Whatever became of Fowler ?

In my time at Port Camp from 63 to 64 there was a West Indian Sapper named Fowler. who was the cheeriest and friendliest person I think I have ever met. He called out and waved to everybody, whatever their rank and he smiled hugely and continuously. I think he was a squadron ‘runner’, but I may be maligning him here. Nobody ever dare take his ‘leggie’ (bicycle) as he had ‘FOWLERS ROLLS’ painted on the crossbar. Anyone else remember him ?.

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THE WATER COOLER HORROR .  

(Not for the squeamish or arachnophobic!)

For the uninitiated viewer of this site it may be relevant to inform you that Christmas Island was the home to some odd species of the natural world. One soon became aware of, and learned to avoid most of them as they were either repulsive (land-crabs, blue-jobs), annoying, (geckos, flies, frigate birds, wildcats, blue-jobs) or really seriously dangerous, (sharks, rays, a certain bombed-out Jock on Hogmanay, and yes, you’ve guessed - a pilot blue-job in an Auster with large wing-tanks full of DDT!). We soon learned to co-habit this odd lump of coral with most of these creatures, after all, it was their home.

There was the evening, which Chatty revived in my memory, when some goon with a digger tore out a trench and with it, the main power cable from the Power Station in which I was on duty at the time. Quietly enjoying a cuppa and a pile of old Playboys I was jolted out of my chair as a great ‘BANG’ went off, the circuit bars flew out with a crash, and the engines, being relieved of load, tore off at extreme revs, threatening to shake themselves to pieces and at the same time the whole of Port area was plunged into darkness. 

The roar of menace from the direction of the Blue Lagoon cinema was enough to freeze my blood and I struggled to try and reset the breakers but without success. It was obvious that it was something beyond my control so I shut down both engines. I quaked in my shorts as the pounding of feet approached from the direction of the Blue Lagoon as angry customers with a blood-lust raced to find out what miserable RE fitter was responsible for the removal of the evenings movie entertainment, and, more seriously, who had lost them the 2 bob admission fee!. Thankfully, my Sergeant arrived to take command and I escaped the wrath of the big-hatted ponchoed ones. 

Come midnight and I went off shift, with electricians still frantically jointing the cable. I stumbled towards my billet and bed and decided to visit the latrine on the way. I entered the pitch dark wriggly tin compartment, dropped my shorts and sat down. I was fumbling for the bog-roll when the power suddenly returned and my small room was illuminated. I was struck with disgust and horror as the walls, floor, roof etc were covered with hundreds of cockroaches - and these were ROCK roaches!. Huge things. I kid you not, I left that bog at an Olympic sprinter rate and covered the 50 yards or so to my billet in milliseconds, where I discovered that my shorts were where I had dropped them!.

This leads me to the water-cooler. These ubiquitous objects were everywhere, complete with little tubs of salt tablets on top which we were advised to consume before we collapsed with some form of dehydration. 

As fitters we were expected to repair anything mechanical, and it came to pass that the OC Electrical & Mechanical Troop - my boss, complained that the water cooler outside the troop office was failing to deliver any water and two of us were despatched to repair the thing.

 This was a new item in our repertoire as usually fridge mechs dealt with anything frosty, but we were happy to have a go. We opened up the case surrounding the water container and found that it had frozen solid. Obviously, the cooler was ‘overcooling’!. We removed the water container and laid it aside while we attempted to adjust the cooler. In the heat of the noonday sun, the water container quickly began to melt. I remember the shout of my mate when he happened to glance at the melting block of ice and he pointed a shaking finger at a dark shape emerging from the rapidly melting ice. 

One of the nasties I did not mention earlier was the coconut spider. Now this isn’t like your average UK bathroom scuttler. This boy has a body the size of a cricket-ball with long legs to match. It was dead of course, and had been so for a long time. We shuddered to think that we had drunk from this well many times. Yuck!. It soon became obvious to us that there was no way into the container for our hairy friend, as he was too big. Our conclusion, and it was the only possible one, was that some prankster had ‘acquired’, the spider and inserted it into the water in the cooler, where it would slowly decompose over the years, whilst giving a bit of ‘bite’ to the insipid de-salinated water. 

The location of this cooler was such that it would ‘refresh’, in the main, senior ranks, and someone was having a good snigger behind officers backs. My mate got the corpse out and put it in a bottle. We approached the OC and we told him that we had sorted the cooler and that the problem had been a blockage. Naturally, he enquired what this blockage was, to which, my mate thrust the bottle into his face and said, ‘THIS’!. The look on the face of our Captain was one I will never forget.

©: R. Morrison. 24 Jul. 01