canada slap bang in the middle of 1000 square miles of sod all. Not only that, you're sure that at some time (soon) he may well inadvertently deliver a fatal beating to you.....well if you're a Craftsman like I was you decide the best thing to do is wait till Trev is dismounted and guiding you into a location in the middle of the night and then you run over him in your 434 Armoured Vehicle. Yes really. The other important thing is to make sure that you don't do what I did next.....tell someone I was going to do it (what a pillock!) The upshot was that some time later Trev caught me. Next thing I knew I was pined up against the side of a vehicle with my feet off the ground. "I hear you'd like to run over me with the 434" he said in a surprisingly quiet voice. At this point I figured what the hell I'd be dead in a few seconds anyway so I thought "Sod it!, I'll go out with a bang!". I looked him in the eye and said "Yep". At this point I was expecting the mother and father of all hidings but all Trev did was grin and say "Good lad!" then he let me down,
From that point on there was a change in Trev. He was still just as scary, he still had a hair trigger temper and was still likely to punch the person who brought him bad news......or a cold brew........or who smoked near him etc. No he wasn't worried about me, to be honest I don't think ANYONE would worry him. I think he just decided that under his tutelage I had 'progressed' now he could find another person to educate.
Its an overused phrase nowadays to say "They don't make them like that anymore" but in the case of Trev, they really don't!. In 22 years in the Army I never ever met anyone like him and I doubt I ever will. As an epilogue to this I met him at an Army/Navy rugby match and though the years may have mellowed him (a bit!) he was still in every sense the Wild Corporal from the Orkneys.
Next time
Rugby!
Friday, 4 May 2012
Sunday, 11 September 2011
Then : The scariest man in Christendom
The Army is made up of 'characters'. Whats a character?, well it depends on your point of view. I met a character when I was attached to 1 RTR. The intervening years have done nothing to diminish the impact that he made on me. I was happy in C Squadron and just going with the flow when all of a sudden it was decided that I was off to D Squadron. I never found out why but it was there in D that I met Trev. Even now the name is enough to start off a mixture of nostalgia and queasiness (in equal measure!)
First time I saw Trev he filled my doorway, literally filled it (and doors in German Barracks were HUGE) the first thing to strike you about Trev was his size, that was followed by his sheer presence, not to be confused with size. Trev gave off a 'feeling', a don't mess with me feeling. I've met bigger guys. Colin Brookes at 6 feet 8 was a second row in the REME Rugby Team. He was enormous but was approachable and you picked up on that straight away. Trev....well he made you think as you walked up to him "Do I REALLY need to speak to him? and is what I've got to say something he wants to hear?"
Stories soon started to circulate about Trev. He was spoken of in hushed tones. Apparently he'd 'lost' a total of 7 tapes while he was in the Army. That meant he'd been busted from LCpl to craftsman a few times (3 as it turned out) and from Cpl to Cfn a couple of times too!. I found out that the LAST time he'd been bust from Cpl it was for beating his Artificer (a S/Sgt) to a pulp in full view of the rest of his unit. Who else saw him do this? well, only his Officer Commanding and his ASM!! He was, as they say, caught red handed. That resulted in his demotion to Craftsman. Of course now in the Army that would result in jail time and probably headlines in the national papers but then it was more 'acceptable'
It soon became clear that Trev was NOT a person to take liberties with.....and by liberties I mean speak to, look at in a funny way, be in the same room as, etc etc. One particular memory springs to mind. We were sat in the squadron fitter section office it was morning break and the guys were finishing their tea. Dion, our 'ece' was doing something technical, Dave our gunfitter was doing ....whatever gunfitters do, I was finishing my brew before getting back to work on the hydro start system of a Chieftain and Trev was being quiet. Oh how we should have known!. Trev was like a volcano, he couldn't be quiet. He was either 'active' or 'dormant'. He suddenly looked over at Dave who was sat down and said "Move I want to work there", Dave replied "Sod off Trev I need to finish this" Like a bear Trev moved forward and the next thing we saw was Dave flying through the air ending up on the floor with Trev glaring at him. Like everyone else in the room I suddenly realised I had a deep and abiding need to be somewhere else.
