大象传媒

I was now eighteen years of age, and my thoughts turned to the idea of what branch of the services would be my choice, if such a choice existed. That idea led to my going one day in August 1941 to the London Combined Recruiting Centre in Dukes Road, just behind St. Pancras New Church, in which church I had been confirmed some five years previously.

At the recruiting centre I went to the Royal Air Force section, where I was seen by a rather old hand of a sergeant. He enquired "What do you want to do, laddie?" "I thought I may try for wireless operator", I replied. "Well, let's see how you did with your schooling", he rejoined. For the life of me I could not see how that came into the matter, but I gave him a run-down on my "education of a sort", hoping that would clinch the case. At the end of all this he simply said in a tone which brooked no discussion, "The trade for you is as a radio/wireless mechanic".

In that manner I was selected for a job which turned out to be infinitely more interesting than pounding a Morse key although at the time the thought of a mechanic's trade filled me with distaste despite my technical school background. I was then immediately whisked away for a medical examination at which I suffered all the usual medical indignities. Finally I was told to hold myself in readiness for a letter telling me when and where I was to report.

As soon as possible after applying at the recruiting centre to join the RAF, I gave the news to the four people most immediately affected. Their reactions were almost the same in one respect but quite different in others. My mother expressed no surprise, but a sudden movement of her hands to her mouth did betray a degree of anxiety. My father was also not surprised and seemed rather relieved that it was the RAF. Neither was my brother in any way surprised; his immediate reaction was that he too would be joining up. My boss at the office seemed to have been half expecting it, but I had the feeling that he was sorry I would be leaving. Early in September I received from the Officer-in-Charge of the RAF Recruiting Centre a letter which began in the following manner: -

Sir,

With reference to your application for enlistment into the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve, it is requested that you will report at this Centre on Wednesday 10th September at 9 am.

The letter went on to say that I should come prepared for immediate service and listed the various items, which I should need, and ended with the words: -

I am, Sir,

Your obedient Servant,

H A Thomas, F/Lt.

It was the last time for five years that anyone would call me "Sir". At the office, my boss paid up my outstanding weeks pay, wished me luck and, as a parting gift, gave me a pound out of his own pocket. At home, my mother carefully packed a small case with all the items listed in the letter; sufficient clothing for two or three days, etc. plus some chocolate and other items not so itemized. My father bade me to write home regularly, "to your mother", he added. My brother added his good wishes; it was to be the first time we had ever been parted from each other for any length of time. Thus, I left home early on that Wednesday morning in September 1941.

I duly reported at nine o'clock at the recruiting centre. The I joined a crowd of men of all ages from eighteen up to the early thirties, seemingly all volunteers, although those of twenty plus must have had the right to some form of exemption to escape the automatic call-up for military service up to that point in time. A sergeant led us all into the drill hall next door. There an officer administered to us in slow time the oath of allegiance "to our Sovereign King and his heirs and successors", pausing after each phrase for us to repeat in unison the words and, where appropriate, to insert our own names. Then we were herded back to the centre where clerks took down details from each man individually, asking him to "sign here - and here - and here". After the clerk had completed the form-filling, each one of us armed with a railway warrant left the centre separately and walked down Euston Road to St. Pancras Station to catch the next train to Bedford.

At Bedford a bus was waiting for the new recruits and it was then for the first time we really came together in some form of common identity, unified by the prospect of common bondage. The bus took us to RAF Cardington, well known as the former home of the ill-fated airship, the R101. As we alighted from the bus, we were met by an affable sergeant, who shuffled us into three ranks and gave us the order "Right turn - quick march", to which we all ambled off carrying our suitcases as best we could. My case was quite small but some, judging by the size of their luggage, must have reckoned with more than the two or three days mentioned in the "obedient servant" letter. We came to a halt in front of a line of huts just beside the high hangar, which once housed the airships. There we were allocated to a specified hut by a corporal reading from a roll; in fact the roll-call with the recitation of names and official numbers became a feature of the next few days. Thus my official number became fixed in my head long before official identity cards were issued. That number with my name and the legend "C of E" (Church of England) was stamped on the two dog-tags and they remained secured around my neck, with the same two pieces of cord, for the next 1,753 days, that is until the day I returned home for release leave.

