You may think it strange that I would consider the fact that I
was to be promoted as bad news. Well;
basically it meant that I was off the squadron.
I wouldn’t find out where I was going until I got back to Germany, but
going I was and the clock had started ticking.
Suddenly the offer of going to America and becoming president was quite
appealing although I think the wife and child would be a wee bit hacked off if
I left them in Germany. My worst nightmare
is that I would be returned to the world of air traffic control. If I could get to a unit with a mountain
rescue team there would be a good chance I could escape. There wasn’t much hope of going to another
squadron so all I could do was wait to see what would happen.
It is quite a strange time once you have been told that you
are posted because from that very second you know everything is different. You feel sort of removed from the squadron. It’s like you are now an observer. We flew back to Germany and I impressed most
of the chaps in the rear of the Fat Albert by eating raw herring which made
most of them baulk. I quite enjoyed
them. In Germany I went straight to the
squadron to get my orders and discovered that I was to go to Wattisham in
Suffolk. There were two phantom squadrons
there but I was going to air traffic control.
Definitely not impressed, but what can you do. I suppose we are back to the old saying. You shouldn’t have joined up if you can’t
take a joke!
I was also informed that I would have to attend a special
course, GST, General Service Training at Hereford. These courses had only started and I would be
on the third one. The courses were
intended to instruct you and familiarise you with your new rank and role. It would last two weeks and we were also informed
that this was not an attendance course. You
had to pass the course to get your promotion.
One explanation was that the air force was modernising and actually interested
in its people. This course was only one
step towards creating a more professional workforce.
Another explanation came from the Falklands war. I always imagine the three top military fellows
sitting around a map of the world, like a board game. The head of the army states what regiments he
will send to the Falklands. The head of
the navy would state what ships and marines he will send. The air force offers up its squadrons and the
army refused, saying that the air force guys were not professional enough. These new courses were the air forces
response to make us more military. There
was no information available about the courses and people who had been on one
were few and far between I would just have to turn up and see what happened.
Luckily many of the engineers on the squadron had been to
Wattisham. Dave Magee had just come from
Wattisham and he told me that I should apply for a married quarter at a place
called Shotley Gate, a small village outside Ipswich. The process now becomes something of a juggling
act. I have to arrange to hand over my
married quarter in Erkelenz, and then I have to apply for a new married quarter
in England. It would be nice to have
these two dates as close together as possible but everything depends on the availably
of married quarters in England. Next I
have to move everything from one quarter to the other. These were the days before computers and e –mails
so all applications went by snail mail.
You could choose whether you wanted to move your possessions yourself or
you could get a removals company in to do it for you. I chose to move myself.
I was informed that I had been given a married quarter at
Shotley Gate and was able to arrange the move.
The plan went something along the lines of, pick up a van on the Monday
morning, and then spend all day Monday packing our belongings into it. Complete the official march out and hand over
of our married quarter in Erkelenz on the Tuesday morning, drive to Zeebrugge and
catch the Tuesday night boat to England.
Arrive at Shotley Gate on Wednesday morning and take over, march in to,
a new married quarter on the Wednesday morning.
Empty the van and make sure the wife and child are safe and able to look
after themselves before catching the Wednesday night boat back. Get back to Wildenrath on the Thursday morning
and return the van spend the remainder of the day clearing camp and jump in the
car to catch the boat back to England on Thursday night arriving at the new
house on Friday morning.
Everything was going to plan.
It was amazing that everything fitted in to the van almost
perfectly. The handover of the quarter
went without a hitch and we drove away from Erkelenz which had been a lovely
place to live. We had planned everything
and had made sure that duty free wine and whisky was well hidden deep among our
possessions. We called in to camp to buy
some more duty free goods. As I walked
away from the van something hit my arm and I discovered that there was a pin
prick sized hole in the radiator. It was
five o clock in the evening so everywhere was closing. Luckily I managed to get some additive in a local
garage that seemed to fix the leak but it was a most nerve wracking drive
hoping that van wouldn’t break down en route.
Thankfully we made it and marched in to our new quarter in
Shotley Gate. It was a regular end of
terrace house with a lovely view over the River Orwell. Again everything seemed to go to plan and I
was able to drive away to catch the evening boat knowing that Irene and the boy
were safe and well. Back at Wildenrath I
returned the van, explaining that I was completely hacked off that the radiator
had been leaking. The van was owned by
two Rock Apes who rented it out as a little money earner. I needed a receipt from them for accounts and
didn’t complain when they included the deposit I had had to leave in along with
the actual cost of renting the vehicle.
This would give me an extra two hundred pounds so I decided to play
dumb, well; they started it.
Accounts didn’t even question the sum and just handed over
the cash to me. At last something was going
in my favour. I went to the squadron for
the last time and collected my paperwork I went into the crew room to grab a
coffee before trundling around every department on camp with my clearance form
when Dave Magee came in. He took my clearance
form and began signing for various departments.
The card was passed around the crew room and within ten minutes every
department had a signature. Dave told me
that this is how most engineers cleared most camps so I handed in the completed
paperwork at headquarters and was surprised that it was accepted so
readily. I drove away from Wildenrath
and the squadron hoping and praying that the world of air traffic control would
not be as bad as I feared it would be.
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