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Cliff Blake

Gordon Smith

Personal Reminiscences of Cliff Blake

0M1/55th Entry — 1947 to 1950

Attestation at Halton

It was Wednesday the 15th January 1947, a mild sunny day, when I made my way to RAF Halton for further aptitude tests. The week at Halton continued warm and sunny, and top coats were unnecessary. The food was very good. I remember getting a dollop of jam and a block of "cheese" at teatime. I spread the jam on the bread, then chopped the "cheese" up on top. It was only afterwards that I missed the cheese flavour, and realised the yellow block was unspread butter or margarine.

Of course we had the usual medical in the starkers, but with a blanket while waiting. The ear examination produced a gasp when the MO looked in my right ear. Without any softening, it was then syringed, bringing out a volume of wax equal to an inch or so of a pencil. I hadn't realised that I had been partly deaf during my childhood, or the reason why. That ear has needed occasional syringing through the years since.

I was originally interested in an electrical trade, but when the form had offered "radar" — a new exciting development — I put down "(1) Radar Mech., (2) Electrician, (3) Engine Mech." I remember aptitude tests, in which the examiner held up a board about a foot square, with levers or weighted strings protruding from behind. He would then waggle a lever or wind a handle to make the other visible parts move. From the motion produced, we had to select one of four suggested diagrams showing what mechanism should be behind the board.

Halton to Cranwell

I got my first trade choice, and joined the party moving to RAF Cranwell. As we waited outside London, King's Cross station in our unaccustomed new uniforms, a man in a trilby hat sidled up, "Overseas?" he asked. "No," we laughed, but felt less raw.

Somewhere (Grantham?), we left the main train for a local. Even after wartime privations, this looked terrible. The light fittings were for gas, and the plush seating had long been rained on. At Sleaford we transferred to RAF coaches. The fine weather had turned to grey skies for our welcome to Lincolnshire. The first meal at Cranwell was a dirty coloured macaroni cheese in one big gooey dollop. Ugh! I expect my hell would be eating macaroni cheese in a dilapidated railway carriage for eternity.

First Days at Cranwell

Initially we were E Squadron with cap bands in brown and yellow. These were immediately dubbed "shit & custard" by the other Squadrons. In August 1947, we would inherit from the Poles, the name of C Squadron with red and blue hatbands. We lived in Block 325, B Flight being upstairs in Room 3. The room below was used by the Polish apprentices as a church, and recreation room. I think A Flight was also upstairs in Room 4, while C Flight was in Room 2 below them.

Cranwell apprentices wore their "wheel" just below the left shoulder eagle, whereas the Halton apprentices wore theirs lower down, just above the elbow. Basically the badge was designed to be sewn on, but it was our practice to drill and tap the centre, and fasten it with a backing disc and screw. It has always been called a "wheel" but is actually a four-bladed propeller within a circular frame. I believe the design originated in the RFC, and was worn by Flight Sergeants above the stripes in place of a crown.

Head dress was not necessary when walking in the apprentice accommodation lines, and we did not march to meals after the first few days. Trumpet (not bugle) calls were only used for Reveille, On-parade, and Lights-out.

As a new Entry, we seemed to be forever scraping the paint on the handrail and the edge of the stairs, then painting in some new colours. One used one's dinner knife for this so it became an inch shorter than intended. I remember scraping paint on my own one Saturday morning. The S/A's [Sergeant Apprentice's] bunk was at the top of the stairs, and I noticed he was having a grand time, sitting up in bed, with one minion supplying tea and toast, another polishing his brasses, and a third blancoing his webbing, while he issued orders for the whole Squadron. As I scraped, I learned the secret knock to gain entrance. An agitated C/A [Corporal Apprentice] appeared and hammered on the door, but not with the correct code. I spoke up, and he was let in. Shortly afterwards the Wing Warrant Officer also appeared with a face like thunder. He gained admittance by shouted demand, and entered with his accompanying NCO's. After that the flurry of the morning eased, and the S/A never played the nabob again.

I was not very good at folding blankets neatly. One day Sgt. Reid, a very reasonable man, said "Look here, what's wrong with those blankets?" I fell for it. I could see what was wrong, and told him, whereupon he threw his beret at the floor, and pleaded, "Well, why can't you do something about it?" This made a big impression on me. I couldn't be neater, but I looked around at those who could, and modified the method of folding, to achieve thinner more compact layers.

Folding "best blue" was also a nuisance. It was suggested to us that if we all had coat hangers, we could simply hang it on the locker bracket. Immediately someone went to Sleaford to purchase hangers all round. I still have mine.

At marching, I wasn't exactly out of step, but I seemed to lag a few degrees on the others. The unseasonal fine weather turned to snow, so my problem went unnoticed.

