I was born in Hastings, East Sussex, on 3^rd October 1937.  After attending two junior schools and Hastings Grammar School, I joined the Inland Revenue in June 1954 as a Tax Officer in the office of HM Inspector of Taxes, Bexhill District, and remained there until I was conscripted.

On Monday 9^th April 1956 I reported to RAF Cardington, where recruits were introduced in fairly gentle fashion to the RAF.  The days were spent going round the camp to listen to lectures and help complete paperwork as well as drawing items of kit, including the uniforms, which came on the Thursday.  My service number was 5016782.  I was most fortunate in that I had a former colleague from Bexhill Tax Office in the same hut.  We were born on the same day, and registered for National Service, went for our medicals and travelled to Cardington together.  An easy-going LAC was in charge of the hut, and he probably appreciated having a cushy number just showing us the ropes and marching the squad to lectures, etc.

All this changed on Monday 16^th April.  A special train was laid on to take us to West Kirby.  In typical RAF fashion, those of us who had 5 or more GCE “O” levels were designated POM (Potential Officer Material) and travelled in separate compartments from the others.  As soon as we reached the other end, we were put back into our original groups!  Some of the NCO’s from West Kirby came down to escort us back, and one of them came into our compartment and made an announcement.  One or two of the group said “OK”, or something like that.  The NCO turned red in the face and roared “You will address me as Corporal”.  This was our first introduction to West Kirby discipline.  I cannot remember all the details of that journey, but I believe that we were met by RAF coaches at the station and taken to the camp.  The shouting began as soon as we got out of the coach.  We were allocated to huts in alphabetical order, and I was in the fourth and final hut, number 273, in 6 Flight, Smuts Squadron, as my name begins with the letter V.  My ex colleague was in another hut, as his name began with M.  Flights numbered 1 to 5 were the intake 4 weeks ahead of (or behind) us on the other side of the square.  I have the impression that we started as 4 Flight and then they changed from 3 to 5 Flights on each side of the square, but I could be mistaken.

We were immediately set to cleaning the billet.  It could have been on that evening that the sergeant came in to see us.  His greeting was on the lines of “My name is Sergeant Rogers.  They say that I’m a bastard”.  Looking back, my impression is that he was firm, but fair, and it was his job to instil discipline into us, so that we would, hopefully, be of some use to the RAF.  Most of us probably came from schools where discipline was far stricter than it is today.  He asked us all where we came from and then selected one of our number, Denis Wilson, to be Senior Man.  This proved to be a very good choice.  Of the four men that he selected to be Senior Man of their respective huts, only one proved unsatisfactory and had to be replaced.  Corporal Vale was in charge of the hut, and we were also drilled by Corporals Conway and Wood.  We were told that, when an officer or NCO entered a billet, the first man to see him should shout “Officer present” or “NCO present” and we would all stand to attention.  After a few weeks, the corporals would normally say “as you were” as soon as that happened.   Rather confusingly, there was also a Flight Sergeant Rogers, who was not too fearsome a figure.  I recall him telling us that we must wear RAF issue clothing at all times, and then pulling up his jacket to show that he was wearing a fair isle pullover!  The only other NCO I remember was from 7 Flight and was West Indian.  This was before the days of mass immigration and coloured people were in a very small minority.  He was a strict disciplinarian, which earned him the nickname of “The Black Mamba”.  One day he saw me make a mistake in drill, and I braced myself for a loud rollicking.  He must have been in a good mood, because the reproof, when it came, was very mild. 

The following day, we started a programme of drill, PT and lectures.  We did foot drill at first, then went on to rifle drill after three weeks.  We did fatigues for the third week of our stay.  The first kit inspection was on 18^th April, when the officer came round and asked each man if there were any deficiencies.  One well brought up recruit said “No thank you, sir” and promptly got shouted at for saying “Thank you”.  I just said “No sir”, and that was satisfactory.  Also on 18^th April we were lined up and the corporal made an announcement which I didn’t hear, but it seemed that he was asking for volunteers.  I remembered the old forces motto of “never volunteer” and stayed where I was.  Unfortunately, it turned out that what he had said was “step forward all those who do not wish to give blood”, so I was marched off with the others to give a pint of blood.

