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Returning to the railway station we waited for the London-Paddington train to arrive, unfortunately for me we were not going the full journey, which might have given me an opportunity to call at my home. Kingham was but a few stops up the line and was the junction for the Cheltenham branch line. As we alighted from the train and dragged our kitbags on to the platform we asked a porter how we could get to Little Rissington? Being a very helpful person, he told us to leave our kit on the platform and cross over the bridge to a Salvation Army Canteen to take refreshment whilst he would contact the RAF Station to send transport for us. After some thirty minutes or so and several mugs of tea, a huge Crossley six wheeled truck arrived into which we loaded our kit and ourselves and away we were transported through the Oxfordshire countryside and over the border into Gloucestershire where we found ourselves on what seemed to be, the top of the world! In fact we were on the top of the Cotswolds and from the airfield we could see for miles in all directions. On a summer's evening, to watch the sun setting in the west was a sight to behold. During the winter however, quite a considerable change to this scene was to unfold, a wilderness of ice and snow resembling the Polar Regions.
As it was late afternoon, we were hurried through the preliminaries of booking in and were given instructions where to bed down for the night etc. We found ourselves in a top room of a barrack block whose inmates soon put us in the picture of where to get food and other necessities and so eventually we turned in. Hardly had we dropped off to sleep when we were awakened by the sound of the air raid siren. Nobody seemed to take much notice and we were told, "Not to worry, nothing ever happens here", so we returned to our beds and a few minutes later we heard the sound of an aircraft droning overhead followed by the whistle of a bomb falling, culminating in a shattering explosion. It turned out to be the first bomb to be heard at this station but fortunately it had fallen outside the camp in fields on the outskirts of a nearby village. Such was the welcome to what was to become my home for the next eighteen months. Little Rissington was the home of No 6. S.F.T.S. (Service Flying Training School.)
The following morning we had to report to Station Sick Quarters for the conventional 'FFI', (an inspection of one's body on arrival and departure to and from all RAF establishments.) Then to the orderly room where our details were recorded and we were put on the station strength. Once this had been accomplished we had to parade outside on a terrace to await the station discip. Flt/Sgt. to give us details of what and where we would spend our days. But first, he stood before us holding a clipboard close to his chest and proceeded to instruct us with very precise details and in a very loud voice. That after we had been dismissed we were to 'about turn' and we would see before us the large concrete square. We would then march smartly across this until we were confronted with a two-story building. This housed the NAAFI and we would enter this establishment and proceed up the staircase until we came to a doorway halfway up, on the left. This door conceals the barbers shop. Open this door...and (he shouted at the top of his voice:) "GET YOUR HAIR CUT! Then report back to me". This was apparently the customary welcome to all newcomers by this N.C.O. Later we were to discover that although he resembled a bulldog with similar bark, he had in fact, a very soft heart and one of his favourite questions to an airman was to enquire whether the man had written to his mother recently! If the reply were in the negative and the reason being the lack of a postage stamp, he would produce a stamp and instruct the airman to go straight to his billet and write to her. He insisted that communication with one's mother was top priority. Many a wily airman managed to obtain a weekend pass on the pretext of going home to visit his mother!
Returning to the orderly room after the barber had extracted four pence from each of us, we were questioned on how we had earned a living in Civvy Street. From our replies we were allocated to various sections with instructions to report to the NCO i/c. I was to report to the Sergeants Mess as I had let it be known that I had completed a three-year course on Hotel and Restaurant Management. This proved to be useful in many ways as for one thing I was able to feed in the Sgts Mess when on duty. Someone had once advised me that it was as well to keep in with the service police, the cooks, the stores and the orderly room personnel! This apparently proved to be true as it so happened that there was at least one bod from each of these sections sleeping in our billet and, of course, the senior NCOs of these sections were to be contacted in the Mess. I was to stay in this job for eighteen months whilst at 'Rissi' as it was affectionately known.
