Chapter 3.
The Royal Air Force, U.K.
In the autumn of 1940 my 鈥渃all-up鈥 papers arrived. I had to report at R.A.F Uxbridge.
Uxbridge was the R.A.F. Reception Centre for all recruits - from the meanest and crudest to the 鈥渙fficer material鈥.
At Uxbridge it was made perfectly clear to us that we were all regarded by the regular staff as the lowest of the low.
We suffered the usual familiar leering attentions of the drill sergeants and corporals, and heard language hitherto unknown to my tender ears. We had the usual demeaning 鈥渕edical examinations鈥 and were kitted out in rough battle-dress and service gas masks, before being 鈥渟treamed鈥 according to our recorded abilities.
I remember the typical instruction from the quartermaster sergeant in the stores. 鈥淭hem as 鈥榓s boots wot don鈥檛 fitem and don鈥檛 wantem is to give 鈥榚m to them as 鈥榓sn鈥檛 wot duz鈥.
By the grace of God I remained at Uxbridge for only two days. I was graded as Aircraftsman Second Class (Flying Cadet), and was sent off home on leave until space would become available in the enormous aircrew training programme which, at that time, was stretched to its limits to absorb new pilot entrants.
Meanwhile I re-joined my friends at the A,R.P. Centre.
The night bombing of London was in full swing when I received a letter, complete with railway warrant and instructions to report to an I.T.W. (Initial Training Wing) at Newquay in Cornwall.
There was a tearful farewell from my mother when, using our precious petrol ration, my parents deposited me with my kit-bag at Edenbridge station to catch the evening train to Victoria, and transit to Paddington for the night Cornish Riviera Express to St.Austell.
The journey was, however, not so straightforward. London was being fire-bombed, and no trains were operating further than East Croydon, There we found ourselves dumped on the platform.
By great good fortune I found a taxi. The driver agreed to have a try to get to Paddington.
By this time there were some twenty to thirty folks from the train, and together we collected a party all wanting to get to Paddington. I think there were at least some nine or ten of us in or on that taxi as we made our way towards London.
That night was unforgettable. As we approached central London, the sounds of anti-aircraft fire interspersed with the 鈥渃rump鈥 of bombs and the ringing of fire-engine bells and ambulances increased in intensity. There seemed to be fires everywhere and little need for the shrouded head-lights of the taxi. We ran over a piece of shrapnel in a square and had to wait while our cabbie changed the punctured back wheel.
As he did so a cluster of incendiary bombs landed in the square. One of our number - an army officer - rounded us up to try and extinguish the bombs with sand-bags from a wrecked building.
We worked our way from the periphery of the square back to the taxi; and were about to extinguish the nearest bomb when the cabbie - a true Cockney - pleaded 鈥溾橝rf a mo鈥, guv鈥!鈥 鈥淚 ain鈥檛 finished yet!鈥 鈥極w鈥檇 yer fink I鈥檓 goin鈥 ter be able ter see ter change this bloody wheel?鈥
Full marks for spirit!
Eventually we arrived at Paddington and clambered into the train, squashed in like sardines. After what seemed like an age (we were all keen to get away from London) we all felt relief as the train slowly crawled out of the station.
The sounds of bombs and the gunfire gradually receded and, as dawn broke we found ourselves in the peace of the English countryside.
There was nothing 鈥渆xpress鈥 about the Cornish Riviera train. It took us all that day to get to St.Austell. There we were loaded into Army trucks for the remainder of the journey to Newquay, and I was thankful to arrive at last in my billet, a single room in the Penolver Hotel (commandeered for the 鈥渄uration鈥) on the sea-front.
I shared that room with three room-mates. There was Jimmy Riley, a Canadian volunteer; Mike Besancenet the radio announcer and Bill Bedford. Mike and Jimmy did not survive the war; but Bill subsequently became a well-known test-pilot and did much of the work on the development of the Hawker Harrier 鈥渏ump-jet鈥 before he retired.
My memories of Newquay were mostly of boredom. Of the permanent staff most of the officers were, it seemed, buddies of the Commanding Officer, erstwhile a leading figure in the greyhound racing world.
