sagalout
Well-known member
I found it, the maggot I lost this morning, it was in me coffee. Just goes to show how good my throwing skills are, it was meant to be by the float in the water.
Stop looking
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Imagine my alarm when I woke early one morning in a tiny tent in an Indian riverine forest many years ago, reached for the plastic mug I put water in to drink during the night, only to find a ruddy great, still-living scorpion.
dangermouse
Well-known member
terry m
Well-known member
Good job it was a big 'un. Tis the tiddlers that are really dangerous.
I woke in my tent once to the feeling of rain dapping on my face. Dam I thought, the tent has a leak. That thought held until I reached out of the sleeping bag to wipe my hand across my face. It was not rain but a big black slug feeling for somewhere to settle. UGH
Alan Tyler
Well-known member
Burma: leech and Jap-infested jungle, Chindit camp; normal rise-and-shine procedure begins with shaking the scorps and baby cobras out of one's boots. Something kicks off and a signalman is needed pronto; Signalman Tyler,H. jumps to it and leaps into his boots without thinking, only utterly to fail to suppress a yelp as his toes find something soft therein.
A Toad. How they chuckled. I don't know; Dad never would tell me how...
A Toad. How they chuckled. I don't know; Dad never would tell me how...
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Your Dad one of the Chindits? Wow. Those guys were tough cookies.
This man - Orde Wingate - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia - led them. Went to my old school. Lived hard, died young.
Alan Tyler
Well-known member
I don't know the details, he wasn't talkative about it.
He was a pit-head electrician, a reserved occupation, but after Coventry, decided he had to do something about ze Germans. So the silly b.s sent him off to Burma... Yorkshire regiment, then REME and signals, and secondment to the Cameron Highlanders with whom he was bundled off up (or down?) the Irrawady. Whether a Chindit "proper" (whatever that may be), I don't know. He came out at six stone something, having been scalded by an overturned billy-can, and caught two types of malaria (are there two? Recurrent and summat else?), with a low opinion of Americans in general and Vinegar Joe Stilwell in particular, a rueful fondness for mules and Chiang Kai-Shek's lot (his politics were just a tad left of the latters', but when someone's busy digging you out of the brown stuff, it doesn't do to quibble...) and the firm opinion that anywhere rich in leeches, scorpions and snakes was ideal for the Japanese. All of them. And most of the British officer "class", too, if room could be found.
One of his few photos - one thing I did inherit from him was an inability to label pictures - to be labelled, bore the inscription "Christmas 1946" and the name of an army camp, so he wasn't exactly rushed home.
Actually, his old army book is upstairs somewhere - does anyone know if (and how) I can trace what he actually got up to from his number?
He was a pit-head electrician, a reserved occupation, but after Coventry, decided he had to do something about ze Germans. So the silly b.s sent him off to Burma... Yorkshire regiment, then REME and signals, and secondment to the Cameron Highlanders with whom he was bundled off up (or down?) the Irrawady. Whether a Chindit "proper" (whatever that may be), I don't know. He came out at six stone something, having been scalded by an overturned billy-can, and caught two types of malaria (are there two? Recurrent and summat else?), with a low opinion of Americans in general and Vinegar Joe Stilwell in particular, a rueful fondness for mules and Chiang Kai-Shek's lot (his politics were just a tad left of the latters', but when someone's busy digging you out of the brown stuff, it doesn't do to quibble...) and the firm opinion that anywhere rich in leeches, scorpions and snakes was ideal for the Japanese. All of them. And most of the British officer "class", too, if room could be found.
One of his few photos - one thing I did inherit from him was an inability to label pictures - to be labelled, bore the inscription "Christmas 1946" and the name of an army camp, so he wasn't exactly rushed home.
Actually, his old army book is upstairs somewhere - does anyone know if (and how) I can trace what he actually got up to from his number?
nicepix
Well-known member
We used to leave our wellies outside at the cottage we rented on a farm estate. I always emptied mine before putting them on but Little Wife isn't or wasn't as savvy. That was until she put her foot in the welly and felt something move inside. Exit her foot followed by a mouse
But back to the main thread; it is amazing where you find micro pellets and grains of sweetcorn after you have used a catapult. They seem to go everywhere but the intended direction.
