By chance the tables were turned on me not long afterwards. A bat had flown into the FWHQ building and become trapped. Where did it roost in the daytime? - hanging upside down from an electric conduit immediately above the centre of my office door! Thus, I became the centre of amusement for a few days until the creature was removed.
The Boss had a Volkswagen Beetle allocated to him for his use. It was the only one on the Station with chromed hub caps instead of the standard dark olive-green. It was his habit, each morning before Met briefing, to do a runway surface skid test in this vehicle. The skids, slides, twists, and turns he did were a wonder to watch. If the surface was dry, as was most usual during the summer season, the amount of blue smoke generated from the tyres had to be seen to be believed. I was unfortunate enough to be bidden to accompany him on such a test one morning. We had no seat belts. The way I was thrown about inside that car was almost brutal. Then, as if to cap the performance, he said he was going to check the crash gates in the boundary fence. Driving a mite more slowly over the rutted forest tracks I still had great difficulty staying in my seat. It was all right for him, he had a steering wheel to grip. I had nothing. I really thought I'd met my end when, on driving furiously down one track, he saw a spindly, dead, pine tree lying at waist height across the track. Stop and get out? Oh, no. He drove hard at it and hit it so hard that it bounced up off the rounded bonnet of his car and went way over the top of us to land clear behind.
There were times when he would ask me to use his car to drive somewhere on the Station to deliver some document or other that needed prompt attention. I did this fairly regularly. But once, I got it wrong. Wg.Cdr. Way was in the Boss's office with him when I had to use the car. Not realising, I got into the wrong car and drove off, did what I had to, and drove back. It was only when I was parking that I realised that the Boss's car was in its usual place. I had used Wg.Cdr. Way's without permission. He was waiting for me. Using a choice of words which I can no longer remember, I wangled my way out of a dressing-down by somehow mentioning that he had left his keys in it when all unattended vehicles should, under orders, be immobilised. I took an enormous risk, but I got away with it. Hammer asked me what David Way had said, and I replied that I had said more to him in explanation than he had said to me.
While still on the subject of the Boss's car: at the annual Summer Ball in the Mess, after the official guests had left, and as day broke before the party ended, a near riot broke out during which Hammer West's car was lifted bodily from the car park, up the steps, and into the dining-room to be placed on a cluster of tables for all to see. The feat was executed by many hands, comparatively quietly, and with the delicacy born of drunken precision. Not a dent, not a mark was on it. There it sat on its makeshift plinth until next morning. [Click to see.]
That morning, a little later than usual, the Boss walked to his office and, on entering, said just one thing to me "Pod, get my bloody car back where it belongs ready for Monday morning." He then retreated, probably to nurse his thumping head. This was a tall order. To attempt to get hungover pilots to remove it would have been impossible in the circumstances. Fortunately Flt.Lt. Wright, the Station MTO, who didn't drink a lot, was in his office as usual, so I phoned him for assistance, which he duly provided. He sent a group of drivers to the Mess to do the job. Unfortunately the car was dropped on being taken down the Mess steps and was dented. All credit to them, the MT Section did a cover-up job over the weekend and the car was returned, as required, for use on the Monday morning. As to parades: for some weeks during 1955 the Station Commander had ordained that it would be good for Junior Officers (anyone below Flight Lieutenant
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