We Just Couldn’t Get Enough

1982 (17 YEARS OLD)1 week ago

1982 - 17 Years Old

Kieran was hanging over the edge of the flat roof of the NCO club, swinging from side to side, pleading with us not to drop him. Singhy and Chris Nagle were holding one of his legs. I was holding the other.

He was trying to look through a gap in the top the curtains to see the strippers.

Ladies who, we were convinced, were doing nasty things on the other side of the window that was vibrating to the sound of, if I remember correctly, Rod Stewart.

We had been hired by Brian Cousins, our deputy headmaster for the boys, to work as waiters for a 2-week training camp for the Territorial Army (TA) in Swindon.

Mr Cousins was a Major.

Although he acted like a Sargent Major.

Which made sense, as he was also our Latin teacher. It was the common opinion that John Cleese based his centurion character in The Life of Brian on Cousins.

Kieran and Singhy had joined the TA cadets at school in the second through fourth years. And coming from a family with a bit of military lineage, I wanted to join, too.

My (maternal) grandad had fought in WW1 as part of the Royal Horse Artillery, although part of his conscription was served in Egypt and the horses had to be switched out with camels.

My dad was in the USAF for 25 years, most of it served in England. He worked in a secure underground office doing something he was never allowed to tell us.

And even my mum worked in some quasi-military capacity after WW2. I think it was mostly about making cups of tea, though. She would later promote herself to Field Marshall, VC, and King of Scotland.

(Look up Idi Amin, if that last bit confused you)

But I had an American passport, and the military lawyer on the base that my dad asked said I wasn’t allowed to take up arms for a foreign country.

Take up arms, my arse. They spent most of their time marching up and down the square. And a bit of practicing reading maps and doing observation.

So instead, I had to march around the school and observe Viv Rice in her tight cords.

Cousins had hired me, Singhy, Kieran, and Chris Nagle to work, and Cousins’ lady friend (I can’t remember her name, so let’s call her Prunella) had hired 4 girls from the cooking school and Banbury Tech(nical College).

Several years later Gordon Ramsey would attend the same Technical College…

I think we got paid 100 quid for two weeks. I had just come off of working for the Summer Hire Program (7 or 8 weeks for US military dependents) at the American base, with American wages, so I was flush.

I didn’t need the money, but I took the waiter job for a laugh.

And one of the benefits of our job was that we were allowed to join the NCO club, with its subsidised pub.

And we made good use of it.

Yes, we did.

And when we heard about the strippers’ party, it was Christmas coming early.

We were picking out what we would wear when the grinch showed up.

Prunella informed us that we wouldn’t be allowed to attend. And from that we understood that Cousins’ lady friend (a) could boss him around and (b) was definitely Catholic.

It broke our hearts.

And so that’s how we found ourselves on the roof of a building doing acrobatics.

In the middle of our caper, Capt. Standish, walked by the building.

He looked up at us, and we froze.

All of us, that is, except Kieran. He was swaying back and forth.

Fortunately, Standish was alright and, as usual, drunk.

How’s the performance? Standish asked with a wink.

I’ve seen worse, I shouted.

Which, technically, was true, as I hadn’t seen anything.

He gave us an Alright, then. Keep up the good work. and carried on his way.

Kieran said the strippers were naked and giving blowjobs. He only agreed to let someone else have go, after we almost dropped him on hearing the news.

Singhy was up next, but when we got him upside down, all of the change fell out of his pocket into the grass below.

He made us immediately pull him back up, as he claimed that it was well over two quid’s worth.

And while we were doing that, the lights went on and the curtains opened.

Upside-down Singhy got a cheer from the NCOs.

The strippers on their way home, helped by a bunch of randy battle-hardened NCOs acting like 12 year-old girls around the Bay City Rollers, we were allowed back in the club.

So after helping Singhy find his money, we went in, ordered cheap pints, helped ourselves to huge plates of leftovers from the buffet, and put a song on the jukebox that said it all:

We weren’t on speaking terms with Kieran, so eventually he admitted that he couldn’t see anything other than the buffet table.

And it wasn’t even the good end with the homemade pork pies, sausage rolls, and coronation chicken sandwiches.

It was the end with the pickled onions and the half-eaten bowls of crisps and Twiglets.