One day I heard about a group of people living at Erkelenz that might
have been of interest to me. They called
themselves the Erkelenz Ramblers. I
thought it might be nice to join a group that would be out walking in and
exploring the local countryside so I made some enquiries. The leader of the Erkelenz Ramblers was Sean
Turner, an engineer from 19 squadron, and a big rugby man. I contacted Sean and explained that I wanted
to join his ramblers. He invited me
along on their next excursion. I should
have known better, even though the group had its own tee shirts and seemed well
organised; their rambles consisted of no more than a pub crawl around Erkelenz.
A little trick we used, not just in Erkelenz, but all over
Germany was to use a five pence coin instead of a deutschemark. A deutschemark would have been worth twenty five
pence so for a ratio of five to one you certainly got a bargain especially when
using the telephone. I did my usual
trick and one Sunday evening having used the local public telephone had
returned to our flat to discover I must have left my diary in the telephone
kiosk. Not only were all my telephone numbers
and personal details in there but so were the combination codes for the doors and
safes on the squadron. I legged it back
down to the telephone kiosk to discover that my diary was gone.
Unlike the incident in Cyprus I wasn’t that worried, my real
problem would be getting into work the following morning. I would be one of the first people arriving
on the squadron. I would have to collect
the main keys from the guardroom which would get me into the main corridor of
the admin area of the squadron. Every
door would be locked. At the end of the
admin area was a large steel door that also acted as an air seal. Beside it on the wall was a small key safe
with a combination lock. I would have to
open the safe, take the key out and open the door, then replace the key and
secure the safe. I would do this again at the next steel door, then open the safe and take the main key bunch out.
It was always very quiet as I would go through the process of
opening up the squadron. I was always very
aware of the tales people told about the ghosts that lurked about and as I had
met one or two in Ireland I was prepared to meet a couple more most mornings as
I opened up or in the evenings when I would secure the building. One fellow crashed the SENGO’s minivan one
evening on his way back to the squadron from the domestic site. He claimed that a ghost had jumped out in
front of him causing him to swerve and crash the vehicle. Many people believed him. I never met any of the ghosts that were supposed
to hang around the squadron but always felt that I was being watched.
The job was fantastic and really involved. There was just so much to do you were constantly
busy. One day J R came in and set his
bone dome down. He pointed at me and
said “Come with me.” We went into the briefing room and up to the
large map on the wall. This is where
sorties would be planned and briefed. My
job was to mark any event happening in our area that would or could affect our
aircraft. J R pointed at one marker and
asked me what is was. I cross checked
the reference and explained that it was a parachute jump. J R clipped me around the back of the neck
and pointed out the fact that I had placed the marker in the wrong square. It was sixty miles out.
J R said he wasn’t impressed leading a six ship of phantoms when
he looked up to see a few hundred pairs of boots coming down on top of
them. It was the first mistake I am
aware that I ever made and I never made another mistake in my life, I can
assure you of that. But I wasn’t the
only person who might make a mistake.
One evening a phantom was coming home.
The guys had gone to visit an American air base in Germany. The main reason for doing this would be to
visit the PX store where everything was much cheaper than we could get,
especially for electronic equipment and cameras. As the crew came in they dropped the hook and
took the RHAG. Unfortunately some
problem occurred and the phantom had to get airborne again.
With full power selected and re-heat engaged the aircraft
lifted off and ripped the RHAG cable out of its sockets. It was quite a sight watching the phantom circle
the airfield as the afterburners had heated up the cable which was strung out behind
the aircraft like a red and orange ribbon.
On landing, the aircraft was quickly approached by the rescue and fire
trucks that thankfully were not needed.
Everyone commented on how brave the crew were by not ejecting and for
staying with the aircraft and bringing it in safely. But not everyone knew that the reason they hadn’t
ejected was because the navigator had a brand new, top of the range, amplifier
on his knees which he had just bought in the PX.
All in all there was a great bunch of people on the
squadron. We got a new Corporal in the
admin office working with John Zamo.
They had a half door which kept people out but allowed you to communicate
with the guys inside. You could lean
against the half door and have a good chin wag.
I was wandering along one day when my direct boss Tony was leaning on
the door chatting away. I pulled up alongside
him and joined in with the craic. The Corporal
announced that he was typing my annual assessment. The banter started and I think it was the Corporal
who said to Tony that if he wanted to help me get back to aircrew I should
really be given nines, a special recommendation for promotion.
In the world of air traffic this was such a secretive process,
probably because most of them hadn’t a clue. Tony then asks what he has given
me and the Corporal says eights. “Well
then give him nines,” said Tony. It was
quite exciting to think that I was actually being given a special recommendation
for promotion but part of me didn’t want it because you would have to live up
it, you could never allow yourself to go back down again. “And give Biggen Hill a call, see what’s holding
them up,“ says Tony. John and myself
decided to go for a beer after work to celebrate my good fortune. We had one or two beers in a local pub and
then I drove him home. John invited me
in to meet his wife as they had just been allocated a married quarter.
She was a lovely girl and was actually a sort of legend in
the air force. Not the actual woman herself
but her status, for John had actually gone and married the station commanders daughter,
from his previous unit. We had a laugh
and as I was leaving the door to the flat opposite opened. I, as you may imagine, was quite pleased with
myself, not only had I got the special recommendation for promotion but the
squadron were now going to start pushing Biggen Hill with my aircrew application. I smiled at the woman standing in the doorway
of the flat opposite Johns and was about to walk away when she said. ”You don’t
recognise me, do you?”
I didn’t and I told her so.
John and his wife are now out of their flat and shaking hands with their
new neighbours. “Avril Gough,” she said
reaching out her hand to me. The name
still meant nothing to me and I didn’t recognise her husband either. “Sergeant Gough,” she said giving me a
hint. I still hadn’t a clue who she was
and hoped that I wasn’t insulting her by not recognising her. “Police,” she said, obviously giving me another
clue. I assumed that with her saying
police we hadn’t been romantically involved, which could either be a good or
bad thing for if she was a copper and knew me then I must have met her in some official
capacity. “Swanton Morley,“ she said,
and then, as they say, the proverbial penny dropped. She was the arresting officer when Peter
Browne and I stole all the kickers from the WRAF block at Swanton Morley. As I left I could hear her explain to John and
his wife how we had met and I knew that it would not be long before my past would
be bandied about the squadron, however, knowing that lot, rather than look down
on me they would probably give me a fecking medal.
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