MY CAREER IN THE RAF

I have always wanted to join the RAF ever since reading the adventures of Matt Braddock in a boys comic. The Hotspur was it? As SNCO aircrew, he always got the better of his commissioned brethern and no-one ever upstaged him. All that and they give you a Mosquito to fly as well.......can't be bad.

I joined the Royal Air Force as an Aircraft Apprentice (Airframe) with the 86th Entry at RAF Halton in May 1957. After three hard but enjoyable years training, I graduated as a Junior Technician, and was posted to RAF Marham in Norfolk. For two years I worked in the Modification Bay in ASF. (Aircraft Servicing Flight). The aircraft at that time was the Vickers Valiant, part of the nuclear fleet. My one recollection was of National Servicemen. They were a mixed and varied bunch as you would expect. I remember one of the SAC's in my room had more medical qualifications than the Station Medical Officer! They were a varied bunch, but generally very bitter towards regular Servicemen who were earning a much larger wage packet.

I was told when I arrived at Marham, that I would be posted overseas within two years. Sure enough in September 1962 I was posted to Cyprus. My journey out there was to be by troopship. It was the last voyage of the "NEVASA" as a troopship out to Singapore and back, taking and delivering members of all three Armed Services to their various postings on route. It would take us eight days to get to Cyprus. Run by a fearsome Army WO1, he ensured that we would never get bored. We were wakened at 0530 from our huge dormitory which must have contained over fifty bunks in three tiers. We had breakfast in the Galley, scrubbed the decks, .......yes we did! Had a dip in the swimming pool, Fired 303's and Bren guns off the stern, sunbathed in the afternoon, and watched a film show in the evening. I remember that it was a lovely day with clear blue skies when we left England. The Shadows were playing Wonderful Land on the radio. The weather was perfect all the way to Cyprus, so we all arrived with a nice tan and avoided the usual cry of 'Moonies' that always greeted newcomers. I was posted to No.103 Maintenance Unit at Akrotiri, a repair and salvage unit. The MU repaired badly damaged aircraft and was responsible for picking up the remains of crashed aircraft within our cachement area in the Middle East. I discovered that at least half a dozen other people on board were destined there as well, so by the time we landed, we were all good friends.

The friendship was soon broken up however, because I was immediately detached to Nicosia for six months. We had a small detachment at the airfield there. This turned out to be a bonus because Nicosia had a wonderful night life. Six months later I was back at Akrotiri, somewhat reluctantly, but soon settled into the new routine. Part of our job was to pick up crashed aircraft or what was left of them, so we got to see some exotic places like El Adem in Libya. I remember one party that went over there to recover the bits of a Beverley freighter that had crashed near the base. They had to blow up part of the wing which was too large to transport, so the fuses were set and everyone retired to a safe distance. Large explosion, and the team moved in to see the results. They were just in time to see a party of Arabs disappearing over the hill with a chunk of main spar. How times have changed! Lots of sand and lots of war graves, that how I remember Libya.We visited the war cemetary at Tobruk during one trip. Quite a moving experience. Gravestones virtually as far as the eye could see in any direction, and all kept in beautiful condition.

Cyprus during the early part of my tour, was an open island. We went out on most weekends and took advantage of the wonderful weather. In 1984 the Turks invaded the island and we were confined to Akrotiri for almost a year. Akrotiri was so big that we didn't really feel hemmed in. Lots of wonderful beaches and there was always something to do in your spare time.I have many happy memories of Cyprus and finally left in 1965.

My next posting was to No. 58 Squadron, flying Canberra PR7's at RAF Wyton. It was my first real experience of First Line Squadron operations and I discovered that it was really what I had been looking for in the way of job satisfaction. The Squadron used to do two detachments a year. Two months in Trinidad and two months in Singapore. And they even paid you extra for going! I remember when I first walked into 58 Squadron crewroom at Wyton everyone was playing Mah Jongg. Not just four people but four groups of people. After a detachment to Singapore, I became a fanatic of the game, and we still have a set at home to this day. The flight out to Singapore was 28 hours by Brittania aircraft in those days.We arrived just after midday and I was astounded to discover everyone was carrying an umbrella even though it was 85 degrees fahrenheit and there were some fluffy clouds in the sky. Mid afternoon I found out why! The skies opened and I have never seen so much rain come down in such a short space of time. Some of the monsoon drains out there are six foot deep and with good reason. They very quickly fill with very fast flowing water. Apparantly it rains at that time every day so I very quickly purchased one of the very famous Singapore brollies. Back un UK the Moors murders were headline news and my Squadron was tasked with aerially photographically mapping the area. We never learnt whether they were used in evidence to convict Myra Hindley and her partner.

