大象传媒

Feeling Unwanted

Since being old enough to understand machines, I have been fascinated with aeroplanes and it was with great interest that I watched a mock air battle from my bedroom window one summer evening in 1939. The events preceding the outbreak of war left no doubt in my mind that war would be inevitable. The mock air battle was between two flights of biplanes, if my memory serves me correctly, the planes were Hawker Furys and Gloster Gauntlets.

When war was declared I had just turned 16 and was the first to join the AFS as a messenger, later I also joined the Air Cadets which subsequently became the ATC. It was through the Air Cadets that I was hired as an apprentice at Brooklands Aviation. Brooklands had a contract with the RAF Coastal Command Flying Training School at Blackpool airport, which had been taken over by the RAF, to service and maintain some 60 Blackburn Botha twin engine aircraft and about 6 AVRO Ansons. Obviously this was a wonderful opportunity for an aircraft enthusiast like myself. Apart from a few raids by enemy aircraft at night on the airfield, Blackpool was a relatively safe area, mostly the enemy aircraft flying overhead were heading for
places north of us like Barrow in Furness.

In 1941 we all received a form to fill out, to exempt us from military service, this came as somewhat of a shock to me as I really wanted to go into the armed forces, like many others. My preference was the Fleet Air Arm, although I realised the possibility of getting in that branch of the service was fairly slim. We had been given a couple of days to return the exemption forms in to the office. When I got home, the first thing that I did was tear up the form and throw it into the fireplace making sure the flames consumed the paper. I told no one what I had done, but fully expected that when the two days were up, someone would ask me why my form had not been returned. To my great surprise and relief, this never occurred. So I continued working always mindful that one day someone would discover my form was missing, however at the time things were very disorganized.

Shortly after my 18th birthday I received an envelope in the mail with the heading O.H.M.S.
( On His Majesty's Service ). Upon opening the mail I discovered it contained orders to proceed on the following week to a depot in Preston for a medical and interview for the Army.
The next day, I informed my foreman and he in turn notified the general manager, who subsequently sent for me, after entering his office, he said that he could not understand how I had been called up for active service in the armed forces. But it was too late now for him to stop me being conscripted ( much to my relief !).

I went to Preston for the medical etc. and returned to work the following day, with the knowledge that it would only be a short time, six to eight weeks before I received my call-up papers. The next few weeks passed by, well beyond the time that I was supposed to be called for service. Then one day when I arrived home from work there was an envelope awaiting me again with the O.H.M.S. heading, I assumed this was my call-up papers, however on opening the envelope there was a document informing me that I had to report to a Royal Navy depot in Liverpool. Again I proceeded as directed, was given an interview, eye colour test, medical and informed that I would receive notification to report to a Royal Navy establishment for induction in the navy, again within the six to eight weeks. I must say when I informed my foreman at work there were some sceptical comments all around.

Several weeks passed by again without any indication that I would be called up, then my mother informed me one day that there was an envelope on the table for me , it had the now familiar O.H.M.S. on the heading. So this had to be my call-up papers for the Royal Navy.
Imagine my complete surprise when I discovered it was a document directing me to report to Preston again, only this time for the Royal Air Force. It became fairly obvious to me that the journeyman with whom I worked for and the foreman would most likely come to the conclusion that I was " pulling a fast one ", to get time off, consequently I took the document with me to work in order to make sure they believed me, after all it must have seemed rather odd to say the least, being called for all three armed forces and already two had not bothered to accept me.

Once again I travelled to Preston as instructed, on entering the depot I was directed to a Flight Sergeant who started to interview me, I informed him that I had already had two medical exams and surely did not require another one. He said " I am aware of that and no, you will not need another medical ". The interview was concluded, the Flight Sergeant then informed me that I would be called up for service in the Royal Air Force very shortly, probably within the next month, to which I replied " Iv'e heard that story before ". He said " you are definately going into the R.A.F. " then produced a black book with a list of names including my own, he then pointed out my name and showed me my service number beside the name. Based on this information when I returned to work the next day, I informed my foreman and everyone else that I was definately going into the R.A.F.

A few more weeks passed by, I am not really sure how many. Then arriving home from work one night, my mother told me there was a letter for me. The letter bore the now familiar heading
O.H.M.S. When I opened it, very much to my surprise it contained my call up papers to report
to H.M.S. Gosling, in Warrington for basic training in the Fleet Air Arm !!. I was never able to find out the reason for going through all the services and finally ending up in the one that I never thought would ever occur and often wondered if the same thing had happened to others.

On July 6 1943 I arrived at Warrington Railway Station, was met by a P.O. who had a truck for transportation and with a few other new recruits we were driven to the Fleet Air Arm training camp H.M.S. Gosling, the start of my 3 years as an air mechanic. That however is another story.

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