National Service - Docklands Memories

National Service
by Keith H Lloyd
CONTENTS
Chapter 1: Time to Go … … … … … …
3
Chapter 2: R.A.F. Padgate … … … … …
5
Chapter 3: Square Bashing … … … … …
9
Chapter 4: Arms Drill
… … … … … … 15
Chapter 5: The Assault Course … … … … 19
Chapter 6: The Competition … … … … … 24
Chapter 7: R.A.F Yatesbury … … … … … 27
Chapter 8: R.A.F. Swinderby
… … … … 35
Chapter 9: R.A.F. South Cerney … … … … 43
Chapter 10: Demob - The Final Phase
… … 51
© Keith Lloyd 2004
First published on this website April 2007. Applications for reproduction should be made to Keith Lloyd - ask the Webmaster
for contact details
The photograph of the North American Harvard on page 43 is
by Stuart Rogers and that of the Vickers Varsity is included by
courtesy of the Imperial War Museum. The source of the photograph of the Provost is not known. All other photographs belong to the author. The names of the drill instructors at RAF
Padgate have been changed to protect the innocent or guilty!!
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Chapter 1: Time to Go
I
knew the moment I had been dreading was about to happen; the Postman was making his way up the path and sure
as eggs are eggs the letter from the War Office was delivered to
call me up for National Service. It was 1952 and I was twenty
years of age having been deferred from my eighteenth birthday to
enable me to complete my engineering apprenticeship. I had been
selected to join the Royal Air Force, which was my first choice,
subject to a medical, ha! ha! I thought here is my loophole to
avoid capture.
The medicals were held at Wanstead in a prefabricated hut. I
went along with Sid Atkinson who should have gone a week earlier with the ‘A's but he got his ‘A's mixed up with his ‘L's, which
was typical of Sid. We had to see six doctors who each had a partitioned area with no door just two curtains, which were drawn
together when the doctor was examining an entrant. One doctor
dealt with reflexes and balance; we were told to stand on our left
leg and point the toe of our right leg forward, then raise ourselves
on the toes of our left, maintaining our balance in this position for
about ten seconds and then vice versa, a difficult feat or should I
say ‘feet'. Well this wasn't easy for Sid - when he did the first exercise he lost his balance and grabbed the curtain for support but
the curtain was torn off its runners and not content with this he
did the same on the other side and tore that curtain too.
So it was curtains for Sid, and he really did take some stick
from the doctor who threatened to charge him for the cost of repairs.
Sid said "Guess what, the next doctor put his hand under my
testicles and said cough but I thought he said off and I was nearly
out the door before he let go".
We all laughed but didn't believe him. We had to give a specimen and Sid said he was dying for a pee; so when he filled the jar
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Time to Go
they had to bring a bucket for Sid's overflow. The trouble was, it
was an enamel bucket and the splashing of Sid's overflow must
have been heard in the next street.
I passed the medical as ‘Grade II' on account of athlete’s foot
which I had not treated expecting to be declared unfit for marching but no such luck. Sid however did better than me - he was declared unfit for military service. He failed the aptitude test and
we said it was because he didn't have a brain and would have
been a danger to other soldiers. Answering the aptitude questions
was not difficult, they were multiple-choice type, for example a
question might be; "A ship is to sea as a vehicle is to (a) air (b)
water (c) land (d) wind. Answer 'land'. It was necessary to complete sixty questions per minute, an exercise, which was repeated
with new questions every five minutes, totalling ten papers. In
haste it was easy to tick the wrong box, which I did to the question; swimming is to a fish as flying is to (a) a horse (b) an elephant (c) a bird (d) a plant. I realized that I had made a mistake
after I put my paper in; I had indicated that an elephant flies, what
a 'Dumbo' but it made no difference I still passed.
I had been selected for the R.A.F., my first choice, but I wasn't
looking forward to leaving home. I had met my girlfriend Rose a
year earlier and had contemplated asking her to marry me before I
left but considered it better to leave it until after being demobbed.
It was a tough decision, I mean she might have decided to marry
someone else whilst I was away.
When the time came in February 1953 for me to leave, saying
goodbye to Rose and my family was a sad experience. It was the
first time I had been apart from my family since my spell in hospital with scarlet fever at the age of five when, in isolation, I was
not allowed visitors. When it was 'time to go' I could see my
mother was very tearful and I did not wish to see her cry; so I left
as quickly as possible. So it was with a heavy heart I boarded the
train at Euston in London to Warrington and R.A.F. Padgate to do
my basic training.
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Chapter 2: R.A.F. Padgate
T
he train journey was uneventful. I remember trying to
strike up a conversation with some of the lads who were
looking rather sad but they were obviously wrapped up in their
own thoughts. One lad who looked about fourteen said it was a
journey to hell. No one seemed enthusiastic about it but I tried to
be positive and remember what my dad had said "Make the best
of it and think of it as an adventure", after all I was older than
most of them so perhaps I could cope better.
We were met at the railway station by a burly sergeant who
barked "Anyone for Padgate? Board the coach over 'ere".
About forty of us shuffled our way across towards the coach
weighed down with cases and some of us struggling in our 'drape
suits' and we were immediately treading on the lad's heels in front
when hurried by the sergeant's call "Lively! Lively!" We were
assembled from the coach just inside the main gate and told by
the sergeant that we could forget about Civvy Street, we were
now the property of the Royal Air Force.
The roll call was a formality, each calling our name in a loud
voice to be ticked in the register.
"You will 'ense forf' be referred to as Airman, god forbid! And
conduct yourself in an orderly manner, no slouching and remember orders is orders. Now form up in lines of twos and try to keep
in step. Quick march!"
We were marched, if you can call it that, to a series of huts and
sixteen of us were allocated the first hut and the rest marched on,
some of the huts were already occupied. We were told to deposit
our belongings on the nearest bed and assemble outside in line of
twos.
We were given a knife, fork, spoon and enamel mug and instructed how to carry them behind our back in the left hand, leaving the right hand free to swing when marching. The Airman in
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RAF Padgate
charge of our group was a Senior Aircraftsman (SAC).
"These are your irons" he told us "take care of them at all
times, wash them after use, if they are found dirty you will be for
the high jump".
Someone at the back shouted "I didn't know we were in the
Paras".
"Silence in the ranks" yelled the SAC. Then it was off to the
Mess for a meal, which I don't recall much about except we
walked in a single file past a number of servers who plonked dollops of food on our outstretched plates, but we were hungry and
tried not to notice the content. After the meal we were instructed
to wash our irons in a trough of running water.
Back in the billet the SAC demonstrated the art of making a
bed (your pit to use his description) and the folding of blankets in
the morning was most important. ‘Lights Out' was at 10 p.m. precisely and 'Reveille' at 7.a.m. which would be signalled by a bugle call over the tannoy, breakfast parade would be at 7.45 a.m.
The SAC said "That would give you 45 minutes to make your
beds, clean your bed space and do your ablutions, that means
wash and shave, anyone late for parade would go without breakfast".
With that we were marched of to the Quartermaster for our
bedding issue then back to the billet to make our beds and what a
hash some of us made.
Sure enough at 10 p.m. the bugle sounds 'lights out'; some lads
said it was the sound of doom. We all tried to settle down, someone coughing or cursing broke the silence, at the far end of the
billet someone was crying. I lay awake for some time thinking
about what my Dad had said so I knew that I must make the best
of it. I had been primed about this occasion by my uncle Dan who
was in the R.A.F. during the war.
"The first night is the worst" he said, "Make sure you get up
before reveille to be first at the basins in the ablutions otherwise if
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RAF Padgate
you get held up you won't have enough time to make your bed"
So at 6.45 a.m. I was up and grabbing my washing gear I
dashed to the ablutions but only to find the place packed solid
with guys who had the same idea as me, those of us at the back
kept shouting at those at the basins to hurry up but the language
was less polite. But I had learnt my lesson because the rest of the
week I was up at Six a.m.
The rest of the week was kitting out, to the tailor to be measured for uniforms, Quartermaster for shirts and collars, studs,
pants, vests, socks, ties, gloves, pullover, towels, in fact three pair
of each item. "Airman for the use of', that is one in the wash, one
for kit inspection and one to wear, one pair boots, one pair shoes
and two pairs plimsolls, one peak cap, to be worn with best blue
uniform and one beret, to be worn with battle dress uniform complete with gaiters, and a big heavy belt made from hessian of
some sort and, oh yes! a big kit bag to carry it all in. The belt and
gaiters had to be blankoed regularly. We packed the clothes we
came in into boxes or the cases brought with us, to be sent back
home. Funny thing was I don't recall being issued with pyjamas,
most of us slept in our shirts without the collars, it saved time in
the mornings and the collars and studs were a pig.