I had only been on the station a couple of days when a fresh posting came into our barrack block and was given the bed next to mine. He seemed quite an amicable type and we took a liking to each other from the outset. It transpired that he had joined up on the same day as I, but not in Croydon but St. Johns, Newfoundland. We were to become great friends and as he had nowhere to go for leaves etc., he would join me and make my home his. My family took an immediate liking to him and he became one of the family. My mother would refer to us as her twins. It was one of these friendships where we seemed to share everything, we would meet up in the billet after work and enquire of each other how much money was left in the kitty (between us), and decide if there were sufficient funds to enable the two of us to walk down to the nearby village of Bourton on the Water and partake of a couple of halves of rough cider, we could ill afford beer on 'two bob a day'. If funds were too low, then we would fall back on the little money earners that we both had. His was to service the officers cars, his trade being 'M.T. Mechanic'. Whilst I would canvas my trouser pressing service at 4p a time! An old aunt had presented me with an electric trouser presser to go to war with! It was a portable device comprising two blades that fitted into a wooden handle with a heating element contained in the hinge. One plugged the instrument into a nearby light socket, placed the crease of the trousers between the blades, drew the presser slowly along the crease and hey presto, a smart knife-edge crease down the trouser leg.
Every Thursday evening was allocated to be a 'domestic night', commonly called "Bull-night". This was the time when we had to polish the floor space around one's bed and generally tidy the barrack room, one could not go out of camp until this chore had been carried out, which was no problem for once a fortnight it would be the eve before pay day! Every Thursday I would return from tea to find a pile of trousers on my bed, notes attached to identify the owner and demanding a pressing, as he would be going on leave or pass after duty on the Friday. This was my supplementary income. Tony, my Newfoundland pal would disappear to the Officers Mess to attend to his 'little earner'. Between us we would be able to finance our trips to the local or to London on weekend passes. So we were usually solvent from Friday through to Tuesday! Once a fortnight, on a Friday, we would attend Pay Parade. The whole camp would form up on the parade ground facing the NAAFI, in alphabetical order. Then to be marched into the establishment where a long table covered in blankets would confront us, behind which would be seated an Accountant Officer, Orderly Officer and various NCOs and accounts clerks. On the table would be the ledgers and little stacks of coins awaiting distribution. The Duty Officer would call out a man's surname, to which the man in question would acknowledge by springing to attention and shouting "Sir," and add his 'last three', being the last three digits of his service number. He would then march to the table, come to the halt and salute. The Accounts Officer would then call out in a loud voice "Fourteen Shillings" or whatever was due to the man. Sometimes a larger sum of "One pound fifteen shillings" or some other 'large' sum would be heard which would bring forth murmurs of "Cor" or similar cry, to which the voice of the Orderly Officer would yell: "Silence in the ranks". After receiving his 'wages' the airman would salute and smartly about turn and march off.
At this time, August 1940, an invasion was expected at any moment and in consequence plans had been drawn up for the defence of the station and airfield. The personnel were divided into two groups, one being confined to camp for one week on 'Anti-sabotage guard' whilst the other would have their freedom. This meant that the 'on duty' group had to draw rifles and bayonets from the armoury to be retained by each individual for 24 hrs. a day! Each morning from an hour before sunrise until an hour after, every airman had to position himself 50. yards apart surrounding the perimeter of the camp, watching out for enemy parachute troops descending to capture the establishment. There were one or two things amiss about this plan, one being that the number of rifles available were no more than 500, most of which were 'D.P.' (drill purposes) and had no firing pin! Also there was a complete shortage of ammunition. Five rounds for each serviceable rifle were all that could be spared. So the defence of this large RAF establishment at that time was 500 rifles and bayonets, a few rounds of '303' ammo. one hundred 'Pikes'! And two Vickers machine guns mounted on the roof of one of the hangers. At first the whole thing was not taken too seriously and to while away these early morning hours, the 'sentries' would pass the time watching day break until one bright individual started up a chorus of "Bless 'em all", which was quickly taken up by all. Later that morning, a message was relayed over the 'Tannoy' system to the effect that 'Airmen on duty during night hours were to remain silent and not to disturb the rest of the camp, especially the Officers Mess Married Quarters.'
