Return to the Memories page    or    Return to Home page

RAF Bridgnorth

Continuing the memories of Bernard Parke from 1956.

The evening of our arrival was taken up with a kit inspection which had to be permanently on show.
Locker doors had to be kept open at an angle to display a folded clean shirt with two detached collars on each side of it The collars were folded to form a box shape at one end.
Clean underclothes and socks were laid on the shelf beneath. The trick was that these items were never used during the eight weeks of training.
The bed was stripped each morning and the locker top was used as a guide to make up the bed pack which consisted of the blankets with the sheets between each blanket and the final blanket was wrapped round. The general effect formed a box like display about the size of a present day television.
The hut floor was highly polished and to protect it from the nails in our boots we used pads from old blankets and made a skating movement across the billet. With luck the action would help polish the lino but quite frequently a hob nail would score the floor badly, it was a favoured habit of flights moving on to trade training to deliberately ruin the lino in this way to make life more miserable for the in coming recruits.
The polish available to us was government issue with the "flash point" shown on the lid in bold letters.
This was a invitation to use it to light stubborn hut stoves.
The billet was manually polished daily by hand, however we were issued with a "bumper" to assist us. ( A heavy weight with a brush on the lower side propelled by the means of a long handle.)
Knives forks and spoons were necessary to exist. These had to be guarded personally at all time against pilfering. If stolen it was necessary to take another from some place to avoid going hungry. The set was made up with a large white mug. Without it drinking was not possible. It had to be with you at all times when working on fatigues. A kit bag rope was used to tie it round the waist so that it hung at the back of the service overhauls. Needless to say it was easy to break then when worn in this way.
At all time they had to be spotless. If a drill instructor found any mark on the mug he would throw it against the hut stove and tell the owner to clear up this mess.
A new mug would have to be purchased as soon as possible at the cost of l/6d. Quite an expense when the pay was 4/- per day.(20p).
 
Next The Death of Trenchard.
Lord Trenchard Marshall of the Royal Air Force.
 
Lord Trenchard "The Father of The Royal Air Force" died early in 1956.
"It is an ill wind etc" For this gave the Drill Instructors an ideal opportunity to teach us funeral drill using the number 4 Lee Enfield Rifle. Perhaps the most difficult part of this was
"The rest on your arms reverse"
This involved moving the rifle slowly from "The present" through 180 degrees until the barrel pointed at one of the boots. The Barrel was placed on the boot and both hands placed on the butt. The arms were them allowed to drop and the head would them be lowered in respect for the departed.
After a convenient time the command of "Attention" would be called and the head would be raised at the same time of the arms.
On one occasion this movement seem to relax me, and I did not respond to the attention. I was aware of boots coming towards me and soon found myself off the parade ground with the order to pack my kit and prepare to be "Back Flighted".
This would mean that I would have to go through recruit training again from the very start.
Fortunately this did not happen for after a lecture from a senior warrant officer on how lucky I was not to end my life in a WW2 bomber as many other young men a decade before had done I was allowed back to my original flight.
Most mornings started with a colour hoisting parade.
It was quite a short parade, but it was necessary to use the latrines before the parade as this was given as a reason for the number of airmen fainting on the parade ground. This was a chargeable offence, although of you remained at attention on the ground you might be let off.
Another problem was to make sure when fixing bayonets that they were fitted correctly. If not, there would be a loud clatter as the weapon fell to the ground, and laughter had to be suppressed.
The parade would be inspected off the parade ground as well as by the inspecting officer on the ground. The D.I.'s always had the same comments during these inspections. The favourites were :
"Am I urting you lad ?" "Well I ought to be I standing on your air.!!"
"You move like my grand mother and she bin dead ten years!!"
"If you don't close yor hands I wheel break your fingers off one by one and shove them down yor froat"
"If you don't swing your arms I will break them orf and beat you to death with the soggy end"
Stupid as these threats were they are had to desired when shouted at you from a few inches away.
There was always one airman who always insisted on trying to march by putting his left arm forward at the same time as his left leg.
Much time was spent in the wooden huts preparing for these parades. This was called "bulling" (cleaning kit).
We were issued with a beret and a peaked cap known as an "S.D. Cap".
this was brushed round in a circular motion on the top. Berets had to have the adjusting tape hidden at the rear a the cap badge had to be over the left eye.
They were normally shrunk in hot water so they fitted tightly.
We had two uniforms known as a number one blue and a battle dress.
Not only did the trousers have to be pressed but also the sleeves to give them a crease.
All tunic buttons were of brass and had to be clean once a day with brasso.
Every one tried to wear the eagle on the buttons down as much as possible to give the appearance of diligence and commitment to duty. But what is more important it could denote length of service.
A favourite insult to new recruits was "Get some in."And you will never get out with a number like that" Referring to the service number.
Webbing in the form of belts and small packs were blued by a special RAF blanco. Full webbing had just been abolished.
Boots when issued had a bubble like finish. These had to be polished to give them a smooth surface which could be made to reflect the D.I.'s faces. Saliva was mixed with the polish to improve the shine. "Spit and Polish"
Some airmen took a short cut using a very hot spoon or poker to burn off the bubbles. This worked for a short time until the scorched leather cracked and holes appeared in the boots. These would result in a new pair being purchased for 30/-.
(over a weeks pay)
Bayonet scabbards were blackened with melted black shoe polish.
Sundays were a sort of rest day which was used for extra kit cleaning whilst listening to Jean Metcalf on the hut speaker. This appeared to be connected to some old radio receiver in some hidden part of the camp.
Full kit inspections were a bore.
The whole of the kit had to be laid out on the bed in the same order as photograph which acted as a plan.
Our billet had a compliment of twenty two. Half were from Liverpool and the other half were from the East End of London. As I did not come from either district I was virtually on my own. There was a character from Bootle called Webster who reduced his kit in a few weeks to such a state that he had to replace most of it out of his pay. He never had sleeped in a bed and did not intend to do so in Bridgnorth he spent the nights sleeping in a chair next to the tortoise stove.
One night he put so much coke on the stove that it melted part of it down.
On one such kit inspection day I was given seven days latrine duty because having put metal polish on the brass name holder on my wardrobe I forgot to wipe it off.
The elderly speaker sounded reveille from a very scratched 78 wax record and lights went out were at ten which was announced by an equally scratched 78 playing the last post.
One favourite game would be played on people returning back to the billet by dismantling their beds and putting them in the rafters of the huts. These often had to be retrieved in the dark.
Another senseless trick would be to sew their pyjamas up.
Another was to hoard sink stoppers as these were always missing from the ablutions. Failure to have one would mean using lavatory paper to block the waste hole.
 
