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This happens a lot on message boards.....

and even worse.

I belong to a USA board that's dedicated to jukeboxes, old radio receivers, and music reproduction systems, from wind-up non-electric record players to old-fashioned radiograms. The posts are all about "finds" and what's the best way to maintain them, requests for spare parts, or advice on how to get them back into working order.

Then you'll get a few first posters saying they've inherited "this" from their grandad and "How much is it worth?"

 

Ah ... the Americans ... two great nations and all that. As the saying goes: they think 200 years is a long time, and us Brits think that 200 miles is a long way.

I was in a meeting in USA once and the chairman asked what time everyone had to get away. Some young chap said he had to be away by 4pm because he was going out to dinner - sounded like an awful lot of preening to me until he explained it was a 200 mile drive to "dinner" !

And I overheard an American saying to his wife, in the entrance hall at Sandringham (i.e. before we even got into the main part of the house), looking at the massive tapestries hanging on the wall : "Gee! I wonder what those cost" ... oh dear! Wish I'd had the foresight to tell them that they were a present from W.W.Bush or somesuch ...

 

This is an absolutely true story. Our daughter lives near Windsor and when we visit we often go as a family into the town for a bit of shopping and a meal. Once I was parking the car on the top road opposite the castle, the walls of which had recently been sandblasted.
The buildings housing the shops on that road do look quite old.
Although there's usually more Japanese tourists, a group of Americans were nearby and I heard one woman ask her friend; "I wonder why they built the castle so close to the shops?"

 

Brilliant!

 

Now why didn't I think of that?

 

When I was stationed at Knightsbridge, Hyde Park Barracks, doing ceremonial duties at Whitehall, we used to dread the American tourists. You could spot them a mile off.

Tiny little woman called "Flo" and her husband was always 6 foot 14 and wearing a very very loud checkered jacket. You could hear him half way down Horse Guards.

One monday morning we had just changed the guard. Me and my best mate got front gate, which was always the best post in the summer to letch at all the girlies. However, this particular Monday we were both suffering from a serious hangover. Wearing all the kit it is very easy to dehydrate in the summer months, so you drink a couple of pints of water before you go on stag. At one point I thought I was going to chuck up.

We had only been on post for about 10 minutes when a group of American tourists surrounded us. As usual they all tried to get us to talk or move and I was really not in the mood for that nonsense. Couple of women touched me up, which was nothing unusual either. Then I heard "Elmer"!!!

I could see this very large yank stood just at my side and just the top of "Flo's" head. Flo says "Hey, are these guys real"? At this point I would normally have given the reins a slight twitch and backed the horse into the box. Couldn't do that this time as there were way too many people around. So I just had to put up with the idiots. I clearly remember thinking, "Why do these people always pick on me"?

"Elmer" then proceeds to prod my leg and shake my boot. Little weight transfer and my horse moved slightly sideways into "Elmer". WHOOOPS!! He prods me again and I can hear little "Flo" "You sure they are real Elmer"? Then I feel an almighty thump just about kidney level, really winded me and then I felt something very sharp prod my thigh, high up. Really hurt and I was gasping for breathe.

Luckily the foot guards inside the gate heard me tapping my helmet with my sword and called the guard commander. We changed over a couple of minutes later after the reserves had saddled up. I backed into the courtyard and was lead into the stable, still gasping for breathe.

Before you get off the horse, one of the reserves takes your boots off for you so you don't crack the polish. You have a pair of boots or trainers waiting for you. As he took my boot off he saw the blood on the side of my breeches and called for the medic. As I went to dismount there was a searing pain all down my leg and I could feel something hard digging into me just below my ribs. Managed to dismount and thought I was going to pass out, felt really sick.

My mate took my helmet and sword and then swore as he could see what was digging into my side. The yank had punched me so hard he had bent the corner of my armour backplate and it was sticking into me. Then I could see what looked like a giant dress makers pin with a coloured ball on the end of it sticking out of my thigh. The yank woman had stuck a 5 inch hat pin in me and there was only about an inch sticking out.