The Cold Winter of 1947

This was an extreme winter when people throughout the country suffered, and many died. We were possibly sheltered from it as I remember the barrack rooms as being warmed. We had started technical instruction, but the ink in the classrooms was frozen, and we stood around the stove in greatcoats, making toast. One frozen morning we found ourselves out on the Sleaford road, shovelling the bumps into the hollows.

Service Matters

Apprentice pay varied with age and service, starting at 10/6d per week, paid as 12/- per fortnight, with 9/- deferred until next leave. It increased to 14/- and 17/6 per week for the second and third years. However, at the age of 17½ pay became 28/- per week, paid as 20/- [£1] per fortnight, the rest deferred. "Pay you on deferred" was a phrase often heard to settle debts, but it was wise to catch the debtor before he left on the leave bus.

Going on leave involved taking your:

Early in 1947 Air Ministry Orders announced that ration money would no longer be paid for 36 hour passes. "This should not be regarded as a loss of privilege, but as a bringing into line with the Army and Royal Navy."

Later a clothing allowance was introduced, and kit was no longer free. This was particularly irksome in respect of paying for boot repairs.

After mid 1949, forage caps were superseded by berets, a length of chequered cap band being sewn vertically behind the badge coloured plastic backing disc.

The music for the General Salute was changed to a sort of tonal exercise, making it difficult to put rude words to. Originally it was a rousing tune with the unofficial verse:

Entertainment

I did appreciate the cinema which gave the opportunity to catch up on 15 year-old films like King Kong and Scarface. I never knew then, that 30 or 40 years later I'd be able to see them again on TV. Tickets were 2d and 3d. One of the films called White Cargo included a "native" girl called Tond-er-lay-oh, played by Hedy Lamarr. For several days "Tond-er-lay-oh" became our war chant. Shortly afterwards I was on leave, and heard an early edition of Take It From Here. I really appreciated their parody of the film in which the character became "Fond-o-play-oh."

As might be expected, a passing female form would cause a rush to the window. I can still visualise the thighs of a particular WAAF PTI. On one occasion, much whistling ensued when two attractive ladies passed one summer day. Their identity was revealed when we were firmly ordered NOT to whistle at the wife of the new Wing CO.

Someone (Dave McCoye?) had a wind-up gramophone, and our 78 rpm records included some by:

and contents like:

American style drape zoot suits and bop were the craze in the late 40's, early 50's. In response to my questions, Alan Donaghue gave me a potted lecture on the difference between pop, bop, jazz, swing, Dixieland, etc. but I have never been an expert on any sort of music.

At the end of 1947, we were ordered to decorate the flight [room], and hold a Christmas party. Decorations were improvised by acquiring teleprinter rolls for paper strip, and dismantling paper dielectric condensers [capacitors] to use their electrodes of aluminium foil strip. Wire coat hangars could be shaped, and covered with foil or paper to make emblems like wings. We subscribed for non-alcoholic minerals and cakes, organised a quiz and treasure hunt, acted sketches, and played party games. Ex-Boy Scouts, Derek Scrivener, Alan Thwaites, and I acted out some camp fire sketches. For an all-male do it went very well.

Technical Instruction

Each class for instruction included members of all Flights. Classes A, B, C were for Radio Fitters (Ground), and classes D, E, F were for Radio Fitters (Air). Early on they were rearranged to put the more technically able in the earlier letter classes, but I don't recall any stigma being attached to this.

It was a hot sunny afternoon as the Mechanics lecturer droned on about the motion of projectiles. He mentioned initial velocity and angle of launch, outlined the steps to find the period of flight, then hammered on the blackboard as he raised his voice to ask "So what's the time?" I think it was Brian S, dozing at the back, who woke up to answer "Three o'clock Sir! Can we go?"  The class dissolved in laughter, and the lecturer admitted defeat with "Go on!  Bog off!"

General Studies included "History of the Royal Air Force." The lecturer was dictating notes about the airship that crossed the Atlantic. "R34 did this, and R34 did that" he said. Strolling between the desks and glancing at the books, he got to one, and suddenly exploded with "You woolly headed nincompoop! Not Arthur Defoe did this, and Arthur Defoe did that."

I was doing practical fault finding on the T1154 HF transmitter, and had left the AVO Minor on a resistance range. When I tried to measure a voltage, the needle completely disappeared. Reluctantly, I showed it to the instructor. He removed the fuse holder, only to find a very thick piece of copper wire, and smiling, blamed that for the damage. He gave me another meter with which I was most careful.

A subject known as "Tech." acquainted us with things like lead-acid batteries, field telephones, the resistor colour code, bonding testers etc. I think it was a Sergeant Taylor, a ginger-haired chap, who would often start the Tech. lesson with "The Wing Commander and I have decided . . . . . "
Usually the matter was very trivial, but I don't remember any of us laughing at the joke, or the Wing Commander mentioning the Sergeant.

