Boy Entrant; The Recollections of a Royal Air Force Brat (15 page)

CHAPTER 4

Recoil on the Range

T
he next morning Corporal Kaveney stomped noisily into the billet, shortly after we had returned from breakfast. “Fall in outside, on the double” he ordered.

We sprinted outside and headed for the road, joined by the other boys who were also streaming out of their billets. On reaching the road, everyone formed up in the usual three ranks. Corporals Blandford and Hillcrest were already there and when we’d right-dressed and been stood easy, the corporals divided us all into three smaller groups. I found myself in Corporal Hillcrest’s group: he brought us to attention and then put us through the right-dress manoeuvre before standing us at ease.

“I hope you’ve all been busy cleaning your buttons,” he announced with a malicious little smirk, as he strutted around in front of us, “because I’m going to be inspecting them very closely.” He stopped strutting and faced us, “But first I’m going to give the order for you to open ranks,” he continued. “On the command ‘open order march’ the front rank will take one step forward and the rear rank will take one step back. The middle rank will
not
move and don’t forget—the word of command is ‘march’. Do not move until it is given. Is that understood?”

“Yes corporal,” we answered together.

He demonstrated, marching forward with his left foot as he voiced the command ‘march’. He then completed the movement by bringing his right foot smartly alongside the left. That, he explained, was for the front rank only and then he showed us how the rear rank needed to take one step backwards. It looked easy enough, but as we learned time and time again with new drill movements, it was rarely as simple as it looked.

“Flight...! Waiiiit for it, waiiiit for it,”—some people had started to move before the actual command was given. Hillcrest paused until stability and equilibrium returned once more to the ranks and then completed the command, “opennnn orderrrr
march
.”

The front rank took one step forward, the rear rank took one step back, some of the middle rank took one step forward, some stayed where they were and some took a step back.

“You bloody
shower
,” screamed Hillcrest. “You’re an
absolute
bloody shower! As you
werrrrre
!”

With his North Country accent, he always pronounced “bloody” as “blue-dy”. I recognized the word, distorted though it was, but I didn’t know what a shower was in the particular context in which he used it, although to judge from the manner in which he screamed the word, it didn’t sound as though it was very complimentary.

We shuffled back into our original three ranks, only to undergo another ‘right-dress’ and then, after one or two more attempts, we eventually responded to the ‘open order’ command without major disorder. Having managed to get us into open order, Hillcrest then walked along the front and rear of each rank, inspecting our buttons, boots, uniforms and personal appearance in general. In particular, he was having a field day with our berets. Many of us were still grappling with exactly how this piece of headgear should be worn. The correct way was to adjust the head band so that it was horizontal all around the head at a level that was two finger-widths above the bridge of the nose, with the hat-badge located directly above the left eye. The loose material was then supposed to be pulled over the right ear. But styles varied amongst Boy Entrants. A few wore their berets in the regulation style, whilst an even smaller number wore theirs with the headband pulled all the way down until it rested on their ears, leaving no material to pull over to the side and endowing the wearer with a moronic appearance. Most of us, however, wore our berets in the sophisticated style affected by the Wing boys. This was really a modified regulation style—after pulling the material over the right ear in the approved manner, the wearer grasped the backing plate that supported the badge and pulled it to an upright position, at the same time putting a tuck in the material behind the backing plate. Hillcrest didn’t like this style, however and wore his own beret in a strictly regulation way.

“I don’t want to see any little bloody duck ponds in those berets,” he informed us as he made us adjust the headgear to suit his style.

But we always adjusted our headgear to reinstate the “duck pond” as soon afterwards as we could get away with it. This was a continual source of irritation to Hillcrest and it became an ongoing battle between him and us. Few of us ever relented and always wore our berets in the Wing style, which we believed to be a hallmark of the true Boy Entrant. Many of us, in fact, wore it in this manner throughout our entire RAF service careers and very often it served as a recognition signal between ex-Boy Entrants, even after we had left Boys’ service far behind us.

Although we may have made a stand for individuality with regard to our berets, there was little we could do with our brass buttons except try to keep them clean. The problem with the buttons was that they tarnished at the slightest touch of a finger, or a light sprinkle of rain, or just by being exposed to the damp or foggy air of a winter morning. Hillcrest and the other DIs were constantly on our backs for dirty buttons, or “shit between the crowns,” as they frequently called it. If we failed to pass inspection because of our buttons, we would be ordered to perform extra chores—known as fatigues—that evening. These were menial jobs, like washing dirty pans in the cookhouse. Afterwards, we would be required to report to the corporal’s bunk with all of our buttons, hat badges and boots clean and shiny, ready for the next morning’s daily button inspection. If they weren’t up to par, we were sent away to do them over again.

When Hillcrest finished inspecting our buttons he gave the command to “close order march,” which meant that the front and rear ranks reversed the steps they had taken earlier to restore the Flight to its regular formation. When that was completed and we had performed a right-dress for the umpteenth time, he gave the order to right turn and then “By the left quick march!”

