Recollections of My Military Service - Part 1

When called-up into the Royal Air Force (RAF) as Aircrew Cadets, Fred and Edgar Watkins (cousins from Birmingham) and myself reported (separately) to London, prior to our posting for basic training. Afterwards we were together, for about ten months, at Yatesbury. It is understandable therefore why they both believed that we were all together for basic training at Bridgenorth. Having no memories of being there, but well remembering Bridlington, has prompted me to seek information elsewhere, of this and more.

The RAF Personnel Management Agency, RAF Innsworth, Gloucester, supplied a copy of what remains of my Service Records. The Air Historical Branch (RAF), Great Scotland Yard, London, helped with clarification of abbreviations used for RAF Units and the location of such Units. RAF Museum, Hendon, London, sent what could be found on aircrew pay but were unable to find information regarding the amount deducted form pay to cover insurance for my parents’ benefit should something have happened to me. Fred, having kept a service diary, was happy to supply some dates of events.

All the above help has enabled me to describe more fully my days in the RAF but if any inaccuracies do exist please remember that at the time of writing I am looking back 60 years.

For other information I have turned to my ‘Service and Release’ Book and my ‘Log’ Book still held by me.

It is true that some memories are more happily remembered than others. I am struck by the large number of words that I use to describe, say, one evenings event but gloss over weeks of hard graft with just three words ‘Drill and Discipline’.

I can only trust that the following throws some light on my RAF life.

Though common-place today, flying prior to the Second World War was the luxury of a select few. With the added glamour brought (and ‘bought’, ie killed in action) by the Battle of Britain pilots, it is perhaps understandable as to why I joined the Air Training Corps (ATC) some months before enlistment was due, to learn Morse Code. I wanted to be a signaller in the air. The ATC would help me read four words per minute. This and my enthusiasm stood me well. On attending Viceroy Close, Bristol Road, 06.03.43 for a written exam and a medical I was nearly rejected due to a ‘tendency of flat feet’. “But I am not going to send Morse with my feet!” I said. My remark had the Doctor chuckling — I didn’t then know that someone sending poor Morse was said to be ‘using his feet’. On 26.03.43 I was placed on the Volunteer Reserve by the Aircrew Selection Board (ACSB) No. 27. I was not alone in volunteering: the Government dangled a carrot. Volunteers nominated which service they preferred; conscripts had little say.

RAF Form 2520A, Service and Release Book, informs that I served in the RAFVR on whole-time service from 02.08.43. Upon call-up we reported to Viceroy (coincidence) Court, St John’s Wood, London, No. 1 Air-crew Recruitment Centre. There we were ‘inaugurated’ and kitted-out — some hilariously badly. A white ‘flash’ worn in our caps signified that we were cadet crew. I have heard that ground-crew, attempting to steer the girls away from air-cadets, told the girls that the ‘flash’ signified ‘VD’. I received my first pay at Lords Cricket Ground. Fred records receipt of 26 shillings net, (equivalent to £1.30 today) at the fortnightly pay parade. I remember a ‘voluntary’ deduction — was it for insurance to benefit my Mother should I die in service? RAF Museum, Hendon are unable to throw light on this. We did apparently receive 6d a day extra as War Pay.

I remember hearing the wailing monkeys as we exercised in Regents Park and in our second week ourselves shouting to the new unkitted intake “Get some hours in”. Here the benefit of the gas-mask was proven: with, then without, we ran through a gas-filled room.

21.08.43 posted to No. 20 Initial Training Wing (ITW) Bridlington, for training, drill (square bashing) and discipline. According to our ‘speed’ we were divided into classes for Morse training, aiming to attain 20-22 wpm so that before joining an operational crew we could easily and fluently operate at 18 wpm when receiving or transmitting.

We learnt ‘ditching’ procedure. As I then couldn’t swim, the prospect of jumping 15ft from a pier into the sea was daunting. Once in the water wearing a ‘Mae-West’ I didn’t want to come out but my wet, cold support was wanted for the next in line.

The written and oral examinations covered signals, armaments, RAF law, hygiene and discipline. We were tested on our Morse, and our drill. We had our first FFI (free from infection) parade. Everyone passed that — soon after arrival we had been shown a horrific film on the consequences of VD. A happy two months. A complete change of lifestyle. New faces, strange dialects, fitter than ever, gaining knowledge and competence — all at the sea-side.

After the ‘Passing Out’ it was then that I met Fred and Edgar Watkins at the next stage of training.

