My old Dad ...
was born and raised in Glasgow. He lived in a tightly packed tenament building, just two floors down from a young lad of the same age, Billy Connolly.

And like his old childhood chum, he decided to join the Army at the age of 16 to see a bit of the world and to make himself a bit more windswept and interesting.

On Friday November 22nd 1963 he was stationed on the Berlin Wall, listening to the radio as the news of JFK's assassination was broadcast.

He later said that the next few weeks were the most tense moments of his life. He and the other British soldiers spent a lot of time in bars in West Berlin talking drunk, angry American GIs out of their loudly declared intentions to go up on that Wall and shoot as many fuckin Commie bastards as they could.

Good job Dad. He and his fellow squaddies narrowly avoided WW3 right there.
(Que?, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 7:42, 1 reply)

Wow - good on your dad!
My stepfather was a Naval officer during the Cuban Missile Crisis, and said that the most frightening half hour of his life followed being given the order "Fire if fired upon."
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 8:23, closed)