One of the most peculiar items issued was a small pack of
darning needles with cotton thread this was called a 'housewife'.
If our socks wore out we would have to darn them as no more
would be supplied free of charge. Also it may be necessary to sew
buttons on shirts. The buttons on the best blue tunics were brass
and required regular cleaning and button polish was supplied for
this purpose with a cloth, brush and shield for protection of the
uniform. When my son Martin joined the RAF years later, I offered him my button polishing equipment.
"We don't have to worry about that" he said, "We have ‘Stay
Bright' buttons, no need for polish". I said "Bloody hell you've
got it cushy."
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RAF Padgate
We were given soap, toothpaste (in the form of a slab) which,
was awful and tasted like soap, boot polish and dubbing, one issue only, replacements to be requisitioned from the Q.M. store
chargeable against our pay. One of the lads had the audacity to
ask how much the pay would be; the curt answer was "You will
be told in due course".
Well the due course was the next day. We were paraded in an
aircraft hanger and issued with our pay book and identity card,
hence forth known as our 1250. My service number was 2582836,
I was to receive 17s/6d per week but 2s/6d would be held back to
pay for damaged or lost equipment so we had to survive on 15
shillings - about 75 pence today. We were told to think ourselves
lucky after all we were getting free board and lodgings. The SAC
said "On pay parades you will be stood at ease and when your
name is called come smartly to attention and answer Sir in a loud
voice then the last three of your service number”, so to get my
75p I would have to shout "Sir! 836". I thought bloody hell, is it
worth it?
There were also visits to the doctor and of course the barber,
but far worse was the dentist who probed around in your mouth
with what I'm sure was instruments left over from the Boar War.
He succeeded in drawing blood from most of us. At the barber’s
it wasn't just a haircut it was a scalping; the fashion at the time
was long hair but the barber made short work of that. If I didn't
recognize anyone I knew in Civvie Street or anyone from the train
journey when they had long hair, well I certainly didn't recognize
anyone with hardly any hair, it was a bit cold round the gills.
-8-
O
Chapter 3: Square Bashing
n the Saturday of the first week we were to be transferred
to the Basic Training Wing for foot drill or slogging as
we called it.
The SAC said "If you thought it was hectic the first week here
well you 'aint seen nothing yet, just wait till they get you get up
there". Up there was about two miles away and we were marched
carrying all our kit so the two miles felt much longer.
The SAC handed us over to the drill instructor Sergeant Coles
and his team of three, Corporals Grainger, Arnold and Richard.
We numbered about sixty recruits and were segregated twenty to
a hut, my hut was No. 29 (see fig 1).
Taffy Williams was appointed head airman for our hut, responsible to ensure the hut was kept clean in pristine condition.
We were given the rest of the day off if you could call it that, we
Hut 29—I am first on the left in the back row
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Square Bashing
were marched to and from the mess for meals and had to shine
(bull) our boots and buttons for kit inspection Sunday afternoon.
Our boots had a dull bumpy surface, which we had to buff smooth
and shinny, usually with a hot spoon and boot polish. It was essential that all the bumps on the toecaps and heels were flattened and
polished to see your face in.
The kit inspection was something else. The kit had to be laid
out in accordance with an illustration handed to Taffy, but first we
had to polish the floor before attending the church parade, Sunday
morning, on the square. Roman Catholics and Jews were allowed
to `fall out' and stand at the edge of the parade ground facing
away, they were then ordered to `fall in' at the end of the service,
which was conducted by the camp Padre.
The first real kit inspection was a not so daunting as expected
but we were told that it was a shambles. However the following
inspections, normally once per week were a nightmare, the corporals, little Hitlers we called them, threw our kit about the hut yelling abuse at us, blankets invariably ended up on the rafters. If an
airman's bed space floor was not highly polished then the whole
hut was put on extra duties, involving jobs like painting the coal
with whitewash and placing them to line the edges of the path.
Some of the lads were picked on regularly by the corporals, fortunately I was lucky and escaped this kind of ridicule. One guy
weighed eighteen stone, they didn't have a uniform to fit him and
he was the subject of continued abuse. They called him, fatty,
podgy, two ton Teddy and much more. The worst one was Cpl
Richard, every one of us would have loved to punch him on the
nose. We use to call him ‘Dick head, when added to his name indicated what we thought of him.
It was no different for those guys in the Army, my brother John
was in the London Rifle Brigade training at Winchester and they
had a lad with them by the name of ‘Little Willy' who just gave up
as he couldn't take any more abuse. On one kit inspection every
one was ready except Willy, his bed was opposite John’s and he
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Square Bashing
didn't bother to get his kit ready but just dumped everything on
his bed in one big heap, boots and all, nothing was cleaned. All
the lads were waiting for the reaction from the Officer, Sergeant
and Corporal working their way down the hut doing the inspection.
When they came to Little Willy all hell let loose, the NCO’s
were shouting and jumping up and down like chickens on a pogo
stick, the Officer couldn't handle it so he made a quick exit shouting "You handle it sergeant" .
RAF Padgate—the NAFFI
All this time Willy was standing there with a silly grin on his
face giving the impression he was taking the ‘micky’ which infuriated them all the more but that was Willy's normal expression.
The scene was hilarious the lads were falling about laughing, one
lad was in hysterics and fell on his bed which collapsed causing
some recruits to have convulsions, the NCO’s were going berserk
and stormed out the hut, - the kit inspection was not continued.
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Square Bashing
Willy was going to be arrested and was sitting on his bed waiting for the M.P. (Military Police). "I suppose I should have done
a runner" he said. Two M.P.’s. arrived and sat on Willy's bed
whilst he got his gear ready, he was going to jail. Willy's bed was
at the rear of the hut close to the back door and one of the lads
said,
"Close the back door Willy it keeps banging".
Willy went out to oblige and didn't come back. The M.P.’s
looked a right pair of idiots sitting there waiting for him to come
back, eventually they stormed out causing more laughter, after
they had gone of course.
A week later he was caught and put in the guard house but not
for long, his brother and some strong arm boys arrived at the
guard house and said "Come on Willy you have got to attend your
mother's funeral, you are coming with us"
The guards released him and he was not seen again. We in the
RA.F were a bit more civilised than those in the army; none of us
ended up in jail but who was better off? Willy got out of doing
his National Service.
The next five weeks were taken up with square bashing (see
fig 2) left turn (1,2) right turn (1,2) eyes right eyes left quick
march, in a line turn right, right dress, from the right number
1,2,3,etc. You listened intently to the lad on your right if he called
say 16 your turn was to yell at the top of your voice 17 simple as
that but some got it wrong, Joe Stevens would always call out the
same number as the lad next to him causing the count to be incorrect so we had to start again, stone me if he didn't do it again.
"You 'orrible little man can't you count?" yelled the corporal
and with his nose an inch away from Joe's face and covering him
with spit in the process he would yell "Report to me at six tonight" which meant extra duties (fatigues) like cleaning the cook
house windows or cleaning the corporal's boots.
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Square Bashing
On Parade
My turn at fatigues came as a result of not swinging my arms
up to shoulder height when marching, this time the corporal
marched along the side of me and yelled:
“What's a matter wiv yer arms yer big tart, swing 'em”. this
time I didn't get spit in my face just a shower in my ear. “Report
to the cook house tonight at six.”
The sergeant in the airmen's mess wasn’t like the drill instructors, he said "So what are you here for?"
"Not swinging my arms," I told him.
"Well swing your arms down to the NAAFI (see fig 3) and get
me a packet of smokes" he gave me a pound note and I didn't
hang about. "Blimey! You're back sharpish" he said. "You best
beetle off back to your barrack now, I expect you've got plenty to
do."
I thanked him and left hurriedly in case he changed his mind,
thinking to myself there is someone up here that's human after all.
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Square Bashing
Another time was when we were doing 'right dress'. At the order ‘right dress’ the line would take one pace forward shuffle into
a straight line and shoot out the right arm to touch the left shoulder of the airman on the right at the same time turning your head
90 degrees to the right
Well I had received my Tetanus and Smallpox inoculations
(jabs) and spent the week-end in hospital with fever-like symptoms and was on parade even though my upper left arm was carrying a large scab and was very painful and when the airman on
my left shot out his right arm and connected with scab I almost
fainted with the pain, I didn't cry out but my agony must have
been obvious because Cpl. Richard put his face close to mine and
said:
"So what do you think you are playing at airman".
I said " My jabs are still painful corporal".
"Ah! What a shame" he said “be outside my hut at six tonight"
I thought sod it! He can get stuffed, I'm not going. There were
usually crowds lined up outside his hut every night so he won't
miss me and he didn't.