Another time we were on exercise in Soltau, it had been a busy exercise for the mechanics as ANY exercise involving Chieftains tended to be. We had been working non stop for days, grabbing the odd cat knap whenever there was a chance. I had less chance to sleep than others because I was driving the 434, a REME repair vehicle. It was tracked and our role was to follow the tanks and repair them on the (frequent) occasions they needed repair. One particular tank was being a bit of a 'problem child' it would start and run for a few minutes then cut out for no good reason. As a result we would pull in next to it, within an inch or so because Trev wanted the vehicles close. Trev would fiddle with something, the tank would drive off, we'd follow it and then it would happen again. Each time the tank drove off I'd turn round and look at Trev to make sure he wanted me to follow. There was a good reason for this, armoured vehicles take no prisoners. If you do something silly a person could end up dead. So, each time the tank drove off I'd turn to Trev and say "OK to go?" and each time he'd say "go!"....after a few times I was still asking, but by now he was saying "for f*&^'s sake drive the $%^&&%ing wagon you !""£$%%" The next time I reasoned that as Trev was getting annoyed with the delay, it would be best if i just watched him back on to the wagon and then followed........MISTAKE!!!!!!
I was told by Dion what happened next as I didn't see it. Apparently Trev stepped back on to the 434 and instead of getting back into his hatch, he decided to grab a brew from Dion. I, of course' didn't see this. I just went. The result was that Trev nearly fell over. With unexpected balance for a big man Trev spun round and kicked me in the head. I lost conciousness at that point. Trev then shouted at me to follow the tank. Being unconscious I didn't comply. Trev then bent over, grabbed me by the shoulders and in one movement lifted me out of the drivers position and threw me into the back of the 434. He then turned to Dion and said "you drive!" The fact that he didn't have a license and didn't know how to drive never crossed Dions mind....he decided that if Trev wanted it, best he gets it. I regained conciousness some time later. Still, at least I didn't have to drive for a while!
Next
Trev, the murder plot and Canada
First time I saw Trev he filled my doorway, literally filled it (and doors in German Barracks were HUGE) the first thing to strike you about Trev was his size, that was followed by his sheer presence, not to be confused with size. Trev gave off a 'feeling', a don't mess with me feeling. I've met bigger guys. Colin Brookes at 6 feet 8 was a second row in the REME Rugby Team. He was enormous but was approachable and you picked up on that straight away. Trev....well he made you think as you walked up to him "Do I REALLY need to speak to him? and is what I've got to say something he wants to hear?"
Stories soon started to circulate about Trev. He was spoken of in hushed tones. Apparently he'd 'lost' a total of 7 tapes while he was in the Army. That meant he'd been busted from LCpl to craftsman a few times (3 as it turned out) and from Cpl to Cfn a couple of times too!. I found out that the LAST time he'd been bust from Cpl it was for beating his Artificer (a S/Sgt) to a pulp in full view of the rest of his unit. Who else saw him do this? well, only his Officer Commanding and his ASM!! He was, as they say, caught red handed. That resulted in his demotion to Craftsman. Of course now in the Army that would result in jail time and probably headlines in the national papers but then it was more 'acceptable'
It soon became clear that Trev was NOT a person to take liberties with.....and by liberties I mean speak to, look at in a funny way, be in the same room as, etc etc. One particular memory springs to mind. We were sat in the squadron fitter section office it was morning break and the guys were finishing their tea. Dion, our 'ece' was doing something technical, Dave our gunfitter was doing ....whatever gunfitters do, I was finishing my brew before getting back to work on the hydro start system of a Chieftain and Trev was being quiet. Oh how we should have known!. Trev was like a volcano, he couldn't be quiet. He was either 'active' or 'dormant'. He suddenly looked over at Dave who was sat down and said "Move I want to work there", Dave replied "Sod off Trev I need to finish this" Like a bear Trev moved forward and the next thing we saw was Dave flying through the air ending up on the floor with Trev glaring at him. Like everyone else in the room I suddenly realised I had a deep and abiding need to be somewhere else.
Another time we were on exercise in Soltau, it had been a busy exercise for the mechanics as ANY exercise involving Chieftains tended to be. We had been working non stop for days, grabbing the odd cat knap whenever there was a chance. I had less chance to sleep than others because I was driving the 434, a REME repair vehicle. It was tracked and our role was to follow the tanks and repair them on the (frequent) occasions they needed repair. One particular tank was being a bit of a 'problem child' it would start and run for a few minutes then cut out for no good reason. As a result we would pull in next to it, within an inch or so because Trev wanted the vehicles close. Trev would fiddle with something, the tank would drive off, we'd follow it and then it would happen again. Each time the tank drove off I'd turn round and look at Trev to make sure he wanted me to follow. There was a good reason for this, armoured vehicles take no prisoners. If you do something silly a person could end up dead. So, each time the tank drove off I'd turn to Trev and say "OK to go?" and each time he'd say "go!"....after a few times I was still asking, but by now he was saying "for f*&^'s sake drive the $%^&&%ing wagon you !""£$%%" The next time I reasoned that as Trev was getting annoyed with the delay, it would be best if i just watched him back on to the wagon and then followed........MISTAKE!!!!!!
