In my case, it was practically back home, to RAF West Kirby, in the Wirral, on the opposite side of the Mersey to Liverpool. Almost immediately on arrival all hair was closely cropped, much to the dismay of some, fore this was the era of the Teddy Boy, with his long slicked back hair-do. 

It was 8 weeks, or was it more, of non-stop chivvying, from getting up to going to bed. We had a green plastic disc behind our brass cap badges, so that no-one would mistake us for real airmen. Home was a wooden hut sleeping perhaps 2 dozen recruits, under the command of a corporal, who had his own little room in one corner. The brown linoleum floor was highly polished at all times, and it was a crime to step on it. We slid around on squares of felt. The whole hut, although basically worn and scruffy, was spotlessly clean, even in the most unlikely places. Not a single spot of dust was allowed. Beds were stripped every morning and the sheets and blankets were folded into a neat pile in a strictly regulation form. They were remade every evening, also in the regulation way.

The day started very early, with much shouting and banging of a stick in the iron bedsteads. No-one was allowed to linger, and anyway it was best to be first into the ablutions. Beds were made up, then we were marched to the cookhouse. We didn't walk anywhere. No opportunity could be missed to practice our marching skills, not that we actually had any at first. Much of the day would be spent on the parade ground, interspersed with physical training, stripping, re-assembling and firing rifles and Bren guns, and lectures on all manner of subjects from Air Force Law to Venereal Disease. We were exposed to tear gas, for the experience, and driven into Wales and left to walk 30 miles to a given map reference. I took my ciné camera with me on that excursion and was given permission to bring my projector from home in order to show the resulting film in the barrack room.

The food left a lot to be desired, as did the table manners of some of the recruits. I particularly remember being disgusted with the amount of food on the table tops. Much of our pay was spent in the NAAFI canteen on much more palatable food such as egg and chips. Periodically we were all given 'fatigues', which usually meant being used as  labourers in the cookhouse, were we scrubbed greasy cooking utensils. Thankfully potatoes were no longer peeled by hand, but in abrasive-lined drums.

Gradually we were transformed from civilian youths into relatively smart disciplined servicemen, able to put on a creditable performance on the parade ground at our passing out parade. Once this was over, the drill instructors, with their much-feared abrasive language, suddenly and surprisingly became human and friendly. We now realised that it had all been an act, necessary for the formidable changes they had to make to us raw recruits  in a very short space of time.

www.westwight.clara.co.uk/Callup.htm
Don Adams' much more detailed account of Cardington and West Kirby.