Boy Entrant; The Recollections of a Royal Air Force Brat (28 page)

Although Sergeant Boy Goodrum gave us fair warning, we must have been slow learners or didn’t take him seriously, because neither of us gave up dragging on a Woody each morning. And just as sure as night follows day, he caught us smoking again a few days later. This time there was no getting off with a warning.

“Okay you two, I’m putting you both on a charge this time,” said Goodrum as he unexpectedly entered the billet and caught us cigarette in hand. With that, he unbuttoned his breast pocket and took out a pad of the little RAF form 252s. “Let me have your twelve-fifty,” he demanded of me, referring to my RAF identity card, form 1250.

I produced the blue identity card from out of my pocket and handed it to him, then watched in silence as he copied down my personal details on to the 252. Next, he repeated the same process with Butterworth.

“Okay, you’ll hear when you have to go before the Flight Commander. Now get out on parade before I put you on another charge for being late.”

We grabbed our hats and coats and hastily left the billet, struggling to put them on as we ran out to the road where the others had already formed up in the ranks.

All morning long, in class, I wondered when we would be called before the Flight Commander, but we didn’t have long to wait because at lunchtime the same day, Leading Boy German ordered Richard and me to report to the Flight office right away. Sergeant Savoury was waiting there to meet us, together with Sergeant Boy Goodrum and two other boys who had been picked at random to be our escorts.

“Carlin and Butterworff,” Savoury barked, “you ’ave been put on a charge and will be taken before the Flight Commander. Remove your ’ats!”

This was standard procedure for someone appearing on a charge, the reason for which I am completely ignorant, but we did as we were told and left our berets on a hat rack in the Sergeant’s office. Everyone else involved was required to wear their hat.

Sergeant Savoury then explained the protocol of going up on a charge. “You will bofe go in to see the Flight Commander togevvah, and will be referred to as ‘the Accused’. Understood?”

We both answered, “Yes, sergeant.”

He continued, “When I give the order: ‘Accused and escort quick march’, you will march into the Flight Commander’s office between the two escorts. Listen for my order to ‘mark time’ and mark time in front of the desk. Then, I’ll give you the order to ‘alt, whereupon you will cease marking time. Izzat understood?”

“Yes, sergeant.”

On hearing that we understood, the sergeant continued, “I will order you to ‘right turn’ so that you will be facing the Flight Commander, you will ‘en remain at attention at all times and look straight ahead. Do not speak until the Flight Commander asks if you have anyfing to say.” He continued, “If you ‘ave some mitigating circumstances, although I doubt it in this case, speak clearly and loudly enough for ‘im to ‘ear. Okay? If you have noffink to say, just say ‘no sir’ and ‘en be quiet. Izzat understood?”

We both meekly answered, “Yes, sergeant.”

“Okay, get fell in over ‘ere,” he said, pointing to a spot adjacent to the corridor wall, just outside the Flight Commander’s door.

We lined up along the wall, both of us sandwiched between the two escorts, with Sergeant Boy Goodrum taking the lead ahead of us to make a fifth person in our party. Sergeant Savoury went into the Flight Commander’s office, presumably to check if he was ready to hear the charge. Then, reappearing in the doorway, he called out “Accused, escort and witness, attention! Qui-ick march, left wheel, left wheel, mark time, ‘eft right, ‘eft right, ‘eft right!”

We marched the short distance to the office door, turned left to pass through the doorway at “left wheel” and then immediately made another left turn at the second “left wheel”, to bring us in front of the officer’s desk, marking time for a few moments. Flight
Lieutenant Grafton, also wearing his hat, gazed at us with a bored
,
disconnected look as he sat with both elbows propped on the desk, supporting his chin on clasped hands. His demeanour suggested that, for him, this was just another dreary day at the office. More petty Boy Entrant shenanigans to suffer through, when he would really prefer to be flying off up into the wide blue yonder, perhaps hurtling through the sky at the controls of a Javelin or Hunter, or anything with some horsepower behind it, instead of being stuck behind a damned desk and forced to participate in all this bloody schoolboy stuff and nonsense.