I was told by Dion what happened next as I didn't see it. Apparently Trev stepped back on to the 434 and instead of getting back into his hatch, he decided to grab a brew from Dion. I, of course' didn't see this. I just went. The result was that Trev nearly fell over. With unexpected balance for a big man Trev spun round and kicked me in the head. I lost conciousness at that point. Trev then shouted at me to follow the tank. Being unconscious I didn't comply. Trev then bent over, grabbed me by the shoulders and in one movement lifted me out of the drivers position and threw me into the back of the 434. He then turned to Dion and said "you drive!" The fact that he didn't have a license and didn't know how to drive never crossed Dions mind....he decided that if Trev wanted it, best he gets it. I regained conciousness some time later. Still, at least I didn't have to drive for a while!
Next
Trev, the murder plot and Canada
Wednesday, 17 August 2011
Then : Tanks, the most fun you can have with your clothes on
Tanks, every boy loves 'em whether he admits it or not.
I was just starting my technical training at SEME when everything changed for me. I had to sign in to the 'heavy A' hanger and there I saw my first tank close up. It was a Chieftain, it had a 19 litre stroke diesel engine and it SHRIEKED when it was revved up. I ought to explain, a big 4 stroke diesel engine roars, its all bass. A 2 stroke Diesel shrieks, the noise is unworldly. I was hooked. The following day I went in to the chief instructor and told him I wanted to be an 'A' Mech. He wasn't happy, told me it would be the end of my career. Oh well. I did it anyway.
After waiting for an 'A' mech course to come through I was in. Mostly they did the same curriculum as 'B' mech courses like my original one but where a B mech course restricted themselves to 'little' armoured vehicles like the 432, 'A' mech courses worked on Chieftain. I can still remember the thrill of my first day with Chieftain, standing on the engine. It weighed 3 tons and was 5 feet long! the gearbox alone weighed 2 tons. Everything about tanks was big. The cooling fans were made of metal and were heavy enough to slice and dice anything that got near them. The blower was 3 feet long and required 100 hp just to drive it!!. All this paled into insignificance when we were told about ......"CRITICAL SPEED"!!
Critical Speed
It even sounded dangerous!. There were a few things we learned about the L60 tank engine. We learned its idle speed, we learned its maximum governed speed....and finally in hushed tones we were told all about critical speed. So, what happens at critical speed? in short everything!. Remember those cooling fans I told you about? the big heavy ones?. Well they're made up of individual fan blades all bolted to a common hub. They are VERY heavy, each individual blade weighs at least a kilo and there are 10. They are held on by 2 bolts each. Problem is, when the fan is going round REALLY fast, faster than its design speed, centrifugal force acts on it to make it even heavier. It makes it so heavy that the 2 bolts there to hold it on aren't really up to it. Whats worse than that is it only takes one blade to shear, then the fan is out of balance and a chain reaction occurs. All the blades then come off and bounce round inside the armoured engine bay of the tank. They rip off all the exposed pipes, they sever cables and generally destroy whatever gets in their way. In my years since training I have seen the results of a few engines reaching 'critical speed'. While I was attached to 1 RTR, all of the tanks in our squadron were named after battle honours held by the regiment. All except 1. That one was called Vesuvius. It got its name because when it reached critical speed there was a bang and a fireball 30 feet high flew out of the engine bay. It took months to complete repairs and when the tank came back to us some wag at base workshops had written Vesuvius on it in chalk. The name stuck and it was soon rechristened.
I was just starting my technical training at SEME when everything changed for me. I had to sign in to the 'heavy A' hanger and there I saw my first tank close up. It was a Chieftain, it had a 19 litre stroke diesel engine and it SHRIEKED when it was revved up. I ought to explain, a big 4 stroke diesel engine roars, its all bass. A 2 stroke Diesel shrieks, the noise is unworldly. I was hooked. The following day I went in to the chief instructor and told him I wanted to be an 'A' Mech. He wasn't happy, told me it would be the end of my career. Oh well. I did it anyway.
After waiting for an 'A' mech course to come through I was in. Mostly they did the same curriculum as 'B' mech courses like my original one but where a B mech course restricted themselves to 'little' armoured vehicles like the 432, 'A' mech courses worked on Chieftain. I can still remember the thrill of my first day with Chieftain, standing on the engine. It weighed 3 tons and was 5 feet long! the gearbox alone weighed 2 tons. Everything about tanks was big. The cooling fans were made of metal and were heavy enough to slice and dice anything that got near them. The blower was 3 feet long and required 100 hp just to drive it!!. All this paled into insignificance when we were told about ......"CRITICAL SPEED"!!