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R
Chapter 4: Arms Drill
ifle drill made a nice change ‘Dick head’ never took us
for that, it was usually Sergeant Coles assisted by Corporal Grainger or Arnold but just the same every movement had to
be accompanied with us calling out (1,2,3,etc). Slow marching
was easy but quick marching meant stretching the legs and the
sergeant would yell at people “Open yer legs, if any thing falls
out Corporal Arnold will tread on them and transfer you to the
WAAFS”, (women). If airmen were not progressing as required,
they would be sent back to start training again at the beginning. It
was termed 'Re-fighting' and none of us wanted that. Grainger
and Arnold’s favourite expression was "We will re-flight you so
far back you will be sloping arms with bows and arrows".
The best part of arms drill was firing the rifle and the Bren
gun, the rifles were a .303 calibre but to be fairly accurate it was
necessary to hold your breath when firing because the slightest
movement could throw the shot off target.
The Bren was something special, the early versions were fed
with a continuous belt of cartridges but we had the modern
weapon of the time with automatic firing until the magazine was
exhausted, as long as the trigger was held.
I thoroughly enjoyed firing the Bren and that soon became apparent. It was necessary to lie flat, slightly to the left of the
weapon, legs apart for stability, right hand on the trigger and left
hand on the butt. My target was a small lollypop disc about six
inches in diameter set in a bank of sand about 150yards away.
Upon the order ‘fire at will’ (I never found out who Will was)
nine Brens opened up, the noise was ear shattering. I hit the target
immediately and my lollypop was splattered to pieces out of
sight, so without hesitation I proceeded to destroy the next man's
target on my right and then the one on his right. I wondered why
they hadn't hit their targets, well it was because they had stopped
firing but I didn't hear the order "cease firing."
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Arms Drill
By now the Instructor was the preverbal 'chicken on a pogo
stick'. Fortunately I had gone temporarily deaf so I didn't hear his
string of superlatives mouthed in my direction, I didn't even hear
the order to report for extra duties but I could see his face was
very red and rather distorted. One of the lads said, "You must report for guard duty tonight Lloydie or you will be missed and be
put be on a fizzer".
So I did and with rifle in hand made sure I challenged everyone who went in and out of the Ironing Room with the word,
"Halt! Who goes there, friend or foe?" the usual response was
"leave it out Lloydie", or "do us a favour".
I managed to challenge a senior officer and he said in surprise
"Good god! What is this?" then added, "good man" when he realized I was on guard.
Physical training (PT) was a once per week exercise, which
involved, among other things, running for long spells with our
arms above our heads, this was in preparation for running with a
rifle above our heads a more shattering experience. We were put
through the mill in the Gym. I always found vaulting the horse
lengthways a bit difficult because I never quite made it completely over resulting clipping the end with my backside, you
could say the exercise was a pain in the bum.
One day we were assembled ‘On Parade' but it wasn't normal
drill. We were stood there, at ease, for some considerable time.
We knew something was up because the NCO’s were just talking
between themselves; it appeared we were waiting for something
or some body. Eventually a car drew up and a Wing Commander
and three civilians got out. The NCO’s suddenly woke up and
called us to attention and with a smart salute presented us "Ready
for inspection, Sir." We were then inspected in open order that is
with spaces between the lines, the officer was leading with Sgt
Coles behind him, then the civilians and finally the corporals. We
were not spoken to but the civilians were making notes and
touching certain individuals on the shoulder.
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Arms Drill
After some deliberation the order was given "All those picked
out to remain on parade, the rest fall out"
I was one of twelve remaining airmen picked out. Next our
names were taken and we were ordered to dismiss and return immediately in 'Best Blue' uniform.
The civilians were taking more notes and then, would you believe it, we were marched off to the tailors when certain modifications were made to our uniforms and I must confess they fitted a
lot better.
We thought we were the cat’s whisker and were going to London for the Queens Jubilee as her guard of honour but it turned
out that we were going to Manchester City football ground where
there was going to be a marching display of American and Commonwealth services, together with the combined services military
bands. The twelve of us thought it was great to take part in such a
display. Although we were not going to London this was the next
best thing, all the dignitaries would be there, it would be daunting
but in a way we were proud to be selected until that is when we
were told we were there just to sell programmes. Still I suppose it
was better than kit inspections.
Although we were late getting back that night the Cook House
stayed open and a meal was provided, the day was a good skive.
One of the highlights of the day was 'Post Time', in fact the
only highlight of the day, and that meant letters from home. We
had to assemble outside the huts in columns of three when the
duty NCO would read out the names on the letters, usually with a
derogatory comment. If it was ‘Dick head’ he would smell the
letters and if found traces of perfume on them, he would call out
the name with a comment like "Who's a Nancy Boy then?"
One time fatty received a large parcel and the Corporal yelled
out "Looks like fatty has got a new pair of underpants", no one
laughed. When your name was called out, you answered
"Corporal" then your letter was thrown at you. Sometimes it
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Arms Drill
would land in the mud. The letters from my Dad were funny and
those from Rose made me miss her all the more. I felt sorry for
the lads who never received any letters.
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Chapter 5: The Assault Course
I
t was referred to as a 'Series of Obstacles' but that was an
understatement. The Assault Course was a formidable battleground; when we were about to be thrown into this exercise
Sgt Coles said, "Now us'ill find out who of you'll is men" I was
never sure if he was from Yorkshire or Scotland.
The first time we went over the top we wore our heavy boots,
beret and denim-like boiler suits, which were a poor imitation of
flying gear. The initial hundred yards were a doddle, just running
and jumping over open trenches but the instructors were yelling at
us and throwing thunder flashes all the time which made the exercise seem more war-like, daunting at first but we soon got used to
it. As we progressed the trenches were getting wider and some
were filled with muddy water, it was very cold and the water didn't look very inviting. The first major hurdle was a twelve foot
high brick wall, to scale this two lads clasped their hands together
and a third and fourth lads stepped on the clasped hands then
sprung up to the top of the wall, once up they would reach down
and pull up the first two. So we all got over by working in threes
and fours all that is except Fatty, no one could lift him so the instructor let him run around the wall.
The next was a series of eight poles about 20 feet long and 15
inch diameter, laid side by side about 10 feet apart over a large
square shaped ditch filled with black slimy water. The idea was to
run across these poles without falling in the water. Easier said
than done, the instructors would be continually yelling and throwing thunder flashes, hesitation was not allowed. Mick the Irishman was in front of me when a shot rang out and Mick went
down like be was hit, he fell to the Left and tried to grab the pole
next to him but he was way out and the splash he made sent cascades over my pole (sounds painful); this caused me to loose my
footing but I had carefully chosen to use the end pole which was
only five feet from the edge of the ditch, so with the prowess of
an athlete I sprung to my right as I was falling and luckily landed
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Assault Course
on terra firma.
The Instructor yelled "Oh! Clever sod eh! Go back and do it
again".
Mick meanwhile, was standing in the water up to his chest
"Fock it!" he said "I'm not suppost t'be in dis army".
Poor old Norman on the next pole, also slipped due to Mick's
splashing but unfortunately for him he landed on his nether regions, feet astride the pole, his screams of pain were lost in the
noise of the thunder flashes, he was straddled across the pole and
slowly turning clockwise his face white, then red, then blue as he
hit the water. He said later that the cold water killed the pain, but
he did walk a bit bandy the next day.
So far we had only passed two major obstacles but were
knackered. The next however was a bit easier we were required to
crawl on our bellies under barbed wire for a distance of 50 yards
the secret was to take little rests whilst the instructor wasn't looking also to keep your head down otherwise your clobber (clothes)
could be snagged and would need to be replaced at our cost. Then
followed wide trenches too wide to jump, so it was slide down
into the hole and clamber up the other side.
Next came the ‘Rings’; they were suspended by ropes from a
scaffold frame similar to that found in a children's playground
today except it was no playground for us. All the rings were at
different heights and not close together, the only way across was
to swing over-arm but if the momentum was lost it wasn't possible to reach the next ring, the guys were also crashing into each
other, and if your feet touched the ground it was back to the start.
I was doing well until and was half way across when I met Mick
hanging on a ring without moving so I had to swing back again, it
was so painful on the arms I let go.
I said "You stupid sod Mick what are you doing?"
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Assault Course
Mick said "Fock it! I is jist hangin' ‘ere" It was back to the
start of the rings for me but before I went I gave Mick a push
start. "T'ank you" he said.
I got through ok the second time but it was funny seeing the
lads swinging back and forward like a load of monkeys. Poor old
Fatty was caught under the barbed wire snagged by the seat of his
denims and had to lie there until rescued by one of the Instructors.
The final obstacle on this exercise although not the final of the
course was the ‘Big Swing' we had to run up a concrete made
ramp and grab a rope from the Instructor's hand, the rope was
hung from a goalpost like structure and it was necessary to swing
over a wide expanse of water to land on the opposite bank.