It was during my time at RAF Wyton, that I met my wife to be, Rosalind, who was working as an SACW in Air Traffic. Now promoted to Corporal, I was selected to work on the Blue Steel missile, Britains nuclear stand-off bomb at that time, aand was posted to RAF Scampton near the city of Lincoln. Even though we were only engaged, Rosalind managed to wangle a compassionate posting to RAF Waddington which was only a few miles away from me, on the other side of Lincoln. We were married in 1967, and spent our first year of married life in a hiring, then in a brand a new married quarter in a small village on the outskirts of Lincoln. Lisa, our first daughter, was born in Nocton Hall RAF hospital in 1969.

In 1971 I was posted to Headquarters Strike Command as a Sergeant, working as a technical author on aircraft maintenance manuals. In all, I spent six years at this Unit, which is located in a very pleasant part of England, quite near High Wycombe.We initially lived in Marlow, down by the river, then moved up to married quarters on the station itself. My youngest, Catherine was born in Henley On Thames in 1971. I learnt a lot about the other side of the Air Force at HQSTC. Where Air Commodores are ten a penny, and Group Captains make the tea! You very soon learn to be at ease with the highest in the Service.

In 1977 I was posted to 33 Squadron at RAF Odiham. This was, and still is, a helicopter Squadron right at the front line of any action going. I was by now a Chief Technician and played a key role in the organisation and running of the aircraft maintenance on the Squadron. The Unit was part of the ACE Mobile Force which could and did at a moments notice be called into action anywhere in the World. When you went in to work in the morning on 33 Squadron, you could be whisked off almost anywhere at a moments notice. We all maintained bags of essentials in our lockers at work and most of the groundcrew used them more than once. The beauty of the Puma as a helicopter was that you could load all your gear inside and it would take you precisely where you wanted to go in a very short space of time. I saw more of the world with this squadron than any other unit that I served on in nearly forty years service. We went to almost every country in Europe, Belize, Rhodesia (thge Sqn. policed the Independence), and if you think the UK is cold, try camping 400 miles inside the Arctic circle! As I recall it was a cold winter in Norway anyway, but -43 degrees C was apparently a record. It was certainly the coldest place I have ever been.

In 1982 the Falklands war broke out. 33 Sqn deployed to the Welsh hills and began practising landing on the deck of a ship. (An area was drawn on the parade square of an Army Unit). The crews began practising ferrying sticks of troops from ship to shore. As we had deployed with full war kit we could only draw the conclusion that we had been selected to go. In one lighter moment, a certain pilot with a reputation for not following guidelines, spotted a van by the side of a road whilst he had a full compliment of troops on board. Landing nearby, he dispatched his crewman who duly arrived back with 19 ice creams! When he landed on the supposed deck of the ship, the helicopter door opened and the sight of sixteen troopers sucking on ice creams was just too much for their RSM! They really are like Windsor Davies! (UK comedy series for those that don't know!)

It looked very much like we were going to go to the Falklands. We were still in Wales when we were given 48 hours notice of embarking to the Task Force which was about to sail. That became 24 hours and we began to seriously believe that we were going to go. At the last minute, the Squadron received notice that our deployment was officially cancelled. Our place was to be taken by a Chinook helicopter squadron for reasons best known to the powers that be. They embarked on the Atlantic Conveyor, and the rest is history.

