The sixth of January 1941 was probably the day that influenced the rest of my life:. The day that I was enlisted into the RAF, swore the oath and accepted the "Kings Shilling". This was all done, and here my memory fails me a bit, but in I think some sort of local Drill Hall somewhere in Oxford.

Interviews took place with regard to our choice of trade. A group of Senior Officers quizzed us about our past, future ambitions etc. I was told that if I was prepared to go back home, brush up on my Maths at the airforces expence, and return in three months I could be a Pilot. (Bad career choice No.3). Nah! I said, I want in now, I'll be an Airgunner.

Before I go any further let me explain. There were no such things as Hippies in those days but if there had of been then I was one. Couldn't be doin' with clothes and things, wore gray bags and a shirt or two, winter and summer. Never had an overcoat, just a sports jacket, ran or cycled everywhere and couldn't be doin' with "things", which might explain why I said to the "Big Officer" sorry only got one pair of trousers, can't be doin' with going home for three months, want in now. Please your bloody self or words to that effect he said, so medicals, OK, 5ft 7ins,. 8 stone 12 pounds, hair fair, FFI, OK and off to No.5 RC Blackpool., although one thing more before I go. The intake that I was in was made up of a considerable number of Welshmen. and on the night we spent together in the Drill Hall, they sang. It was brilliant. Even to this day I remember it so clearly and a lad named Bryn James was the most beautiful tenor. He aspired to become a Pilot but at only 5ft 4ins there was doubt whether he could reach the controls.

Blackpool was the place of kitting out. Fitting of Uniforms, issuing of Kit............... Socks, blue grey, pairs 3, Drawers cellular, pairs 3, Vests cellular. pairs 3, button stick brass, 1,Brushes shoe polishing , 2, Bags Kit, 1, Belts, Webbing 1 etc. etc. All of this took place in commandered private accomodation, a shop if I remember correctly, not at an Airforce base. Then off to Morecambe for our basic training, better known as "Square Bashing".

The winter of 40/41 was a bit icy and snowy, not pleasant for such activities as PT on the prom or cross country across the muddy fields of Lancashire. We were billeted in West End Road (I forget the number) and of course, as in Blackpool, all or most of the boarding houses were used as billets for the RAF. I have few memories of the billet except for a large brown enameled teapot which seemed ever present in the front room.

Cpl. Jordan was our guide, mentor, torturer, protector and God for the next six weeks.

We drilled on the Promenade in full public view, did PT (PE these days) on the beach, and in inclement weather we used the "Winter Gardens". In effect both Morecambe and Blackpool became RAF stations.

On completion of our basic training we went back to Blackpool for trade training although Drill and PT were still on the corriculum, The Winter Gardens and the Tower Ballroom both suffering the indignities of our fairy footsteps, although I must say that doing PT on the sprung floor of the Ballroom was a pleasure. Stanley Park was also another venue during fairer weather.

For those who know Blackpool well, the majority of boarding houses in Palatine Road, Hornby Road, Reids Avenue and Coronation Street were RAF billtets. I was in Reids Avenue along with Bryn James who's singing would enchant us frequently.

The Tram Sheds at south shore were equipped for Morse training, and that's where I learned the Morse Code up to 10 WPM. Our morse tests took place at Burtons, hence the expression "going for a Burton".

At the same time as I was there, the Poles were doing flying training on Hurricanes at Squires Gate. Bloody maniacs used to 'hedge hop' the Piers. They also pulled all the birds 'cos seven bob a day wasn't much to pull much.

Now only very few will remember what I have to say next, but I'll write it anyway. To impress the girls we had a tailor sew what we'd call "V's" into our trousers to make them flair more at the bottoms. Also had shoulder pads put in our jackets. All very naughty and illegal. Just in our No1's of course or 'Best Blue'. So, off to the Winter Gardens keeping a wary eye open for the 'Snowdrops". (RAF Police). Also bought "winkle picker" shoes. The Poles still won although one did prang a Hurricane into Central Station.

Southampton was a long way from Blackpool but with a 48 hour pass one could make it. From Friday after duty to midnight Sunday. A time when I got to know Crewe Station exremely well. Sleeping in the corridor with your head on your kitbag. Waiting for hours because of air raids. Blacked out of course. Across London from Kings Cross to Waterloo and then Southampton and home. Spend Saturday with folks and then back for midnight on Sunday.Oh! boy. and of course, any 'naughties' and you lost your pass.

