HMS Osprey, Portland, 1980.
Now an LMA (Leading Medical Assistant), serving at the Royal Navy airbase that is Portland (another since closed, sadly).
I have always been a keen sportsman and have played many sports over the years - some more enthusiastically than others. I used to be a winger in the school rugby team, being a bit nippy back then. It was never really a game that excited me too much, seemingly a little pointless. I, of course, also lacked any desire for communal bathing a bawdy songs with boozed up giants!
So it was, that I found myself drafted into the HMS Osprey rugby team. Don't ask! I have no idea how this came to pass. Nevertheless, I found myself cast in the role of nippy winger again. Hopefully I could manage to keep broken bones to a minimum.
Sitting on top of Portland was the borstal, full of various hard cases, I think. Now the powers that be thought it was a great idea to play rugby against the borstal guests. So, sometime during a cold December, the Osprey rugby team of men set off to conquer a few kids residing at Her Majesty's pleasure. Should be easy the team thought. Yes - right!
The team of 'kids' looked like they be more comfortable in the scrubs. No matter, us men would prevail.
I found myself, hurtling down the wing, ball in hand, heading towards the byline. Ah, glory! A certain try for the team and me. 20 yards to go, I'd make it - no problem. Why, oh why, did I choose this moment to glance to my left. A particularly bad move. Hurtling towards me was what I can only describe as a human shaped block of granite with, murderous intent in his eyes. Always a quick thinker, I assessed the situation rapidly and took immediate action. To my undying shame, I threw the rather ridiculous shaped ball to the granite block, thus avoiding, surely, serious injury!
Surprisingly, that was my final rugby game of a short lived career. And, yes, I can live with it!
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