We moved off in a column of threes, approximately thirty boys with no idea of where we were headed, but it soon became very apparent that our destination was the Square. Hillcrest called out the time as we marched, left, right, left, right, with everyone in unison—all except for one poor unfortunate misfit. Potter must have been somewhere else when right feet had been given out, because he seemed to be cursed with two left ones. The poor lad couldn’t keep in step to save his life. Whilst most of the Flight moved forward in a reasonable semblance of order, a minor tempest raged in the immediate area surrounding the unfortunate Potter. He was stepping on the heels of the people marching in front and tripping up those behind. People were stumbling all around him, getting kicked and kicking back in retaliation. Hillcrest suddenly became aware of the problem, like noticing rough water on the surface of an otherwise calm lake. He called a halt just as we got on the gravel-covered approach to the Square and marched back to where Potter was located in the column, obviously relishing the crunching noise that his steel-shod boots made on the fine gravel. Many pairs of eyes were glaring at Potter, so Hillcrest knew exactly who the culprit was right away.

We recommenced our interrupted march to the Square and actually made some progress before Potter lost his synchronicity again. This time, he caused even more mayhem than he had on the previous occasion. Corporal Hillcrest, who had been keeping a careful eye on the situation, called us to a halt once more and then ordered Potter to the rear of the column in the hope that he might be less of a problem there. We then continued on to the Square without further incident.

This was the first day of the infamous square-bashing that we’d all heard about, which was to become a part of our everyday life for the next three months. Drill, as it was officially known, started with the basics of marching in step and coming to a halt when given the order. The two other Initial Training Squadron groups of boys were also on the Square, but the separation between all three groups was sufficient to avoid confusion by any one group mistakenly responding to orders given by the DI of another group. Potter continued to be a problem, but as an individual I was secretly glad that someone else was getting all of the unwelcome attention that might otherwise be focused on me, and I suspect that I wasn’t alone in nursing that selfish little thought. Potter was eventually taken out of the flight and given some special drill tuition, which must have worked because he didn’t seem to have too many problems with drill after that.

* * *

Although drill occupied a large amount of our time in the Initial Training Squadron, it was only one part of our training. In fact, the mission of the Initial Training Squadron was to provide us with four pillars on which to build our future service careers: to mould us into disciplined members of the Royal Air Force; to train us in the skills of personal combat and defence so that we would be prepared in the event of a hostile ground attack or nuclear war; to build up our physical strength, fitness and stamina; and to endow us with an appropriate level of education that would prepare us for the trade training that would come later. And although our drill instructors were all experts in their own field, they could only teach us how to march and perform drill movements on the parade ground. It took a team of experts in all four fields to accomplish the wide spectrum of training that the RAF expected us to absorb in the three months of our initial training.

Drill, or square-bashing as it was unlovingly referred to, started off with the fundamentals like how to make right, left and about turns from the standing position. Everything was done by numbers, which we were instructed to chant out loudly whilst performing the movements. For example, when the order for a right turn was given, I had to swivel my body around to the right whilst keeping both of my feet on the same spot. The intermediate position of the movement left me with both feet pointing in the same direction as my body but my left foot slightly behind me, as though I had been frozen in the act of taking a step forward. For the final part of the movement, I needed to bring my left foot forward alongside the right. And whilst performing all three parts of the movement, call out “turn,” as I swivelled, “two,” when the swivel was complete and “three,” as I brought my left foot forward. The left-turn movement was exactly the same except that the swivel was to the left and it was the right foot hanging back waiting to be brought alongside the left. An about turn was similar to the right turn, also with the same chant, but in this case the swivel was made through 180-degrees, which left me facing in the exact opposite direction.

We learned how to salute. On hearing the command, “Officer on parade, to the front salute!” We were instructed to bring our right arm up in a sweeping motion until it was parallel to the ground, then hold the upper arm in that position whilst the forearm, with palm fully extended, rotated at the elbow until the fingertips gently touched the right temple, just behind the eye—all of this in one fluid movement.

Then we progressed from stationary movements to marching drill. Performing about-turns on the march, like the guards at Buckingham Palace, or the more difficult manoeuvre of making an abrupt right or left turn on the march—so that instead of moving forward in a column, we would suddenly be moving in line abreast at ninety degrees to the original direction. When marching, we were always exhorted to swing our arms shoulder high. The DIs told us that this was only required during our time in the Initial Training Squadron and that when we went to the Wings we would only need to swing them as high as our waists.

The commands for the drill movements were always given in such a way that the marcher could anticipate when the actual word of command would be given and be mentally prepared to execute the movement. When the order to march was given, the first step was always with the left foot. Then once on the move, commands for simple drill movements were always given just as the right foot made contact with the ground. For example, when the command to a halt was issued it would be just as the right foot touched the ground. We knew to continue the stride with our left foot and then to stop when it hit the gravel and bring our right foot to a halt alongside of it, instead of continuing on through with the step.

An about turn on the march was also given on the right foot. The command for this was “Flight, about turn,” with the word “turn” coming simultaneously with the right foot’s contact with the parade ground. Again, the left foot would continue in the same direction, but this time, when the right foot followed, it would be planted in such a way that it formed the crossbar of a ‘T’ with the left foot. At the same time, the arms would be clamped stiffly to the sides. When the left foot came up, with an exaggerated lifting of the knee, it would then be turned by 180 degrees to point in the opposite direction. The upper body would meanwhile be following the left foot around to face in the new direction and finally the right foot would also be raised up and brought around, also with an exaggerated knee lift, before continuing to stride through and march off in the new direction, with arms swinging again.

Just when it seemed that we had got the hang of marching, the DIs introduced us to rifle drill, which seemed a little more interesting to me than ordinary drill. The Lee Enfield .303 rifle has now passed into the realms of history, but the drill movements that we were taught using this rifle are still as real to me today as they were when I learned them on the Square at Saints all those years ago.