I had a vaccination against smallpox and an inoculation on Friday 20^th, and then was allowed out of camp to see a football match – presumably an RAF game.  The sergeant wasn’t very happy, as recruits could not normally go out for the first two weeks when they had learned how to look smart enough to be seen by civilians.  There was a compulsory Church Parade on the Sunday, with officers at the front and other ranks at the back.  Although I was a regular churchgoer and bell ringer at home, I didn’t go to the camp church again, but visited the parish church in West Kirby, where I joined in with the bell ringing. 

Monday 23^rd saw the start of Ground Combat Training with rifles.  My only experience of firing a rifle came on the Thursday, when I just managed to get 5 bullets into a two inch group, thanks to a lenient corporal who was judging the targets.  I forget the range that we were firing at – possibly 25 yards.  We had a pay parade that day, from which I received the vast sum of one pound four shillings (£1.20).  When we were learning how to use a rifle, I forgot to replace the safety catch or something like that, and so did another airman who wasn’t in my billet.  The corporal ordered us to hold our rifles above our heads.  After a short while he asked “Is it feeling heavy?”  I said “Yes, Corporal” and so did the other airman.  He told us to put down our rifles and remember to do it right next time.  Later, I discovered that the other airman went in for weight lifting as a hobby, so it was unlikely that he was worried by holding up his rifle for a short time!  In general, the Ground Combat Training NCO’s were much easier going than the Drill Instructors.

It wasn’t all physical work, as we had periods of education.  These were mostly taken by National Service Officers, who had presumably been to University.  They realised that it was a waste of time to try and teach the syllabus prescribed by a well-meaning Air Ministry, as none of the recruits was interested in learning and just looked on the sessions as a break from drill.  I forget what they talked about instead.  There was no love lost between the Education Officers and the Drill Instructors.  I recall a lesson where the Officer was trying to talk above the noise of a NCO drilling troops outside.  He opened the window, and asked the corporal to move further away.  The corporal saluted smartly, and marched the men just a few yards before continuing the drill as loud as before.  The Officer gave a sigh and carried on as well as he could.  We also had lectures on various subjects.  Sergeant Rogers must have had a sense of humour, as he came in one day saying “You can sleep in other peoples’ lectures, but you won’t sleep in mine”.  He than said that he was going to talk on the subject that was nearest and dearest to our hearts, and asked us to say what that was.  After listening to suggestions such as demob, pay, leave, passing out, etc. he took a piece of chalk and wrote on the blackboard the letters D R I L L.  We were also taken to see the film warning of the dangers of venereal disease, which showed a grey haired Medical Officer talking to a room of serious looking airmen.  It was called “In Your Interest”.  Recently, I saw some of it on television!  The West Kirby MO, who introduced the film, gave details of the camp’s Early Treatment Room, and warned against consorting with some of the women to be found at a nearby Dance Hall, whose name escapes me.  He raised a laugh by saying that the danger came not from the hardened professionals, but the enthusiastic amateurs!

One evening, probably on 23^rd April, we were ordered by Sergeant Rogers to go to the playing field to take part in trials for the forthcoming sports day.  He selected me to run in the 100 yards sprint.  We got on our marks at the start, while the sergeant stood at the finish line and started the race by shouting!  I am no athlete, but ran as fast as I could, and that was all that the sergeant was interested in.  A trained athlete who came in first in a distance race trial was ignored, but the man who trailed in last was praised for trying.

It would seem that I have below average coordination, as it takes me longer than most people to learn how to do things.  This brought displeasure from the NCO’s owing to my slowness in learning drill movements.  I remember a corporal coming up to me and saying “Vaughan, you’re thick, aren’t you?”  We had been advised always to agree with the corporals, and so I said “Yes, Corporal”.  He gave me a glare and said “I’m glad that you know it” before marching off.  Quite possibly, my IQ was higher than his, but this wasn’t the time to say it.  There was only one time that you were not supposed to agree with the corporals, and that was when an airman was asked “You weren’t trying, were you?”  He replied “No, Corporal” and promptly got a rollicking for not trying! 