I had now been on the Squadron six years. Although it was an incredible life, I was spending seven months of each year away from my family. I received an interview for a job with the Royal Flight which came out of the blue. Not too many people get selected for this prestigious job. At the interview, I was told that they were looking for someone who would be with them for some time, and as I had now been in my present rank for nine years, they thought that I would most likely be promoted soon, and was therefore not suitable. Being a forward person, I asked them to pull a few Queens Flight strings and check out the promotion situation for me with the Gods that rule all, namely PMC. The good QF Warrant Officer duly made the call to PMC and I was told that I was looking good for next year! I then applied for a job on the Kuwait Liasion Team, and was astonished when I got it, thanks mainly to my experience as a technical author at HQSTC. So in October 1982 I landed in Kuwait where the customs man relieved me of my beer kit and my ornamental 35mm brass cannon shell (given to me from a Harrier gun firing exercise). I believe he thought that it was live!

From the unrelenting pressure of a front line helicopter squadron, I had entered the laid back world of the MOD advisor. I joined a small office of seven RAF personnel, who had the task of advising their Kuwaitii masters about all things concerning aircraft maintenance. The Flight Sergeant in charge of the Office was due back to the UK shortly, and a rumour went around the KLT that one of the office was about to be promoted in his place. After my conversation at Queens Flight the previous year, I guessed that it was a very good chance that it was going to be me. In the office, was another Chief Tech who shall be nameless, but owns property in Malta, who was totally convinced that he was next in line for promotion. I of course could say nothing. There was a possibility that I might be wrong. Anyway, I was summoned to the Wing Commanders Office on a Monday morning and given the official letter. It dealt said Chf Tech a bitter blow. Not only did the new boy get promoted, he was now the boss. Actually, said Chf Tech is a really nice chap and I was delighted when his promotion eventually came through a couple of years later. We met again in 1991 in Germany. Spookily we were both Warrant Officers doing an identical job at different Units.

Rosalind joined me in Kuwait just before Christmas 1982. Lisa was by now in boarding school, and Catherine joined her after spending one year in Kuwait. We had a very nice lifestyle in Kuwait and enjoyed getting out and about. When the children came out during school holidays, we would sometimes take a Haji chicken picnic out to the village where they built dhows neare the Iraqi border. (They were friendly at that time!)

If Norway was cold then Kuwait was hot! The record temperature we experienced was 83.4 degrees Centigrade! We have a video of me frying a egg on the roof of the car. The temperature regularly reached over 50 degrees C in the summer months. People used to say, "Didn't the heat affect you?" Not really! Going from your air conditioned flat into your air conditioned car to your air conditioned office meant you had more chance of catching a cold! You would really notice the heat if you went late night shopping. The bricks in buildings used to retain the heat from the day and it was like walking past a battery of electric fires.

Women in Kuwait are treated differently to women in UK. They were not supposed to go out on their own, they are supposed to cover up their arms and other parts, and generally walk one step behind the men. Rosalind stuck this for a couple of months, and then said "Either I do my own thing,or I'm going home!". Not a woman to mess with, trust me. So she did her own thing. The locals were a bit startled at first. When they got used to her, she was given her own seat on the bus and treated with a great deal of respect. I often thought afterwards, that the briefings we are given on how to behave with the locals are compiled by people who think they know, but haven't really got a clue. Is this how Foreign Office briefings work?

Kuwait was an amazing place. Millionaires left right and centre, and beggars in the street. I once stood behind an Arab gentleman in the Bank in Salmiya, Kuwait City, who had a poly bag crammed full of Dinars. It turned out to be one million Dinars. (A Kuwaiti Dinar at that time was worth three English pounds.) We had a flourishing Golf Society on the KLT. We had decided on a new competition and members were canvassed to ask their Kuwaitii Officers at work if they would like to donate a prize for this annual-to-be event. It was only an 18 hole Stableford, but nevertheless would be keenly fought for. In the end a donor was found, and he and his wife insisted that they present the trophy themselves, at the inaugural event. We were of course delighted. The day arrived, the competition played for and won, (I can't remember who won it!), a meal enjoyed, then our benefactor arrived with the trophy. Mouths dropped open. It stood four feet high and was made of solid silver! Apparantly his one worry was that someone would present a bigger and better trophy! Don't let anyone ever tell you that the Kuwaitii's are not a generous people. The winner was NOT allowed to keep the trophy! It was locked away in a vault till the following year. I can actually claim to having won a National Golf competition. I won the Kuwait Open in 1984 by nine shots! (It didn't make the World Press).