Critical Speed
It even sounded dangerous!. There were a few things we learned about the L60 tank engine. We learned its idle speed, we learned its maximum governed speed....and finally in hushed tones we were told all about critical speed. So, what happens at critical speed? in short everything!. Remember those cooling fans I told you about? the big heavy ones?. Well they're made up of individual fan blades all bolted to a common hub. They are VERY heavy, each individual blade weighs at least a kilo and there are 10. They are held on by 2 bolts each. Problem is, when the fan is going round REALLY fast, faster than its design speed, centrifugal force acts on it to make it even heavier. It makes it so heavy that the 2 bolts there to hold it on aren't really up to it. Whats worse than that is it only takes one blade to shear, then the fan is out of balance and a chain reaction occurs. All the blades then come off and bounce round inside the armoured engine bay of the tank. They rip off all the exposed pipes, they sever cables and generally destroy whatever gets in their way. In my years since training I have seen the results of a few engines reaching 'critical speed'. While I was attached to 1 RTR, all of the tanks in our squadron were named after battle honours held by the regiment. All except 1. That one was called Vesuvius. It got its name because when it reached critical speed there was a bang and a fireball 30 feet high flew out of the engine bay. It took months to complete repairs and when the tank came back to us some wag at base workshops had written Vesuvius on it in chalk. The name stuck and it was soon rechristened.
Thursday, 31 March 2011
Now:Me and the Transit
I now work for a 'leading repair/recovery' firm. Suffice to say, winter was a wee bit cold. The company had anticipated this and being the switched on peeps that they were they gave us snowchains to fit to our vans. OK the vans were still heavily loaded and they were only 2 wheel drive but it was a start!
Me, the Transit and the hill
One particular day the snow had REALLY arrived. Everywhere was thickly carpeted. The main roads were more or less passable, minor roads were a lottery and seldom used roads....well probably best not to bother!. None of this of course mattered to the people in puzzle palace (our dispatch office) who just worked on the principle that the day was the same as any other.
Alarm bells should have started ringing for me when the first job came in: A BMW X5 (4 WD) parked outside the house on a common down an unmade road 20 miles away. Oh boy. I told the office that with the weather as was it would take me about 3 hours to get there.......the girl I spoke to was not convinced. I could almost imagine her drinking a coffee, turning the heating up and sat in front of her PC while she told me "It shouldn't take you that long to get there" Counting to 10 didn't work, neither did counting to 20 in Nepalese. Ho hum.
After 3 hours, numerous slides, several near misses and 2 digging myself out of drifts I was finally within about 400 yards of the car. I could actually see the house!. It was at THAT point I was deassigned from the job and sent to one 8 miles further away. As going to the second one would entail driving PAST the house of the first one I decided that a bit of independent action was required. I fixed the first one. Dug the van out a couple more times and decided to fit my snow chains. Have YOU ever fitted snow chains?. After about 20 minutes I could no longer feel my fingers, after another 20 I could feel them but wished I couldn't. The chains were finally attached and I made my jolly way to my next job, a Ford Fiesta stuck in a snow drift. The address of the job was vaguely familiar but I couldn't figure why, the important thing was the guy was stuck and the job was 4 hours old so obviously he was bloody cold. Off I set.
I was going up a steep hill of tightly packed snow and ice when one of my snowchains started making a noise, to be on the safe side I stopped for a quick look. As I was checking the chains were taut I noticed a flatbed Ford Transit pull up behind me. Next minute I'm joined by a jolly rather large gentleman wearing baggy jeans and a sweatshirt. "Any probs?" he said, "Nope, just checking my chains" I replied. "Pah, chains! my Trannys great in the snow it doesn't need gaylord chains" he replied.....It was at this point that he and I watched his Transit slowly start to slide down the hill. My companion moving with great speed (but precious little thought) said "Oh shit!" and started to run down the hill....as we all know, stopping a fully laden Transit which has its handbrake on and is sliding down the hill is dead easy! He may even have got close enough to do himself some damage but at that point several things happened:
He had taken only a few paces before his jeans gave up the unequal struggle and fell down, but showing great determination he carried on trying to run after his truck. At this point I realised two things: 1. as he had decided to dress 'commando' , there was no holster there to look after his "gentleman parts" 2. 20 stone plus individuals are not good at running when their ankles are hobbled together by their jeans. Showing rather more bravery than sense he tried to continue after his van which was now sliding slowly and gracefully towards a drainage ditch, at this point the laws of inertia and gravity decided to get in on the act, he pitched forward landing face first in the snow and then slid about 30 feet down the hill. I'll leave it to the reader to imagine how deep frozen his meat and two veg by the time he came to a halt!. As he finally slowed enough to find his feet he jumped up removing ice and snow from a delicate area and looked at me his face stricken "Please tell me you didn't video that!" I assured him that while I didn't have a video, his suffering was now etched indelibly into my conciousness. Together we walked (considerably more carefully) down to his Truck which by now had come to a halt with one rear wheel just entering a ditch. I'll draw a veil over how we got it out but he did get back on the road and I continued on my way to find the poor (by now deep frozen) chap in his Fiesta.
