Sir John Roberts of Kandahar

Here we find the Service Life history of one of our High Ranking Military heroes. Born to serve community and fellow man in any way he can.

Born in Rangoon 1949. Raised on a cocktail of Gin and goat milk until the age of five, mainly in the Tiffin Room or Writers Room, Raffles in Singapore. To this day still the land speed record holder for 5 year olds three wheel cycle race in the main foyer. Mother was a dab hand at poetry, never published but seemed to rhyme on occasion.

Father, quite often steeped in gin would serenade visiting dignitaries on the grand piano. Prone to suffer from altitude sickness, we resolved the issue by obtaining a lower stool for him. I can see him now in the shade of the trees outside polishing his Bentley most furiously, I call mine the brigadier!

Progressed through Eton, I have many happy memories of Eton. It was a Thursday afternoon and the shops were shut! Tried Oxford sunk a punt or two, beyond that found it a bit stuffy. Fags of course played a big part of life in these hallowed halls, for myself I liked woodbines.

More often than not up to my eyeballs in Rum, quite often before the sun had gone below the yard arm. It is a fact of my life. That summer breakfast must consist of cereals with sugar, winter of course is another matter. October to April mainly, breakfast must be porridge and two snorts of rum on the top to cool it down.

That at the stroke of noon, Perkins the butler should open the bar, one must imbibe in a snifter or two. Followed by lunch at two pm prompt. Thus setting one up for the afternoon closely followed by the stoke of six pm, Perkins once again in demand. You simply must have a couple before dinner. This life style is frowned upon by some. My dear better half Lynn used to quite frequently. However certainly now at the stroke of six and week-ends more than happy to join in, red wine of course it is a sin of the household for any member of staff to touch the Captain Morgan or Woods. Other than to polish the bottles.

Blistering career in the Air Force, ranked as Wing Commander Battlefield 1942. To this day still hold the altitude world record for the Dakota DC3 at 43,000 feet, although this aircraft only has an operational ceiling of 15,000 feet not bad eh!. Climbing out of Sri Lanka with five crates of very large ball bearings, upon rotating three crates broke open and the balls ran back to the tail. Against Ginger my co-pilot had handballed them back into the crates we had hit 43,000.

Shot down twice, never again will I fly! I insist neither time was it my fault. The first time I was still on the runway, The Irish Green Arrows were next to taxi one minute I was doing a pre-take off cockpit check, the next I had took a 9 mm up the Jacksy.

The second time got into a scrap of a dog fight for about 30 minutes, it was only then I realised my opponent was British Airways 747. By this time a couple of Lightning's from RAF Scampton had been scrambled and tore a strip off me back end.

Anyone can make a mistake, it was dark and my hip flask was empty, so presumably this must have played a part in this error of my judgement. Anyway I bailed out and at 7,000 feet opened my chute, I must have been a bit inebriated as first attempt I managed only to open my sandwiches bag. Now at 5,000 feet and Hyde Park looming even bigger, I was quite taken by the view of the skyline at night. Thankfully my bowels so far had held, although under increasing pressure finally gave way. By this time I thought I had got a bit hot under the collar, It now dawned me as to why. As luck would have it I came down in Bayswater Road, landing on the top deck of the number 7 open top routemaster bus bound for Chingford. Alls well that ends well.
GCHQ Cheltenham 15 years, pretty much cleaned up on this one, same broom for 15 years, mind you had three new heads and one handle. Within two years had mastered the Abacus. Fell in the bushes more than once on the way back from the mess hall.

Historical communiqué
MOSQUITO SQUADRON MST 069
RAF Tywyn Coastal Command……………………………………………………………… February 3rd1943
Squadron Leader Ginger Small-Fawcett

Dear Ginger
I along with my good Lady Lynn, are so much looking forward to my forthcoming Squadron Inspection in August. Hope the Officers Mess is still standing.

The bosch have given our end a bit of a hammering over the last couple of nights. We took a direct hit on the Officers Mess totally buggered the Piano and Drum Kit, oh and a full case Jonnie Walker. The toilet seat ending up under the W.A.F.S. Nissan hut.

Flt. Lt Spike Harris apparently guilty of hiding a suitcase of fake French Perfume in the sandbags of Three Battery lost the lot, “serves him right”. This was due to no less than five 9mm Bosh rounds hitting Two Battery Ack Ack Ammo cases. Adding to the problems, young Davies who was in fact standing for his Sergeant at the time reckons he wasn’t ready and had in fact been lining up his sites on the Water Bowser and the Field Gun just went off !. Huh ! The bloody lot went up what with the smell of cordite and French toilet water running down the runway we have the sweet smell of failure.

Indeed I have passed on your order to stores, you may experience some delay as we are not, according to M.T. section too well off for 3 tonners the old Bedford’s have taken a share of the troubles. Tyres seem to be the biggest problem. That said I have noticed that Sgt “Gaslight” Watts Austin 7 has been running a bit low to the ground some evenings when leaving the base. Worth a spot check !

