History
From all over the UK we assembled at RAF Halton to sign on
the dotted line (attestation) on 14/15th
September 1960, the 20th anniversary of the Battle of
Britain.
In truth a bewildered group, most of whom were away from home on their
own for the first time in their lives. Probably no different
from any other entrants at this time. The first couple of days were spent
in civvies, attending to paperwork, being attested, getting used to living and bedding down
with 15 other boys in a 3-storey dormitory in 3-Wing, or Maitland
Wing as it was
more properly known. This was to be our home for the next year.
We were also
introduced to Sweeney Todd the demon barber, who shore our
locks to the bone on a weekly basis. Thankfully
Malcolm Prior was a dab hand at providing 'just regulation'
haircuts.
Our chaperon and mentor, was a Corporal Drill Instructor
(DI) who was extremely polite and very helpful at first,
but this seemed to change once we had been issued with denims
to cover our civvies, pending issue of hairy blue No. 2 dress uniforms.
The sight of such awkward lads masquerading as
troops invoked a monster in this DI that was to test our will in the
weeks and months to come. We also found out that there were
higher ranks than Corporal; some with more stripes on their
sleeve that shouted louder than him
and some that didn’t need to shout at all to promote
discipline. The latter tended to be officers, they had people
to shout for them.
We learned to line up in threes, in
order of height, to march in line of 3's, turn left and right and
halt upon command,
all in a cohesive body ... eventually.
We were introduced to bull-nights, at
first every night and then later once a week on Fridays, but the
inspections came day upon day, week upon week. Inspections of
boy and uniform, of room and ablutions, inside and outside the
3-storey building that was our home, inspections at all hours
day and night.
After several weeks we were issued with
guns, big heavy .303's (the short magazine Lee-Enfield to be
precise as used in WWII). We learned to like our guns and
bestow spit and polish upon
them, as we did our boots, webbing and brasses and anything
else that didn't move. Moving things usually had to be
saluted. Everything gleamed except fingers and thumbs, which
were grubby and sore from the continuous cleaning and
polishing.
In the fullness of time we were allowed
off camp for a weekend, but had to remain in uniform, until
the right to wear 'mufti' was earned (mufti being a regulation
pattern navy blue blazer and
grey flannels, white shirt and approved tie and black shoes).
The first year passed slowly but we became more confident in
ourselves and very skilled at marching and rifle drill. We
also became skilled in the art of sloping off camp past the
snoops - RAF Police who guarded the gates. Usually illegal civvies
were worn to partake of an equally
illegal pint of ale in the pubs of Wendover, Aston Clinton and
surrounding villages, whose landlords
were very understanding of apprentice ways, such that they
also provided semi-legal parking for illegal cars and motorbikes i.a.w the 1-mile
from camp rule.
3-Wing also sent us back to school - in reality a fine
college that provided a splendid continuing education.
Every day morning and afternoon we marched back and forth
twixt barrack block and Kermode Hall to be taught the subjects
necessary for our further education, punctuated only by half
days doing PT, more drill, or sport, until we doubted we would
never see a workshop or an aeroplane at all. When we did get
into a workshop it was to
file and saw and drill and rivet and bend and solder and
similar such things in 'Basic Shops', but hardly ever to see, smell, feel or clamber over
a real aeroplane.
The return to camp after our first
summer leave saw us moving from Maitland to Henderson - number
1 Wing. We
exchanged our yellow cap band for the red one of 1- wing. We
had gone from being senior entry in the junior wing to 'rooks'
in the senior wing. A bit of a set back to our new found
confidence having to mix it with these older more RAF-wise
entries.
Schools finished in the fullness of time with the gaining
of recognised qualifications - GCEs and/or HNCs. Then we put more
time into workshops, learning about aeroplanes and what made
them work, and eventually on to the airfield phase of training
where the final
phases of our training came together. The airfield had real
aeroplanes, piston and jet engines that we could run up,
flying control and electrical control systems that responded
to our inputs, aircraft that taxied more or less under control
of our nervous
marshalling, but sadly never they flew again.
On occasion real aeroplanes
came and went. We got to fly air experience trips in Chipmunks and Ansons, even a
Wessex and other in-service aircraft during station
visits. For some flying the Slingsby Sedberg glider with its
open cockpit was a regular event in lieu of sports afternoon. One day a Vulcan landed on
the grass field, and a Comet, neither to ever take off again.
Along the way we got into some scrapes, although there were many high days and even some holidays.
Of the high days to name but a few - there was route lining
in London, trips to Earl's Court, Stretham Ice Rink and
Abingdon for an adventurous team building weekend (this was also
a scrape). There were many weekend trips out with the various clubs of the
Halton society - a superbly organised mega-hobby club. There
were car-hill climbs near the pimple. We went on Entry
outings to Great Yarmouth and Southend. There was a graduation dinner at High Wycombe (was it
an hotel or one of the messes at Strike command).
Who put the purple crystals in the fountains in
Trafalgar Square (see the window page).
Frank Baldry was in a
pop group that performed in 1-Wing tank (Naafi) - what was
that group called?.
Not to mention the brass and pipe bands that many saw as an
ideal way to skive, although in fact they performed at many
out of hours functions and extra duties.
The scrapes included jankers for any minor misdemeanor (was
it a white or yellow armband to signify you weren't allowed off camp),
being caught with a car or motor bike inside the 1-mile
exclusion zone, spending a night in the cells as a result of
going a bit 'wild' during the Abingdon weekend and having to
be bailed out by the good Flt Lt Roberts who extracted most of our
wages for weeks afterwards to pay a fine to cover 'damages'. Someone in 'C' Flt
must remember the details (I am led to believe - think pubs
and beer, river and boats, girls
boarding school, park benches and trees, police station,
serious talking to by the Flt Cmdr).
Forfeiting precious weekends was the usual way to pay
penance for minor events that are long forgotten, then being
subject to endless drill sessions, inspections, changing in
and out of best blue, hairy blue, PT kit, denims and boots at
the whim of a masochistic DI as a result. The
only consolation was that if we were there all weekend, so were the DIs. To
be fair some of them were good old boys - Ex Irish Guards Sgt Barney Meehan would
always buy you a half if you stumbled into his local, which
was essentially every pub in Wendover.
Memory being what it is the scrapes
seem to have faded faster than the good times, except for the
road runs in training for summer camp. These were done wearing denims and boots
and usually went by road to the back of the ridge to a cafe by
the golf course, where you could have a cup of tea and a smoke
before trogging back over the ridge through the woods - I still suffer from
creaking ankles as a result.
Who remembers skiving on sports
afternoons by doing cross-country and going for a smoke in the
'dust bowl' - the ornamental pond/skating rink in the woods
across the road from the Polish Avenue gate on
the way to airfields (read the Halton House book) - but being
caught out by the
PTI's for lack of a 'back of the hand' stamp and being made to go round again.
So much for an early
tea.
Hands up those who had a spare
set of 'eating irons' and a plastic mug in their side pack, so
they could fall out from marching up the hill straight to meals instead of belting into
the block for their real mug and irons. Who had his pot mug 'accidentally' dropped on room inspection because it was
supposedly 'filthy'.
The climax of our time at Halton came
just before graduation, when we were privileged as senior
entry to provide Guard of Honour and escort for the Queen's
Colour - the only colour party paraded by
non-commissioned ranks - and to act as ushers at the Service
of Dedication
of the new St. Georges church; where our own Entry window was
dedicated on 7th Nov 2004. Our window remains unique in having the
plain 1963 church window incorporated into our church window
which now adds to the blaze of colour that is the current
church window.
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