Another piece of equipment that was a letdown one day was my RAF issue watch (Aircrew, for the use of). I flew a sortie in the morning and realised during the flight that the watch had given up the ghost, in fact the minute hand had fallen off. As I was flying twice again that afternoon, i rushed down to the Main Stores building before they shut for lunch. Having got there I found one of the brown-coated civilians behind the counter. I told him my problem. 'Oh ahhrr, sir,' he responded. 'You'll 'ave to get it officially classified as U/S.'
'Why? Look at it,' I said.
I showed him the timepiece. The minute hand was rolling about in the bottom of the glass. 'That's definitely U/S, isn't it?'
'Ahrr, that may be so, sir, but it's not my place to say so. You'll 'ave to take it to technical stores and get them tu put a label on in describin' the fault.'
My lunch-hour was rapidly receding over the horizon. 'Where is the tech stores?' I asked as politely as I could. He gave me directions and I went down various corridors and through a couple of doors only to be confronted by a sign on the door: CLOSED FOR LUNCH, REOPEN AT 1330.
'I give in,' I muttered through clenched teeth. Then I noticed an adjacent door slightly ajar and a voice coming from within. I knocked and the same voice invited me to enter. There was one of the Supply Branch officers looking up at me from his desk and holding the phone. He signed of his call and said, 'What can I do for you, old boy?'
I told him my tale and he said, 'No problem, old bean. Give me the offending article and I'll do the necessary.'
Within a couple of minutes I was on my way back to the brown-coated retainer in Main Stores. 'I bet he's gone to lunch,' I thought. But he hadn't. I presented him with my little trophy, duly labelled and classified as well and truly broken. 'I'll 'ave to check the stock.' He disappeared into the maze of shelving and rustling noises emenated. When he reappeared I noticed straight away that he was not carrying a watch. 'We've only got one in stock,' he said - with a perfectly straight face. 'But I only want one,' I replied, no doubt with a slightly mystified expression. 'Ahrr, that may be so sir, but we 'ave to keep one in stock for an emergency.'
'This is your lucky day!, I said, with a big smile. 'Here I am - your very own emergency. I have to get airborne in less than an hour's time and I must have a watch,' I told him. Thinking that it might helpt a 'jobsworth' like him I added, 'It's in Queen's Regulations: pilots must not fly any of Her Majesty's aeroplanes without a suitable chronographic timepiece.' That failed to impress him. I asked to use the phone. I rang the Officer's Mess and asked to speak to the OC (Officer Commanding) of the Supply Squadron; he eventually came to the phone. I apologized for interrupting his lunch and related my problem. He asked to speak to Mr. Browncoat. When the latter put down the phone, he disappeared back into the warren without a word. This time he returned with a small box, made copious notes on various forms, which he then got me to sign and handed over the box. I opened it and inside was a brand new, glistening 'aircrew' watch. Success! But I only just got airborne on time, with very little nourishment inside me; lunch is definitly a time of day and not a meal for aircrew.
