It was a cold and damp November day, we set off at about two fifteen in the afternoon, and having travelled for about fifteen minuets, realised we had forgotten Jimmy. So a u-turn on the A19 was called for and back home we went to collect him, this caused us to be now three quarters of an hour behind schedule. On arrival at our destination it was now dark and had begun to rain, and after booking in to Stalag Skegness, it was really tossing it down and the hunt for the hut had begun. After loading our luggage onto a supermarket type trolley, complete with a mind of it's own, off we went in search of our cell. After what seemed like an eternity we were no closer to this goal, and we approached a passing guard who informed us that he thought it was near the glass-fronted building ( no not the glasshouse). So onward we travelled in search of this shelter from the wind and rain, through the Red Coats den of torture we ventured, spying the cookhouse as we went, and back out into the rain.

It took a further quarter of an hour to find our cell for the weekend, and having gained access we quickly unpacked, and headed for our supper. But wait who is this wet and bedraggled creature walking towards us, it can't be, it is Chris Cottam." I've been here over an hour now and still don't know where our cell is", "join the club Chris, and Welcome to Butlins Skegness" our home for the next two and a half days.

After a hearty meal in the cookhouse and a quick chat with those that had managed to

find their accommodation, and even better where to eat, it was back to your cell for a quick wash and brush up. The next challenge was to find the meeting place of the escape committee, which rumour had it was to be in the "shh nudge, nudge say no more" bar, by some stroke of luck, most managed to dodge the guards and make the meeting. It was at this meeting that Jimmy first put in his appearance of the weekend

as this was the annual reunion of the 60's 16er's and we now had a rallying point and an identity. This venue however turned out to be a live group venue and the noise drove us to pastures new and to locate those that had not managed to elude the guards (red coats). It was here that many old acquaintances appeared for there first and I should imagine for them a very memorable reunion, as it was for some of the older hands, but hopefully all will attend the next, and so to bed.

Saturday, most if not all managed to make it to breakfast, in our own corner of the dinning room, where we were waited on by a lovely bunch of lads and lasses. After such a hearty meal the first challenge of the day, to find the Royal Arthur suit, the venue for the annual general meeting, but to our dismay all you had to was look lost,

and the guards showed you the way. There stood on a table to the side of all assembled was Jimmy, his second main appearance of the weekend, and how proud he looked. The meeting went well until it was suggested that we might hypnotise him and find out why he always went around naked, standing on a ball, and pointing to the sky. It was announced that the guards could not supply us with any alcohol at the annual dinner but that we could supply our own. So the second challenge of the day, to locate and purchase some form of refreshment the dinner. This of course meant having to elude the guards and escape from the camp, at least four of us managed to get as far as Boston to get our supplies, but what we would do with Red cabbage, I did not know.

So all togged up in all our finery and the booze tucked under our arm it was off to the annual bean feast, and what a feast it turned out to be, the food and service was excellent, and I think, I can speak for the majority that this was so. After the meal it was to a more sombre part of the evening's events and that was the toast to the memory of our founder the late and deeply missed Chris Bartlett. In his honour the main guest of the evening was his son, and a really proud son at what his father had created in 60,s 16er's Reunion club. But wait, who's that hanging around over there, well the show would not be the same without Punch, it's Jimmy. It was time for the photo call and it seemed like every one wanted to take photo's of every one else, and of course he got in on the act. Come the witching hour we were ask politely to leave as our warders required to get the place ready for breakfast, so it was time to recover what was left of the booze, dodge the search lights and find a nice warm, hospitable cell in which to finish of the night. After consuming what was left of the drink, and watching a certain gent, eat his underpants and auditioning as a page three girl, it was time to stagger back to our own cells.

Sunday breakfast saw a lot of bleary-eyed people hunched over their greasy sausage, bacon, egg and beans, but there was no time to linger as there was a parade to attend. So it was back to you cells, put on best bib and tucker, polish the odd medal or two spit and polish shoes. Then off into Skeggers to find the form up point for the Remembrance Day parade. We were in luck for change and the sun shone on the righteous and the parade and service went well, apart from having to go back to the car park to pick up your car. It was now time to enjoy a well-earned pint in the local service mans club, only it was not open, and we had to settle for a cuppa instead until opening time. After a couple of jars of the local nectar most where feeling the strain of the night before and wanted to rest there weary bodies, so it was back to the billets we went for a well earned rest before the evening meal. Those who had to be at work on the Monday said there farewells and promised to see all next year, those who still had energy left did a short route march to a local hostelry to enjoy a karaoke evening in the company of some our host's.

Monday breakfast was a more sombre affair as people said their goodbyes and promised to keep in touch as you do, and meet again next year.

The story behind Jimmy, I first set eye's on him back in the early 80's, when I visited the Cpl's mess of 252 Provo. Coy R.M.P (V) in Stockton-on-Tees, he hung proudly on their mess wall as a trophy. In the mid 90's my two sons joined the unit after having served an unfruitful, boring two years with the local Signals TA unit, but were proud of Jimmy hanging on there wall. So when the unit decided to get rid of him, my younger son said "give him to me, my dad will have him", so what do you do with an unwanted Jimmy. Find him a new home, who, what, where, I've got it, find some way of putting our logo 60's 16er's on it and giving ourselves an identity when we hold our reunions.

So here's to our next reunion at Blackpool on the weekend 25^th/28^th October 2002, get your booking in now as it is Blackpool and the lights, so last minuet bookings will be hard to come by, you have been warned.

Annon.