Next Arms training.
 
GOOD NEWS ! We heard in about our second week at Bridgnorth that we were going to have a pay rise.
We were to have an extra 6d per day making our pay 4/6 per day This was enough to buy a bar of Cadbury's Chocolate if we were so minded. We all seem to have a desire for sugar and sweet things. Chocolate and a mug of hot tea normally from the Salvation Army Mobile Canteen was the high light of mid morning. Often the tea had to reluctantly be tipped away as the time available to drink it was limit.
At this time we were introduced to live weapon training. Our poor old number four Lee Enfields took a pounding on the parade ground, and although they were spotless the bedding of the barrels were suspect, but on the twenty five yard range the rudiments of marksmanship could be taught. I was fortunate at this stage to win my marksman's badge which I proudly sewed on my tunics.
We were also introduced to The Bren Gun. Most of these were veterans of the last war; dated about 1942. This was a popular L.M.G. with a firing rate of 800 rounds per minute fed by banana, shape magazines. It was fired in teams of three. One to fire the gun, one to change the barrel, and another to carry the ammunition. It was very accurate weapon.
At this stage we were supposed to use them on single shot by moving a lever near the trigger mechanism. However one terrified recruit forgot to do this and froze with his finger on the trigger letting lose the whole magazine.
Because of the rifling of the barrel all fire arms tend to move to the right when fired and so the gun swung violently it caused everyone in the sweep to duck for cover. The D.I. got quite cross with him suggesting that he did not have a birth certificate.
Bayonet training was really quite exhilarating. We fixed bayonets to our rifles and ran at sacks stuffed with straw. We were told to scream as we ran to frighten the enemy.
It did not have much effect on the sacks !
The bayonet was plunged in to the sack right up to the muzzle of the rifle.
We were then told to twist the bayonet and use our booted feet to extract the bayonet. I often wonder about this tactic and some years later, when I was deputy Mayor of Guildford, I had the privilege to sponsor a veteran of The Third Battle of Ypres who attended the Menia Gate Ceremony on Armistice Bay.
He told me that using a boot was slow and clumsy and the quickest way to get the victim off the bayonet was to shoot it off.
The Veteran, George Collins, was in his ninety-forth year at that time. He had been a regular soldier who had been taken prisoner during The British Army retreat in 1940. George manage to escape and in civilian clothes decided to try and get a train out of the area. He also managed to get a newspaper which of course was in French a language he could not read nor speak.
As he stood on the platform he heard a voice saying "The game is up Tommy"
The voice persisted and the owner a German had him recaptured.
When he asked how the German knew he was British he was told that British Soldiers laced their boots in a different fashion to continentals.
He was then taken to a police station where his captors decided to teach him not to try an escape again.
Four of them took him into a back room, and one of the four took a swing at George's head with his fist.
George being a trained soldier, instinctively ducked, and the German's fist hit the wood panelling of the room. Not only did it hit the panel but it went right through.
His assailant recoiled in pain and he colleagues beat up George with greater zeal.
George was then placed in a cell for several days until his injuries healed when he was then taken back to the other prisoners.
George did not try to escape again.
We were taught the dangers of nerve gas and taken to a hut where we were exposed to tear gas. Gas masks had to be removed and we were told to run round the hut.
The door the hut was opened and we were made to run across a field to clear the gas from our lungs.
Field dressings were produced and demonstrated. Apparently they were the only kind on bandage dressing for all injuries. It was a bandage attached to a thick pad to help the blood on the wound to congeal.
Treatment for shock was still the old method of hot sweet tea and a blanket to keep the patient warm.
We were taught about morphine and how to inject it direct into the thigh in a stabbing motion. Fireman's lifts were shown with specific care to be used when rescuing women to avoid any future charge of assault.
 