Sounds easy, but it wasn't, some of the lads didn't swing far
enough and missed the bank by yards ending up in the waist deep
muddy water. Fatty's arms couldn't support his weight so he just
slid off the end of the rope and the splash soaked the opposite
bank making it more slippery.
Sometimes the Instructor (there was one at every obstacle)
would jerk away the rope causing the next airman to miss the
rope completely, it had to happen to Mick but it was funny to see
him sailing through the air with his hands held tightly around an
invisible rope ending up in the middle of the ditch. What do you
think Mick thought of that?
You guessed it, "Fock it! I'm not suppost t' be in dis man’s
army"
Then it was my turn, I was determined to get a fast run up and
a good swing out, but I grabbed the rope too high up and I knew I
wasn't going to reach the bank so I didn't let go and swung back
to the ramp, the Instructor grabbed me and yelled "Who do you
think you are Tarzan?" he pulled me back and my apology shook
him and he said in a posh mocking tone "Oh! Perhaps you would
care to try it again"
- 21 -
Assault Course
My second attempt was much better but I still hadn't swung far
enough. I thought this time I must let go and with an extreme effort I landed one leg on the bank and one leg trailing just in the
water, I clung to the grass and by digging my fingers in the soil I
managed to pull myself up the back to safety.
As I crawled away the next lad landed on the bank behind me
but his momentum didn't carry him forward enough, although he
had both feet on the bank his upper body was still over the water,
he remained like that motionless for awhile before plunging backwards into the mire. That held up the following procession because he had lost his beret and spent ages parting the water with
his hands looking for it, much to the verbal annoyance of the Instructor. Well it made us laugh.
There were three other obstacles on the course but they were
only included when we were laden with full pack and rifle. After
the last man had completed the course we were allowed back to
our huts.
Those of us that were dry yelled at the wet ones to strip off
outside, we threw them their towels and there was a procession of
shivering naked men running to and from the laundry room to
leave their clothes for drying.
We didn't want the wet ones in the hut because that would
have meant a big clean up operation. To keep the floors highly
polished, pads made out of pieces of blanket were provided which
we used to slide on, one on each foot, this prevented our boots
marking the floor. Any airman walking in without pads would be
greeted with a chorus of "PADS". Needless to say the NCO’s didn't use them and delighted in marking the floor.
‘Dick head’ stomped into the hut " Right, now youse lot is volunteers to give a pint of blood, or it's over the assault course again
for them that don't volunteer".
Taffy said "I'll not give blood, it's not compulsory". Most of
us agreed with Taffy. Mick who was standing there with no
- 22 -
Assault Course
clothes on said, "Fock it! I'll not give a pint o' blood, I'm not".
"Yeh! Yeh! Yeh! We know," we all chorused.
"Och aye" said Jock,” I agree wid thee" or words to that effect.
So it was over the assault course again for fifteen of us including me, the Instructors had gone for their dinner so we were unobserved and it was getting dark and easy to miss the difficult hurdles, this time it was a laugh.
By the time we got cleaned up, had dinner and back to the hut
it was late and we were falling asleep standing up. Boots and
socks were being dried in front of the stove so it smelt like a cross
between a Japanese wrestler’s jock strap and a girl guides knickers on a rainy night, so I am told. I mean it is not the sort of thing
a well brought up lad like me would know.
Mick was having problems getting his boot laces undone the
water had shrunk the knots and his finger nails were not long
enough to prize the knots apart, he was sitting on the edge of the
bed bent over and his neck was aching, he stretched out suddenly
and fell off the other side of the bed, he banged his head on the
floor and with his legs still on the bed he lay that way for some
time, then he said, "Fock it! I'm not suppost t' be in dis man’s
army". Then promptly got into bed with his boots on.
- 23 -
I
Chapter 6: The Competition
t was P.T. (Physical Training) the few next days, arms and
leg exercises, running on the spot, cross-country, sprinting,
parallel and wall bars and oh! yes, the wooden horse, which was a
pain in the bum for me. We were lined up in single file and on the
word ‘go!' we ran at the horse in a continual line, the horse was
positioned lengthwise so it was on the spring board and a long
leap to the mat on the other side but I never quite made it, my
bum always collided with the end of the horse before I landed on
the mat, with a pained expression and a sore bottom.
We didn't know it at the time but the sequence of exercises and
marching displays were designed for a competition to be held
later against ‘A' Squadron. We were ‘B' Squadron and apparently
we had never beaten an, ‘A’ Team in any competition before.
Now we had a new incentive, so after six weeks intensive
training we were ready for anything, foot drill, arms drill, P.T.
and assault course the lot, although the course was tougher this
time. With a seventy pound pack on our backs and carrying a rifle
with fixed bayonet, it wasn't a joke any more and there were two
additional obstacles, one was net ropes hung between trees.
Climbing it wasn't too bad but jumping down the other side with
the heavy pack sent a pain through your spine. Fatty was excused
all training and confined to cleaning the ablutions, I often wonder
if he was invalided out.
The last obstacles were dummy bodies like big punch bags and
the idea was to charge at them with our fixed bayonets yelling as
loud as possible and stabbing them until they were all dead, it was
tough but we were good at it and we heard later our team had won
the assault course competition.
We also won the P.T. but by the skin of our teeth or in my case
by the seat of my pants. I still hit my bum on the end of the horse
but kept going which was the secret. All exercises were carried
out to a planned sequence with no instructions other than the
- 24 -
The Competition
word ‘Go' and 'Stand Easy' at the finish.
It was the same with the arms drill, we were marched on to the
Parade Ground with rifles at the slope and then in columns of six
at attention we grounded our rifles and marched away to do our
foot drill then back to our original place, all carried out to a plan
without commands. I must admit I was surprised to find myself
exactly next to my rifle.
Then came a hiccup. Sergeant Coles gave a wrong order to
slope arms - although our rifles were still in the ground position it
was possible to carry out this manoeuvre but it wasn't part of the
planned sequence. It was advanced drill, some lads carried it out
some did nothing, it looked like we had lost the plot, then the
Wing Commander yelled in a high pitched voice :
"As yooo were"
"Start again Sergeant"
Fortunately this error by Sergeant Coles didn't affect the outcome and the rest went like clockwork, observers said you could
have lined us up with a piece of string.
We had won and our NCO’s were ecstatic patting each other
on the back and our Officer's comment was "Jolly good show
chaps" such praise I understand was exceptional.
We had a big tea after all that with some mums and dads in
attendance. My parents were unable to attend so I spent the evening with Mick and Jock whose parents lived too far away to
travel, prompting jokes about an Englishman, Irishman and a
Scotsman. Mick said, "Did yew not see dat, we was terrific. Jeysus! I always said I belonged in dis man’s army".
After undergoing maths and aptitude tests, I was interviewed
by the Education Officer who congratulated me on passing the
tests. I had been selected to be trained as an Air Wireless Mechanic and was promoted from Airman second class AC2, to Airman first class AC1. But best of all, we now had two weeks leave
coming up. The NCO’s came in the hut as we were packing and
- 25 -
The Competition
tried to be human but Corporal Richard failed miserably. It was
goodbye Padgate.
- 26 -
Chapter 7: R.A.F Yatesbury
I
was posted to No. 2 Wing Radio Servicing Flight, R.A.F.
Yatesbury, Caine, in Wiltshire. Allocated to hut No. 36, for
twenty-six weeks. None of the lads from Padgate came with me
so it was all new faces but the atmosphere was more relaxed. Oh!
There were kit inspections and parades but they were few and far
between. A corporal was in charge of the hut and had his own
quarters in the front of the hut. We were a mixed group, some
were Air Radio some were Ground Radio and some Radar so
there were no senior people. It was back to school every day except Sunday, Wednesday was sports day and I was soon playing
football for the Signals Team.
We even had homework and tests every two weeks, a failure
of one of these tests meant a re-flight back to do the two weeks
work again, so we all worked hard to avoid this.
We were confined to barracks for three weeks but then allowed a 36 hour pass which meant buying a coach ticket to Hammersmith, London on Saturday afternoon at a cost of 25/(£1.25p) this was virtually all our wages. It was necessary to be
back at camp by 23.59hrs Sunday night to be available for the
9.00 a.m. class Monday. We were allowed to wear our uniforms
in those days and some of the lads hitchhiked home.
I remember arriving at Rose's office in the City and the Commissionaire rang Rose and said, "There's a soldier down here to
see you", I thought bloody cheek! Fortunately my dad and Rose
always gave me enough money to survive until the next weekend
pass.
All our Teaching Instructors were RAF Corporals, not like
military more like boffins. Our principle instructor was Corporal
Dooley, he was a real boffin and vulnerable to practical jokes.