Similarly, one of the DI's would always start a session of square bashing with, "What I say is:- When you're on the square, you're on the square." I'm still not sure what this meant, but probably something like "Put effort into your drill."

When we got to radar aerials, the lecturer kept asking, "What's a parabola?" while he fumbled with pencils and papers.
No one answered. "Come on," he demanded.
It was going to take another 40 years and a microcomputer before I got to grips with eccentricity, so I kept quiet.
"Come on," he kept repeating, so I reluctantly started, "The locus of a point . . ."
"Yes, yes, come on."
"The locus of a point that moves . . . "
"Yes, yes."
"The locus of a point that moves keeping equal distances from a fixed line and a fixed point . . ."
"Yes, yes, that's it," and he was away, thankfully, as I couldn't have added anymore, and couldn't remember the terms "directrix" and "focus."

In the microwave lab. we poked small filament lamps on rods, into large open waveguides, to find the direction of the electric field, and prove the mode pattern.

In a hangar on North Drome, West Camp, we were able to practice stringing wire aerials between two wooden fins and a pipe mast, screwed to a bench. I believe the knots mostly used were the clove-hitch and a round-turn- &-two-half-hitches. Also we carried out planned servicing exercises on Lancaster fuselages. On one occasion, having removed the H2S radar transmitter to a test bench, I plugged the waveguide together without tightening the clamping rings. The resulting sparks made me realise the power and principles involved.

Mr. Kirkham was our usual morse instructor, I think he had a Lancashire accent to go with the name. Using the morse key he could chat with Mr. Oxley the instructor in the next room, while at the same time giving us verbal instructions.
We were aimed at 12 wpm, and I think most of us just about made it, with a few outstanding experts.
Then, I think it was:- Able, Baker, Charlie, Dog, Easy, Fox, George, How, Item, Jig, King, Love, Mike, Nan, Oboe, Peter, Queen, Roger, Sugar, Tare, Uncle, Victor, William, X-ray, Yoke, Zebra, and for the numerals:- wun, too, thuh-ree, fower, fife, six, seven, ate, niner, zero.
Every receiving exercise started with the long break dah-di-di-di-dah and ended with end-of-message di-dah-di-dah-dit.

We were given practical familiarisation with diesel and petrol-electric generating sets. I feel that our interest to know about engines was probably greater than the standard of instruction. When it came to the final examination, the instructor reminded us that there were charts on the walls, a book on his desk, and that he would be away for about an hour.

Informal Technical Matters

We had various radios in the flight room, but it was always a nuisance getting out of bed to switch off last thing. One of the lads in our room (Derrick DF) fitted a relay, operated by the AGC through a valve, so that it switched off when the BBC station carrier went off about 11.10 pm.

The barrack blocks still had old d.c. electricity supplies which could have either an earthed positive or an earthed negative, depending on which room. I remember many flashing sparks when an aerial wire was thrown over the metal roof trusses.

On the informal side, potted components were hinted at; "You wire up a one valve receiver, put it in a boot box, then fill it with candle grease." Now, potted circuits have been and gone.

There was a quote; "You can't miniaturise the Watt!" but now it has turned out that the job can be done with maybe a picowatt.

Batchy Atcherley

For much of our time the Station Commander was the legendary Air Commodore RLR Atcherley, one of a pair of equally famous brothers. We met him when he came round for inspections.
He once asked me, "Where do you come from?"
"Woolwich, Sir."
"Do you support Arsenal football team?"
"No, Sir."
Then not saying another word, he turned and stalked off without looking at the next few kits.

There was a Spitfire painted duck egg blue, which Batchy would use for aerobatics. On other occasions he flew a black Messerschmidt which, it was said, should have been in the College museum collection hangar. One Sunday afternoon, the Messerschmidt was driven across the south drome without taking off, and was wrecked in the ditch and hedge. The "pilot" disappeared. We all had our fingerprints taken, but the culprit wasn't discovered. However it was common knowledge among the apprentices, that certain people had helped with aircraft handling in the morning, and had declared that their fingerprints would be found on the joystick.

Sports

Gordon Pirie was doing his national service at Cranwell during our time, and it was a treat to see him move ahead leaving other runners behind.

I think it was in 1949 that the Halton teams came to Cranwell for a sports challenge, and we were all marched up to the stadium at West Camp to watch. It was fairly even pegging all the way through, and either station deserved to win. Unfortunately in a race towards the end, the officer acting as umpire applied his attention too late, missing the Cranwell man who was first, and selected the second Halton man as winner. The Halton competitor spoke up with the facts, but the umpire's error was maintained. Thus Halton won the challenge by a small margin instead of Cranwell, leaving both parties depressed with the result.

