It was a sunny morning when six veterans, accompanied by two youngsters, slipped out of Falmouth, to rendezvous with other veterans at Halvasso turn; to establish what was probably the largest gathering of OGIL on any Wednesday morning for the last seventy-five years. I had with me my faithful Enigma machine. The exact number was, if not a secret, unconfirmed, but may have been as many as seventeen. At the rendezvous the destination was announced, Porthleven, picking up one who must be known only by the call sign, the Iron Maiden, on the way. Operation Ineptitude had commenced. Captain Murrells lead from the front whilst General Confusion reined at the rear, Corporal Jones with the remnants of the Cornwall (rear) light Infantry, “Uncle” Albert, “Prince” Andrew, John leading the medical Corps, and many more. Our American allies had supplied their best German translator; even the Italians were represented, though at Godolphin Cross he realised he was on the wrong side and pealed off towards Townsend, with his friend, Bryany. We tackled the hills together; Fred was Pullen, and I felt like getting off and pushing, having sustained minor wounds during a disagreement with a car at Argal Crossroads on Sunday. Nigel experienced a mechanical at some point but was soon back on two wheels with the help of Andrew’s, until now well hidden, mechanical skills.
The exact route is, I am afraid, still classified (on Strava) but after swooping down the hill from Rinsey we arrived at Porthleven and the Harbourside Café. An advance party, including John’s wife, impeccably kitted out in the One an All uniform, had already arrived, taking up a sheltered position on the harbour wall. We encamped outside, gave our orders and “dug in”. Everyone was in good humour, at least on my table- Phil1, Andrew, Jan and Kath, the main conversation topic seeming to be different aspects of our mortality.
I preferred to go over the top rather than cross the cobbles, as we set off homeward, but soon met up again and cut through Penrose to Helston. From this point we may have suffered some loses, where was Keith? John?, as the group became scattered. It did not matter because we knew we would meet again, didn’t know where, didn’t know when, we knew we’d meet again, perhaps some sunny Wednesday or even on Sunday for the Bob Mansbridge ride. 41 miles for me. Dean