The class would assemble promptly; Cpl. Dooley was invariably
late he would always leave his long brown coat hanging on the
hat stand peg. We had two comedians in our class and one of
- 27 -
RAF Yatesbury
them would put a heavy magnet in the pocket of the Corporal's
coat then place a fire bucket full of water directly below the coat.
Cpl. Dooley would come in, wish everybody a cheery "Good
morning" and unsuspectingly lift his coat off the hook, the extra
heavy weight was a surprise and he was unable to prevent his coat
dropping into the bucket. On another occasion while he was writing on the blackboard, they connected a dead crow across the terminals of a Volt Meter. When he turned around he immediately
jumped back and uttered, "Heavens above."
As a punishment he would make the individuals stand on their
seats. The class was about thirty strong and at one time at least
half the class were standing on their seats.
It was on such an occasion the C.O. (Commanding Officer)
decided to pay us a visit, he stopped dead in his tracks and went
absolutely berserk, his two aides behind him were bumping into
him to see what all the fuss was about. Class was suspended for
the day and those not standing on seats, including me, were told
to assemble outside, we could hear the C.O. ranting and raving as
we were marched back to the hut. The guilty were given extra duties like clearing out the horse dung from the stables. I don't know
how Cpl. Dooley fared but he was back at work the next morning.
Charlie Smithers was a bit of a loaner. It was understandable
considering his early life; his father was killed in North Africa
whilst serving with the R.A.F during the war and shortly after, his
mother died in an air raid over Coventry. His grandmother cared
for him for a while but the trauma of losing her only daughter was
too much for the old lady and she also died leaving Charlie without any family.
All this happened in 1942. Charlie was nine years old and
spent the next six years in a Dr. Barnardo's Home. He ran away
many times but was usually found wandering the ruins of Coventry. He lived with foster parents for a few years before joining the
R.A.F. Charlie always had a vacant expression on his face and
- 28 -
RAF Yatesbury
seemed not to be listening when anyone spoke to him.
He was being trained at Yatesbury as a Wireless Mechanic and
excelled at it, some of the lads called him gormless but he was far
from that. It was not unusual to see him walking back from class
engrossed in a technical book so he would often walk into the
wrong hut and once he walked into a tree.
Charlie studied every night and would decline an invitation
from a fellow `brummy' " Are yew not going t'NAAFI?” His
course was nearing completion and mine was only a few weeks
old so we envied him when he passed and was posted to R.A.F.
Swinderby. I quite liked him, he was inoffensive and would help
anyone having difficulty with the lessons.
One weekend we were confined to camp and were told to prepare for an invasion. This was WAR GAMES - we were going to
be attacked by the Pay Corps from RAF Melksham. "The Pay
Corps?" we chorused "You got to be kidding?"
Tom said "Don't worry lads this is a chance to get our own
back for paying us peanuts".
We all thought it was a joke but it started to get serious when
they issued us with rifles, all that is except me. I had dislocated
my left wrist three days before, in a tackle whilst playing football.
It was alright, I wasn't in any pain but I made a point of putting it
back into the sling which of course prevented me carrying a rifle.
The Sergeant accepted my show of disappointment and said,
“Don't worry Lloyd you will have an important job as a runner". I
even convinced the lads. Tom said, "You're bloody lucky Lloydie, you'll 'ave it cushy" but I played it along and thought to myself, I could be an actor when I get out.
The attack was expected at 14.00 hours (2.pm.) Saturday afternoon, that gave us all time to have lunch. About fifty of us were
formed along a ridge near the edge of the camp, the lads had to lie
behind this ridge with their rifles pointing in the direction of another ridge about 200 yards away near an ancient burial ground
- 29 -
RAF Yatesbury
called Silbury Hill. The assault was supposed to come from that
direction. Marshals dressed in white jackets appeared occasionally, it was their job to decide who would be killed during the
coming battle.
I wasn't allowed to look over the ridge for fear of snipers. I
was important you see it was my job to run back carrying messages to H.Q. advising them of our situation. Well our situation
was easy, nothing was happening. After about two hours a small
truck appeared behind our line.
Mel noticed it first "Eh up" he said “It’s a bleeding tea trolley"
and so it was, we had a mug of tea and a wad (cake), which, was
most welcome.
Shortly after all hell let loose Ack-Ack guns were firing and
suddenly three Bristol Beaufighter Bombers appeared overhead,
they dived low just above us dropping bombs except that the
bombs were 20 pound bags of flour which burst on impact cascading flour over a large area, the Marshals were running round
sticking yellow labels on the dead and red labels on the injured.
Medics were franticly searching around putting the injured on
stretchers and carting them off to the infirmary tent, it was starting to look realistic.
Then the Bombers were back, this time they dropped what appeared to be a number of long bags. One hit a hut close by covering it with flour, it looked like a white Christmas. It was now
drizzling rain and the flour was quickly forming a quagmire.
During the second bombing run I was on my way to H.Q. with
details of casualties, fortunately I saw a Marshal heading my way
so I ducked behind some rubbish bins to avoid being seen (what a
hero).
We were told that the ridge opposite, was now occupied by the
enemy and it was our duty to man our positions pending an attack. Jeremy, a slightly built bespectacled lad said, “We won't
have to wrestle with them, will we Sergeant?"
- 30 -
RAF Yatesbury
"Only if one of them fancies you," said Mel.
"Don't worry son, we will fire our rifles before they get to you
and the Marshals with declare them dead " said the Sergeant. The
relief on Jerry's face was noticeable.
It was getting quite dark but the next round of tea, vegetable
soup and doorstop slices of bread was on the way. The rain had
stopped and the moon was casting an eerie glow about the place.
We were constantly being told to keep quiet, as the night air
would carry the sound to the enemy, they must have been told the
same thing as we could hear them and see their silhouettes in the
moonlight.
"Sod this for a lark" said Tom." How long have we got to lay
here Sarge?"
"Sarge? Now where the bloody hell has he gone". The Sergeant had now been called to H.Q. and a Corporal was in charge
"All night if we have to" he said.
So it was, we lay there all night looking across no-man’s-land
towards the enemy who seemed in no mood to move either. It
was not difficult to nod off, apart from visits to the bog of the
white Christmas hut, which we had to do in groups of five, there
was nothing going on at all. I must admit the hut looked quite
good in the moonlight the flour was hanging around the edges of
the roof and it looked like melting snow. "I pity the poor sod that
has to clean that up tomorrow,” I said aloud.
"If you don't shut up it could be you" replied the Corporal.
"Whoops"
The sun rose in a clear sky, the flour on the hut was even more
spectacular the grass was littered with white blobs giving the appearance of snowdrops interlaced with a few daffodils it was
spring in the air but our mob didn't exactly spring to attention
when an officer appeared. Tom said "Blimey he's up early he
must have wet the bed”, it was only audible for a few lads to hear.
"Now every one on their feet, come on jump to it."
- 31 -
RAF Yatesbury
The Sergeant was back. We could hear movement behind us
and a sideways glance told us it was the enemy except it wasn't
the enemy it was the lads from 3 Wing, Yatesbury.
" Oh no" it soon dawned on us that we had been facing our
own lot all night, we thought they were the enemy and they
thought we were. What a cock up! Apparently they had circled
around Silbury Hill to trap the attackers except, the enemy had
attacked the area left vacant by 3 Wing and took over the camp.
What a load of `wallies' our instructors turned out to be. At least
we got Sunday off, most of us slept. We had lost the war so 'don't
mention the war'.
The course was getting tougher each week written and oral
tests were fortnightly. Evening study was essential, an invitation
"Are thee not going t'NAAFI?" would have to be declined. The
practical classes were easier because 'fault finding' on Transmitters and Receivers was demonstrated by the Instructors initially
and they would create a fault which was our task to find.
Mostly we worked alone but sometimes in a team and the Instructors were looking for leadership, I always did well here (well
what did you expect?).
The tests were more relaxed in the workshops than in the
classroom. There were no more practical jokes on Cpl Dooley. I
think our two comedians were sent back to the beginning; we did
miss their sense of fun though. Thirty-six hour passes were restricted to one per fortnight, going home was sheer relief. I hitchhiked home once getting away Friday night after classes instead
of Saturday afternoon.
We usually had a practical test on Saturday a.m. but on this
particular occasion they were repeating an exam on Petrol Generators which I had already passed so I thought here is my chance
to slip away. Unfortunately they had a roll call on Saturday morning and I was missing. When I returned on Sunday night it was
late and I was unaware that I was on report.
- 32 -
RAF Yatesbury
The Guard House M.P. said I was to report to the Corporal in
charge of the hut who would decide on disciplinary measures. I
saw the Corporal before breakfast the next morning and explained
the situation. He decided that in view of the circumstance and the
fact that I had not lied he would cover for me and not press for
charges (what a guy). I couldn't imagine that happening at
Padgate.