The NCO’s lost patience with me on 27^th April, when I was unable to do an about turn properly, and I was transferred to the “awkward squad” of airman whose drill was not up to standard.  This involved moving into another billet with men from 7 and 8 Flights as well as my own.  We had extra drill in the evenings, and those whose performance was now up to standard were allowed back to their normal billets.  I tried hard for a day or two, but was not selected for return.  The next day (2^nd May) was spent doing tiring fatigues, and I was just going through the motions when we had extra drill in the evening.  To my surprise, I was picked out and told that I could return to hut 273 and rejoin my comrades.  I didn’t need telling twice!  During the few days that I was in the awkward squad, there was a rather upsetting incident for someone who had been to a school where it was expected that you would tell the truth, even if it meant letting yourself in for punishment.  We were inspected, and I was told to tighten my belt as it was too loose.  I duly took it in a notch, and it fitted quite tightly shortly after lunch when I was full of food.  After an afternoon of drill when the meal had been worked off we were inspected again, and a sergeant said that my belt was too loose.  The corporal said “Did I order you to take in your belt today?” and I said “Yes, Corporal”.  He then said “Have you loosened it since then?”  I replied “No, Corporal”.  He roared “You bloody liar”, and the sergeant ordered him to put me on extra fatigues.  The sequel to this was that I tightened my belt one more notch until it was almost cutting me in half.  Next day we were inspected by a young officer, who said “This man’s belt is too tight”.  The corporal hastily said “The sergeant likes to have them tight, Sir”.

On Saturday 28^th April we were allowed out officially for the first time, and I paid my first visit to Liverpool with another airman.  We were approached by a prostitute in Lime Street, no doubt attracted by our uniforms.  On this, or another occasion, I visited Liverpool Cathedral.  I was standing looking at a war memorial in the Cathedral when a man came up to me and said “My name is on that list”.  I can only assume that he had been wrongly listed as killed or missing.  My diary shows that I visited Liverpool four times in all, but I went to the pictures on the last two occasions.

The fatigues week began on Tuesday 1^st May, although it seems that I cleaned my kit in the morning and went for a trade selection interview in the afternoon.  On one day, possibly 2^nd May, I and another airman helped a sergeant repair the assault course pool that was crossed by two wires, one above the other.  The men were supposed to cross over on the lower wire while holding on to the upper one.  Almost inevitably, someone fell in when trying to cross, accompanied by loud laughter from his comrades (and us).  At the end of the day we were allowed by the sergeant to have a go at crossing the pool.  I was glad of the chance, as our intake didn’t go round the assault course, as far as I remember.  On other days, I did fatigues in the YMCA and also the cookhouse.

I can remember nothing about the food that we were served, but I don’t think that it was as bad as the school dinners to which I had been accustomed for a number of years.  The mess was a rectangular building, with the entrance in the middle of one of the long sides, and the serving counter immediately opposite, with the tables at each end of the room.  In order to avoid airmen having to push through the queue to reach the tables after being served, a LAC from the cookhouse staff regulated the head of the queue to allow room for people to walk through.  Anyone with a little sense would have welcomed having a cushy job and just had a quiet word as necessary with the head of the queue.  However, this man had an overrated sense of his own importance just because he was a LAC and we were AC2’s, and he shouted and screamed in a high pitched voice at the airmen as if they were criminals.  It seems likely that he was not popular with his colleagues.  One day, I was in the queue when it seems that an airman lost patience and told the LAC what he thought of him.  Next thing, I heard a scream of “What’s that? Call the corporal, call the corporal.  I’ll teach you to call me a fu**er”.  Shortly afterwards, a corporal strolled up, trying hard to hide his grins, and gave the airman a very mild rollicking.

One Sunday, the local ATC held its annual parade on the Smuts Squadron square.  We were standing watching the young lads marching around proudly in their uniforms in a somewhat supercilious fashion when a corporal saw us.  He said “Look, I know that they’re only children, I know that they’re only playing at soldiers, BUT THEY’RE STILL A DAMN SIGHT BETTER THAN THE LOT OF YOU”.  On another occasion, a corporal was dissatisfied with the cleanliness of the ablutions, following a bull night.  He came into the hut and said in all seriousness “Those ablutions are like a shithouse”.  I think that it was the same corporal who gave us some practical advice on what to do if going out with a member of the WRAF.  He said “If you put your arm round her, use your left arm, so that if you meet an officer you can salute and she will be put on a charge”.  I never had a chance to put that advice into practice, as I only saw WRAF personnel at RAF Hereford, and I was there for just 5 weeks.

