Homeward Bound

Time to go, and waiting at the quay side at Singapore Docks was my transport to England and home. I can't actually recall any emotion of the time but it must have been pretty mixed. After all I was only nineteen when I left and here I was now twenty three years old but different from those who would have grown up in a normal peace time enviroment. This was to become apparent as it has done in more recent times.Resettlement is not easy.

This time, unlike the voyage out, things were slightly different. The troopship was a converted Aircraft Carrier, HMS Patroller.

H.M.S. Patroller:

An American built "Woolworth Carrier" I think someone said, bulit in three pieces and then welded together, which I'm sure was right because in rough seas while walking the flight deck I'm sure I could see her bending in the middle. But I digress.

This was no "luxury cruise" for sure. Her Majesties Navy ran this one. Very 'pusser' to use navy jargon. The 1st Lieutenant (Jimmy the one) was pretty severe. Wore white gloves for Mess Deck inspections and allocated duties to all and sundry. My job throughout the the trip was to polish a brass gun loading plate, (never did find out what it was for) but you could shave in it by the end of the trip. Those of us who pal'd up on the ship developed a daily routine of walking the flight deck. Great fun on rough days, climbing one minute and running down hill the next.

This time of course there was no 'round the Cape trip'. The Suez Canal was open and that's the way we went. A day ashore at Columbo was a bonus.

I can't remember whether we had a day ashore at Port Suez or Port Said but we definitely had one at Malta. Being a good lad I never went down the "Gut" Too many Matelots probably.

So, quick stop at Gib, no shore leave then through the Bay and home to good old Plymouth.

This I shall never forget as long as I live. When a naval vessel enters port they "Dress Ship". Like a Parade, everyone lines up on deck, shipshape and Bristol fashion as the saying goes.

Well.............I said to a Flt.Lt. who was more or less in charge of RAF proceedings, what shall we wear?. Buggered if I know, he said. You see, because of our varied rolls we all had different kit. As you probably know by now the RAF has always been "slightly different" to put it kindly. Some had KD trousers, some had KD shorts, some with KD shirts, some with Bush Jackets. Some with Bush hats ,some with side hats. Jungle green even with angora shirts. I had some angora shirts. They were brilliant.

Anyway came the day. The weather was fine but with a pretty stiff wind blowing up the channel. The Navy of course were as to be expected spot on with chin straps holding there headgear. Very smart .Even the Army had managed to get a decent show on the road. Come to RAF and the ships skipper went spare. All sorts of dress, chaps leaning sideways in the wind holding on to there hats. Trousered legs, bare legs, shirts inside, shorts outside.................Oh! Boy, I laugh to think of it even to this day.

And so we came ashore.

The train taking us to Cardington (I think) for demob stopped just outside of Plymouth for some reason for a minute or two. I jumped down onto the embankment and grabbed a handful of grass. The first real grass for four and a half years. It smelled wonderful.

Details of course are a bit vague after all this time but I do remember being issued with my demob suit, a grey worsted double breasted jacket and trousers and matching whatever. Felt a bit wierd I must say and a railway warrant to Southampton.

Gosh!

Did I tell them I was coming? I honestly don't remember but being me, maybe not.

Since I'd been away Mum and Dad had moved a bit "upmarket". No.1A Oakmount Avenue. Sure different from the old council house that was for sure. Brother was now going on twelve and attending Oakmount School, posh by my old standards, and here was me an out of work ex-serviceman of 23

A difficult time. It's the small things sometimes which stand out most. I'd been living off the fat of the land for a great part of my service abroad, particularly during the latter part..............Mum gave me her boiled egg for tea..........a handsome gesture indeed when you consider they had been living with rationing, and in the constant fear of the 'Buzz' bombs and later the V2 rockets for years...........a difficult time indeed.

I had leave of course and a few quid to spend with my gratuity but had to get a job eventually so enrolled on a Government Training Course as a Painter and Decorator. Did the course succesfully and luckily with a mate, John Hughes, ex navy, that I'd pal'd up with at the Center, got a job

Good old Frank Knowles. He sub- contracted for Councellor Powdrill, a town bigwig and was doing a new council estate at Bursledon. Speed was the key of course, four ceilings before break and a house a day, well more or less. Poor old John and I were well trained and wanted to do a good job but....................Good old Frank kept us on but sent us off to do the bosses house, and the bosses son and the bosses other son etc. etc. etc. Oh! yea we were good, John and me but a bit expensive.

But, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to understand that having No1 son jumping over the tailboard of a builders lorry in painters overalls and lunch bag half five at night, shouting cheers Bert to the driver, opposite the Vicars house which was next door to Mr Addis who owned half of Portswood was not a very good idea, So when, in 1950 I decided to reenlist in the RAF the cheers were probably heard in the Outer Hebrides

Frank, Tommy and me stage left:

Call them formative years I suppose, sort of life in two halves. I stayed in the RAF for the next twenty six years. Got married in Gibraltar where No1 Daughter Stephanie was born, moved to Uxbridge where No1 Son Michael was born. Spent three years in Hong Kong from November 1956 to November 1959 where no one was born. Nice rest for Joycee.

In the following three years at RAF Digby, Frances and Josephine were born at Nocton Hall RAF Hospital............pre-telly days.

During the smashing four years we spent in Cyprus between 1962 and 1966 Chris was born at RAF Dekhalia Hospital and the other four enjoyed the Meditteranean life at the RAFs' expence.

RAF North Luffenham provided four and a half years of schooling stability for the kids and the benifits of the lovely county of Rutland.

A tour to RAF Gatow in Berlin was shortened because of my promotion to Flt/Sgt. but the younger of the family were out there lomg enough to enjoy the Christmas of 1973. Steph was now married and Mike was at Oakham School.

Came back to Digby, did a nine month unaccompanied tour in Masirah off the coast of Oman and finally retired fron the RAF in September 1976 at the age of 53 and a half, bored out of my skull.

Unfortunately, the best family pictures are on slides but when I get around to it I'll shall have some converted, meanwhile the above piccies are of our Wedding in Gib. Only known her a couple of weeks but it seemed to work out OK. Steph and Mike with Ah Fong the ahma in Hong Kong and a beach one in Cyprus.

Get some more sorted sometime , meanwhile.........................!.

Back to top.

Change is as good as..