Wednesday afternoons were often a problem to non-sportsmen like me, until the hiking club was formed. A rather quiet, very tall officer would set off, with us trailing behind. As he strode out, we would be left behind to make our own way back, but at least most of us saw the surrounding countryside. Of course there were a few who fell out behind a convenient barn or haystack. Although not a sporting type, I did enjoy hockey in the gym, using old hockey sticks, and a rope quoit as puck. I also went on short training trots along the old Roman road with our cross-country runners. One colleague, Ken Smith, was anxious to find a golfing opponent, and although I was willing to have a go, I couldn't keep my eye on the ball, so my experience consisted of several swings, one hit, and look for the lost ball. On one occasion at least, I can remember having a go on the tennis court.

Informal Learning

For a while, some of us did advanced maths on Wednesday sports afternoons. The lecturing was a voluntary effort by a kindly, considerate Flight Lieutenant (Humphries?). His teaching ability was good, and I learned a lot of useful stuff, like complex numbers, that came in very useful in later jobs.

The Apprentice Wing library was a treasure house. I read about many of the First World War air aces, Albert Einstein's books on his theories, and a book on the gyroscope from which I obtained the laws involved. The books actually written by Einstein were easier to understand than many by other authors trying to explain his Theory of Relativity.

Technical Construction

In my second or third year I spent about two weeks pay (£3) on four valves to assemble my first receiver — 6K7 variable mu RF pentode — 6J7 sharp cut-off RF pentode — 25A6 output pentode — 25Z6 supply rectifier. The circuit came from a magazine. Initially it didn't work, as I had connected the AF coupling condenser to the decoupling point, and vice versa. Swapping them round, revealed real radio stations.

A spare dormitory was allocated to us as a hobbies room. With ex-government bits, I built a simple three-valve synchrodyne receiver. The idea is that an oscillator runs at signal frequency, hetrodyning to produce the audio frequencies directly. It gave me an output, but when I stopped the oscillator the output continued, so I was unable to distinguish between normal non-linear detection, and the synchrodyning.

From a scrap bin at Cranwell, I acquired a metal case with composition base. Holes had been patched as though someone was going to use it as an instrument case. With a 5 mA moving coil meter from a panel bought in Lisle Street for 7/6d, I constructed a multimeter that was to serve me for more than the next fifty years. Originally I wound the current shunts on cardboard formers, as their resistance was so small. When they smouldered and burned I learnt that the power was in the current and not in the resistance.

Lisle Street, London, was noted for its shops which sold wireless components. With the war these became mostly government surplus parts. Being in Soho, it was also used for soliciting. The older lady who stood on the corner with a raised umbrella, even in bright sunshine, would greet passers-by with a long drawn-out, "Good afternoon!" while a blonde further along, swung a bunch of keys in a circle, and gave a quick, "Hello Sweetie!"

Flying Experience

The first time I went up in one of the familiarisation Avro Ansons, I was peering into the Gee mk II visor as we took off, and when I glanced out again the bright sunshine had given way to fog, or so I thought, until we broke cloud. It was on this first flight that the chap behind tapped me on the shoulder, and pointed out of the window. The starboard propeller wasn't turning, and the pilot started throwing the aircraft about trying to clear something, but we safely returned on the one engine.

On another flight, the navigator left me plotting Gee readings on the map, while he went to sunbathe with the pilot. A valve in the indicator failed, and I couldn't continue, so I sunbathed in the cockpit while the navigator plotted our course the hard way.

Other Personnel

There was a group of Iranian airmen at Cranwell. Their uniforms were grey, and appeared to be of rather poor quality material. They all seemed to be tall and slim, but their class leader was a very portly senior officer in a navy blue uniform.

In contrast, a group of Burmese airmen were rather stocky, and very smart in khaki-brown uniforms.

The C of E church service was held in a hangar on the North Drome, West Camp. It was in the hands of a chaplain, as distinct from a mere padre. During his sermon, one Sunday, he made the mistake if saying, "And why do we come to church?" Since church parade was compulsory, a great roar of laughter went up.

The national service tailor in our wing tailor shop had a rather effeminate manner. On one occasion when I was there, the phone rang. He answered it, chatting as though he was dealing with a customer in civvy street. You know the sort of thing: "Look here. I can do you a nice little number in blue-grey serge, with dinky little brass buttons." Suddenly he stopped talking, turned red, and changed to, "Yes Ma'am. No Ma'am. I'm very sorry Ma'am." The two WAAF tailoresses sniggered, as the Queen Bee tore him off a strip for familiarity.

Summer Camp

Summer Camp in June 1949 was pitched on the air-to-ground ranges at Theddlethorpe, near Mablethorpe. An advance party had been sent to prepare the ground, but as we stepped over thistles with the main party, I remember a plaintive voice saying. "I can't sleep here." Having been camping with the Boy Scouts, I was thankful that I had no such qualms. In the tents we had beds, and electric lighting. It was more luxurious than scout camp. The power cables were buried in trenches under turf, which we were asked to keep in place. All very well until I found one bump caused by an empty spirit bottle.