Alan Tyler
Well-known member
"it is amazing where you find micro pellets and grains of sweetcorn after you have used a catapult"
Try a throwing stick under an umbrella. No, DON'T!!! Maggots were emerging from my collar to my socks for the whole day.
Try a throwing stick under an umbrella. No, DON'T!!! Maggots were emerging from my collar to my socks for the whole day.
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Chindit or not, your Dad and anyone who fought in Burma has my greatest respect.
When I was at primary school in the 1960s, there was a park adjacent to my edge-of-London, Colne Valley, village school complete with full-time Park Keeper, Bob.
He was a quiet but friendly man, always pleasant to me and a couple of my 6- or 7-year-old mates, sometimes boiling water on a primus stove in his brick-built "shed" and offering us a cup of tea, then thoughtfully smoking his pipe, never saying much, yet always ready to answer any questions we had for him. One day, though, he told us a bit about his war, how he had been captured in Burma by "the Japs" and tortured (no details, but we got the gist) - even now I can see the sudden frown lines on his suntanned face, the involuntarily twitching eye behind National Health pebble glasses, the rise in his voice before he shook his head, smiled at us broadly then fell silent .
Lovely man, Bob, clearly doing a lot of forgetting and recovering in his shed in the park where there were two mowers always in need of some therapeutic dismantling, reassembling and cleaning.
Tough cookies, Chindits or not.
My grandad finished the war a skinny shadow of his former self - in his case, due to spending most of the war in a German POW camp. He was part of the BEF but never got back to the beach at Dunkirk and was captured. After he died, in the 70's, my dad wrote to his regiment and they sent back a large envelope of stuff relating to his service record.
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Some great photos of the Allies' D-Day return to Europe after the Dunkirk debacle of 1940 in the Gurnard newspaper today. Click each photo to get a "now" view of the scene.
D-day landings scenes in 1944 and now – interactive | Art and design | theguardian.com
D-day landings scenes in 1944 and now – interactive | Art and design | theguardian.com
dorsetandchub
Well-known member
Arnhem, now there was a debacle and the reason, thanks to "that paper hanging son of a b1tch" that I never got to meet my Grandad.
(General Patton's description of Hitler, eloquently reproduced by the late George C Scott)
(General Patton's description of Hitler, eloquently reproduced by the late George C Scott)
I have witnessed the mastery of the "none-chucker" stick as demonstrated by the venerable Sensei Tyler - I have yet to emulate the master's style and teachings!
I was reminded of these the other day whilst peering around to see where the pellets had landed when I was distracted by a rattling noise as the pellets rolled out of the end of the "none-chucker" - bounced off the end of the platform and induced a carp-centred 'boil' at my feet! Oh Sensei - teach me again!
Ray Roberts
Well-known member
One of my mates who I have known since childhood has a father who was a Chindit and he wasn't full of bull and bravado either.
Tom returned to civilian life as a manager of a Gentleman's Outfitters in our High Street. If you didn't know what he had done in his past then you wouldn't have guessed.
One quite afternoon when Tom was in the shop alone, three rather dodgy looking guys entered the shop and started to take a look at the more expensive coats and jackets. While they were doing so Tom turned the key in the lock of the shop door, went to his office and rang the police, he then slid a length of steel bar up the sleeve of his jacket and enquired politely if he could be of assistance. They pushed him aside and bolted for the door with as much booty as they could carry, only to end up like flies buzzing at a window pane. Tom got stuck in and knocked seven bells out of the three of them, they were begging him to stop as the police arrived. As they were being cuffed they were whining to the police that they were innocent and had been attacked, the arresting officer calmed them down by saying he would take care of things at the station, which I am told he did, but not in a way they expected, the arresting officer was Tom's younger brother, happy days.
Tom returned to civilian life as a manager of a Gentleman's Outfitters in our High Street. If you didn't know what he had done in his past then you wouldn't have guessed.