				Homeward Bound:
Time to go, and waiting at the quay side at Singapore Docks was my transport to England and home. I can't actually recall any emotion of the time but it must have been pretty mixed. After all I was only nineteen when I left and here I was now twenty three years old but different from those who would have grown up in a normal peace time enviroment. This was to become apparent as it has done in more recent times.Resettlement is not easy. This time, unlike the voyage out, things were slightly different. The troopship was a converted Aircraft Carrier, HMS Patroller. H.M.S. Patroller: An American built "Woolworth Carrier" I think someone said, bulit in three pieces and then welded together, which I'm sure was right because in rough seas while walking the flight deck I'm sure I could see her bending in the middle. But I digress. This was no "luxury cruise" for sure. Her Majesties Navy ran this one. Very 'pusser' to use navy jargon. The 1st Lieutenant (Jimmy the one) was pretty severe. Wore white gloves for Mess Deck inspections and allocated duties to all and sundry. My job throughout the the trip was to polish a brass gun loading plate, (never did find out what it was for) but you could shave in it by the end of the trip. Those of us who pal'd up on the ship developed a daily routine of walking the flight deck. Great fun on rough days, climbing one minute and running down hill the next. This time of course there was no 'round the Cape trip'. The Suez Canal was open and that's the way we went. A day ashore at Columbo was a bonus. I can't remember whether we had a day ashore at Port Suez or Port Said but we definitely had one at Malta. Being a good lad I never went down the "Gut" Too many Matelots probably. So, quick stop at Gib, no shore leave then through the Bay and home to good old Plymouth. This I shall never forget as long as I live. When a naval vessel enters port they "Dress Ship". Like a Parade, everyone lines up on deck, shipshape and Bristol fashion as the saying goes. Well.............I said to a Flt.Lt. who was more or less in charge of RAF proceedings, what shall we wear?. Buggered if I know, he said. You see, because of our varied rolls we all had different kit. As you probably know by now the RAF has always been "slightly different" to put it kindly. Some had KD trousers, some had KD shorts, some with KD shirts, some with Bush Jackets. Some with Bush hats ,some with side hats. Jungle green even with angora shirts. I had some angora shirts. They were brilliant. Anyway came the day. The weather was fine but with a pretty stiff wind blowing up the channel. The Navy of course were as to be expected spot on with chin straps holding there headgear. Very smart .Even the Army had managed to get a decent show on the road. Come to RAF and the ships skipper went spare. All sorts of dress, chaps leaning sideways in the wind holding on to there hats. Trousered legs, bare legs, shirts inside, shorts outside.................Oh! Boy, I laugh to think of it even to this day. And so we came ashore. The train taking us to Cardington (I think) for demob stopped just outside of Plymouth for some reason for a minute or two. I jumped down onto the embankment and grabbed a handful of grass. The first real grass for four and a half years. It smelled wonderful. Details of course are a bit vague after all this time but I do remember being issued with my demob suit, a grey worsted double breasted jacket and trousers and matching whatever. Felt a bit wierd I must say and a railway warrant to Southampton. Gosh! Did I tell them I was coming? I honestly don't remember but being me, maybe not. Since I'd been away Mum and Dad had moved a bit "upmarket". No.1A Oakmount Avenue. Sure different from the old council house that was for sure. Brother was now going on twelve and attending Oakmount School, posh by my old standards, and here was me an out of work ex-serviceman of 23 A difficult time. It's the small things sometimes which stand out most. I'd been living off the fat of the land for a great part of my service abroad, particularly during the latter part..............Mum gave me her boiled egg for tea..........a handsome gesture indeed when you consider they had been living with rationing, and in the constant fear of the 'Buzz' bombs and later the V2 rockets for years...........a difficult time indeed. I had leave of course and a few quid to spend with my gratuity but had to get a job eventually so enrolled on a Government Training Course as a Painter and Decorator. Did the course succesfully and luckily with a mate, John Hughes, ex navy, that I'd pal'd up with at the Center, got a job Good old Frank Knowles. He sub- contracted for Councellor Powdrill, a town bigwig and was doing a new council estate at Bursledon. Speed was the key of course, four ceilings before break and a house a day, well more or less. Poor old John and I were well trained and wanted to do a good job but....................Good old Frank kept us on but sent us off to do the bosses house, and the bosses son and the bosses other son etc. etc. etc. Oh! yea we were good, John and me but a bit expensive. But, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to understand that having No1 son jumping over the tailboard of a builders lorry in painters overalls and lunch bag half five at night, shouting cheers Bert to the driver, opposite the Vicars house which was next door to Mr Addis who owned half of Portswood was not a very good idea, So when, in 1950 I decided to reenlist in the RAF the cheers were probably heard in the Outer Hebrides . Frank, Tommy and me stage left: Call them formative years I suppose, sort of life in two halves. I stayed in the RAF for the next twenty six years. Got married in Gibraltar where No1 Daughter Stephanie was born, moved to Uxbridge where No1 Son Michael was born. Spent three years in Hong Kong from November 1956 to November 1959 where no one was born. Nice rest for Joycee. In the following three years at RAF Digby, Frances and Josephine were born at Nocton Hall RAF Hospital............pre-telly days. During the smashing four years we spent in Cyprus between 1962 and 1966 Chris was born at RAF Dekhalia Hospital and the other four enjoyed the Meditteranean life at the RAFs' expence. RAF North Luffenham provided four and a half years of schooling stability for the kids and the benifits of the lovely county of Rutland. A tour to RAF Gatow in Berlin was shortened because of my promotion to Flt/Sgt. but the younger of the family were out there lomg enough to enjoy the Christmas of 1973. Steph was now married and Mike was at Oakham School. Came back to Digby, did a nine month unaccompanied tour in Masirah off the coast of Oman and finally retired fron the RAF in September 1976 at the age of 53 and a half, bored out of my skull. . Unfortunately, the best family pictures are on slides but when I get around to it I'll shall have some converted, meanwhile the above piccies are of our Wedding in Gib. Only known her a couple of weeks but it seemed to work out OK. Steph and Mike with Ah Fong the ahma in Hong Kong and a beach one in Cyprus. Get some more sorted sometime , meanwhile.........................!. Back to top. Change is as good as..