After leave, this was No. 2 Radio School Air Operation Section, Yatesbury, Wiltshire. Reporting 28.10.43, our training continued. Not until 05.03.44 did I first fly. My training flight was with three or four others and our instructor, in a Dominie (Rapide) aircraft. Luckily, proving not prone to air-sickness, on future flights I could accept training anytime. Those receiving training first were usually sick towards the end of a flight, those sick first received instruction last — all of us with the TR1154/55. Only an unlucky one or two not helped by anti-sickness tablets had to give up flying. In our newly acquired Flying Log Book, the Instructor recorded date, hour, aircraft type (we also flew in Proctors) and number, pilot’s name, duty and duration of flight. My 30 plus hours of training was roughly divided between our two aircraft, the Dominie (bi-plane) and the Proctor (monoplane). The shortest trip lasted 35 minutes, the longest 2 hr 55 min. My Log Book records my last flight as 13.08.44. Only now would we retain and enter up our own log books.

In the classroom we were taught the workings of our radio equipment. If it malfunctioned while airborne, speedy diagnosis of the fault and correction if possible was essential, for otherwise the pilot had no choice but to return to base. We practised landing by parachute: swinging high up in a hangar and dropping from harness. We continued to familiarise ourselves with the cleaning and handling of 303 Rifles and Sten guns; to practice using a bayonet and throwing hand-grenades — tuition in field training from RAF Regiment Instructors. Great guys! I enjoyed the range and clay-pigeon shooting.

We did guard duties and fatigues. Only once was I on duty guarding the officers mess, all other times at the water tower. The 24 hours were far from strenuous — from our hill we could easily pick out any approaching officer — and the food from the cookhouse was most generous. Again I was lucky with fatigues: cleaning the bread shelves in the cookhouse; liberal helpings of butter on bread when work done.

Not so enjoyable were the inspections of kit and hut quarters. Everything, even the coal scuttle, had to be spick and span. One evening while busily cleaning the room and polishing our kit, the radio tannoy burst forth with the song “This is a lovely way to spend an evening”. Indeed! On one occasion having lost my gloves I ‘got away’ on parade by wearing a pair of socks. Not so lucky when among the first back from a PE run we found a set of ‘biscuits’ (three formed a mattress) on fire. Taking them outside they flared up, but we dealt with them. We reported the incident, but instead of the expected praise, found ourselves on a charge. Subsequently found guilty of damaging airforce property (I didn’t even smoke then) money was stopped from our pay.

In the middle of training a few did give their lives. Given a ‘night vision’ test the few that scored 30 or more out of a possible 32 were selected for special operations. To the best of my knowledge they were not seen again. I scored 29.

Life had better moments. Fred and I hitch-hiked twice (he recorded the dates, 14 and 28.05.44) to visit relatives on my Father’s side, living in Swindon — an Uncle Fred, and his family who played in the Salvation Army Band. On our second visit (was it a Birthday treat?) we were taken by my Uncle to hear Lew Stone and his band playing at the Savoy.

We occasionally enjoyed afternoon tea-dances held in Malmesbury, and more often, Saturday dances in nearby Calne, home then of Harris sausages and pork pies. Having, through the Yatesbury Association, now met others who served, it is interesting to hear how well remembered is the high pavement (still there) at the beginning of the walk back to camp after an evening out in Calne.

On one occasion travelling back from leave, about six of us were directed to the wrong train, finishing up in Pontypool. With time on our hands, no immediate train back, we went to the local dance and ‘tripped the light fantastic’ in boots. Back at camp we were charged for being late but let off by the officer who on hearing each of us testify judged “safety in numbers”.

Within less than ten months of joining we qualified. I qualified, on 21.04.44, as a Wireless Operator/Air. Usually referred to as WOP/Air or simply WOP, my tunic brevet showed an ‘S’ for Signaller. Promoted to Sergeant I received my three stripes and, according to Hendon, my pay increased to 8s 3d (41p) per day gross.

Proudly home with the rank of Sergeant. No wonder regulars weren’t happy, having laboured for years to gain promotion. Aircrew were treated well. It was recognised that life for most was rather short. Promotion had purpose: if shot down and captured maybe the rank would be respected and treatment less severe. In addition to blankets, we had sheets on our beds, and the use of the Sergeant’s Mess (ie Sergeants, Flight Sergeants and Warrant Officers).

Visited by the then Queen Mother we were all instructed to form an avenue down the main drive, to cheer and wave caps as she departed. As she passed by each man hurriedly slipped away. It was tea-time. As the Queen Mother passed through the gates the two lines were down to a handful of men. (Yet later in Northern Ireland I felt affronted when at the end of a concert some civilians remained seated through the National Anthem).

Two of us walked to Lyneham (surely with a lift or two) where with four ATC lads we were given a trip in a Flying Fortress. We soon learnt about G-force — unpleasant experience — when the pilot dived over houses. Then, with an engine not working, he landed on the wrong runway. As we left he was being asked to report to… - we were out of earshot!

This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Anastasia Travers a volunteer with WM CSV Actiondesk on behalf of J. F. Humphreys and has been added to the site with his permission. J.F. Humphreys fully understands the sites terms and conditions.

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