I had one other hiccup - I failed one of the final oral exams, I
got confused with the accent of the questioner, he kept answering
his own questions and I got my yes and no wrong when it should
have been the other way round. I had to appear before the Wing
Co. There were four of us sat outside his office, which had a big
No. 13 on the door. One of the guys said, "That's it chaps unlucky
13 we have had it now". I was the last to go in, the other three
didn't seem all that happy when they came out, they were mimicking the Wing Co. because he spoke with a lisp but no way was
I about to do that, I knew he had lost the roof of his mouth in action over Germany during the War II, a bullet had pierced one
side of his face and came out the other side, he was lucky to be
alive.
He looked at me for some time glancing at the papers on front
of him, he said, "You have a good record Lloydsh".
He always ended some his words with a 'sh' and the scars on
his face were evidence of the injury he had suffered. "I am going
to give you another chance you will spend one week shovelling
shitsh in the Stables then you can sit the exam again".
"Thank you sir" I said.
He looked at me again and said "Do you want to be shovelling
shitsh all your life Lloydsh".
"No sir" I answered.
"Then go to it my man and don't let me down."
I thanked him again and left.
Well I didn't let him down or myself and passed with a good
mark. I was now entitled to two weeks leave but was told it had
- 33 -
RAF Yatesbury
been reduced to one week due to the delay in the finals. My posting had been sitting on the Flight Commander's desk in anticipation of me passing out first time. Apparently an Air Wireless Mechanic was required at R.A.F Swinderby in Lincolnshire urgently
so I was on my way.
- 34 -
M
Chapter 8: R.A.F. Swinderby
y leave was Oh! too short, Rose and I saw a film called
'The Tender Trap' starring Frank Sinatra about the perils of
marriage so I thought let's leave it until I come out the Air Force.
I was attached to Flying Training Command and Swinderby
was an Operational Training Station for Air Crew and was
equipped with 'Vicker's Varsity' aircraft (see Fig 4) which were
propeller driven, similar to a Lancaster in size but with dual facilities for Instructors and Trainees.
The airmen accommodation was a brick built two-story `H'
block and I was housed in a ground floor barrack room with
seven other guys, our trades were Airframes, Engines, Instrumentation, Radar and Wireless (which was me) and we even had a
Weatherman.
R & W were part of the Signals Group; the Radar Mech. Bernard Hardy nicknamed Ollie (after Oliver Hardy) showed me
around the Station. The quarters were far superior to the huts I
Vickers Varsity
- 35 -
RAF Swinderby
was used to, the showers were all tiled for a start and the lads
were a good bunch even if some were regulars and supported
teams like Liverpool, Leeds and Scunthorpe, now I ask you, who
supports Scunthorpe?
Each trade worked a three-shift system, 7am to 2pm, 2pm to
10pm and 10pm until the end of flying which was usually about
2am in the morning, this shift was the best because sometimes
flying finished at midnight and on Wednesday, which was sports
day, there was no flying after 12 noon. We had a lot of spare time
on that shift, some of the lads slept all day.
I played football for the camp on the sports day. Sometimes
that meant an away trip by coach but not out of Lincolnshire so
there were no over night stops.
I was allowed a few days to settle in, I was given an 'Arrival
Form' and I had to obtain signatures from the Adjutant, Doctor,
Padre, my C.O. the Guard House and others. The R & W workshop was our H.Q. and our Flight Sergeant there greeted me with
"Where the bloody hell you been Lloyd? You're two weeks overdue".
I said, "Hold on Flight, I cut my leave to be here."
He gave me a sideways look that indicated, he didn't believe
me.
"Anyway you're here" he said, "That's all that matters, you
will start work the day after tomorrow, on the early shift with
Hardy, assigned to 'B' Squadron. He will introduce you to the
other trades over there and show you around the aircraft, if you
run into trouble Henderson is on 'A' Squadron and he will come
over also you can phone us in the workshops if need be. Call in
tomorrow for a run down on the equipment and collect your
working gear and tools, any Questions."
I said there were none and then Flight said, " Oh! By the
way, do you play football?"
I thought ‘wonderful' now we are on the same wavelength.
- 36 -
RAF Swinderby
That's how I got in the team.
The aircraft were spread out in areas called Pans, which were
just parking places, about two miles from the centre of camp and
access to and from was by means of a 'Garry Truck' which were
lorries run like a bus service but if you missed one there was no
chance of three coming along. Every squadron had its own
Ground Crew Quarters, we in Signals had our own hut equipped
with spares, the other trades had the main hutting which was the
point of contact for Pilots and Air Crew. The headman of the
ground crew was a Flight Sergeant and if Radio or Radar faults
were recorded in the 700 'Log Book' a bell would summon us
from the Flt Sgt to inspect the 700.
Ollie was showing me around an aircraft 'Red Fox' and he
was pointing out certain hazards. We entered the cockpit, I sat in
the Pilots Seat and Ollie sat in the Co-pilots seat.
He said, "You have to be careful when the Airframe Mech. is
checking the nose wheel, sometimes they leave the hatch open
between the seats and it is about a ten foot drop, with your head
phones on you can't always hear them come up".
I checked the radio "Red Fox to workshops. How do you
read?"
"Workshops to Red Fox strength five" came the reply.
I completed the calls via all ten channels, and then said to
Ollie "Well that's okay then, you ready?"
"Sure am" he answered, then swung out between the seats
and promptly fell down the hatch, left open by others.
Fortunately Ollie managed to grab the rope that hangs from
the roof, used by the Mechanics to lower them down to the nose
wheel. He had one leg completely down the hole and his other leg
on the flight deck. I hauled him up, he said "I told you we have to
be careful" it was the first time he had done the splits, it must
have been painful but he was laughing and so was I, another inch
and his nether regions would have hit the flight deck.
- 37 -
RAF Swinderby
"Good job I'm not well endowed" he said.
If there was a problem on an aircraft Ollie and I would often
investigate together although I knew little about Radar and he little about Transmitters. One time we were working the late shift
and were called to check an aircraft parked in a wooded area
some distance away. To avoid a long trek around the perimeter
track Ollie suggested we take a short cut through the woods, he
said he knew the way he had done it a hundred times before. It
was very dark and wouldn't you know it, our torch ceased to function but I was quite happy ‘Ollie knew the way' I was chatting
merrily but he was quiet.
"Ollie" I said, "Do you know where we are?"
There was no answer.
"Ollie" I said again, still no answer. I reached out to my right
but he wasn't there, then I heard a faint cry for help. I made my
way back from where we came and suddenly we bumped into
each other.
"What happened" I asked "Are you alright?"
"I'm okay" he said, "I fell down a hole."
We made our way back along the track and took the long
way around; by the time we reached the aircraft the Flt. Sgt was
getting anxious.
"Where the bloody hell you been? It looks like you've been
romping in the woods" The crew were grinning, Ollie did look a
funny sight, his beret was on crooked and he was covered in a
sticky weed plant.
I said, "It was a good job you knew the way."
"Aw shut up," he said.
On another occasion when we were on nights it had been
raining all the previous day and the firewood collected from the
forest was soaking wet so we couldn't get the stove alight.
- 38 -
RAF Swinderby
Ollie said they had used aircraft fuel before so he went outside to get some from the fuel tank. Now this was High Octane,
highly inflammable, ten times more combustible than petrol, anyway it was freezing cold and we had a couple of meat pies to
warm up on the stove.
We stacked the stove with paper and the wet wood, and then
Ollie poured a generous amount of fuel on the contents, having
first moved the pies slightly to one side.
"Now stand back," he said, and then he threw a lighted match
into the stove.
There was an almighty explosion, for a second the whole
place seemed to glow red and then the chimneystack blew apart
and we were covered in soot, by pure instinct we closed our eyes
and when we opened them the place was black with soot, the
stove was still intact but the contents was all over the hut
Two of the ground crew from next door came running in to
find out what had happened and burst out laughing, Ollie and I
looked at each other and laughed also, our faces were covered in
soot.
"What happened," they chorused?
No problem," said Ollie "There must have been something in
the fire"
It took a considerable time, to repair the flue pipe, clean up
the place and us, and we never found the pies.
We had to return to the Workshop to change the spares for
clean ones, the Mechanic on duty didn't query ‘why?'
It wasn't all fun and games; we all had a responsibility to ensure the equipment in the aircraft was serviceable, tested regularly
to ensure all functioned correctly even if this meant flying with
the aircrew (without parachutes I might add) to monitor the
equipment's performance.
There were accidents which meant intensive investigations
even if an accident was pilot error, like the time a pilot landed on
- 39 -
RAF Swinderby
a stretch of land called the Fossway which was lit up to identify
the route to an Inn.