We seemed to mark time longer than was really necessary, but finally Sergeant Savoury gave the order, “Accused and escort, ‘alt! Right turn! Stand still, you’re at attention!” With that he gave a smart salute in Flight Lieutenant Grafton’s direction, which was half heartedly returned by the Flight Commander’s hand flopping limply to the peak of his hat.

“Sir, Boy Entrants Carlin and Butterworff are charged wiff smoking during duty hours. The charge has been preferred by Sergeant Boy Entrant Goodrum.”

“Thank you Sergeant Savoury,” said Flight Lieutenant Grafton. Then, addressing Goodrum, “Sergeant Boy Goodrum, present the evidence.”

Sergeant Boy Goodrum produced a small notebook and whilst reading from it, barked out the details of his confrontation with us that morning, “Sir, I entered billet E7 at oh seven fifty hours on .....” and here he gave the date, “and found both of the accused smoking during duty hours. I had previously cautioned them about this behaviour, so I informed them that I was placing them on a charge.”

“Thank you, Sergeant Boy,” the Flight Commander said and then turning to the sergeant he said expectantly, “Let me see their one-oh-ones.”

RAF form 101 was a document that was used to record all charges brought against an individual, together with the punishments handed out for each transgression. Flight Lieutenant Grafton saw that each form 101 was completely blank. His gaze returned to us.

The Flight Lieutenant studied our blank forms again for a few moments, before directing his attention back to us as we stood stiffly before him.

“You know that you’re not allowed to smoke without permission during duty hours, don’t you?” He said, in what sounded suspiciously like a fatherly tone of voice.

“Yes sir,” we both answered in a timidly muted manner, one after the other, responding to his fatherly tone by playing our part as the errant sons.

“Well, since this is your first offence I’m going to be lenient with you,” he said, still speaking in his fatherly voice, “but you must follow orders.” Now he raised his voice slightly, “If the Sergeant Boy, or anyone else in authority, tells you not to do something then pay attention to them.” He glared at us for a moment from under the peak of his hat, allowing time for his words to sink in. Then, “Is that understood?”

“Yes sir,” we answered in unison, the eagerness in our voices betraying our anticipation of being let off the charge.

“Well, I’m going to give you a little taste of the type of punishment that we have here in the Wings. Perhaps it will convince both of you to keep your noses clean in future and not appear in front of me again.” Then, in a change of tone, he loudly and officiously pronounced, “I award you both the punishment of one day confined to camp.” And then, barely pausing for breath, “March them out sergeant!”

Sergeant Savoury immediately sprang to life, with a look of surprise clearly etched on his face. “Accused, escort and witness, mark time, ‘eft right, ‘eft right. Ri-iight turn, quick march, ri-iight wheel, ri-iight wheel.” And then we were back in the corridor, outside the Flight Commander’s office. “Mark time. Accused, escort and witness, ‘alt!”

“Boy Entrants Carlin and Butterworff, you ‘ave been awarded one day of confinement to camp,” the sergeant intoned in his Cockney accent, even though he was making a huge effort to speak “proper-like”. “Report to the Guardroom forfwiff and sign out your defaulter’s webbing.” Then he dropped the pretence of trying to speak correctly as he added in a quieter tone, “Cor blimey! In all my years, I’ve never ‘eard of anyfing like it! Getting only one day’s jankers! You got off very loightly moy lads!”

It seems that we made history that day because nobody else had ever heard of such a light sentence and everyone was at a loss to understand why Flight Lieutenant Grafton was so lenient with us. As far as Richard and I were concerned, it didn’t matter too much because the only important outcome was that we got off so lightly, much to Sergeant Boy Goodrum’s disgust.