Early on, a Drill Instructor [DI] took a group of us, and announced that we were going to do "Field Engineering." I visualised bridge building, but we spent the next couple of hours digging a pit for latrine waste. When the DI returned, his complaint was that it was too deep, and too wide.

Then there was a warning demonstration about the danger from blanks. A large envelope was laid on the dune, and a round fired at it from about three feet. The debris from the blast splattered the sheet with cuts.

One day we assembled on the dunes to watch, as two aircraft fired rockets at a large board with a tank silhouette painted on it. Fortunately the pilots were good shots, and there were no hang-ups.

A night exercise was held. Our lorry dropped us outside a farmhouse, where the lady came out and spoke to the DI about not disturbing the cows. He fawningly assured her that we would be very quiet, and not upset the animals, while we fumbled with the blank rounds in our pockets. We moved off across the fields without too much upset. All I can remember now, is someone escaping by running through a stream, and a rifle being dumped amongst the weeds. Next day it was recovered, and took quite a bit of cleaning.

We also went on a daylight mapping exercise, and got in a bit of target shooting in the dunes.

Off duty we could walk into Mablethorpe, where a roller skate hockey match was soon arranged between our skaters, and the local team The Mablethorpe Lions (?) We were delighted to find a poster that billed us as "the R.A.F." The rink loudspeakers frequently blared forth with "Twelfth Street Rag," and I always link this music with Mablethorpe. A cricket match was played against RAF Theddlethorpe range staff.

Indiscipline

I didn't usually stick my neck out to break the rules, but as we approached passing-out day, I did join a large number of our Entry in The Bustard public house at Rauceby. We were in a back room, singing and drinking, when in walked one of the DI's. "Hello Serge!" someone yelled. He took a quick look round, muttered "My Christ!" and departed at great speed.

Promotion

At one time I was informally interviewed with another Aircraft Apprentice [A/A] for possible promotion to Leading Apprentice [L/A]. I wasn't sorry when he got it, and I stayed in the company of the majority. In some respects I already felt separated by being a little brighter on the technical side, and a little poorer athletically.

Just before passing out, I was interviewed for a commission, but I was not interested in becoming Aircrew or Regiment. Unfortunately I lacked a modern language for university entrance, the path for a technical commission.

When we took our passing out boards on the wireless and radar equipments, I felt that the examiners were willing me on to give deduced answers to their questions. All the Entry would pass out as AC2 [Air Craftsman 2nd class] at least, but credit level in the exams. meant AC1 [ditto 1st class], and distinction meant LAC [Leading Air Craftsman]. Despite the encouragement I didn't quite make LAC, and also just missed a prize by coming 3rd of the Radio Fitters (Air). I was told to take the next trade test after passing out.

Passing Out Parade

Drill movements were revised, particularly with regard to timing. For example, sloping and ordering arms changed

These changes occurred shortly before our passing out parade and we were messed about, first rehearsing the old style, then the new, and then the old again, so that we didn't know what we were doing. Perhaps that excuses the dropping of a rifle and a bayonet on the actual parade.

Later Trade Test

At Chigwell, six months later, I remember the poor Flight Sergeant supervising the workshop test begging us to be very careful with the 10 BA thread taps necessary for the exercise. I was being as careful as possible, when "oops!", suddenly it was too late. However, at the final interview I was told that I had passed with flying colours. I feel that the trade test was a formality, and that I had been promoted LAC anyway. Back at St. Athan I immediately became a records acting corporal.

Coming from London, one impression I got at Chigwell, was that the NAAFI girls spoke "English." At Cranwell they mostly had Lincolnshire accents, and at St. Athan they had Welsh ones. Subconsciously the non-London accents seemed to be foreign tongues.

The Future

I have referred to "Radio Fitters (Air)" and "Radio Fitters (Ground)" but early on during training it was mentioned that after passing out it would be possible for the "air" people to do a "ground" course, and vice versa, to become a proposed "Radio Fitter I". This never came about, and the wide revision of ranks and trades in 1950 changed us to "Air Radio Fitters" and "Ground Radio Fitters".

In Retrospect

I do not regret my decision to become an Aircraft Apprentice, and would do it again under the conditions prevailing in the late 1940's. Although we hated unnecessary duties known as "bullshit," I was never homesick, as I wanted to get away from my mother. In general I preferred service life to family life.

Personal Reminiscences of Gordon Smith

0M1/55th Entry — 1947 to 1950

Enlistment at Halton

January 15th-16th 1947. Caught the overnight train from Sunderland to London Kings Cross where I arrived between 5.30 and 6.00 am on a cold and dark morning. I then caught the tube to Piccadilly Circus, and wandered about the deserted streets looking for a cup of tea, but to no avail. Eventually, as it got lighter, I managed to visit "Woollies" for a sandwich and a cuppa. For someone who had never been more than 20 miles from home, I wasn't very impressed by my first view of Eros.