One quite afternoon when Tom was in the shop alone, three rather dodgy looking guys entered the shop and started to take a look at the more expensive coats and jackets. While they were doing so Tom turned the key in the lock of the shop door, went to his office and rang the police, he then slid a length of steel bar up the sleeve of his jacket and enquired politely if he could be of assistance. They pushed him aside and bolted for the door with as much booty as they could carry, only to end up like flies buzzing at a window pane. Tom got stuck in and knocked seven bells out of the three of them, they were begging him to stop as the police arrived. As they were being cuffed they were whining to the police that they were innocent and had been attacked, the arresting officer calmed them down by saying he would take care of things at the station, which I am told he did, but not in a way they expected, the arresting officer was Tom's younger brother, happy days.
Alan Tyler
Well-known member
If they were still table to talk after all that time, he was only debating with them.
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Greenie, I have modified my technique since you witnessed my masterly display - wasn't it the first rainy day of the drought summer of 1976? Or it might have been any ol' day in '75...
The first and obvious improvement is a rule never to pack both a throwing-stick and an umbrella.
Slightly less likely to cause confusion, and saving hours carefully drying out the gnarled and ancient cane rods, is the axiom "never fish when you might need a brolly". Saves a fortune on bait, petrol and tickets, that one.
Having finally overcome meteorology, avarice and inertia, and dragged one's weary bulk to the bankside, a few more tweaks are:
- Avoid dropping bait down your collar by exaggerating your back-swing. This causes the bait to empty out behind you, to the delight of the local bird-life. None passing overhead means none can fall short, into your collar.
You can then loose feed a closer-than-planned line by hand, take some nice piccies of the robins, and once you've done that, the fish should be lined up waiting for the maggot with the hook in.
- Only use the stick for inanimate baits like hemp or corn. Much easier to extract from the clothing, and if the elastic of your pants is anything like up to the job, you won't need to risk indecency charges to get the last few awkward ones out.
- Take off your boots, and store them upside-down, upwind of you, and use a catapult.
Once finished, you can put your boots back on, safe in the knowledge that no spilled bait can have got in. If you remember to shake them out (Vide supra) you can ensure nothing else got in, either.
- If all else fails and you still want to get some feed out there, set up a feeder rod, push the throwing stick into the ground just beyond the tip to act as a marker, feed via the feeder and catch what you may; just don't remember to pull the stick out of the ground when you pack up, or you'll be going through the whole daft rigmarole next time out.
Edit: I forgot - if you simply must use the stick, then wear a wide-brimmed hat, pulled down as firm as poss. without actually needing eye-holes cutting in the front.
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Greenie, I have modified my technique since you witnessed my masterly display - wasn't it the first rainy day of the drought summer of 1976? Or it might have been any ol' day in '75...
The first and obvious improvement is a rule never to pack both a throwing-stick and an umbrella.
Slightly less likely to cause confusion, and saving hours carefully drying out the gnarled and ancient cane rods, is the axiom "never fish when you might need a brolly". Saves a fortune on bait, petrol and tickets, that one.
Having finally overcome meteorology, avarice and inertia, and dragged one's weary bulk to the bankside, a few more tweaks are:
- Avoid dropping bait down your collar by exaggerating your back-swing. This causes the bait to empty out behind you, to the delight of the local bird-life. None passing overhead means none can fall short, into your collar.
You can then loose feed a closer-than-planned line by hand, take some nice piccies of the robins, and once you've done that, the fish should be lined up waiting for the maggot with the hook in.
- Only use the stick for inanimate baits like hemp or corn. Much easier to extract from the clothing, and if the elastic of your pants is anything like up to the job, you won't need to risk indecency charges to get the last few awkward ones out.
- Take off your boots, and store them upside-down, upwind of you, and use a catapult.
Once finished, you can put your boots back on, safe in the knowledge that no spilled bait can have got in. If you remember to shake them out (Vide supra) you can ensure nothing else got in, either.
- If all else fails and you still want to get some feed out there, set up a feeder rod, push the throwing stick into the ground just beyond the tip to act as a marker, feed via the feeder and catch what you may; just don't remember to pull the stick out of the ground when you pack up, or you'll be going through the whole daft rigmarole next time out.
Edit: I forgot - if you simply must use the stick, then wear a wide-brimmed hat, pulled down as firm as poss. without actually needing eye-holes cutting in the front.
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