Next fatigues and our first 48 hour pass.
 
March 1956.
 
The since we arrived at Bridgnorth the weather was been exceptionally cold. Typical of the winters before global warming. Most of the water pipes froze and the situation at one time was it was rumoured that the camp would be closed down. The one thing which seemed to terrify the D.I.'s was the fear that a recruit would find time to write a letter of complaint to his M.P.
This would let all hell lose!
Any how we were about to enjoy the beautiful Shropshire countryside the hard way.
We were going on a resource and initiative forty eighth hour course.
The day arrived and we donned with our quilted Korean War Combat Suits. Several of us thought that we would be even more resourceful and wear our regulation pyjamas under our battle dress thus having three layers of clothes.
We were taken to a remote location which was to be our base camp, arriving in the late afternoon. We were issued with tins of food, eggs, and condensed milk and of course most important of all -tea !
Our section lit our camp fire. (A section consisted of five airmen.)
A tin potatoes was suspended above the fire in anticipation that the water would boil and the potatoes would cook.
A tin of steak was also produced and placed in the fire.
We thought that it was all a joke and a Cook's Assistant would appear and take over this menial work. But it did not happen; and so this suspect meal was greedily consumed.
By this time we were tired and dirty, and our thoughts concentrated on sleep.
This would mean constructing bivouac. The bivouac was made by collecting branches of trees and with our boot laces making a frame about four feet wide and about six feet long. It was about eight inches high at one end and eighteen inches the other.
Our five ground sheets were draped over the frame and from the wider end we all crawled in side by side to sleep, we were quite oblivious of the heavy rain which had started to fall. but we were warm and slept very well.
The morning dawned with bright spring sunshine. The fire was re-kindled to provide us all with a warm mug of tea, and for breakfast a kind of porridge.
The eggs were hard boiled to eat during the day.
We filled our water bottles with condensed milk which we believe to be more nourishing than water.
One of our number was left behind and tended the fire.
He was also charged with preparing a meal for us on our return.
The hard boiled eggs were to be our nourishment during our trek.
I have never been able to eat egg white, but as I was hungry.
I tried, and was then violently sick.
The mid morning sun made us wish that we had left off our pyjamas for it became uncomfortably hot. The condensed milk was sickly and did nothing for our thirst. As we passed a farm the farmer and his wife appeared and offered us fresh milk which we eagerly accepted tipping the condense milk away so that we might fill our water bottles with it.
Our trek took us some thirty miles passed delightful villages. For in those days Telford did not exist.
Each village had as attractive pub. These were out of bounds to us, as the D.I's had set up their quarters in most of them calmly playing bar billiards. Pool was not known to us at that time.
We climbed very high hills which one of our numbers said they were mountains. This was laughed at by a D.I. with which the recruit said one was well over a thousand feet. With this the D.I. looked a little subdued.
I had never seen so many dead sheep as I saw on those hills.
By mid afternoon we were very lost until we discovered a disused railway track which we followed to regain our bearings.
Our feet were sore for our new boots had not been properly worn in.
It was dusk when we reached base camp again and the airman left behind to tend the fire had managed to boil some more tinned potatoes which we ate eagerly with some under cooked tinned meat.
We once again took shelter under the ground sheets which were the main stay of our bivouacs.
The following morning the RAF truck returned us to Bridgnorth. It was the time in seventy two hours that I could remove my boots.
I counted six blisters on each foot These got progressively worse, over the coming weeks through lack of proper dressing.
For dressings would mean the rigours of sick parade, which in turn took up training time, and too much time lost training would mean being "back flighted".
It was best to suffer in silence.
 