I will see that you receive some Stores Requisition forms and some Field and Requisition Transfer Summaries commonly referred to as FARTS.

I have heard down the grape vine, I presume no truth in it. The allowance you were given for grass cutting. has been used for other purposes that not only have you sheep on the Airfield, which is a commendable use of natural resources you have now handed one of the hangers over to rearing Pigs with a local Butcher and Baker. If this true then the only outcome must be that on the return trip with the 3 Tonner we have two side of Bacon and 4 lb of Sausage.

Sincere regards

Wing Commander Sir John Roberts of Kandahar

Another historical communiqué
A Christmas Card
Most Honourable Sir John Roberts of Kandahar
Wing Commander RAF Combined Services ( G.C.H.Q. ) Retired

Hello Playmates.

We do have rather a problem up this end. The “Old Girl” is now running a bit on the High Mileage side. In fact a poor starter in the mornings in particular. Prone to draught and needs a horse blanket regular.

This being said allows one to elucidate. You see in her advancing years we are unable to assume that Crimbo cards and the like would have been issued. This being the case I take it upon myself, well when I say myself I mean I pass on the job to the Butler Perkins, to cover the job. He has been with me since the war you know, still to this day he rides his bike up the big hill to fetch the spring water for my rum. If he’s a day he’s 83.

You may have noticed the old Knighthood. Yes well just deserts and all that what. Next step is Honorary Consulate to some far distant land. Not for the benefit of the Countrymen you understand, oh no,.You see with Diplomatic Plates parking in town will no longer be the hassle that it has been. Of course obvious side issues like tea at Buck House, someone has to do it !

In fact Liz, as I call her came up to the Grange only last Wednesday. God forbid Perkins answered the door as Liz had rang it for some 5 minutes. He failed to recognise her and sent her around the back to the trade entrance. Thought she was the bakers girl.

Our country needs men of action. As you know I have always strove to “Keep it Up” for as long as I can remember. It is your duty to muster all that you can to ensure our members are in a position to “Keep it Up”. As often as possible!

Oh well, that must be it for now Thelma the chamber maid is running my bath. Auburn hair, slim waist, long legs and simply divine lovely thin ankles. Sorry got a bit carried away.

So wherever you are my dear people have a Great Crimbo and Happy New year.
Sir John and Memsahib.

"POCKET TAZAR STUN GUN
A great gift for the wife. Last weekend I saw something at 'Larry's Pistol & Pawn Shop' that sparked my interest.

The occasion was our 39th anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my wife lynn. What I came across was a 100,000-volt pocket-sized tazer. The effects of the tazer were supposed to be short lived, with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to safety....??

WAY TOO COOL! Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two AAA batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was disappointed. I learned, however, that if I pushed the button and pressed it against a metal surface at the same time I'd get the blue arc of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs. AWESOME!!!

Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Lynn what that burn spot is on the face of her microwave. Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two AAA batteries, right? There I sat in my recliner, my dog Perkins looking on intently (trusting little soul) while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh & blood moving target.

I must admit I thought about zapping Perkins (for a fraction of a second) and then thought better of it. He is such a sweet little chap. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong? So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, and tazer in another.

The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a major loss of bodily control; and a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water. Any burst longer than three seconds would be wasting the batteries.

All the while I'm looking at this little device measuring about 5" long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference (loaded with two itsy, bitsy AAA batteries); pretty cute really, and thinking to myself, 'no possible way!' What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best ... I'm sitting there alone, Perkins looking on with his head cocked to one side so as to say, 'Don't do it stupid,' reasoning that a one second burst from such a tiny lil ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad. I decided to give myself a one second burst just for heck of it.

I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and ... HOLY MOTHER OF.. . WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION . . . WHAT THE ....!!!

I'm pretty sure Hulk Hogan ran in through the side door, picked me up in the recliner, then body slammed us both on the carpet, over and over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position , with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position, and tingling in my legs!

The dog was making growling sounds I had never heard before, clinging to a picture frame hanging above the fireplace, obviously in an attempt to avoid getting slammed by my body flopping all over the living room.

Note: If you ever feel compelled to 'mug' yourself with a tazer, one note of caution: there is NO such thing as a one second burst when you zap yourself! You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor! A three second burst would be considered conservative!

A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at that point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My bent reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace. The recliner was upside down and about 8 feet or so from where it originally was. My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs.

I had no control over the drooling. Apparently I had crapped in my shorts, but was too numb to know for sure, and my sense of smell was gone. I saw a faint smoke cloud above my head, which I believe came from my hair. I'm still looking for my testicles and I'm offering a significant reward for their safe return!"

Serious stuff!

Founder Chairman of The Royal Society of St. George ( Shrewsbury) with deliverance of the Foundation recognition signed and seal stamped for the future members of the Shrewsbury Branch from November 2007 for eternity.

In the capacity as Chairman and Head Bailiff to the Shropshire Anglers Federation, worked hard and relentlessly to bring the federation into the 21st century. To serve the Shropshire County Council and Shrewsbury Council in only the best terms of management for the benefit of the community at large.

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