90 minutes later I got there. It was at this point I realised why I knew the road name. His car was stuck on a patch of snow....outside a pub!. No he wasn't cold. No he wasn't starving. Actually he was pleasantly warm, fed and watered....yep, inside the pub!. Fixing a grin with some difficulty to my face I found him. I then pushed his car off the snow he was stuck on....apparently the 10 people in the pub with him couldn't do that, and he drove off. I managed one more job that day. My figures were: Time on shift 11 hours, time 'under bonnet' (fixing things) 30 minutes total. Distance driven 50 miles.Time driving 10 hours. Another glorious day in the company!
Me, the Transit and the hill
One particular day the snow had REALLY arrived. Everywhere was thickly carpeted. The main roads were more or less passable, minor roads were a lottery and seldom used roads....well probably best not to bother!. None of this of course mattered to the people in puzzle palace (our dispatch office) who just worked on the principle that the day was the same as any other.
Alarm bells should have started ringing for me when the first job came in: A BMW X5 (4 WD) parked outside the house on a common down an unmade road 20 miles away. Oh boy. I told the office that with the weather as was it would take me about 3 hours to get there.......the girl I spoke to was not convinced. I could almost imagine her drinking a coffee, turning the heating up and sat in front of her PC while she told me "It shouldn't take you that long to get there" Counting to 10 didn't work, neither did counting to 20 in Nepalese. Ho hum.
After 3 hours, numerous slides, several near misses and 2 digging myself out of drifts I was finally within about 400 yards of the car. I could actually see the house!. It was at THAT point I was deassigned from the job and sent to one 8 miles further away. As going to the second one would entail driving PAST the house of the first one I decided that a bit of independent action was required. I fixed the first one. Dug the van out a couple more times and decided to fit my snow chains. Have YOU ever fitted snow chains?. After about 20 minutes I could no longer feel my fingers, after another 20 I could feel them but wished I couldn't. The chains were finally attached and I made my jolly way to my next job, a Ford Fiesta stuck in a snow drift. The address of the job was vaguely familiar but I couldn't figure why, the important thing was the guy was stuck and the job was 4 hours old so obviously he was bloody cold. Off I set.
I was going up a steep hill of tightly packed snow and ice when one of my snowchains started making a noise, to be on the safe side I stopped for a quick look. As I was checking the chains were taut I noticed a flatbed Ford Transit pull up behind me. Next minute I'm joined by a jolly rather large gentleman wearing baggy jeans and a sweatshirt. "Any probs?" he said, "Nope, just checking my chains" I replied. "Pah, chains! my Trannys great in the snow it doesn't need gaylord chains" he replied.....It was at this point that he and I watched his Transit slowly start to slide down the hill. My companion moving with great speed (but precious little thought) said "Oh shit!" and started to run down the hill....as we all know, stopping a fully laden Transit which has its handbrake on and is sliding down the hill is dead easy! He may even have got close enough to do himself some damage but at that point several things happened:
He had taken only a few paces before his jeans gave up the unequal struggle and fell down, but showing great determination he carried on trying to run after his truck. At this point I realised two things: 1. as he had decided to dress 'commando' , there was no holster there to look after his "gentleman parts" 2. 20 stone plus individuals are not good at running when their ankles are hobbled together by their jeans. Showing rather more bravery than sense he tried to continue after his van which was now sliding slowly and gracefully towards a drainage ditch, at this point the laws of inertia and gravity decided to get in on the act, he pitched forward landing face first in the snow and then slid about 30 feet down the hill. I'll leave it to the reader to imagine how deep frozen his meat and two veg by the time he came to a halt!. As he finally slowed enough to find his feet he jumped up removing ice and snow from a delicate area and looked at me his face stricken "Please tell me you didn't video that!" I assured him that while I didn't have a video, his suffering was now etched indelibly into my conciousness. Together we walked (considerably more carefully) down to his Truck which by now had come to a halt with one rear wheel just entering a ditch. I'll draw a veil over how we got it out but he did get back on the road and I continued on my way to find the poor (by now deep frozen) chap in his Fiesta.
