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Pull Up A Sandbag
Sandbag Reminiscences of Stan Preece Sandbag
Beware Of Explosions
My family have always called me 'Mad Stan' and even though I do seem to have a slightly warped sense of humour, I've never really understood why until I found this web site and while scrolling through found a much younger me staring back from a photograph of Somme platoon graduation parade 1964. I am centre row second from the right and sandwiched between Barry Tennant and Tony Flint. Seeing these two old mates bought memories flooding back of two incidents involving them both and gave full justification to the nickname bestowed upon me by my family.
The first was in 1964 in the bathroom, (was it 4 or 6 baths in a line), anyway, I was lying in my bath enjoying a good soak and a fag when Tony Flint, in the next bath to me, said that he'd lost the soap. I looked over and saw this brown eye staring at me from the centre of Tony's rather generous arse. (He was sitting on the edge of the bath looking for the soap). Without thinking, I held my cigarette as close as possible to the offending eye. Tony, feeling the heat, stood up. This action caused the cheeks of his arse to close, taking the cigarette, hot end first, from my hand. The dancing and screaming that followed were quite remarkable, the likes of which, I have never seen since.
The second incident involved Barry Tennant. We had returned from the ranges and going through my kit, I found 3 live rounds, how they got there I don't know but an idea suddenly popped into my head. I feverishly loosened and took the killing head from one of the rounds, emptied most of the charge out, crimped the end and loaded it into my rifle. When Barry came into the room I told him something was wrong with the mechanism and asked his help. As he walked toward me I fired. What should have been a loud pop became a deafening bang, Barry staggered back clutching his stomach shouting "You've shot me you bastard..." It was only after about 30 seconds of sitting on his bed turning a deathly white that Barry realised he wasn't hurt and that it was another of my jokes, mainly because I was doubled up in uncontrollable fits of laughter. To this day, I don't know why no one else heard that shot or how I didn't end up being quick marched by the dreaded Fagg. (Can I still be charged).
To Tony and Barry, if you are reading this, I can only say sorry and no, you can't have my address.

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