I visited R.A.F. Uxbridge about two years ago and I was surprised to see a young woman in a pill box guarding the entrance with an assault rifle.
In 1956 we had just a guard room and had to patrol the camp at night armed with pick axe handles.
These could be used if we encountered The I.R.A.!!
The I.R.A. was not active in those days but there was a possibility that we could meet up with them in the dead of night.
Our main purpose was that of fire picket duty. Purely voluntary of course and volunteers were requested from our flight.
We were on parade and the D.I. asked for likely personnel to step forward.
None came forward, for at this period on our training we had learned never to volunteer for anything.
The D.I. called the front line to take one step backwards with the exception of A.C.2 Parke.
I had volunteered.
The duty was not too bad, it consisted of living in the guard room for forty eight hours. We had four hours off duty and two hours of walking round the camp to a time schedule. We had specific instructions to call at the armoury and bang on the door to ensure that the guards inside had not been the subject of an I.R.A. attack. The one problem was that the armoury guards did not want to be bothered every two hours as they were probably a sleep on duty anyway. However they woke long enough to shout obscenities back through the door at us.
We were allowed one forty eight hour pass home after about a month on camp. The fare home was about 30/-, but most personnel took up the offer. We are piled into the coach hired to take us to Wolverhampton Railway Station and on to enjoy home cooking. Mine was fried pork sausages and chips, these English sausages were delicious before the common market interfered with our food. Sausages to-day are bland with little taste to recommend them.
We noticed that some of the carriages were reserved for the Walsall Football Team. This raised some interest as most of us thought this to be a team from behind "The Iron Curtain."
The food at the mess was really quite edible which could not be said for the later postings.
Most messes had whole families of stray cats living outside the buildings, but they did not, to our knowledge, find their way into the dishes.
Much of our rations were pilfered by the mess staff. Rationing had not long finished in the country at that time.
Butter, when available was served in a large tin vessels which were filled with water. Small pats floated in water and we were allowed to spear these with our forks. Potatoes were always served as P.O.M. (Potato mixture)
The Cooks were not known for their finesse and if a duty officer inspected the mess and asked if there were any complaints, it was advisable to say nothing.
To complain would mean short rations for the rest of the posting.
One senior cook had spent some time on his speciality. The trouble was we did not know it was his speciality and nobody liked it or would eat it.
The cook emerged from his domain in the kitchen and screamed.
"You ignorant bastards don't you know what pear condi is?"
"It too good for you lot."
With that he vanished no doubt reduced to tears.
Occasionally one of us might receive a whole cake from home which we shared.
I received one from a girl friend and we all enjoyed it immensely wondering how she managed to get all the dried fruit to go to the bottom of the cake.
Fatigues in the cook house were particularly unpleasant We were issued with demins and spend a lot of time in the large food vats scrapping the congealed food remnants from the interiors or scrapping meat from bones, no doubt to be used as an ingredient for some food dish.
The demob chart was a fashionable item amongst national service men. The two year period would be divided into days and some times broken down further to hours. The days to the demob date would be ticked off with enthusiasm.
I did not have one for it was a stupid negative waste of time. When demob eventually came it must have been an anti-climax to join the ranks of the unemployed. Many friendships were forged and experiences gained.
National Service was a great leveller.
I feel that to-days' generation have missed out never have had the opportunity to enjoy the same camaraderie as we did.
Indeed many of us still meet now after over forty years.
We were interview for our various trades and I was delighted to be classed as a radar operator and I was to go to R.A.F. Compton Bassett for training.
The final day at Bridgnorth came.
It was Our Passing Out Parade.
We were invited to invite our families, few came. My parents climb into their 1939 twelve horse power car in the dead of night and managed the two hundred or so miles from Guildford. Some effort on the pre-motorway roads that had no through routes marked.
The parade was a large clumsy affair. The station band just managed to play the Royal Air Force March Past to which the various flights shuffled passed the C.O.
The Band was a motley of musicians. It was difficult to keep a band on that station at full strength. One of our airman could play the clarinet and was seconded to the band. He was offered a permanent posting on the station. This appealed to him as he could watch from a position of relative safety the recruits going through hell.

The views expressed on this page are those of the contributor and the opinions
expressed are not necessarily those of the web site and / or Mr Gwynne Chadwick.

Return to the Memories page    or    Return to Home page