Whis­tle while you work

The Labradorian - - SaltWire Homes - Still trau­ma­tized, Aggy Milne Ex RAF

I was based in Goose Bay with the RAF dur­ing the 1980’s. At night, when ev­ery RAF per­son had left the hangar for the day, one per­son used to be left in the hangar to look af­ter cer­tain func­tions and guard the hangar.

This hangar guard job was not pop­u­lar: 1. Be­cause you lost your night off and missed the shenani­gans at the Bull­dog Club and 2. It was a mas­sive hangar and some­times full of air­craft, with some strange noises and shad­ows as you walked through the build­ing do­ing your du­ties.

I was on duty one night as the hangar guard and had done my ini­tial walk around the hangar once ev­ery­one had left. It was still day­light out­side for my first check and the hangar was filled with light and never caused me any con­cern.

We used to man the op­er­a­tions room at night to mon­i­tor the ra­dios for any air­craft that might di­vert into Goose Bay un­ex­pect­edly and check for teleprinter in­struc­tions. Then we would head off into the hangar for a few more checks through the night.

This par­tic­u­lar night, I had done my walk around and headed up into the ops room. I had just started to heat my meal from Domco’s in the small kitchen we had, when I heard some­one whistling a tune from the main ops room a few yards away. This was no noise from the heat­ing sys­tem or the air con­di­tion­ing; it was a hu­man noise, whistling a tune­ful song. It was def­i­nitely not com­ing from the ra­dios ei­ther.

I im­me­di­ately went to the ops room to try and find where the noise was com­ing from. I thought one of my mates had stayed be­hind and was play­ing a trick. No one was there, and as I worked in the OPS room, I knew ev­ery nook and cranny. The room had a false wall and I fool­ishly thought that some­one had got in be­hind the wall to scare me. So I fol­lowed suit and also squeezed in be­hind the wall.

It was in­cred­i­bly cramped be­hind the wall and very dusty. When I had got a few yards in, the whis­tle came again, this time from the kitchen area where I had just been.

Now I was scared. I got out from be­hind the wall and ran around to the kitchen area. No one was there! I was pet­ri­fied. I sat for the rest of my duty, sit­ting in a cor­ner with a steak knife in my hand, wait­ing for day­light. (Steak knives by the way are a very good de­fense against ghosts, or so I told my­self). A few days later, I shared my story with a few of my mates. I wasn’t the only one to have ex­pe­ri­enced this.

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