On Tuesday 8^th May we returned to the usual round of drill, PT, Ground Combat Training and lectures.  We were introduced to rifle drill at that time.  The rifles that we used were only suitable for drill, and they had been bashed around so much that they made a satisfying rattle when we presented arms.  They would probably have blown up if they had been fired!  We were supposed to keep them clean inside as well as out, but nobody did so as they were not going to be used for shooting.  One day, on the square, we were ordered to port arms, which involved opening the breech and putting one’s thumbnail into it so that light would reflect back along the barrel when anyone put their eye to the muzzle, although this did not normally happen.  However, on this occasion, a young National Service Officer came up when we were practising this movement and looked along the barrel of the rifle of the man next to me.  He said “Did you pull through your rifle this morning, Airman?”  The man replied “No, Sir”.  The Officer was so surprised at the honest reply that he just waved his stick in the general direction of the airman and walked away.  I took the hint and cleaned my rifle that evening.  The next day we did the same manoeuvre, and the corporal came and looked down the barrel of my rifle.  I am sure that I would have been in trouble for having a dirty rifle if I had not cleaned it the previous evening, whether or not I gave an honest answer.

Another rifle drill movement included the fixing and unfixing of the special bayonets that were used for drill.  These were metal spikes, as opposed to sharp knives, and, when not on use, were kept in scabbards fixed to our belts around the back of our left hips.  The procedure when unfixing bayonets involved holding the rifle between our knees and reaching round with our right hands to replace the bayonets in their scabbards.  I was having some difficulty replacing my bayonet when the corporal came up and said “I pity your girlfriend if you can’t get it in quicker than that!”  It was an offence to laugh on parade, not as if one would normally want to, but, on this occasion, I grinned, as I felt that I was expected to do so.  I should imagine that this was not the first occasion that it had been said.

Monday 14^th May marked the commencement of our fifth week at West Kirby, and the other intake in Smuts Squadron which was 4 weeks senior to us left and was replaced by an intake which was 4 weeks junior.  We were on the barrack square when they arrived.  To my disappointment, they didn’t seem to be shouted at as much as we were when we arrived.  The following evening, there was a live show in the camp cinema, which, I believe, was not far from our hut.  Some of us acted as ushers and got to see the show for free.  I seem to remember that there was a pair of comedians, and one of them dealt with interruptions from the audience with lines such as “Thank you sir, I was about to imitate a jackass, but you beat me to it” and “I get paid for making a fool of myself.  What’s your excuse?”  They were obviously used to performing for Service audiences.

Although the usual length of stay at West Kirby was eight weeks, we were there for nine.  The reason for this was that Whitsunday fell on 20^th May, and we were allowed home for the holiday.  I left camp in the afternoon of Friday 18^th following a kit inspection and set out on the return journey on the Monday evening.  It was my sister’s 22^nd birthday on the day I got home and she became engaged that weekend, so I was glad to have the opportunity of being there.

Apart from the drill, we had regular sessions of PT.  I remember very little about this apart from the fact that I felt relieved that I could keep up with the others.  I was the shortest in my class at school and had trouble with the vaulting, etc. but I grew between leaving school and being called up.  The only incident that I remember was that a PT corporal ordered us to put shoe polish on our blue plimsolls.  He said “It’s not bullshit but personal cleanliness”.  Most of us could see little cleanliness in that.

Thursday 24^th May was the date of our visit to the gas chamber.  We were fitted out with respirators and sent into the chamber.  A couple of NCO’s checked my respirator, but I thought that it wasn’t working, as I was breathing so easily.  I was surprised when a sergeant told us that the room was full of gas.  We were ordered to take off our respirators and jog round the room.  After a short time, our eyes were streaming with tears and we were coughing.  The sergeant grabbed my arm, and told me to open the door and lead them out of the room.  Unfortunately, the handle was recessed into the door, and I had difficulty removing my hand after the door was opened, especially as there was a great press of men behind me trying to get out!  We then had to run round a field to get the gas out of our lungs.  It certainly demonstrated the effectiveness of the respirators.

