10th June 1964, On leave and 'I'm getting married in the morning', well... in the forenoon actually.
A telegram arrives and I'm ordered back to HMS Fulmar, (RNAS Lossimouth, on the Moray Firth, Scotland), I thought 'I've waited for this day long enough, I'm gonna get married, I'll get back a bit adrift... I might get away with it'. So I got married, my wife and I were in twin beds that night... Her's was in Blackpool, mine was in Scotland!
So I arrived back on board a couple of hours adrift, marriage certificate made little or no difference and I was eventually weighed off with five days number nines. As part of which I had to report to the guardroom twice a day.
Another naval airman at that time was also lumbered with number nines, it seems he's come back off shore considerably worse for wear having consumed a considerable quantity of 'Heavy' in a local watering-hole. Beds in those messes were of the two tier double bunk variety, and he'd woken up in urgent need of the heads, and in his unsteady state figured he'd never make it in time, so he used his boot as a urinal. Sadly, it wasn't His boot, it belonged to the guy in the berth above him. So... number nines.
One evening, myself and three or four other unlucky ratings were waiting at the guardroom for the defaulters roll call, but that chap was late, he could be seen running up the road to the guardroom trying to beat the clock... The RPO, looking at the ship's clock, and watching him run up the road shouts some encouraging remarks...
" Come on... Piss In Boots ".
LAM Smoothie.