Eventually, somehow, I arrived at Marylebone Station, and met various lost souls each with a small suitcase. From there, we were collected and taken to Wendover, then transported to RAF Halton. Most of our time was taken up with exams and eating. My medical exam totally foxed me. While being prodded, one doctor took me to one side and told me I had failed. So, I shrugged my shoulders and carried on. The doctors then gave me a dossier and directed me to an NCO at a table where he scanned everyone's papers. When he looked at mine, he said "You're from Sunderland? I nodded and he then said "Right, you've passed your medical." I walked away bemused!

When all our exams were completed and correlated, we went in front of a trio of officers who asked a lot of probing questions. The senior officer in the middle laughed at all of my answers while the other two sniped away. I came away, again bemused!

The next morning in the dormitory, a corporal came with a list, read out some names, and told them to report for a further assessment. That left about 10 of us alone. We realised that we had failed, so imagine my surprise when they returned (some in tears), and told us they had to try again. Bemused, won't be the word for it. Where others had failed, I had been accepted.

My qualifications were zero. I had only gone to an elementary school, which had been closed for a long time during the war; I had even failed the school certificate examination. Getting entrance papers caused my mother to roll up her sleeves and fight. My old school teacher, Dicky O'Hara, gave me tuition in the evening after work, (I encountered logarithms for the first time). I then sat an entrance exam at the local college, and was amazed to receive acceptance to journey to RAF Halton.

So, suddenly I was in. I went to a room and was sworn in, then off to the stores to get issued with my uniforms etc. A tailor asked us to put on our best-blue tunics, which they marked with chalk, and told us to come the next day to reclaim them. Came the day and off we went. To get there we had to skirt around the square. After we had tried the tunics on, we put them over our arms to return to our block. However, someone decided to go around the square the opposite way, causing us to pass some other buildings. As we did this, one of the windows opened, heads popped out, and loud salutations were voiced. Very soon, other windows opened, and the volume of greetings increased. Then, one of our group (Brian Stringer) very slowly raised two fingers, and suddenly bodies tumbled out of doors and windows, and we were surrounded by a great multitude baying for our blood. Just in time a C/A pushed his way through and calmed the mob who returned inside. A lecture of respect for the senior entry was invoked, it was sometime later before I became aware of the disaster that might have happened.

Eventually, after writing a letter home and packing our civvies, we all assembled to be told whether we were successful enough to have got the trade we had wanted. Some engine and airframe members were juggled etc., and finally we were told that all those applying to be Radio Fitters had been accepted, and we would be travelling to Lincolnshire. We all gave a loud cheer, which was greeted with "You'll be sorry."

Cranwell

We then travelled to Sleaford by train. There was a great debate about the North and South divide at the time, and I did think we had just left a green and pleasant land, for what seemed to be snow bound. We disembarked our buses to RAF Cranwell, to be met by a motley group of NCO's. Some had peculiar shaped hats, all bent and curved, very like the Gestapo I thought. It was all very strange. They got rather upset when we didn't address them by their rank.

Nonetheless, we entered Block 325, and were put upstairs under the control of C/A Jones. However, I was transferred across the landing, so that our entry of 91 members occupied 3 rooms instead of just two. Our controllers were C/A McDonnell, L/A Pink and L/A Gayford. The big chief was S/A Poore. We all referred to him as "Piss Poore" though not to his face. So, began our regime, kit inspection after kit inspection, which took hours, and many a brown enamel mug was drop kicked from end to end, and lay on the floor making crackling noises till they were finally allowed to be picked up. This stopped when our mugs were change to white "pot" ones.

Mixing with each other was on the tardy side. Apart from your close neighbour, it was a slow business. Everybody spoke English, but not quite the same way. Once you conversed with someone, another would join in and so on, until you managed to feel comfortable with each other. I can't remember being homesick, but some were. What did upset me was the ritual of someone marking the number of days left before the next holiday on every blackboard you saw.

We had many odd things to do — keeping our kit clean and polished — there were brushes and pails to sparkle — washing room to clean — windows and water pipes to attend to. When everything was done, the ends of our beds, blankets, and lockers had to be in line with each other. The odd thing was, walking on floor pads. This caused me to smile, but it changed to amazement when we formed a long chain, and waltzed across one half of the floor after polish had been slapped down. Then, after the moving of the beds to the other side, we waltzed the other half . It did make our thighs ache.

I learned some new words and phrases: housewife (sewing kit), frog (bayonet scabbard), plimsolls (sand shoes), scrumpy, webbing, belts which had male and female parts, bird-nesting, train-spotting (I had visions of someone climbing on an engine armed with a pot of paint and small brush), pot-holing (was it someone armed with a sharp spike running amok!)

