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tHruu
By Johti Woolley
Maybe They . Don't Exist, But Pranks with Tanks Leave One Bewildered by Mischievous Happenings that Clearly Seem to be the Work of Some Phantom ,Force WE had been suspicious of their presence for some little time before one of the Tank park night guards first reported actually seeing Vantums at their games. He had seen, one stormy night, a Tank tarpaulin flapping in the wind and, upon investigating, had found two Vantums, chuckling quietly to themselves, busily untying the ropes holding the sheet to the Tank. When they heard his footsteps they scuttled away into the darkness before they could be detained for
questioning. .
We thought, at first, that these little creatures were Gremlins, which had gate-crashed the camp with a party of W.A.A.F.s, who had come to one of the camp dances. The more we saw of them, however, the more we realized how different from the Gremlins our creatures are.
Are the Vantums and Grengins Related The Vantum may be a distant relation of the Gremlin, but he is as much a thing apart as we Tank men are from the airmen whom the Gremlins plague. The Gremlin is, we understand, blue-grey in colour, and has a sly, leering look in his eye. The Vantum, is a dirty khaki colciur, smells-, strongly of grease, and is topped by a floppy, black headpiece in which he carries his spanners, screwdrivers, sledge-hammers and other 'instruments of destruction.
The average Vantum is a jolly little chap, thrifty, and kind to its young. If he rode on a bus, you could imagine him giving up his seat to a lady Vantum (if there are lady Vantums, which is a point to be investigated more fully—riossibly with the assistance of au enthnsiastic amateur Vantumologist in. t h e
malice; he carries out his as of destruction and mischief as a sacred duty, and any Vantum who dares allow personal feelings to interfere with his duties would very soon find himself court-martialled add drummed out of his tribe. He may -even be relegated to the ,..outcast tribe—the Wire Cutters. These are
the ' black sheep of the Vantums.
They are respon sible for gnawing t h e insulation froth. electric cables, and biting the lead weight from 6-pounder pull-throughs. Their main activity is snapping the barbed wire *mind petrol and coal dumps. Any shortage of petrol or coal is directly attributable . to these .pests. When thoroughly rdused they have been known 'to snap at the petrol storeman:s ankles—a• most unpleasant type..
As his main activity appears to be snapping. he is probably the type of Vantum responsible for snapping turret hatches down on unwary fingers. I am not in a position to make definite accusations, because the victim is usually much too engrossed in sucking or blowing his damaged extremities to ascertain the cause of his misfortune, but I cannot imagine any other Vantum stooping to such malicious acts.
Some of the Tricks of the Vantutns
A favourite trick ' of ' the normal Vantum is to sit on the gunner's browpad and -re-adjust the telescopic 'sights to suit himself. On one occasion, this led to a ii-pc1r. shot being sent across the bows of the squadron leader's Tank—unfortunately, the squadron:leader does not believe in Vantums.
This is not the only gag that they work on gunners. They are particularly adept at entangling machinegun ammunition belts, and, I am sure they will not know perfect happiness until they' can devise a method of feeding a bullet backwards into the gun. The ensuing liveliness in the turret would cause them everlasting amusement.
The wireless operator is by no means exempt from the attentions of this happy-go-lucky band. It is no , good his carefully tuning-in a set, leaving it for two minutes, and expecting to find it still tuned-in on his return. No self-respecting Vantum would let a chance like that slip by. And, when the operator has a mtssage pad in one hand, and a morse key in 'the other, then will the Vantum come out into the open and, brazenly squatting on the far end of the key, attempt to turn the operator's dots and dashes into doshes and flats. The resultant jumble could scarcely be called intelligible. It is the operator who takes the come back for the numerous rod aerials which are mysteriously bent or broken during the course of a day.
It is the driver's turn for annoyance-when, after pressing the staher button with no tangible result, and inspecting all the fuses in the vicinity, hefinds that the Tank master switch has been switched off. (Sir, do youdoubt the veracity of my statement? That is . a serious 'accusation you make, for you will never find a Tank driver guilty of failing to switch on the master switch.) The Vantura feels he has really pulled off a coup when he has contrived to kick the gear-change lever into neutral during the descent of some of the steepest and most rugged. hill sides. There is a peculiar thrill in hurtling down a steep gradient in an 18-ton Tank which, at every moment, gives the impression it is
about to emulate a Flying Fortress, and no one-who has not experienced it can understand the full devilry behind that simple act. '
When out in really boggy country,' there is nothing the Vantum enjoys more than unfastening the exterral fire-extinguisher and hurling it into the deepest mud available. This has more than once been the cause of an entire Tank crew crawling back on their hands and knees for hundreds of yards through black; slimy mud, rather than suffering the indignity of a court of inquiry, and the resultant expense.
Even being a Vantum is not always a bed of roses. A case in point is the Ventura who thought it would be fun to try adjusting the tappets of a Valentine at full revs. To-day, he resembles nothing more than a jitterbug with the jitters. He stutters, is prematurely aged and has been honOurably discharged from the Service.
You may wader how all this information has been accumulated.
Some of you hardened cynics may even accuse me of exaggeration here and there. I can but give you the facts and leave you to judge for yourselves. My probings into the inner soul of the Vantum have been greatly assisted by a Vantum I had the good luck to capture, after cornering him under the wireless set. I kept him in my barrack room on a lead made from a pair of bootlaces, and fed him on cotton waste and gun oil. At first he seemed quite happy, and although those around me were ever bemoaning some loss of kit, I never found any cause for complaint. My kit was never short, and whenever I had a surplus I always sold it to the highest bidder.
Vantie and I had many interesting discussions, and never once did hear him complain. But after a while
he grew pallid and listless, and although he would never admit it, I could see lae was breaking his heart to get back to the Tanks again. One evening I took off his lead and let him go. When I unsheeted my Tank the next morning, my 6-pdr. gun was missing. I still have much to learn about Vantums.