This system of confinement to camp every alternate week did have the advantage that it allowed half the camp to have a 48 hr. pass every other weekend, which meant that those whose homes were within a reasonable distance could go home for the weekend. As most of the camp came from London, Bristol, S.Wales and the Midlands, it was very popular (and very good for the trouser pressing business!) Every Friday afternoon, a group of airmen would be seen making for the main A40 London South Wales trunk road which passed within a few miles of the camp, where they would take up positions to 'thumb a lift' from passing vehicles. Petrol at that time was severely rationed and so very few cars would be seen but most heavy lorry drivers would stop and offer a lift. On my first attempt to 'hitch hike' I waited for what seemed hours and not a car or lorry appeared going my way. I was beginning to lose hope of ever getting home to show off my uniform, when at last a lorry slowly approached and came to a stop. After I had explained my destination to the driver he said that he would give me a lift but with his load, he could make no more than 15 miles per hour! He did offer to transfer me to something faster when he pulled into a wayside cafe for refreshment. I was so delighted with the lift that I assured him that I would stay with him all the way. I believe it took something like 8 hours before I eventually arrived home, which did not bother me as I was HOME for 24 hrs!
Once I became accustomed to the procedures for getting home on pass, Tony and I would regularly do the journey. We soon became proficient in the art of 'thumbing a lift’; the problem was the return journey, or rather the cost of the rail fare. A scheme was quickly worked out to cover this 'lack of funds'! There was little change out of our fourteen bob a fortnight to meet with the cost of railway tickets. (Most of us had made an allotment to parents of one shilling a day, as we had been advised that by doing so, should the worst happen then the 'dependant' would receive a small pension.) So the scheme was that a taxi be booked to meet the last train from London on Sunday nights at Oxford. As the train always departed from platform 1 at Paddington, which was an open platform with no provision for ticket inspection and the discovery that a 1d platform ticket could suffice, although the face side was coloured green with a white stripe down the centre, the reverse appeared the same as an ordinary ticket. In consequence, this information being generally known amongst servicemen, there was always a great demand for platform tickets on Sunday evenings at Paddington. The train was always so packed that it would have been almost impossible for a ticket collector to pass through the train and as it terminated at Oxford there was little point in having a collector. When the train ultimately arrived in Oxford, the small exit gate would be manned by a single collector who stood well back to avoid the crush and would hold his hat high over his head to receive the collection of platform tickets. This system went on for many months without complaint from the Railway Company who must have been well aware of what was going on. Could this have been a case of turning a blind eye to the plight of the underpaid serviceman? It is nice to think that this was so.
To be suddenly thrown into a situation where one would meet up with men and boys from almost every walk of life and to live together for goodness knows how long, is quite an experience and also, quite an education. I was to meet with fellows of my own age and older, whose backgrounds were so different. There was someone from nearly every walk of life, from miners, schoolteachers, clerks and even undertaker’s assistants. So much were we to learn about each other in the periods when we were thrown together, especially after 'Lights out' when the barrack room lights would be extinguished with just the glow from one low wattage blue lamp that had to remain alight for safety reasons. Once the Orderly Officer had made his rounds, ostensibly to check that every man was present and in bed, then there would be a murmur from one end of the billet, which would gradually develop into a conversation. If the subject was to the interest of the Corporal in charge then it would gradually become a general discussion until such time that the Corporal lost interest or that it was likely to develop into an argument. At which point he would call for silence, which, often or not would bring the meeting to a close apart from the odd chuckle or groan from the bed of someone who saw something, amusing from what had been discussed. If the noise did not abate as intended, then one would hear the sound of a plimsoll flying through the air in the direction of the source of the noise. It has been known for a pillow fight to ensue from the odd discussion! But from these impromptu discussions, a great deal was to be learned on how other folk lived. I knew nothing of the life of a coal miner until stories of pit disasters were told after 'Lights out'.

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