THE AMAZING TREASURE HUNT!
So, it’s March 1973. Your’s truly, Junior Gunner Lamb, is a member of Wardrop Section, Recruit’s Battery. We have had our first leave and have been awarded our beret badges. We are the dog’s knees. We are the cat’s bollocks. We are the bee’s pyjamas.
We are something special.
But, still we are being given grief at every turn.
They have arranged a fun exercise for us. It is in two parts. The morning section comprises a treasure hunt. We are dressed in boots, working-dress trousers and white gym shirt. We have a list of things to collect and a geographical circuit to complete.
We are supposed to arrive at a rendezvous for lunch and then get into canoes to paddle down to be collected and taken back to camp.
It is a bit of a jolly.
We arrive at the jumping off point and are paired up. I am partnered with this kid who occupies the bed-space opposite me. I hate him. He keeps picking his nose and flicking the bogies at me. I really don’t like him at all. But I am lumbered, so I try to put up with it.
They give us some photocopies of the Ordnance Survey maps and we have to mark out the plan of the route. Then we are given a list of items we have to collect along the way.
I am amazed at the selection of items:
Item: A copy of last Sunday’s “News of the World”.
Item: A 1968 penny.
Item: A lock of red hair.
Item: A pork pie.
Item: Three 2B pencils.
Item: A foxes tail.
Item: A green comb
Item: A 6p postage stamp
Item: A 12 inch length of barbed wire.
Bear in mind, this is a Sunday morning.
Accordingly, we are sent off at five-minute intervals. However, just as we are about to depart, Sergeant Davies mentions a change of rendezvous. The finishing point is to be two miles from the one we marked.
So, me and ‘Bogie-Boy’ set out along the route. Almost immediately we have a modest success. There, in the ditch, is a scrap of newspaper and by great good fortune it is the previous Sunday’s News of the world. Fantastic! We’re on our way.
We spend the next hour grumbling, hating each other and being irritable. This is the boy who had to eat a cigarette. He’s not allowed to smoke and he is still suffering from withdrawal symptoms. He is taking it out on me.
I hate him!
As luck would have it, we arrive at some country bungalow just as the occupants are returning from church. They invite us in for tea and we show them our list. In a twinkling, we get a 1968 penny, a lock of red hair, a pork pie, 3x2B pencils and a 6p postage stamp. They can’t help us with the green comb, the foxes tail or the barbed wire.
In any event, we are well pleased.
We strike out for the rendezvous and arrive in good time. Except, it is a deserted stretch of canal. There’s nobody there. No canoes and no haversack rations.
Me and ‘Snot-Face’ look at the map, and look at each other.
There is one of those moments when you can actually hear the penny drop.
“Clunk!”
We’ve ended up at the wrong rendezvous. We forgot to take into account the change of venue.
I have to say, feelings between us didn’t start out all that brilliant. And now they go downhill to a large degree. You can cut the air with a knife.
In a sullen silence, we trudge off to the proper venue. When we arrive, half an hour late, Sergeant Davies grabs us both by the hair and flings us into the canal.
My swimming skills aren’t all that wonderful, but I manage to emerge, coughing and spluttering. There’s no sign of Bogie-Boy. I paddle around looking for him. He’s got tangled with a shopping trolley. So, I dive down and disconnect the various components.
He is not remotely grateful. He stares at me with unconcealed loathing.
In any event, we emerge, dripping wet and covered in slime. Sergeant Davies has been looking at our collection of artefacts. If we had arrived at the correct venue, and the correct time, we would have won. As it is, we’ve missed lunch and have to paddle back in a double canoe with our stomaches rumbling.
Bogie-Boy hates me and spends the whole journey whingeing and complaining. I just keep my gob shut, even though I really want to belt him on the head with my paddle.
By the time we get back to Bramcote I am shivering with the cold. My teeth are chattering and all I can hear is this permanent whining noise from my, so-called, partner.
I am cold, wet, hungry and smell of canal-muck. I don’t think I have ever been quite so miserable in my life.
Anyhow, I take the opportunity to wash my kit and have a shower. My underpants are, unaccountably, full of canal slime. I can’t tell you how repulsed I am.
Later that evening, Sergeant Davies comes to my bedspace, and, with a grin, gives me all the Treasure Hunt items. Just as a reminder of how close I came to success, but ultimately failed.
The following morning, Bogie-Boy decides he has had enough and bails out.
Good.