The police were called, but never found the yanks. My backplate had to be sent off for repairs. My breeches were ruined because of the blood stain, I had two stitches in my leg and a huge purple bruise on my side. I was off duty for five days.

The Japanese tourists were mostly pretty nice people, but they always wanted to stand under the horses neck for thier photos. Quite a few got head butted by the horse or sideswiped, one or two got nibbled.

I had some wonderful times there, but every now and again there would be some idiot come along. No telling what some of them were thinking. 99% just wanted a picture or to pat the horse. We used to get some pretty amazing invitations on little notes from some gorgeous women. Come off guard and turn your boots upside down and it was like confetti at times.

One or two guys that bat for the other side tried it on, knowing we were not supposed to move they tried to take advantage. Amazing how painful having the roundel on a sword smacked into your knuckles hurts!!

I did some ceremonial duties at Windsor Castle. You would be amazed at some of the things people used to say. Lost count of the amount of times I really struggled NOT to laugh...... or swear at them.

Chopper.

 

I enjoyed that Chopper.

My dad was 1st Battalion Grenadier Guards and a regular before WWll.
He was often on sentry duty at Buck House, in those days they were outside the gates. On really hot summer's days my mum said she'd turn up in the middle of his "shift" and when there was no one around, wipe his face with the wet flannel she'd brought with her. Other wives did the same for their husbands.

 

Working where I do, I pass the sentries in Whitehall 'umpteen' times a day - usually on my way to and from meetings where I'm constantly annoyed by (mostly young) men who sit there with one leg balanced on the ball of the foot and which they seem incapable of holding still - I'm sure they don't realise they're doing it, but, being an 'old grumpy', it does make me want to haul them outside, stand them in front of the sentries and yell 'That's how you sit still'

 

Very enjoyable read Chopper, thanks for that. "Naught so queer as folk"

 

It has changed a lot since I was there DR. I wish they hadn't but that is what they call "Progress" I suppose.

My barrack room instructor was from 1st Battalion Grenadier Guards. He gave me hell for the first few weeks of basic training. I still keep in contact with him.

I was a bit of a tearaway before I joined up. In those days basic training for most regiments was 10 or 12 weeks. With all of the Guards regiments it was 6 months. First week was called "Z Week", you got all your kit issued and found out how the army worked etc etc. THEN you got your first introduction to hell. I was lucky as I used to run and swim for the county, but I still ached in places I didn't know I could ache. 6 weeks of nothing but drill and PT. It was sheer murder and we lost about half of the intake. We had a 48 hour pass then went on to far more interesting training. The PT continued and got much harder. Loved the adrenalin, endorphins and pushed myself to the limit. Fantastic experience.

I am naturally aggressive and will fight at the drop of a hat. My temper is not quite as bad as it used to be, but I have got older and wiser. The army taught me to channel my aggression and control my temper. Something that has helped me throughout my life.

Most of all the army taught me about the most important things in life. Respect, courtesy, consideration, pride, trust, loyalty, commitment. I loved the pageantry, ceremony, history and the excitement. The commarderie. The only place I have found all those things is within my club. Sadly many of those values are missing in so many walks of life today. I would still be a serving soldier if it were not for my injuries. I loved every minute of serving Queen and Country. Not a day goes by when I do not wish I was still doing the job I loved. I remember all my mates, especially the guys who didn't come home.

Chopper.

 

Interesting stories Chopper......

Because of all these cuts in the defence budget the French are joining forces with us. Having the French at our side who've lost every battle they've ever fought is like having Gordon Ramsey with you at a meeting of the Polite Society.

An unworkable union, they prefer wine to beer and we don't go a bundle on truffles.
Even though we've saved their bacon in two world wars they block our ferries and burn our meat. They have never really got over Agincourt!