COMBAT AND COMPETITION.pdf - Lakes Gliding Club

COMBAT AND COMPETITION
In reality the drill instructors were a good bunch, who took pride in
their work and earned our respect. At ITW, dealing with aircrew
trainees impatient to be on their way, they had an unrewarding task.
In the classrooms we battled with the intricacies of navigation,
stripped and rebuilt the .303 Browning until we could do it blindfold,
and sweated to make twelve words a minute at Morse. Meteorology,
with hindsight, was treated surprisingly in the abstract. For our future
safety in the air might well depend on a good practical understanding
of the subject - and particularly of frontal systems.
Almost from the moment of our arrival a state of warfare had
existed between Pat Garland, at thirty six the old man of the course,
and the Commanding Officer. The latter, portly and slow witted, was
no match for Pat's rapier like charm and determination. When his
brother won a posthumous VC, attacking the Maastricht bridges, Pat
decided to transfer to the RAF. Now en route to Mustangs it never
occurred to him that he was well past the age at which most fighter
recce pilots would be retiring from ops.
As the weeks went by the relationship between Pat and the CO got
steadily worse. Matters came to a head one Saturday night when the
regular pub crawl, returning to base, found that the bar had just been
closed. Pat's bete noir had clamped down - and there he was, large as
life, smiling at our discomfiture. When he refused to reopen the bar
there was near mutiny.
The next morning Pat put his troops to work and shortly after dark
everything was in place. A light fingered character had dealt with the
lock on the french windows to the CO's office. A large and smelly
ewe, 'borrowed' from an unsuspecting local farmer, had been herded
in for the night. And just to be sure that she was comfortable we left
her with a supply of hay and water and a large amount of straw
bedding.
It was a great pity that the CO's reaction could not be recorded for
posterity. But it was enough that the whole course was summoned to
view the results, presumably in an effort to get someone to talk, and
to see for ourselves that the wretched man was speechless with rage.
He left no stone unturned in his efforts to find the culprit. Every
vehicle on the place, service and civilian, was checked for sheep
droppings, and the local farmers all received a visit. But he drew a
complete blank.
Around this time the seconded Army officers acquired a collective
name. It may well have arisen from the episode of the sheep. Maybe
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