Now, I know a lot, if not most, members of this board had or have family who fought in the major conflicts that defined recent history. And a lot of these returning heroes brought home genuine stories that would make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. But let's not go down that road. What I want to hear are the suspect stories that for whatever reason, and whatever motive, would make you question if they were pulling your leg. I'll get the ball rolling. Like any red blooded human being, I have an understandable fear of the dentists chair. And whenever their was an impending appointment, Grandpa Swagger would recount the following story. Judge for yourselves: When I was a little Swagger, my grandfather would tell exaggerated tales of daring do from his days in the RAF. Now, I'm not entirely sure how much of this is fiction, but from what I can gather from my father and uncles, most of it was drawn from an actual event. But before I begin, let us remember those horror stories from a bygone era when if a tooth needed extracting, a piece of cord would be attached to a door that would be attached to the troublesome tooth and the door slammed. The sort thing I imagine is stilled practiced in Mormon and Amish households. Remember? Good, then I shall begin. During the war my grandfather flew a Mosquito fighter/bomber over the eastern Mediterranean. Usually operating from remote, forward airfields so as to keep the Hun on their toes. During these long periods away from civilization - and a dentist - his fellow airman would occasionally develop dental and medical ailments that couldn't be readily treated by a professional. So, seeing as there was a conspicuous lack of doors to slam, they usually had to rely on improvisation or initiative. On one such mission, my grandfathers bombardier suffered from an excruciating toothache. This unfortuanate fellow would keep the rest of the squadron up at night with his sobbing and whimpering. The squadron leader eventually had to act because it was unsafe for his pilots to be loosing sleep. One morning, he announced to his men - and the 'patient' - that he'd come up with a solution. They took some of the frayed linen from the machine gun ports on one of the aircrafts the wings. Twisted them together to form a strong, but thin cord. Attached the cord to the tooth. Then lashed the other end of the cord to one of the propeller blades. Held his head, and his mouth open. And started the aircrafts engines. I don't think it takes an expert to figure out what happened next. But surfice to say, the surrounding desert echoed the anguish of a man who had literally had his tooth ripped from his head at the speed of sound. Over to you.