Most lessons were taken in various wooden huts, and because of the snow, each one was warmed by a pot-bellied stove which looked after our instructor, and one or two who were close by. All I remember was the pain in my toes. Atomic structure, Ohms law, algebra, RAF history, tech drawing, workshop practice, and PT etc., were some of the many subjects I encountered, all strange and new. Somehow I seemed to cope.

Another odd custom which affected me, occurred on parade. Before the C of E or OD Padre began his prayers, the order came "Roman Catholics and Jews to fall out." This meant marching to the back of the square. When prayers ended we were ordered back. I felt an outsider at this, but once you had obeyed the order you were obligated to do it every time. The seriousness of the occasion was usually deflated by an engine roar and a shadow flashing over us, as "Batchy" dive-bombed us in his ME 108. Sunday was a big relief, as everyone went on church parade except RC's and Jews. We wandered up to church, and afterwards sat in a rest room, chatted to a few girls, and drank cups of tea, while someone tinkled on the piano. Eventually we wandered back in time for lunch.

What do I remember of our Entry? I thought I wouldn't forget any of them, but some are now only a name with odd flashes of incidents. At first, we slept in alphabetical order, clockwise round. Neville Ager, was probably the first, and Peter Wilson last. After a time, it was decided that we could move to be near a friend, a lot of moving went on, but I managed to stay put. The first bed was then occupied by Keith Chew, who came from Beverley; we played a lot of snooker together among other things. He was probably the one who introduced me into the trumpet band.
Dennis Brennan was next, and directly opposite me. He made odd faces at me during inspections.
Gordon Bates was also there, but one day he suddenly departed without warning. I came across him in 1951-52 when he was in charge of a Radar Station near Mablethorpe.
John Churcher was opposite for a while, tall, blonde and skinny, quick to laugh and quick to argue. However, he was promoted and left us. His place was taken by Neville Ager, who was always at my shoulder, be it in football or cricket, basketball or some lunatic invented game.
Further down was Robbie Fowler; he came from Marlow. He had dense dark wavy hair, and was very peeved when he was ordered to get a hair cut after he had just come from the barbers.
Then there was Collins who seemed to know all the rules and regulations of any game played. He wasn't too pleased when I disagreed with his theory of World Domination of Communism.
"Millie" May also had a bee in his bonnet — for a few coppers extra tax, we would be able to travel free by train. I pointed out that in that case, we would find it impossible to find enough space for everyone. One occasion, when we were scrubbing table tops, I threw a bucketful of water to remove the suds, the water bounced off and soaked him. Luckily, he wasn't a violent person.
"Phoebe" Harries was further round, then Peter Wilson, Holloway, Alan Jones, Trevor Tongue, Baker. "666 Salter Sir" was next to me, but he disappeared, then came Ron Pierce who left us after 2 years.
Reg Rowe ended up next to me. Twice I remember him in tears, once when he was in the guard of honour for the visit of King George VI, he was removed at the last minute to look after some stacked rifles, so he missed it, and the other time was when he became a member of the tug-of-war team. During the squadron activities, they struggled like mad to beat one and all, only to find out that instead of being given 10 points for "C" Squadron, they got only 3. This affected the overall score and upset us all.
Crellin from Carlisle wound up next to me, he was picked as my opponent during our boxing competition. However, he failed a medical, and I wound up fighting with Henry.
Telford from Aspatria in Cumberland was a small lightweight individual who developed a passion for jumping out of upstairs windows. He did insist on a group holding a blanket, which brought some sanity to those moments.

Our hat band changed three times, Halton gave us a bright orange one, which changed to brown and orange check, and finally red and navy blue.

St. Athan Improver Year

On passing out as AC1, we of the Air persuasion were sent on to St. Athan. The work was rather boring and eventually I transferred to Link Trainers, which was better, and involved visiting various different towns. The big events during 1950 were, (1) the London Dock strike, and (2) the Smithfield Meat strike. Each time we spent the first day building an encampment at RAF Hornchurch. The ship Malayan Prince was our loading task, and we spent hours deep down its holds juggling cases of various weight and size. Smithfield was queuing for hours, and once we got to the front we humped carcasses onto our lorry, then off we went to various butchers' shops. We earned some pocket money, which was very welcome. On my return to St. Athan, I discovered it deserted, as many had been sent to RAF Lakenheath on guard duty for the USAF.

RAF Service

In 1951 I journeyed to RAF Manby (RAF Flying College), apart from Lincolns and Vikings, there was a great variety of aircraft belongings to the Handling Squadron — Attackers, Washingtons, Sea Furies, Vampires and Meteors. Also in 1951 I gained my J/T. In January-February 1952 I went on a 35-day trip to the USA.