We were separated into platoons, each of about thirty men, supervised by a corporal.
In charge of our platoon was, Corporal Hyde, a punch-drunk ex-boxer. He was a bull of a man with a vacant stare and a mouth which was never closed. He typified the recruits鈥 corporal - never happier than when he was 鈥渋n charge鈥, and he did his best to make this obvious.
But if we suffered under Corporal Hyde, he suffered because of us! He was hardly an intellectual match for his platoon! As flying cadets we were made up of many highly intelligent folk who had given up well-skilled professional careers in 鈥渃ivvy鈥 life to become aircrew. In my platoon I remember a film director, a 大象传媒 news-reader, well-known athletes of their day, actors, international cricketers and company directors.
There may have been over a thousand of us in the I.T.W. As A.C 2 (Flying Cadets) our pay was four shillings and two pence a day.
The whole station used to have to line up for pay parade once a week, every Friday. It was held on the parade ground - erstwhile a large car park.
We all had to form up into alphabetical order to pass in single file past the cashiers, seated behind collapsible tables set up on the parade ground.
Corporal Hyde鈥檚 job was to get us organized. To accomplish this he used to stand on a fire hydrant hose-box on the drill square.
鈥淎ll the A鈥檚,鈥 roared Corporal Hyde, glaring down at us as we formed ourselves up.
鈥淎ll the B鈥檚鈥 - mouth agape as usual.
鈥淭he B鈥檚鈥 shuffled into position.
鈥淎ll the C鈥檚!鈥
鈥淎ll the鈥 ..............the mouth remained open but nothing further was uttered. Suddenly it became obvious that Corporal Hyde had forgotten his alphabet!
鈥淧鈥檚 Corporal!鈥 prompted a wag.
鈥淎ll the P鈥檚鈥, came the order. We duly obeyed. And so it went on.
It doesn鈥檛 take much imagination to visualise the chaos which ensued at the pay-table. Poor Corporal Hyde got 鈥渟tick鈥 from the Warrant Officer in charge of the pay parade.
On another occasion we suffered more than we deserved. There was a sick-parade to receive our 鈥渏abs鈥.
We were like human pin-cushions with 鈥渏abs! There was tetanus, typhoid, para-typhoid, yellow fever, plague and smallpox vaccination.
Another commandeered hotel had been converted into a 鈥淪ick-Quarters鈥. We were formed up into single file outside the front door, then passed through the foyer, and out via a back door. As we passed through the foyer we encountered an orderly on each side - each armed with a syringe - (generally, it seemed to me, a very blunt syringe). There being six jabs in all, this, of course, meant that we had to file round again and repeat the excise twice more.
In his wisdom Corporal Hyde - instead of separating the front of the line from the rear - had managed to get us into a continuous circle.
This jabbing business seemed to be going on all the morning - until somebody asked how many jabs each was supposed to receive, and it transpired that we was on our fifth time round.
The exercise came to an abrupt halt.
At length a doctor appeared, gave an order, and we were marched at the double to the parade ground, where a P.T. Sergeant exercised us until - one by one - we dropped.
I remember being carried back to my billet alternately sweating and shivering, covered in great-coats and blankets, where I eventually passed out.
I woke - I thought - at nine o鈥檆lock next morning. I tried to get up, concerned that I was to be late on parade with the inevitable disciplinary consequences.
I need not have worried, however. It turned out to be the third morning. I had been 鈥渙ut鈥 for two days!
It was Corporal Hyde who found himself on 鈥渏ankers鈥! For his ineptitude he was 鈥渃onfined to barracks鈥 that night. He determined to make us pay for his discomfiture. That evening he positioned himself at the hotel entrance of our hotel to catch as many as possible returning late from the town.
We, however, were well organised. We were met down the street by our designated look-out for the evening. He directed us to an open back window which he had arranged for our 鈥渆mergency entrance鈥. It so happened that it was into Corporal Hyde鈥檚 room. After a fruitless ambush he returned to his room to find his bed covered in muddy boot-marks from the stream of curfew-breakers who were, by that time, safely tucked up in their own beds.
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