We usually worked on Saturday mornings, but had the rest of the day off.  On the evening of Saturday 26^th May, I went with another airman to baby sit for Sergeant Rogers in his married quarters nearby.  We were not paid, but he gave us cigarettes.  Also, some of our intake got into trouble on their night out, and Sergeant Rogers came round to try and identify the culprits the next day.  I had the perfect alibi, being in his house at the time the offences were committed!

Monday 28^th May saw us firing bren guns.  We had previously been shown how to dismantle the gun and deal with a blockage.  I believe that there were about 15 rounds in a magazine, and, in order to fire short bursts, you would squeeze the trigger, say “One O One” and release the trigger.  One rather dim airman was told by the instructor to say “One O One” and he promptly started counting “One, two, three, four, five” before running out of bullets!  I forget if we had to pass a test similar to the one with a rifle.  I know that I was not a very good marksman.  At this time, there was an increase in the bullshit in view of the approaching AOC’s inspection.  As far as I remember, it wasn’t too bad for us, but some poor airmen had to lay out lines of stones, etc.

Thursday 31^st May started with a parade to mark the Queen’s Official Birthday.  We had the rest of the day off, and I visited New Brighton and went to the pictures.  It is not clear whether this was in the town or back at the Astra cinema in the camp.  I used to enjoy going to the cinemas at the camps where I was stationed.  The Astra at RAF Stafford, where I spent most of my National Service, didn’t look very good from the outside, but was extremely comfortable inside and was only a short walk from my barrack block.  In all, I went to the pictures 63 times between April 9^th and December 31^st 1956.  This included fourteen visits when I was at West Kirby.

I had been looking forward with some apprehension to the map reading exercise cum initiative test to be held in North Wales.  We had previously covered distances of 5 miles on 4^th May, about the same on 8^th May and six miles on 16^th May.  On each occasion, I had some difficulty keeping up, and was urged by my comrades to report sick in order to avoid the main exercise.  However, I didn’t want to do this, and successfully completed a 20 mile trek with the others on Friday 1^st June.  We had to get up at 4.20am according to my diary.  I can’t remember how we got there or came back, presumably by lorry or coach.  I took the advice given by an officer to put soap on the outside of my socks so that they didn’t rub against the inside of the boots and wear away to cause blisters.  My diary indicates that we all felt stiff after the walk.

For the next few days the bull increased ready for the AOC’s inspection on Tuesday 5^th June.  By a strange coincidence(?), we had the best meal of the whole 9 weeks on that day, with water and biscuits on the tables, something that was normally absent.  We had been told that, if the AOC came to speak to us, we should sit to attention when replying.  The AOC duly came in while we were eating and spoke to one of the men from my hut.  He blushed scarlet and tried to stand up, having presumably forgotten or not heard the instructions.  When we were not doing rifle drill, our rifles were put on a stand in the middle of the hut, and a wire or chain was threaded through the trigger guard of each rifle before padlocking the two ends together.  At that time, there was no threat from the IRA, so the requirement to have a man present to guard the rifles was normally ignored.  However, it was decided to leave a rifle guard as the AOC was due to visit the hut, and the smartest man in our group was selected for that task.  I understand that he was standing waiting when he suddenly noticed a piece of fluff under somebody’s bed.  He bent down to pick it up and his hat fell off.  He hastily replaced it just as the door opened and the AOC came in accompanied by a retinue of officers and NCO’s.  The AOC had a few words with him, and then passed out of the other door.  He was just heaving a sigh of relief when a warrant officer came in and put him on a charge for being improperly dressed as his hat wasn’t on straight!  It was sod’s law that the smartest airman among us should be charged with being improperly dressed.  I believe that he escaped with a caution.  At the end of the day, it was announced on the tannoy that “The Air Officer Commanding has now left the camp”.  A sigh of relief could be heard from all sides.

While the AOC was on the camp the main gate was manned by the Service Police.  However, after he left, the job of guard duty for the night fell to our flight.  We were lined up and asked for volunteers to do the job.  Several men offered to do it, but I remembered my motto of “never volunteer” and stayed where I was.  Just as we were starting to march back to our hut, someone came up to the corporal and said that one more volunteer was required.  He looked at us and roared “VAUGHAN”.  I skidded to a halt and went over to him.  He said “You volunteer. Report to the guard room”.  My duty that night was at the main gate, checking the identities of the officers and men returning to the camp during the first stint (??8.30 to10.30pm).  It was getting dark by that time, and a joker from our flight called out from a guard room window pretending to be a Service Policeman and bawling out any airman coming back into the camp.  It was hilarious to see them marching smartly into the camp, arms swinging, thinking that they had fallen foul of the SP’s.  My second stint was from 2.30 to 4.30am.  I huddled in the sentry box trying to keep warm and saw nothing except an occasional car passing along the road.  The time seemed to pass very slowly.

