Cannons Demand Union Recognition After First-Class Helicopter Joyride
Three corroded castle cannons have reportedly discovered workplace rights, luxury travel and an intense dislike of ordinary maintenance.
ST MICHAEL’S MOUNT, CORNWALL, By Sam Sideways. Three corroded cannons, each roughly 300 years old, were lifted from St Michael’s Mount by a Royal Navy helicopter and taken to Bristol for restoration. The artillery has since begun an immediate, wholly imaginary labour dispute.
For centuries, the cannons had performed the ordinary duties of being cannons. They now appear to regard the helicopter trip as executive travel. One arrived in Bristol apparently expecting a leather seat, sugared almonds in a small bowl, and a certificate confirming it had behaved bravely during take-off.
“We have never been consulted about our career development,” said Percival Clang, chair of the newly formed Ancient Ordnance Staff Association, through a brass megaphone recovered from a shed. “They called it maintenance. It was clearly a business-class relocation.”
“We have been emotionally rearranged by the altitude.”
The association has sent a 47-page claim to the Department of Historic Objects. It asks for shorter working centuries, two paid tea breaks per decade, and permission to decline any polishing described as “just a quick one”. Cannonballs should also be replaced with softer fruit, it says, on morale grounds.
The trip appears to have changed things.
At a press conference held inside an unusually respectful wheelbarrow, the cannons demanded recognition as maritime-adjacent aviation professionals. Their solicitor, Moonbeam Fizz, said altitude had “emotionally rearranged” the group. They will not resume decorative duty until every cannon has received a tiny high-visibility vest.
Restoration staff declined to comment. The cannons are not running the restoration, and one has been submitting grievances in Latin. A nearby bucket has become interim mediator after promising neutrality, though it is understood to hold firm views on rivets.
By Thursday afternoon, the cannons had formed a choir. They were singing a slow metallic version of a workplace safety anthem. Nobody said the helicopter was planning another journey, carrying the castle, three seagulls and a ceremonial pudding to a spa in Bath, because nobody said that at all.
The historic weapons are still bound for restoration in Bristol, where experts will deal with corrosion, the actual problem. Cannon self-determination will presumably remain on the agenda until the oldest cannon gets a name badge and somebody accepts that “blast radius” is an outdated performance metric.