h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Dad?? I know it was you that wrote this, own up now. I've never ever met anyone else who knows about egg banjos.

Why do you think the term originates in the (British) military?

hello sho. he`s not the only person that calls fried egg sarni`s egg banjo`s.

Sho,

Your Dad was right, Egg Bajo's do originate with the military. I think you will probably find the the word banjo when refering to a piece of bread with an egg in it has its origins in one of the eastern languages - Urdu or Punjabi.

I first came accros egg banjos when serving in the Middle East in the 1960's Our culinary delights where looked after by the Char Wallas - Pakastani gentlemen who lent many words to the English language, egg banjo being just one of them.

Incientally, I prefere a hard yoke, but with copious quantaties of melted butter to add the messy element to it.

Stuart

The thing about the military origins came from the entry, but since seeing this I've asked my dad and he said he first heard it in "the jungle" (probably Malaysia then) in the late '50s.

Sorry to butt in on your conversation, but if
Researcher "Stuart"
would go back to there own page and then click on the "EDIT PAGE" button and then write a little something about your self then a ACE can come and welcome you there properly
Sorry for interrupting your conversation

Manda

Well there you go! Char Wallahs - they get everywhere, from the Jungle to the Desert, you will even find them in the Falls Road in Belfast. Places where NAAFI dare not go!

Stuart

I didn't know there were such places... *shakes head in wonderment at the types of places the NAAFI dare not go*

During the height of the troubles in Northern Ireland in the 1970's and 80's, British soldiers found themselves billeted in some pretty outlandish places. Ranging from disused Police Stations and Schools to Portacabbins on the side of a hill. This was their home for four months and the only time they saw the light of day is when they went out on patrol.

The NAFFI’s constitution required that they provide canteen facilities to British forces, wherever they may be. However, they drew a line at the bandit country of West Belfast and South Armagh. Considered it to great a risk to their employees who were civilians.

To fill in the gap in stepped the Char Wallas who where not slow to come forward when there was a bob or two to be made. They provided canteen facilities at all hours of the day and night. When you come in off patrol at 2 in the morning having spent the last four hours having everything including the kitchen sink thrown at you, an egg banjo and a cup of hot coffee is the height of luxury.

However this was a symbiotic relationship as each Char Walla entered into a contract with the resident unit which required that they pass on a percentage of their profits to the unit they served. What this percentage was is commercially sensitive information as it was a matter between the head Char Walla and the Commanding Officer. However it is suffice to say that five figure sums were passed on to the unit funds. Funds that were spent well on return England.

Stuart

Oh I remember those... it's all coming back now. Mind you probably as well the guys (and girls) didn't have to go back to a NAAFI and suffer the indignity of having only a Chunky pie between you and a rumbly tumbly)

As I remember the NAAFI chunky pies were not all the bad, providing they were less than a week old and where well heated. The problem was you had to stand in a que for half an hour in order to get one.

eeek. Chunky pies were the ones made from all sorts of "stuff". The Steak pies were marginally better, but when consumed by hunger a packet of salt'n'vinegar crisps and a pickled egg were the only option for me. And then only the one time.

Sho ... don't think that I'm your dad but if I am ... Hi

With regard to why military - your guess is as good as mine although wherelse would such an obscure concept come about!

that's true. The military have a way of making strange connections between words.

Of course, I can't think of any right now.

Also worth mentioning that Egg banjos taste better when they have been passed to you by the radio operator in your tank with a nice black oily palm print on otherwise pristine mothers pride.

Known to the military as a "Scheme-y Egg Banjo', 'scheme' being another word for exercise, or manouevres.....

qv 'Nice Scheme-y Brew' (ie cup of tea from a very dirty mug, with Baileys instead of milk...)

ah, the "exercise mug and sock competition"

how I miss that. The guys on my detachment (there were only 10 of us altogether) used to see who could go the longest without washing their coffee mug or changing their socks. The record was some revolting 6 week thing.

And always, yes, always with a HARD yolk, never ever runny. You can't put a runny yolked banjo in your pocket for later.

Just to make it clear, particularly for the author of the original post, an authentic Banjo has a HARD yolk.

When I (very occasionally) have a hankering for an Egg Banjo at home, it's runny yolks all the way. Anywhere else (and the closest I get to the "authentic" version now is if my my ex-Army--hubs makes me one when we're camping) they have to have a hard yolk.

I can't remember where I was the other day (do it yourself shop, I think) but I was suddenly surrounded by soldiers of some ilk, all covered n oil and muck, and that tank/4 tonner/landrover smell made me all nostalgic for the good ol' days.


(nice to see the thread is still alive)

Hello all. Yes the EggBanjo does indeed exist. I say this not out of my own amasement. "WE" all Know the EB Jo exists. We've got the bloody stains to prove it for christs sake. And it has caused us no end of trouble. Its driven me round the twist trying to convince my wife they exist!

So imagine my delight when I came upon this site whilst out on my daily interweb ramble.

My wife is Indian you see and I am from Rawtenstall. I wont go into it in detail. So off to Mother India we go.

The plot thickened like yesterdays EggBanjo.

My uncle Jimmy introduced me to the cult of EB Jo on my fourth birthday. Id just had half a double Diamond and my Auntie Anne had let me light her cigarette for her. In walked Jimmy with the plate of EggBanjo'

well you can imagine the rest cant you?

Jimmy was and still is a Chindit. He served in Burma and still gets pissed off on VE Day. "NO, its not my day. I still had six more months to go pal. VJ DAY thats my day pal"

His Father in Law, Annes Dad, my Grandad. Grandad Jordan as he will ever be known. Well except by them that calls him Jack, served in india
So correct me if im wrong, Am I right. Yer not wrong.
That just about wraps up the case.....

Oh the trip to India yeah....sureley this would be the missing link. The final irrifutable evidence of the EggBanjo. Is that a word that irrifutable?

Anyway no sign of it at Mumbai airport. Nice Idley' though. Twelve hours later after delayed flights of the package variety we finaly get to our destination. A little place in Malapuram district called Manjari.
We crash out for another twelve hours in our digs at the Woodbine Lodge.
Nice place. Air conditioned. Hot and cold running Lizards you know the type. Next day after our ablutions we wander down to the Woodbine Indian Restaraunt for summat to eat.

What time is it when theres a pie on the top of New Hallhey clock tower?

Summat to eat

Eh Basil Brush get on with it!

So were in the Woodbine curry house havin a look at the moustaches. The wifes thinking of buying me one. And the waiter P J Stanley was his good name. Nice chap and a bloody good auto ricshaw driver too, comes with the menu.

I open it and glance over it looking for my personal favourite department The rice and sundries. And there it was at the foot of the page...

Sweats sold seperatley.

Night All

MMMMMMMMMMMM
Its been soooooo long since I've had one of these, I'm from the runny yolk folk but I agree with the lots of butter comment!!
All washed down with a massive cup of strong tea!

What has entirely been missed in this thread is the answer to "Why 'Egg Banjo?'" and the answer to that question absolutely refutes the statement above.

First time you came back from patrol in Northern Ireland (or other places, or even exercises, but for me it was Omagh in 1976), you are handed an egg banjo.

Picture this. Carefully holding the fried egg sandwich in both hands, you bite into it and the runny yolk spills itself down the front of your combat jacket. Shocked at what has happened, you remove the offending item with your left hand to the side of your body, while thrashing at the offending mess on the stomach of your jacket with your right hand. Got this picture in your head? Now imagine you are playing the air-banjo. See the resemblance?

QED.