By this stage of the war, reception camps like Cardington had become extremely efficient in kitting-out newly enlisted men. The day following our arrival, we were all marched to the stores where a seemingly endless amount of clothing and equipment was issued to the recruits. As each recruit passed each stores counter, the stores clerk would demand the size of shirts, shoes, etc. This was when I encountered my first problem, because I had no idea what sizes I required as hitherto my mother had always dealt with such matters. The only remedy for the problem was to fall out of line and check inside my shoes for the required number and to inveigle one of the recruits waiting in line to read the shirt size off the back of my shirt collar. The issue of the uniform was an easier procedure. We simply walked through the stores hut past a civilian seated behind a trestle table who after looking us up and down once or twice handed out a chitty with three sets of figures listed in columnar form. At each point in the stores where an item was to be issued, we showed the chitty and the RAF stores clerk issued the correct size of tunic, or trousers, or greatcoat. It seemed that the civilian rarely made a mistake in sizing up each recruit although later any unlucky ones had the chance to have things changed.

With all this new kit we returned to the barrack rooms and changed out of our "civvies". The transformation was truly amazing. The kaleidoscope of civilians ranging from city gents to barrow boys was suddenly converted into an even and pristine blue. No longer could the barrow boy be distinguished from the city gent, and in some miraculous way each recruit acquired a military bearing. The only criticism I had with the uniform was with regard to the braces made, as they were, from white non-elasticized webbing which when attached to the sharp disc-like brass trousers buttons led to brass button after brass button flying off whenever they were put under strain. Luckily we had been issued with housewifes (pronounced huzifs) so repairs could be effected. But in the hope that later I might be able once again to wear my own civilian elasticized braces, I kept them back when the time came for all civilian clothes to be packed in our cases. The cases were then duly labeled with our home addresses for returning to mothers, wives or whomsoever.

During the next week we remained at Cardington being kitted out and given some drill training. Then we were formed up into drafts to be dispatched to various towns all over the country for six weeks of basic training. My draft went to Bridlington in Yorkshire, where the RAF had taken over a block of former guesthouses on the sea front. The basic training consisted mainly of drill which we practised from early morning to tea-time on the open space by the promenade under the direction of a drill sergeant and two corporals. We were marched everywhere; to the mess-hall, to the sick quarters for various jabs, to church, to the rifle range, to the public baths once a week, to the local cinema for instructional films on gas warfare, security and the like. We never went anywhere except when marching as a squad, sometimes dressed in our best blues (uniform), sometimes in PT kit, sometimes in fatigue overalls. We were never alone, even the normally most private matters were managed as a squad, privacy was a thing unknown. As a consequence of such a community-based society, we became well acquainted with one another's likes, dislikes and foibles. All day one could hear commands such as "Squad will move to the right, right turn; by the right quick march;" "Squad will advance, right turn;" "Squad will retire, about turn." After so much practice we could execute these commands like automatons. But the manoeuvre which always left us defeated was that required by the command, "Squad will form to the right, right form." For this, the squad had to wheel ninety degrees, with ranks pivoting on the right-hand man in the front. It was always a complete shambles and eventually the drill NCO's dropped it from our repertoire.

I have already mentioned the problem I had had with shirt sizes, etc., when being kitted out. A second and similar problem, resulting from my previously cosseted life, arose when for the first time in the RAF I had need to trim my finger nails. At home I had always found it difficult to cut the nails on my right-hand fingers with the scissors in my left hand and for that reason I had always asked my mother to do it for me. Now sitting in the barrack-room after having finished the trimming of the nails on my left hand, I looked around the room at the faces of my comrades and immediately realized that their comradeship would not extend far enough for them to act as a manicurist for me. Of necessity, I rapidly learnt how to cope with such problems.