However, we were young and healthy, and most importantly of course all in the same boat, so eventually my class (C35 rings a bell but not sure) passed out and were posted for the next phase of our training. Potential Aircrew were posted to Yatesbury in Wiltshire and ground wireless operators (WOPs) to Compton Bassett just down the road. For some reason which I never found out, although in for air gunner. I was posted to Compton. With plenty of hindsight, I can only assume that because I had passed every Morse Test with Zeros (no mistakes) that they wanted me as a live WOP rather than a dead Air Gunner.

So, off to No3 Radio School RAF Compton Bassett. A real RAF Station. Wooden huts with highly polished Lino floors and coke stoves for warmth. Station HQ, Station Warrant Officer ( SWO) always to be feared, Drill Instructors, and Morse Instructors including Tommy Tickle he of great and everlasting fame among we who remember. I went back for my Tel.1, sometime in the fifties and he was still at it. The first taste of real RAF life of course with 'Jankers' and 'bumpers' for polishing the lino and 'blacking' for the pot belly stoves. Kit Inspections, Guard duty and a many and varied number of ways to loose your weekend pass.

Anyway, by the grace of God and Tommy Tickle I managed to keep a clean sheet through all my morse tests, and having achieved 18 WPM actually managed to pass out as AC1. Fat lot of good it did me in the long run but at least it was a few bob extra a week.

Tilshead is located on Salisbury Plain on the A360 between Salisbury and Warminster. About 2 miles away is the village of Chitterne.

At this period of the war I think most Services were sorting their arses out from their elbows and consequently we 'erks' were posted to obscure places for no apparent reason. Firstly on leaving Compton Bassett, two of us were sent to Harwarden only to be told that we weren't supposed to be there. After a night there we were despatched to 225 Sqadron at Tilshead.an Army Recconaisance Unit equipped with Westland Lysanders. This was to be our home for the early part of the winter of 1941. Billeted in a pair of derelict cottages, and I mean derelict at Chitterne. No water, no heat and no light, a couple of iron bedsteads with straw palliases and a running beck outside to wash in, we were uplifted each morning in a 3 ton Thorneycroft and delivered to the camp. (anyone remember the 3 ton Thorney with the whining gearbox?), to spend most days moving crates of bombs from 'A' to 'B' erecting tents, and being chased all over the plain by crazy Lysander pilots who seemed intent on removing our heads with their bomb racks.

However, there was a bonus side to this posting. I was only 40 miles from home and Edna. Edna and I had worked together at Foster Wickners and formed an attatchment as young people do. So come Saturday lunch time I would mount my bicycle and ride off home to Southampton or to Eastleigh and Edna. Over the Plain, past Stonehenge, through Salisbury and Romsey, all this in uniform of course, civvies not being allowed. Great coat and respirator et al. Sometimes a 48 hour pass allowed me to leave Friday night.

Air raids were still going on of course so many a night I spent doubled up with Edna in the Anderson shelter. An eighty mile round trip you might say?. Don't worry, Edna was worth it although I think with hindsight, my parents would have liked to have seen a bit more of me.

I used to leave around one or two in the morning to get back to camp in time for a quick kip before working parade. But..............one weekend it snowed.

It took me eight hours to cycle and walk the forty miles, getting me into camp just in time for working parade. Parked me bike, fell in wet, cold and slightly knackered and had to wait until break time for a cuppa. Service life toughens you up alright and anyway, Edna was worth it

Jurby is in the Isle of Man. In those days an RAF station was located not far from Jurby Point and was used as a sort of rest station for aircrew and equipped with a number of Hampdens and a couple of Avro Ansons. Why I was posted there Christ only knows but I was, and spent most of my time in the Radio Workshops fixing R1082 receivers and T1083 Transmitters with the odd TR9. Enjoyed it over there with the social life of Ramsey and Douglas and of course trips home loaded with all the things which they were short of at like Butter and Cheese etc. You see the Isle of Man had stocked up with stuff for the tourist trade before war broke out and had plenty of surplus. Customs kindly turned a blind eye

Eventually though, and being a bit impatient as you may have already realised, I thought, bugger this for a game of soldiers. I couldn't see any Gunnery course forthcoming so...........I volunteerd for Overseas.

Before I go though, for the interested or frustrated non pilots, I should like to recount this story.

The Pilot of an Avro Anson on a training flight found he couldn't lower the undercarriage. Now as you may or may not know the wheels of an Anson protrude about half a wheel below the fuselage. This clever Pilot shut down both engines, hand cranked the airscrews to horizontal and made a perfect landing. Not a scratch. Brilliant. We did unfortunately however lose a Hampden on Snafell.

Anyway, enough of that. Lets go Overseas.

Abroad we go

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