The only information that I had been given about my posting
was that I was being sent to join 92 squadron at RAF Wildenrath in
Germany. I knew nothing else about the
squadron or the role I would be expected to play. As luck would have it another fellow, Gary
Palmer was posted on the same day, from Watton, to Wildenrath. Gary was joining 19 squadron, so we were able
to travel together. Gary had been
stationed in Germany before, so I considered myself to be very lucky that I
would be traveling with an experienced fellow.
Irene had been dropped at her mothers in Liverpool, as we
didn’t know how long it would be before we would be allocated a married quarter
in Germany. Our household possessions
had been packed away in cases and sent to Germany so I carried all my personal
equipment and uniforms in my kit bags. I
do remember that it was a Sunday we were travelling on. I had been staying with Peter Chidgely and
his wife Gail. Gary and I reported to
the lodge bar, on the Sunday lunchtime, the moment it opened, for our final
session with the troops. It was great
fun and we used the land rover to get us, and our kit bags, in to Norwich train station where the troops
gave us a twenty one gun salute on our departure.
Had they been real guns instead of brightly coloured water
pistols I think the locals in Norwich might have been much more concerned than
they already were. We had a great laugh
and set of for Luton airport. It was as
we were waiting for the flight that both Gary and I noticed some military flavoured
coppers observing us from behind a glass wall.
I didn’t want to arrive in Germany in even more trouble than I was already
in. I was in trouble for buying a barrel
of beer, to be given away in the rugby club, at my final session there. This was common practice.
I had gone to the sergeant’s mess and paid for the
barrel. I had my wages coming in from
the abattoir and I had my RAF wages going in to the bank. I think there was also some extra money
coming in, associated with my posting overseas, so I was quite flush, however I
could see that there might be a small overlap in my bank account as each lump
of money would come in on a different date.
I went down to the bank on the high street, one lunch time, and asked
the assistant manager for a one hundred pound overdraft.
I showed detail of the monies I was expecting in and also
explained that the RAF took bouncing cheques, or financial mismanagement, as a
very serious issue. I wanted to be
careful and cover my six o clock. The assistant
manager assured me that the overdraft would be no problem, so I was able to go
ahead and spend whatever I needed. I had then been notified by the clerk at the sergeant’s mess that the cheque I had left,
for the beer, had bounced. Only an idiot
would do such a thing, so I asked if I could come down take the cheque back and
give them the cash instead. I was told
no, that the cheque was in the system, and I would have to be disciplined.
As you may expect I reported to the bank and asked to see the
assistant manager. He was at lunch so I
was able to see the manager. I explained
that I wasn’t happy, I had been told that I had an overdraft facility and now
the bank were bouncing my cheques I wanted to know what was going on. The manager checked the records of my account
and declared that there was nothing in writing therefore his bank was right to
bounce the cheques. I explained that his
assistant manager had given me permission but the manager insisted that as there
was nothing in writing I was in the wrong.
I explained that I thought he was as useless as his lying assistant and
stormed out.
There was no point in pursuing the matter as the assistant
manager would probably be as stupid as the manager, although I did learn a very
important lesson and was extremely careful with all my financial transactions
from that moment on. It still didn’t
alter the fact that I had committed a serious sin and would have to wait until
I arrived in Germany before the matter could be dealt with. Not the sort of thing you want to happen when
you arrive at a new unit, but there wasn’t a lot I could do about it. I was determined to arrive as a smart young
airman.
As Gary and I kept an eye on the military police, I wondered
if something had happened at Norwich train station, or if someone had complained,
or if we were in trouble for using the land rover to get to the station. One of the coppers came out and over to
us. He asked Gary to follow him and I
could see Gary chatting away to the coppers behind the glass wall. Next thing, is that Gary is handcuffed to
some glum looking fellow, and I wondered how long it would be before I would be
wearing the steel bracelets from Sheffield.
Luckily I wouldn’t. Gary
had been identified as the largest person travelling and a prisoner, who was being
sent back to Germany, had been handcuffed to Gary and would remain so for the
duration of the flight. Heartbeats were
set back to normal and I enjoyed the flight.
It was quite exciting to actually arrive in Germany. Gary and I reported to the guard room and were
given temporary accommodation, which meant sharing a room with twenty other fellows
who like us, had only arrived in Germany.
It was strange sharing a room with twenty other chaps again but
nothing really out of the ordinary, so it was easy enough to settle in. Gary had been to Wildenrath before so it was
nice being with someone who knew their way about. We went to the mess and had tea then Gary
told me that there was only one place to go when at Wildenrath, the rugby club.
Normally I would keep my head down when arriving somewhere
new. I would watch and listen before announcing
myself, Gary was a little different. To say he was loud would be an
understatement. There was a good crowd in the rugby club so I would have ordered
beer and sat quietly in a corner. Gary however
stormed in, announcing that Wildenrath’s rugby future was secured as the two
best prop forwards in the RAF had arrived.
We were welcomed with open arms and joined straight in to the scene. I was quite stunned as Gary had announced that
we were to drink double brandies.
I wasn’t really a brandy drinker, in fact I wasn’t really a
shorts person, I preferred beer, and lots of it but I couldn’t get over the
fact that the coke, for we were drinking brandy and coke’s, I couldn’t get over
the fact that the coke, used as a mixer, was more expensive than the double
brandy. As you can imagine it wasn’t
very long before I was everybody’s best friend.
I can remember feeling quite happy; it may have been something to do
with the double brandies.
One fellow, part of a larger group, was standing beside me. “Hi,” he said. “Just arrived?” “Yes,” I said. “Today.”
“Where are you posted to?” he asked.
“Oh, here,” I said, not realising how stupid my answer had been. “No,” he said. “What unit?”
“Oh!” I said, understanding my mistake.
“92 squadron. I’ve been posted on
to 92 squadron.” “Great,” he said, smiling at me. “I’m on 92 squadron as
well. Do you wear a green romper suit or
a blue romper suit?” “Pardon?” I asked,
not really understanding his question. “Do
you wear a green romper suit or a blue romper suit?” I still didn’t understand what he was talking
about but luckily Gary did.
“Aircrew wear green flying suits, groundcrew wear blue
overalls. He wants to know if you are
aircrew or groundcrew,” explained Gary. “Ah!”
I said, now that the proverbial penny had finally dropped. “Neither,”
I explained. “I’m in air ops.” I was quite surprised to see my new chum
being jumped on by all the friends with him and wrestled to the ground, which was
quite handy as I was down there too. You
see he had punched me in the face and split my lip. Quite a good punch too, caught me off guard
and had me on the floor.
Seems that each squadron had two air ops guys. The other fellow on 92 squadron was being
court martialled for smashing a beer glass in the face of the station commander’s
daughter and the groundcrew felt that this brought shame on the whole squadron.
It was double brandies all round and
‘hail fellow well met’ abounded. I can
heartily recommend double brandy and coke as a sleeping draught. But what I would not recommend is turning up
at your new unit, late, looking like a dog has dragged you through a hedge
backwards, with a busted lip and a hangover that could throttle a donkey.
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