It was foggy and the pilot mistook the lights to be the airfield
runway, he landed okay but the wings crashed into the trees either
side of the Fossway the body of the aircraft continued but caught
fire. The crew were able to jump clear but the pilot was trapped
under the steering column. The Fire Tender arrived but without
fire blankets so they had to radio for some, although the crash site
was less than a mile from camp and the blankets were there in
minutes in was too late to save the pilot, he died later. The pilot
had volunteered to fly the aircraft alone for the benefit of other
trainee crewmembers.
When accidents occur on a Station a period of gloom descends over the camp especially if lives are lost. The Air Ministry
sends an investigating team and all leave is cancelled pending the
completion of the enquiry.
Our Flt. Sergeant said to me, "It's tragic when a life is lost,
we lost one of our Mechanics just before you arrived on the Station."
"What happened?" I asked.
"He walked into a propeller whilst they were running it up"
"Oh my god" I said, "What was his name?"
"Charlie Smithers" he said. "He came from Yatesbury, did
you know him."
"Yes I did," poor old Charlie.
Clive Vaughan was one of the lads in our billet he and I
would travel to London together when on a 72-hour pass, anything less was not viable in view of the distance involved, we
would often visit the camp cinema or Lincoln at the week ends,
matter of fact most of the lads went to Lincoln for a hair cut we
didn't trust the camp barber. One Saturday a group of us went to
Lincoln City ground to watch them play football against Fulham
- 40 -
RAF Swinderby
who had Johnny Haynes and Jimmy Hill in their team.
The NAAFI was the usual place for the lads to spend the evening but Clive, Ollie, Eric (a Leeds supporter) and I, preferred the
Sally Ann (Salvation Army) café; the tea was better, the wads
(cakes) were fresher and the Sally Ann ladies were more cheerful
than those in the NAAFI. Also, if you were out of cash they
would loan you the money until pay day. We played cards there
but they wouldn't allow anyone to play for money - we didn't
have any money so we were all right. Clive joined the RAF the
same day as I, but had signed for three years. I was only in for
two; he loved the Service and was keen to progress. His father
had a Market Garden business in Borough High Street London.
Sadly, his father died and there was no one to run the business.
Clive had an older brother who was a big wig in the Air Ministry
but he was too important to be released so he pulled strings to get
Clive out. We all wished we had a big brother to get us out but
poor Clive didn't want to go, he said he had lost his father now he
was losing his friends. It was a sad farewell when he left but we
did our best to convince him that he would be better off as a civilian, we never saw him again. I did however visit the Market Garden 57 years later and met his eldest son Martin who, by co-incidence, was the same age as my eldest son also named Martin. Apparently Clive had retired and moved away.
On one spell of leave I was unwell. Although I hadn't seen a
doctor, I considered that I was unfit to travel so I stayed home a
few days. Obviously I was AWOL (absent without leave). On my
return to Camp I expected to be frog marched to jail, or put on
'jankers' a form of punishment, but when I explained my symptoms to the MO he said providing I got a letter from my GP nothing more would be said about it. Well I wrote to my mother and
she showed my letter to our doctor. Unfortunately, I had used the
word 'Quack' in my letter when referring to him. It is understandable that he was most annoyed and I regretted using the term but
- 41 -
RAF Swinderby
to give him his due he wrote a letter to the MO and cleared me.
What a guy.
I was promoted to Leading Aircraftsman (LAC) and the last
six months of my service was to be spent a RAF South Cerney in
Gloucestershire. I had been 'Posted.' I was on my way south, to be
truthful I didn't want to go, I was leaving a lot of pals but that was
the Air Force, people were moving around all the time, the only
consolation was it was nearer to home or perhaps I could get
away every week end.
- 42 -
C
Chapter 9: R.A.F. South Cerney
erney was a much smaller station than Swinderby and the
aircraft were not so sophisticated, there were mainly Harvard (see figs 5&6) and Provost (see fig 7) used for Pilot training,
there were two Avro Ansons and one DeHaveland Dove. They
even had an old Westland Lysander, nicknamed Lizzie, that dated
back to 1938 so an Air Wireless Mechanic didn't exactly have his
work cut out. All aircraft were put away in the hangers every
night like cars, we just pushed them around, there was no night
flying. There were no spread out Squadrons and distant crew
rooms, we operated from the Workshop; the other trades ground
crew rooms were close by and I was assigned to ‘A Squadron'
crew which just meant I did the Radio repairs for their aircraft.
The work was leisurely but there were more kit inspections
and parades. I was billeted in an ‘H' block as before but this time
on the 1st Floor, each room accommodating airmen of all trades.
On the Squadrons at Swinderby we were virtually our own boss
but here we were just another number. As there was no night
work our day was 9 a.m. until 5.30 p.m. Weekends were free and
Wednesday was Sports Day - as usual I played football for the
Signals Team but they were a poor side and the Squadron had
asked me to play for them, so I did.
One morning I arrived for work as usual and made my presence known to the Boss, when a messenger came running in from
my
American Harvard at Duxford
- 43 -
RAF South Cerney
Squadron in a panic, he looked like he had just done the 100mtrs
in record time.
"Quick" he said, "Lloyd you're wanted on the Squadron urgently."
"What's up?" I asked.
"Oh some high ranking Chinese Officer is kicking up a fuss
and calling for a Wireless Mechanic, our boss won't give him the
okay to take off until you have looked at the Radio and the
`Chink' is threatening to report us to the Chinese Embassy.
I grabbed my tool bag and headset and said, "Come on then
we'd better go". But we did the 100metres to the Squadron in a
more leisurely pace.
American Harvard—in the pilot’s seat taxiing the aircraft is
the author’s son Martin
When I reached the aircraft (a Harvard) the Chinese pilot,
who had more braid and scrambled egg on his hat than a Commissionaire at the Odeon Leicester Square, was sitting in the
cockpit. I climbed on the wing and said, "What seems to be the
trouble?"
"I cannot getter da tower," he said pressing the 'Fire Button',
"Dis buttin he is stuck," I thought, you're the one with your button
- 44 -
RAF South Cerney
stuck mate; it was fortunate the aircraft was not armed.
I checked the Radio anyway "Yellow Oboe to Cerney Tower,
how do you read?"
"Strength 5" came the reply and needless to say all the channels were serviceable. I pointed out the error of his ways to our
Chinese friend and watched him start the engine, "Clear Plop" he
called. It was customary to call for clearance of all personnel
from the propeller area before starting the engine but his accent
made it all the funnier.
It was the same pilot who tipped an aircraft on its nose by
locking the brakes too soon after landing.
When I told the Squadron Flight Sergeant about the 'Fire
Button' he said, "Bloody fool."
"How do you want this recorded in the 700 (flight service
record book) Chief'?"
But I needn't have asked, I knew nothing of the 'Fire Button'
was to be mentioned. I said "Can I go back to sleep now Chief?"
He said, "Sod off."
I had a pleasant surprise one evening; I was sitting on my bed
Provost T Mark 1
- 45 -
RAF South Cerney
reading when someone called out "Is Lloydie in 'ere?" I looked up
and there was Mel my old mate from Yatesbury.
"Bloody hell I didn't know you were here."
"Oow aye man I'm in the next block" he said.
I put down my book and jumped up to shake bands with him.
Mel was a Geordie a keen Newcastle United supporter; my team
was West Ham United so we had a lot of friendly revelry. "What
yar reading?" I subsequently had good reason to regret having
told him that I was reading the life story of Jessie James for most
evenings he would come into our billet and call out "Jessie! Go
for your gun" and like the stupid pair that we were, we would face
each other like in the cowboy films and draw imaginary guns and
shoot out. Some years later I was travelling on an Underground
train to Wembley Stadium to see England play but unknown to
me Mel was at the far end of the carriage, he had seen me and
stood up in the crowded train and yelled out, above the noise of
the passengers, "Jessie!" I stood up and everyone stopped talking
and looked at me.
Mel said, "Go for your gun" and there we were a pair of idiots imitating a gunfight. I realized how stupid we must have
looked because every one in the carriage was laughing. I slid
down low in my seat to hide my embarrassment.
My mate who was with me said mockingly, "Jessie??"
I said, "Oh shut up."
Still it was good to see Mel after all the years, we had a good
chat about football and old times, I saw him again on another
Wembley visit some years after but fortunately Jessie wasn't mentioned.
One weekend at Cerney all personnel were confined to barracks. Standing Orders stated that all personnel were to report to
the Armoury to be issued with rifles, we thought we had been invaded by the Russians, but knew differently when we were issued
with blank rounds of ammo'. We were going to be attacked by an
officer cadet force from RAF Cranwell.