1985 saw us return to the UK this time to Scotland. I spent two years on the Nimrod Major Servicing Unit at RAF Kinloss. As a Flight Sergeant, I was running a Section of about thirty or so engineers. We enjoyed Scotland, particularly the scenery, but I was looking forward to getting back to civilisation. I was in charge of the components bays on the NMSU and I had an excellent team working for me. It was a very sociable section and we had some memorable evenings out. There was a Sergeant I had in charge of the Undercarriage Bay I recall used to be a part time gamekeeper. He would come in on a Monday morning and say in that lovely West Scotland drawl of his, "Would you be wantin' some salmon today?" and produce the biggest fish you have ever seen. Wonderful character. When I left the NMSU he hand carved a plaque for me which still hangs in pride of place in my hall.

I had put my name down for an overseas posting some time ago. One day through the mail, I received course joining instructions for an HGV2 (lorry) course down at ST Athan in Wales. I phoned up Personnel Services and enquired why I should suddenly be put on a driving course as it was certainly not required for my current job. I was told that it was "possibly" for a future posting. (Personnel Flight would never tell you anything unless it was for their benefit). I told them to stick it where the light of day had not been for some time until someone could tell me if it was for a future posting. "You can't do that Flight!" Oh yes I can, consider it done!" Within an hour I was told that I would be posted shortly to No.20 squadron at RAF Laarbruch in Germany. Oh the priveleges of rank!..........

I duly completed my HGV2 course at St Athan, and joined the Squadron. It turns out I didn't need the course for this posting either! Those of you reading this who are, or have been in the RAF, will know what I mean when I say that there is a world of difference between a fast jet squadron and any other form of aircraft engineering. 20 Squadron were flying Tornado GR1 aircraft at that time, and my new post was to run one shift of aircraft engineers - about 85 personnel. This was truly a front line squadron, operating at peak efficiency and always, always under pressure. We used to practice war conditions all the time, and we would live, sleep and breathe Tornado. In all my service career, the groundcrew on this Squadron were amongst some of the most professional and talented people I have ever worked with. They were always under pressure, always short of manpower, and always came up with the goods. Their humour was exceptional so needless to say, some of the parties we enjoyed around the world were magnificent. I would single out two characters specifically. My Line Controller and my Rectification Controller. Both outstanding professionals. My Line controller had a wicked sense of humour. A jovial Irishman, he was really the link between the aircrew and the groundcrew. It should be said that Tornado aircrew are something else. They are brought up to believe that they are Gods gift to everything and that tunnel vision is a way of life.

Line Controller to particularly obnoxious aircrew..."I'm going to put my son in for aircrew when he's old enough!"

Obnoxious aircrew, (obviously flattered).........."Good for you Serge, - why is that?"

Line Controller "Because he's a selfish little B****** who is used to getting his own way!"

A good Squadron which I was sad to leave, but promotion to Warrant Officer came through in 1991, and I moved across the airfield to take over the job of WO Engineering in MEAS (Mechanical Engineering Aircraft Squadron). I had about 143 personnel working under me, but good management ensured that the Unit virtually ran itself. At this time the Gulf war flared up and all the Squadrons at Laarbruch actively took part. For those that went down there, it was truly a traumatic time. Those of us remaining behind, we could only watch and wait. The intensive training carried out back at base and around the globe paid off handsomely, and the planet saw for the very first time, a small part of the awesome technology that we had at our disposal. Professionalism and determination came through, although we lost valuable aircrew, some for the sake of a weapon system that was doubted by many, and was proved to be ineffective. Many of our Servicemen and women came back from that conflict totally changed people. Call it Gulf War Syndrome, call it what you want, they paid a heavy price.

I was back in England in 1992 having spent five years in Germany. Back to RAF Wyton where Rosalind and I had first met. I was posted to 100 Squadron, "Tatty Ton", who had just converted from Canberra to Hawk aircraft. The groundcrew comprised about 50/50 of fast jet and slow jet, and when I arrived the Sqn was in turmoil with the Senior Engineering Officer having departed under a cloud, and a right conflict going on with the groundcrew. The Sqn commander at that time proved to be absolutely inflexible, so with a new SengO, a new JengO I had my hands full. We were just getting sorted out nicely when I was detached to the Falklands Islands for four months, just at the time the Sqn was due to relocate to RAF Finningley near Doncaster. A Sqn without its WO is to be avoided if you don't want to do things to go wrong but PMC insisted that I go and see some penguins, so in March 1993 off I went on that awful sixteen hour flight down South.