90 minutes later I got there. It was at this point I realised why I knew the road name. His car was stuck on a patch of snow....outside a pub!. No he wasn't cold. No he wasn't starving. Actually he was pleasantly warm, fed and watered....yep, inside the pub!. Fixing a grin with some difficulty to my face I found him. I then pushed his car off the snow he was stuck on....apparently the 10 people in the pub with him couldn't do that, and he drove off. I managed one more job that day. My figures were: Time on shift 11 hours, time 'under bonnet' (fixing things) 30 minutes total. Distance driven 50 miles.Time driving 10 hours. Another glorious day in the company!
Thursday, 9 December 2010
Then and now.....
Then
And so we FINALLY got our hands on SI Engines. The first engines they trusted us with were Landrover 2.25 Litre petrol engines. Our instructors: Parrott and Malone led us into the running engines lab. Here were arrayed row on row of Engines, all set up so they could be run. We were each assigned one, now all of a sudden, we weren't in such a hurry to be mechanics. What MOST of us wanted to do was head back to the classroom and study some more, to make sure that we knew all the ins and outs. What we were actually going to do was firstly confirm that our engines actually started. Once we were sure they started and ran ok we were to report to messrs Parrott and Malone. Finally the last engine was checked and found to be serviceable. Now the real work started. We were sent from the room and our 2 instructors made their sneaky way round the engines. They had a box full of 'faulty' bits. Condensors that didn't, Points that wouldn't, Fuel Unions that leaked, Rotor Arms that shorted and HT Leads that didn't conduct electricity. These and many other sneakily modified bits were fitted by them to our pristine engines with the result that when we got back none of them would start. At this point all the banter that was present in class mysteriously disappeared. All that was left was a room full of mystified looking young men glancing from their disabled engines to their textbooks and back again.
After what seemed hours but was in fact seconds we all looked towards the instructors who now didn't seem quite so friendly and approachable..........they looked evil, and they were both unmistakeably looking EXTREMELY smug. "Your engines have been disabled, the faults have all been gone over in class, each engine has only 1 fault. It should be a doddle for you to fix them, all you have to do is bring us the faulty item and collect a serviceable one" ......oh well, here goes.
It was only as we started working our way through that we found that actually it WAS a doddle!. All we had to do was work logically through without jumping from one component to another and in no time at all we'd find the fault. All of a sudden we stopped looking like rabbits caught in a headlight and started to look like mechanics.....it was at this point that Parrott and Malone wheeled in the big guns. "ok get out, now its MULTIPLE faults" This worried us not a jot after all, if you can find one fault finding more than one is just as easy.....
I walked up to Mr Malone with a rotor arm I had found to be faulty. "Are you sure its that?" he asked. Desperately trying (and failing) not to sound smug I said "Yep". "OK then, lets take the faulty bit over to this WORKING engine and test it" he said. Puzzled and slightly worried I followed him. My worry increased as he told me that he was going to replace the rotor arm on this working engine with the one I had given him. It increased further as he told me to hold the uninsulated ends of the plug leads while he cranked the engine over. I suddenly realised 2 things, firstly that Mr Malone was a sadist, and second that I wasn't TOTALLY sure that the bit I had tested was REALLY faulty. I was about to make my excuses and leave (as they say in the papers) when he cranked the engine over. I didn't get a shock. What I DID get was Mr Malone saying "Next time test it PROPERLY and don't take short cuts, then you might be less nervous when we test it again!"
Those of you reading this and thinking how barbaric and risky Malones methods were are right.......but they led to no deaths and some very quick learning! Mr Malone didn't beleive in 'repeat' mistakes. I don't think I'll ever forget seeing the results of one person who took a piece to him that WASN'T faulty. Suffice to say that 20,000 plus volts going through a person makes them jolt a bit :)
And so we FINALLY got our hands on SI Engines. The first engines they trusted us with were Landrover 2.25 Litre petrol engines. Our instructors: Parrott and Malone led us into the running engines lab. Here were arrayed row on row of Engines, all set up so they could be run. We were each assigned one, now all of a sudden, we weren't in such a hurry to be mechanics. What MOST of us wanted to do was head back to the classroom and study some more, to make sure that we knew all the ins and outs. What we were actually going to do was firstly confirm that our engines actually started. Once we were sure they started and ran ok we were to report to messrs Parrott and Malone. Finally the last engine was checked and found to be serviceable. Now the real work started. We were sent from the room and our 2 instructors made their sneaky way round the engines. They had a box full of 'faulty' bits. Condensors that didn't, Points that wouldn't, Fuel Unions that leaked, Rotor Arms that shorted and HT Leads that didn't conduct electricity. These and many other sneakily modified bits were fitted by them to our pristine engines with the result that when we got back none of them would start. At this point all the banter that was present in class mysteriously disappeared. All that was left was a room full of mystified looking young men glancing from their disabled engines to their textbooks and back again.
