Monday 17th September 2018

Sometimes, Facebook is useful in reminding us of things that happened on this day, years gone by.

On the 17th, it was 28 years since I joined the Air Force. I had posted a picture a couple of years ago marking the date.

The actual day I joined the RAF wasn't like you imagine, in that I woke up in my own bed, and went to sleep at the end of the day also in my own bed. THe real change would come the next day.

No, Tuesday 17th September 1990 was a warm and sunny early autumnal day, and I was gong to join the armed forces. I had to be at a faceless blue office block at ten in the morning, and if possible, have a member of my family with me.

So, I asked Granddad to come with me. It was only 6 years before he died, but I don't seem to remember his having trouble walking to Oulton Broad North Station to catch the ten to eight train to Norwich, nor the long climb up Prince of Wales Road once we were in the city.

The block was opposite the old chocolate factory, soon to be swept away and replaced with the Chapelfield Shopping centre, but the action was up on the 4th floor, where about a dozen of us had gathered to be attested.

That is, swear allegiance to the Queen.

At ten, we were told to stand up, place out hand on the Bible and repeat the oath. We were given a certificate, a rail warrant for the journey to the Lincolnshire Wolds the next day, and the Flight Sergeant who ran the place, filled our heads with stories of his time in the mob. The best piece of advice was to see basic training out, see trade training out as life in the "real" Air Force was great.

Granddad and I walked back to the station to catch a train back to Oulton Broad, and once there, I bid him farewell and went home to pack.

Preparations for this moment had been going on for a year, but once I had a date for enlistment, I had to buy a few things, like name tags, and boot polish and the other things that would be needed.

In the late afternoon, I walked to the Fighting Cocks to meet up with my old partner in crime, Scarecrow, to get very drunk and play pool. It wasn't a pub we went to much, but it was near his parent's place, and once he came back from work, he joined me in the pub to drink long and deep. I seem to remember not losing at pool all night, winning nine straight games or something, but at nine, I said that was it, and walked back up Kirley Run then into Oulton Broad, over the bridge and railway to home.

I went straight to bed, as I had to be up to catch a very early train the next morning.

Mum cried as she waved me off from the back door as the taxi drove off down the street, and I left my civilian life behind, my life and me would never be the same again.

I caught the train, but my hands were shaking like never before thanks to the excess beer I had supped the night before, and once at Norwich I bought some orange juice to rehydrate myself. I met u with three others who were also travelling up to Lincoln, we chatted, they were nervous, I was nearly a decade older than them, and I was fine.

I was also fne on the train to Ely, fine on the train to Peterborough and again on the final train to Newark Northgate. We waited on the station forecourt for the bus, I was fine. The bus arrived and we got on, we must have looked like new recruits, as the driver came over to speak to us and told us to load our cases and get on the coach.

Up to that point, all I had been focused on was actually joining up, without thinking of what that meant. All I knew was it was going to be different to life in the chicken factory.

All was fine until we came to Swinderby.

There is little to Swinderby, apart from the base there is a level crossing on the line to Lincoln. These days the base is an antiques centre, altough the hangers and control towers are there, and I suppose the barrack blocks are too.

The bus dropped us off outside the station chapel, and we were told to go into the padres room, where there was tea and squash.

And we waited. The first dose of military waiting.

Once all 30 of our flight had arrived, we were walked to our block, a cold war H shaped block with single glazing and metal frames. In each wing there was a barrack room with eight beds on each side, each with a wardrobe and footlocker.

We were taken to stores and given shirts and a jumper and once back at the block told to change into those. Military on the upper half, jeans and trainers on the lower half. This was the look that new recruits sported for two days, until Friday when we were taken to stores again and given bags of camouflage gear, boots and the rest.

We were given an easy first day, just make our beds and once we had been to the mess for dinner, back in the barrack to stare at the walls.

Thursday was a day of admin, all forms to fill in, endless forms, and then came our first lessan, General Service Knowledge, or GSK.

Friday is when things got serious.

Marching.

Once we had our sets of green camouflage gear, we were taken to the parade ground and taught the basics of marching. We had to shout out the timings as we did marching, stopping, turning to the left, right and about turns. Nothing too stressful, it was even fun.

GDT, marching, PT was mixed in with Ground Defence Training, GDT, which would be the main part of the first three weeks of training. Each day had these in various combinations, until we had the drill check after two weeks, where we silently did a set series of commands, and did it well.

THis meant we were able to take the yellow backing from our beret badge. It was all carrots, if you did well, you were allowed something new, and this marked you out in the mess as you progressed through training.

At the end of the three weeks, our GDT training was tested as we were taken to an exercise area at North Luffenham for a three day exercise called Military Field Training, MFT.

It was to put our training into practice, and keep up working, and getting physically and mentally tired.

And at the end of it, if you passed, you could ditch the camouflage and were blues.

Wearing blues meant you had just two weeks training left, and most of your day was taken with practicing as a flight, then with the other two flights of the intake for the passing out parade, where our marching would be witnessed by our family and friends.

The last week, you wear best blues and were allowed to go to the NAAFI for a drink, if you were old enough.

Then six weeks after arriving, you lined up with nearly a hundred others, marched to the RAF band whilst our families looked on and tried to spot their little darlings. But we all looked the same.

After passing out, we felt like we were on top of the world, we met our families for lunch, but all too soon, we had to leave, and either drive or catch the bus to another camp for our trade training, where we would be bottom of the pile again. But for now, top of the world. And now had the rank of AC or Aircraftsman.

As well as all that, we had to bull our blocks well into the night, but up before dawn to get ready and do last minute clearing before the day of actual training. But I knew this lasted for just six weeks, not that bad really.

Maybe, another time i will tell you about that.

But, back to 2018.

Monday morning again, but being almost in control, I had no fear from the inbox.

It really is dark at half five in the morning when the alarm goes off. As usual, Jools is already up and making coffee and breakfast downstairs.

I join her, and we talk little really, neither of us want to go to work, but we know we must.

Jools leaves and I watch the football from Sunday, just two games so not that long, but gives me chance to have breakfast sitting on the sofa before work begins.

The day pans out as it usually does, mails, meetings, phone calls and always problems.

I stop for lunch, more like brunch really, and carry on working.

Last in the afternoon, the sun having melted the clouds away and the day almost warm enough to still be summer. I take myself and a camera or two for a walk.

just over the fields to the glade to check on butterflies and wild flowers.

Not much to report; a single Comma, a few Large Whites, a Common Darter and a hornet mimicking hoverfly.

All around, the fields are ploughed or already sown with winter crops, some showing well in the bright sunshine.

I walk back home, as I know the cats would be waiting for their dinner, which they were.

Dinner is just some chilled party food that needed to be warmed up, so at half five I make some lazy garlic bread and warm up the other food, ready for when Jools comes home.

There is football to listen to again in the evening. I mean, there's always football. Outside a badger eats peanuts and sneezes as he does so.

Another day done.