Despite the lack of sleep, the next day (6^th June) saw us doing more drill, and we also had our second inoculations.  I still have the certificate, which says that the vaccine was made by Wellcome and was T.A.B.T., whatever that means.  In the evening I was again an usher for a show in the cinema.  This time it was a jazz show.  If my memory serves me right, the performers were the Merseysippi Jazz Band.  During the show, the banjo player broke a string and had to replace it.  A few minutes later, the same thing happened again.  In order to fill the awkward silence, the leader showed off his double bass and said “He’s lucky, as his strings only cost sixpence.  If I need a new string for this, it costs thirty shillings”.  From the back of the hall, an airman shouted “It’s a big fiddle”.  That nearly brought the house down.

We had a 48 hour pass on Friday 8^th June, but I didn’t go home as it was a long journey to Hastings and we were going on leave after passing out in just over a week’s time.  I spent most of the Saturday in Liverpool.  On the Monday and the next two days we were preparing for the drill test.  It seems likely that there was rivalry between the drill instructors in each flight.  However, 7 Flight were regarded as favourites to win the Drill Cup and they spent a great deal of their spare time learning a sequence of drill without commands to demonstrate to the visitors who came to watch the passing out parade.  The test took place on Thursday 14^th June, and it was won by 6 Flight!  That evening, our corporal came into the hut and said “Is anyone going to the NAAFI tonight?”  Someone said cautiously “Why, Corporal?”  The corporal grinned and said “To take the piss out of 7 Flight for winning the Drill Cup”.  I’m not sure if we did that, but it was now our last few days in the camp, and we had a party in the NAAFI on the Saturday night.  My diary says that I was one of the few not to get drunk.

Immediately following the drill test and PT test (I forget who won that) we were plunged into rehearsals for the passing out parade, which took place on Monday 18^th June.  This was watched by friends and relatives of the participants.  My parents didn’t come, in view of the distance involved.  The station band took part, and I found it much easier to march to the sound of music, and they also played a fanfare when we presented arms.  We went home for 9 days’ leave in the afternoon.  Some time earlier, we had listened with considerable disbelief when a corporal claimed that some men didn’t want to leave, and that they had tears in their eyes when they left the camp.  I saw no evidence of this when we were being driven to the station.  When the bus passed through the gates of the camp, we all let out a thunderous cheer.

I can remember very little about my comrades, as I never saw any of them again.  I have a photograph showing nineteen airmen and two corporals, together with a list of their names.  I don’t know if anyone was missing from the picture.  The only one I remember was the senior man, Denis Wilson, who was a very nice chap.  I think he told me that he was an estimating engineer in civil life.  We all got on together reasonably well, and jointly petitioned the sergeant to let one of the group have a 48 hour pass, as he had just got engaged, so that he could go and see his fiancée.  This man had entertained us after lights out on a number of nights by giving details of his sex life with his girlfriend.  When he got engaged, he told us that he loved her.  Coarse comment from the other airmen suggested what part of her he actually loved!  After the passing out parade, he brought her, against all the rules, into the billet to meet us.  All the lads got coy and embarrassed when they met her, in contrast to their usual behaviour.

When I left West Kirby, I was fitter than I have ever been before or since, as a result of all the drill, PT and map reading exercises.  On the debit side, I was smoking far more.  At that time, it was unusual for someone to be a non smoker.  After a period of drill, the corporal would say “Right, inside for a 5 minute smoke” and I would stretch out on my bed and light up together with the others.  I eventually broke the habit at the age of 25 and haven’t smoked since.  After nine days’ leave, I went to RAF Hereford to be trained as a Clerk (Equipment Accounting) and then served the rest of my time at 16 MU RAF Stafford, before being demobbed in April 1958 with the rank of SAC.

R I Vaughan

28^th February 2006 (amended 10^th April 2006).