- 46 -
RAF South Cerney
I had no football injuries so I had to carry a rifle as well as
give up a weekend at home, none of the lads were happy. We
knew playing soldiers with a load of toffee nosed officer cadets
meant we must allow them to win to boost their confidence. My
job was to man the top of the Fire Tower with a radio to signal to
the Control Room the activity around the camp. It was 'All quiet
on the Western Front' most of the day until 18.00 hrs. (6pm) Then
about fifty of them came running amok through the camp, yelling
and screaming and firing their rifles in every direction at no one
in particular. I thought; oh for a Bren gun. As expected they were
milling around the base of my tower and then I wished for boiled
oil, it would have been so easy to douse them. Five made their
way up the ladders to the top and as they came out onto the roof I
could have shot them all but that meant I would have to clean my
rifle before returning it to the Armoury, no way.
So the clever little boys fired their blanks at my feet and said
"You’re dead."
I said "You’re dead really, you were easy targets."
"Ah but you didn't fire your rifle" not that it mattered if I had
done. They smelt of beer and were very noisy but before returning to the ladder they smashed the radio.
I made my way back to the Control Room with the damaged
radio and reported that I was dead, then I was sent back to the
Tower with a new radio to continue reporting, fortunately all activity had ceased and we were allowed to stand down. The next
morning, Sunday, it was clear up time, the place was in a shambles, the content of all waste bins had been strewn around the
camp, even lamp standards had been damaged, turf had been dug
up and deposited on the parade ground rostrum delaying the
church parade, much to the Padre's disgust.
We heard later that our Commanding Officer had made an
official complaint. It was considered that the Cadets should have
attacked using stealth but instead it was just a drunken brawl.
- 47 -
RAF South Cerney
The weekend journeys home were proving to be expensive
and the travelling was time consuming, involving a local bus to
Swindon, a train to London, underground to Aldgate and then a
bus home. So a few of us would spend Saturday evenings in `Ye
Old Kings Head' in Cirencester, which was frequented by the
American Air Force, stationed at RAF Fairford.
A USAF Telecom' Officer called Jim would commandeer the
bar and insist on buying Mel and I drinks. We would walk in and
Jim would yell "Hi guys what'll it be" he would leave his money
on the bar and when that was used up he would add more.
"That's okay Jim," I said, "This one's on me" but he wouldn't
have it.
"I get ten times your wages" he forbade Albert the barman
from taking our money, he looked at Albert and said "Albie if you
take their money I'll walk straight out this god damn bar”.
The trouble was this was the only pub in town.
Jim loved to hear Cockney and Geordie stories from us about
when we were kids; he couldn't believe that we didn't have a bathroom.
"God damn shit" he would say "and the john was in the back
yard? God damn shit."
"Not in our john he didn't" I said using Jim's vernacular.
Before he joined the Air Force he worked for MGM Studios
where he met many of the big Stars of the day. At the Studio’s
25th Anniversary party in 1949, he said Judy Garland was lovely,
Edward Arnold and Leon Ames were great but his best pal was
Robert (Bob) Taylor.
"That's nothing," I said, "We've got Fifty-bob Tailors in this
country."
Jim roared with laughter, but only after the joke was explained to him.
- 48 -
RAF South Cerney
Some of the lads found the routine at South Cerney boring
but I never did, there was always plenty to do. I made the work
what I wanted it to be, interesting. Dismantling and reassembling
radio equipment was educational, in fact, after I left the Air Force
I made my own wireless (radio receiver) and it worked.
The Aircraft equipment had to be serviced on a regular basis
so that kept us busy.
The NAAFI was equipped with a Library and a quiet area for
cards and board games; there was a games room with a snooker
table, dartboard and table tennis. Just like a holiday camp? Well
not really, we had parades for any occasion the CO could think of
and a kit inspection about every six weeks on a Saturday morning. A team of top brass carried out one kit inspection; all the signals personnel were moved into one barrack room for the exercise. The CO came in first followed by the Adjutant, two foreign
officers and a Warrant Officer with our boss Flt Sgt. Ritchie and
Technician Sgt. Phillips at the rear. It always seemed strange to
me that NCO Technicians wore their stripes upside down, like the
Yanks, I would have understood it if they were Aussies. (Joke!!).
They gathered round my kit and the WO picked up my beret
with the tip of his thumb and forefinger as though it was a dead
rat or something, he screwed up his nose and uttered, "What do
you call this?"
I didn't reply and then he added, "Who do you think you are a
garage mechanic? Get it changed."
Without another word he tossed my beret up the barrack
room and it sailed like a Frisbee with a perfect landing. I thought
`How's that for perfect flying mate, what a hat!' I must admit that
the blue of my beret had faded somewhat and had been gradually
turning to a dirty shade of green. I said to the lads "He can get
stuffed I’ve only got a few months to go."
Just then our Boss came in "You had better do what he says
Lloyd the WO don't forget things easy and he will be after me if
- 49 -
RAF South Cerney
you don't change it" `
But Flight, I can't afford it" I pleaded. "
Sorry old son" he said, "Go over to the QM first thing on
Monday, tell him I sent you and you might get a cheap replacement.
Well I did get a new beret on the cheap but it was a bit too
large so I had to grow some more hair to help it fit properly which
was not a bad thing.
Our Boss was always on to me to take the SAC (Senior Aircraftsman) exam but I was reluctant in view of the limited time
left before my demob, however I did eventually sit the exam and
much to my surprise passed.
He said, "Now you are on a roll and must sit the Technician
exam."
The problem was I would have to sign on for another year
which as far as I was concerned was out of the question. All the
boys on my Squadron were also urging me to sign on, I thought
this must be some kind of conspiracy but I was wrong, the boys
on the Squadron wanted me for the football team, I thought
`Charming.'
- 50 -
Chapter 10: Demob - The Final
Phase
W
hen personnel arrive at a new Station it is necessary for
them to ‘Sign On' by obtaining signatures of all section
leaders and Squadron Commanders, three days are allowed for this
process.
Similarly when leaving, ‘Sign Off' signatures are to be obtained but demob meant that all standard issue clothing, including
my new beret, had to be returned to the Quarter Master's Store
with the exception of my best blue uniform, peak cap, shoes and
underclothes required to travel home all of which are to be retained should it be necessary for them to call me back in an emergency. Bedclothes had to be returned on the morning of departure
together with `irons' and tea mug, after breakfast of course.
The most important were the 'Tools'; any deficiencies had to
be paid for but the Boss was pretty fair and didn't always apply the
letter of the law. I was allowed four days, Tuesday to Friday, to
complete my 'Signing Off' task but even with the extra day it was
tight, every one wanted to talk. The Doctor gave me a quick medical and passed me fully fit, the Padre talked about the Church, the
Librarian thought I should get a job in a library, the Q.M. wasn't
interested in anything, the Squadron Commander wanted me to
sign for another year as did our Boss and the lads, who wanted me
to come back on Wednesdays to play football raised the questions:
"Didn't I realise there was a cup match next week?"
“Surely you won't start work right away, you could come back
next week for one game?"
I intended to have two weeks holiday before starting work, it
was nice to be wanted but I certainly wasn't going back even just
to play football.
I was always longing for the day I would be demobbed but in
some ways I was sorry to leave the work and the sport, I was never
- 51 -
De-mob—The Final Phase
keen on the regimentation.
The last port of call on my rounds was the Adjutant's Office
to present the list of signatories. He called me into his office and
told me to take a seat, which was unusual. He was reading papers
on his desk, after a long silence be looked up.
"I have been studying your record Lloyd" he said at length
“You have an exemplary record, you have no black marks against
your name and your Commanding Officer thinks very highly of
you. I thought 'Oh yer they want me to sign on.'
The Adjutant went on "You would be well advised to continue in the RAF for at least another year, men of your character
are required in the service and I see from the reports I have here
that you are in line for promotion, new people are arriving at Central Flying School regularly and your experience is essential in
their training.”
“I would like to Sir” I lied, “but I promised my Company I
would return to them in two years.”
He wasn't put off by that "You also suggested, at your initial
interview, that you would probably sign for three years", I had
forgotten about that. The Adjutant added "You do realise, you are
already at Technical grade and if you sign on now, the grade, and
NCO Rank will be confirmed. I thought 'is that blackmail or
what?'
But I was having none of it, "I'm sorry Sir, my Company
contacted me recently and I committed myself to them". "Well
I'm sorry too" be said, "but it is your decision and I can only wish
you luck in your chosen occupation, it is not easy out there"
He stood up and I did likewise, the interview was over, we
shook hands and he handed me my release papers, containing my
travel warrant and character reference with details of my service
experience together with my medical report and inoculation certificates.
- 52 -
De-mob—The Final Phase
I never wanted to do my National Service but I went in
determined to make a go of it, which I never regretted and in
the end enjoyed most of it and was pleased to have had the
experience.
I came out of his office and felt ten feet tall; I was still on
'Reserve' though, just in case there was another war. It was
the first week in February 1955 but the cold weather had no
effect on me, I was a free man again, walking on air.
-53-