My next posting was to RAF Swanton Morley. The only thing of any note was a visit to Sandringham repairing the sea walls after heavy spring tides. I met the Queen, Prince Phillip and young Charles. Some months later, some of us visited London to see the Coronation, and when the Golden Coach passed the Queen waved to me. Earlier we sat next to each other at the Blackpool-Bolton Cup Final. ;-)

I was next posted to Egypt only to be sent back to Malta. You can imagine how put out I was. We worked in the morning, and in the afternoon we immersed ourselves in the Mediterranean, and I worked on the Shackleton Mk. II, an aircraft that was a joy. FIt. Sgt. Hoper worked for the signals officer. I also met Denyer and Doherty who were navigators.

One of my trips took me to Athens, and I worked in co-operation with the Greek Navy. It was only for 7 days, but I enjoyed exploring the Parthenon, and other ruins.

After 18 months I had a trip to Ballykelly in Northern Ireland, so after that fortnight, I applied for leave. While I was at home, I was ordered to Yatesbury on an ASV course. This was little different to H2S so I sailed through it. I bumped into Taff Spittle who was also doing the course.

I must have spent too long in the UK because I found myself sent to Wittering. Here I met Canberras and Valiants.

My last posting was to Lindholme. It was at Lindholme that I made a decision which would affect my health. While playing football in 1952 I had received a kick on my shin which left a small bruise, and which never cleared up. By 1959, it had grown, and become red and blue. I had no aches or pains with it, but decided to report to sick quarters. It was diagnosed as varicose veins and I went to Nocton Hall, where they cut, and tied things, and I returned none the worse.

However, I began to feel twinges in the shoulders and ankles. Playing any sport became onerous. In time, I found it difficult to work, even having to get someone to fasten my shoelaces. I went on a diet of aspirins, and was passed out Al on my demob. End of RAF.

Civilian Life

Back in Sunderland I began employment in the Life Test department of Thorn EMI. My aches and pains became severe, and then quietened down again. However, they returned, and became more aggressive every time. I then had to see a specialist who diagnosed Rheumatoid Arthritis. After a variety of jabs (even a gold injection), the pains forced me to stop work. I underwent a replacement left hip operation, and although I was off work for 16 months, they kept my job for me. To ease my way back, I borrowed a trolley, which eased the weight on my hip, when I rested my elbows on it. I stayed at Thorn EMI for 15 years.

There was a room full of valves under test, and as the 1960s came to an end, so did our variety of valves, until it trickled down to zero. The other rooms were full of TV tubes (monochrome), and like the valves, they started to dwindle. We did start on colour tubes, but a new factory opened in Ormskirk, and 1,300 personnel became redundant because of union trouble. Ormskirk lasted about 4 years.

I managed to eventually start employment at Cooper Tools, which manufactured Weller soldering irons. They also had control of tools and tapes mainly originated in USA. I collected another trolley. It wasn't a large firm; I took control of calibration of test equipment, which I also repaired and modified, coupled with quality control and assurance.

During these 30 or so years, my body declined. My right knee gave me severe pain, fused together, and became rigid. The ailment, never happy with one victory, moved to another spot, my right hip needed to be replaced to match my left hip. After a short time, my left knee failed, and I became bed-ridden. My left knee was replaced, eventually; my left elbow was replaced. By this time, I found it difficult to continue and I retired. Not having the exercise I needed, I lost the strength to walk. So, every morning and night I am transferred from bed to a wheelchair onto my chair in the front room, and later the process is reversed.

Unfortunately, there are many other things that occur and annoy. I've lost the use of my jaw, I cannot open my mouth as wide as I used to, some of my teeth have broken off, and I also have difficulty breathing, which led me to having to undergo a tracheotomy, so I have a tube implanted in my neck. I could go on and on, but I might give out the idea that I was unhappy with life. However, I manage to accept, that thanks to my relations and friends, I quite enjoy life. I have a seven-year-old great-nephew who is a delight even when he asks me questions, "Are you old?", "Are you going to die?" It is done with such youthful innocence, and I can only smile. I am quite content with my life, so as to quote "What can't be cured must be endured."

I do look back on my life, and find that I regret opportunities spurned, but I don't regret my time as an apprentice. It was our time as young men, and is buried deep inside my mind. So, I am pleased to find out how the lives of everyone else have evolved. The sad part is, the number of deceased members. I try to avoid the meaningless question of "WHY?", so I apologise for my sketchy history, and I hope that you can make some sense if it.

I was upset to find that we had lost some of our entry, especially Peter Stott. He often made a threesome with Bill Holloway and myself. He had little or no co-ordination in the gym, and was very unmusical. I was delighted to see a photo of him in the RAF Review climbing into the cockpit of a jet fighter. He seemed to have had a good life, which came to an end rather sharply.

Ideas come into my head while others vanish. So, I have decided to get this printed, or else I will never get it forwarded. 

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