After what seemed hours but was in fact seconds we all looked towards the instructors who now didn't seem quite so friendly and approachable..........they looked evil, and they were both unmistakeably looking EXTREMELY smug. "Your engines have been disabled, the faults have all been gone over in class, each engine has only 1 fault. It should be a doddle for you to fix them, all you have to do is bring us the faulty item and collect a serviceable one" ......oh well, here goes.
It was only as we started working our way through that we found that actually it WAS a doddle!. All we had to do was work logically through without jumping from one component to another and in no time at all we'd find the fault. All of a sudden we stopped looking like rabbits caught in a headlight and started to look like mechanics.....it was at this point that Parrott and Malone wheeled in the big guns. "ok get out, now its MULTIPLE faults" This worried us not a jot after all, if you can find one fault finding more than one is just as easy.....
I walked up to Mr Malone with a rotor arm I had found to be faulty. "Are you sure its that?" he asked. Desperately trying (and failing) not to sound smug I said "Yep". "OK then, lets take the faulty bit over to this WORKING engine and test it" he said. Puzzled and slightly worried I followed him. My worry increased as he told me that he was going to replace the rotor arm on this working engine with the one I had given him. It increased further as he told me to hold the uninsulated ends of the plug leads while he cranked the engine over. I suddenly realised 2 things, firstly that Mr Malone was a sadist, and second that I wasn't TOTALLY sure that the bit I had tested was REALLY faulty. I was about to make my excuses and leave (as they say in the papers) when he cranked the engine over. I didn't get a shock. What I DID get was Mr Malone saying "Next time test it PROPERLY and don't take short cuts, then you might be less nervous when we test it again!"
Those of you reading this and thinking how barbaric and risky Malones methods were are right.......but they led to no deaths and some very quick learning! Mr Malone didn't beleive in 'repeat' mistakes. I don't think I'll ever forget seeing the results of one person who took a piece to him that WASN'T faulty. Suffice to say that 20,000 plus volts going through a person makes them jolt a bit :)
Wednesday, 1 December 2010
Then and now.....
And a regular item from now on, how I started a mechanic and what I do now. See if you can decide which I enjoy more :)
Then:
The story starts waaay back in 1983 when I joined The Army.....thats THE ARMY as in the British Army. I'd already done my selection tests and was keen to join up as a Paratrooper. Thank the lord for the extremely switched on officer who firmly steered me away from that ..... "Don't be so bloody stupid!" and after several minutes of me mopeing around and deciding my life was pointless unless I could join The Parachute Regiment he prevailed upon me to join REME ( Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers)
After finishing my basic training it was time to learn all about engines and gearboxes and stuff.
I arrived at Bordon to start my training.....all 11 months of it. First thing to be learned was that we wouldn't even see an engine for weeks. First we had to learn maths, technical drawing and physics. Jeez, I thought I was training to be a sodding mechanic!!
When we FINALLY got to SI or spark ignition engines, we were issued our toolboxes and finally felt like REAL mechanics.....how wrong we were.
Now:
I make my jolly way to a car with an "electrical problem". Apparently his headlights have broken. After a pleasant 65 mile drive I arrive at the service station where he's waiting with the afflicted vehicle. It takes only a few minutes to find out that his mysterious electrical problem is in fact 2 blown bulbs. Both dip beams have failed. He assures me that due to some strange planetary configuration they both failed instantaneously and mere minutes ago, hmmm, I remain unconvinced. After replacing both bulbs with new ones from the service station he was parked in we both waited with baited breath to see if they would mysteriously blow again....well his breath was baited, mine was anything but. strangely enough neither bulb failed as we watched and I left him making his merry way home. It amazes me how many people are convinced ( or try to convince me ) that both headlight bulbs expire simultaneously in some sort of suicide pact. Its amazing how cynical this job makes you :)
Then:
The story starts waaay back in 1983 when I joined The Army.....thats THE ARMY as in the British Army. I'd already done my selection tests and was keen to join up as a Paratrooper. Thank the lord for the extremely switched on officer who firmly steered me away from that ..... "Don't be so bloody stupid!" and after several minutes of me mopeing around and deciding my life was pointless unless I could join The Parachute Regiment he prevailed upon me to join REME ( Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers)
After finishing my basic training it was time to learn all about engines and gearboxes and stuff.