I was attached to the Tornado Flight at RAF Mount Pleasant. Four Tornado's and 85 groundcrew to look after, everyone of them barking mad. I had an enjoyable four months with some good crews. No-one wants to be there, but like most things in life, its what you make it. On my return to UK, 100 Squadron had moved to Finningley. In my absence, building take-over preparation had been left to a member of the aircrew. Within a day of my arrival back at work I had to attend the takeover of our new pupose built accomodation. The usual snake of "experts" with clipboards made their way around the building. In the line-office, (the area where the aircrew sign out their aircraft), I was stood next to the 'works and bricks' man.

"Who installed the heating system?" he inquired. - No reply.

"If you look at the surface area of the pipework in this room, you will see that it exceeds the area of the radiators," he said. Much shuffling of feet.

"That means if you turn of all the radiators, it will have absolutely no effect whatsoever!" Everyone looked at the aircrew representative. It turned out to be the same in every room. Not only that, electrical plugs were in the wrong place, telephone points hidden behind doors, doors opened the wrong way. There's a moral here somewhere, but will it ever be heeded to?

It was 1993 and I could see retirement looming. Also I wanted to get away from a Squadron so obviously run by incompetants and going downhill fast. I therefore moved back to RAF Wyton on a last tour of duty to No. 51 Squadron. "Those that know, know what we do!" After the shambles of tatty ton, for there is no other word for it, it was a real pleasure and a relief to be on a Squadron that had a direction in life, and a management structure that reminded me of my time on 20 Sqn. The pace was nowhere near as phrenetic, but the organisation was second to none. I had an excellent Flight Sergeant, who left on promotion about the same time as I retired. Good man. We actually lost a Nimrod during my time on the Squadron. It had been undergoing a Major servicing on my old unit, the NMSU at Kinloss in Scotland. On its very first air test, it burst into flames and the pilot put it down on the sea a couple of miles off shore where it sank after floating for a few minutes. Apart from a few injuries, the crew were all ok. It made headline news and the pilot, very deservedly, was highly praised for his flying skill. I remember standing in our line control office back at base when the news came through. We were all understandably shocked. The phone rang, I picked it up. It was our base operations wanting to know the state of our three aircraft. My reply is reputed to have gone into the Squadron archives.

"One overseas, one underseas, and one in the hangar!"

The Squadron relocated to RAF Waddington in 1995 and this time I played a key role in ensuring everthing went smoothly, and I am pleased to say that it did. Not only did we manage the move without a hitch, the Squadron managed to continue its operational tasking at the same time, which believe me, is no mean feat. After staying with the Squadron for a couple of months to make sure that it had settled in, it was time to return to RAF Wyton for the final chapter of my career. We had purchased a house near Bedford some time ago, 1988 actually, so this was the ideal platform to depart from.

In the end I left the Service with more a wimper than a bang. All the flying units had moved out of Wyton to make way for Logistics Command. - "The Shinies". There were just three of us left at Wyton tagged with the title "Strike Command Rear Party". Ironically, we were all ex-Apprentices from RAF Halton of about the same vintage.

I have many, many happy memories of my days in the RAF, and lots of trophies too. It turned a shy, awkward boy into a confident and very street wise person. I think that the best days of the Services have now long gone. there is no longer any room to manoevre, no flex, very little space. it has to be said that it is far more efficient, but it's also a lot less fun.

Almost immediately upon retiring, I joined the Civil Service at the Training Establishment of the Driving Standards Agency. Thes are the people that train the examiners that sit next to you during your car/HGV test. I stuck that for two years, then appalling management once more convinced me to move, and I finally retired. I have always said that I will write a book on all my experiences, and although I knocked this tome up in only an afternoon, it has given me an appetite to write. Chapter 2 has got to be about the Driving Standards Agency.........but that's another story!