大象传媒

Shortly after this last flight I was posted to Watchfield, just north of Swindon which was very near to Shrivenham, giving more convenient opportunities to visit the 鈥淣annies鈥� training college. The Principal looking after the girls was a good chaperone and any visitors were well vetted before they could be received on to the premises. At their Christmas party, held prior to leaving for the Christmas holiday, in December 1945, I was invited, together with the local vicar, by the Principal to join them and to give a toast. My toast was that we should all be out of the services and normal life would be resumed before Christmas 1946. The girls said it was a better speech than that of the Vicars!
The pupils now at Watchfield were all commissioned ground staff officers who had hopes of transferring to aircrew status and ranged in rank from one Group Captain to several Pilot Officers. My subjects were Navigation, Radar, Meteorology, and Aerodynamics. The pace of life was now much slower since the surrender of the Japanese and, in retrospect, I am sure that most of these fellows knew that their flying prospects were almost non existent.
As at Clyffe Pypard, Watchfield was effectively a civilian flying school. We did not even have WAAFs in the mess. Consequently when there was a mess function it was necessary to import some female partners from a nearby Air Force or Naval base. A bevy of Marine Wrens joined us at one such function. They must have been very 鈥渢op drawer鈥� girls from aristocratic families; unless you were at least a Flight Lieutenant you could not get near them. So what, I had a much better girl at Shrivenham.
Demobilisation was now in vogue and many of us started to gear up for civilian life. As at Clyffe Pypard, I was Station Education Officer and was responsible for arranging correspondence courses for anyone on the station wishing to participate. It was all laid on at no cost to the individual. I opted for a course for the Rating and Valuation Association examinations leading eventually to the examinations of the Royal Institution of Chartered Surveyors. Also in the spring of 1946 Eileen completed her course and returned to Brighton whereafter we lost touch.
Every fourth Sunday evening in the mess there was a party. As I was still teetotal I preferred to go on leave for that weekend and then, on return on the following Monday I always had the job, as mess treasurer, of sorting out the stocks and balancing the sales and income taken. Those behind the bar were held responsible for the correct amount and usually there were discrepancies to resolve!
The weekend before I was due to be demobbed was such a weekend so, rather than having the problem of sorting out the accounts the day before leaving, I decided not to go on leave but to serve behind the bar myself together with two other fellows who were also teetotal.
I filled three empty gin bottles with water and we decided that when someone asked us to have a drink, we would have a gin and orange, but use the water in the gin bottles for our drink. This was fine until, after midnight, when, the Officer鈥檚 Mess having closed, there was an invasion of officers and their Wren partners. To speed up the bar service two other fellows came behind the bar quite unaware of these three watered gin bottles. Many of the officers were astonished at the Wren鈥檚 ability to hold their liquor without becoming in any way submissive; their gin and orange was in fact water and orange!, the new bar assistants unwittingly serving our water as gin. The next morning we had a very substantial profit!
The first Wednesday in June all goods and chattels were collected together and several of us made our way to Cardington to collect our new 鈥渄emob鈥� suits and many other items of clothing for our return to 鈥渃ivvy street鈥�. It was back to the Sheffield City Valuation Office and, with many regrets, goodbye to the Air Force days, and time to start a new life in the professional world of surveying.
In retrospect I do not remember having the feeling that survival through the war was ever in doubt, with the one exception of the occasion of the St Elmos Fire on the propellor when over the Atlantic. (That was somewhat hairy!)

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