I arrived at Bordon to start my training.....all 11 months of it. First thing to be learned was that we wouldn't even see an engine for weeks. First we had to learn maths, technical drawing and physics. Jeez, I thought I was training to be a sodding mechanic!!
When we FINALLY got to SI or spark ignition engines, we were issued our toolboxes and finally felt like REAL mechanics.....how wrong we were.
Now:
I make my jolly way to a car with an "electrical problem". Apparently his headlights have broken. After a pleasant 65 mile drive I arrive at the service station where he's waiting with the afflicted vehicle. It takes only a few minutes to find out that his mysterious electrical problem is in fact 2 blown bulbs. Both dip beams have failed. He assures me that due to some strange planetary configuration they both failed instantaneously and mere minutes ago, hmmm, I remain unconvinced. After replacing both bulbs with new ones from the service station he was parked in we both waited with baited breath to see if they would mysteriously blow again....well his breath was baited, mine was anything but. strangely enough neither bulb failed as we watched and I left him making his merry way home. It amazes me how many people are convinced ( or try to convince me ) that both headlight bulbs expire simultaneously in some sort of suicide pact. Its amazing how cynical this job makes you :)
Tuesday, 2 November 2010
How did I get into this?
I work for a "leading roadside repair company"......don't you just love that phrase?. It covers a multitude of sins. What does it mean? It means I spend my time driving round fixing things, sometimes its a car, sometimes its a van, sometimes a motorcycle and occasionally its the driver.
What do I fix?... pretty much anything from the unexpected "A car drove into me across the traffic lights", to the expected "Its been struggling to start for a week and finally its given up the ghost" and then theres the downright bizarre "My dog locked me out of the car"
How did I get into this?. For 22 years I was a mechanic in the British Army, it meant that I got the chance to work on some of the biggest vehicles driving around. Of course it also meant that I tended to be out and about fixing things when it was raining, snowing, sleeting, in sweltering heat and in sandstorms. After 22 years of this I promised myself that I wouldn't do any job that involved my being out in all weathers and conditions and working on unreliable cars and their drivers......so here I am. Best laid plans of mice and men.
I haven't blogged before but I, in common with our other 'fixers' tend to spend a lot of time talking about engines and things so this seemed the best way to get it out of my system :). Apologies all for my n00bness at this but with your helpful and constructive advice ( Especially you Frau Bluebell) I'll do my best.
To all of you who only arrived here after googling Suck Squeeze Bang Blow and are trying to find the hidden hotlinks to Miss Whiplashes posts or looking for the ahem, artistic pictures , sorry all. Suck, squeeze, bang, blow refers to the processes of the four stroke engine. Suck = Intake, Squeeze = Compression, Bang = Ignition, Blow = Exhaust. I can see you're all dropping off at the back there so I'll leave you to have a crafty kip while you watch the link. More later.
4 Stroke for beginners.
What do I fix?... pretty much anything from the unexpected "A car drove into me across the traffic lights", to the expected "Its been struggling to start for a week and finally its given up the ghost" and then theres the downright bizarre "My dog locked me out of the car"
How did I get into this?. For 22 years I was a mechanic in the British Army, it meant that I got the chance to work on some of the biggest vehicles driving around. Of course it also meant that I tended to be out and about fixing things when it was raining, snowing, sleeting, in sweltering heat and in sandstorms. After 22 years of this I promised myself that I wouldn't do any job that involved my being out in all weathers and conditions and working on unreliable cars and their drivers......so here I am. Best laid plans of mice and men.
I haven't blogged before but I, in common with our other 'fixers' tend to spend a lot of time talking about engines and things so this seemed the best way to get it out of my system :). Apologies all for my n00bness at this but with your helpful and constructive advice ( Especially you Frau Bluebell) I'll do my best.
To all of you who only arrived here after googling Suck Squeeze Bang Blow and are trying to find the hidden hotlinks to Miss Whiplashes posts or looking for the ahem, artistic pictures , sorry all. Suck, squeeze, bang, blow refers to the processes of the four stroke engine. Suck = Intake, Squeeze = Compression, Bang = Ignition, Blow = Exhaust. I can see you're all dropping off at the back there so I'll leave you to have a crafty kip while you watch the link. More later.
4 Stroke for beginners.
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