We both headed for the Guardroom right away, where we were issued with a large haversack made of blue coloured webbing material, several other accessories and a tangled mass of webbing straps. The snoop at the Guardroom sneered, “You brats are going to be kept busy sorting this little lot out,” as he dumped the equipment on the counter in front of us. Then, when it appeared that he had put everything out, he said, “Sign here,” in a more officious voice, whilst indicating a large ledger-like notebook, labelled “Defaulters”.

We signed in the notebook, then gathered up our bundles of webbing and hurried back to the billet where we threw them into our bedside lockers, just managing to get out on parade in time for afternoon workshops.

When we returned to the billet after workshops, there wasn’t any time for the evening meal because we needed to prepare for the Defaulters’ Parade at 1830 hours. This meant changing from our working blue into our best blue and wearing the webbing that we’d picked up earlier from the Guardroom. There was only about an hour available in which to clean and assemble the webbing, clean our buttons and polish our boots. Thankfully, the other older, more experienced boys in the billet rallied round to help us. The webbing belt was the basic element of the complete webbing assembly, anchoring a harness arrangement that supported the large haversack carried on the wearer’s back. Our small-pack hung at hip level from the left side of the webbing belt and a water canteen balanced it out at the right hip. Two ammunition pouches, clipped to the front of the harness, completed the ensemble. There was brass-work all over the webbing, which needed to be cleaned, but cleaning the brass-work wasn’t the only part of the preparation. There seemed to be square miles of webbing on which to daub blanco, if we wanted to pass inspection. Somehow, we managed to get it all done in time to go on parade with our fellow
janker
wallahs
in the Drill Shed. The boys in the billet gave us a great send-off as we struggled out of the door under the weight of the webbing and the items of kit that it was required to contain.

A
janker
wallah
was, and probably still is, a slang word often used in the RAF for someone unfortunate enough to be on Defaulters’ Parade. The word
wallah
is a Hindu word that was probably assimilated into the military vocabulary during the time of the British presence in India. It means a “fellow” who performs some type of menial activity. For example, a man who launders clothing and bed linen is known as a
dhobi wallah—“dhobi”
being another Hindu word meaning “laundry”
.
Similarly, a person assigned to make tea is known as a
char wallah.
Jankers, whilst not being performed as a service to others, somehow attracted
wallah
as a companion word. And although the root of
wallah
is known, the origin of the word
jankers
is not.

The Defaulters’ Parade was conducted by the Orderly Officer, assisted by the Orderly Sergeant. Different junior officers and senior NCOs were assigned to fulfill these duties on a daily basis. Defaulters’ Parade was just a small part of their overall responsibilities. Other duties included handling and managing incidents that occurred on the camp outside of normal operating hours; raising the flag in the morning and lowering it again at sunset; supervising mealtimes in the Boy Entrant messes and of course making sure that
janker wallahs
were appropriately occupied in performing fatigues during their confinement to camp.

When Butterworth and I arrived at the Drill Shed, we formed up with the twenty or so other defaulters in three ranks.

At 1830 hours, the Orderly Sergeant took up his position in front of our three ranks and commanded, “Defaulters,” followed by a slight pause before continuing, “Defaulters attention! Right dress.”

We shuffled around for a few moments, getting an arm’s length spacing between each other. Then, when the shuffling stopped, the Orderly Sergeant called out “Eyes front.”

We stood at attention, staring straight ahead for a few moments, before receiving the next order, “Defaulters! For inspection, open order march!”

Smartly, both front and rear ranks took the necessary one pace forward or backwards to open up the ranks. Then the sergeant turned to face the Orderly Officer, who was waiting a short distance away.

The Orderly Sergeant threw up a smart salute as he addressed the officer, “Defaulters ready for inspection,
Sir
!”

The sergeant held his salute until the officer walked forward the few paces necessary to bring him to an arm’s length distance from the sergeant, before returning the salute.

“Thank you sergeant,” he responded in a normal speaking voice.

With that, the officer walked to the end of the front rank which was nearest to him and began inspecting us, followed closely by the sergeant. His inspection was detailed and meticulous, taking several minutes for each person. Apart from checking our buttons and boots, the officer also ordered several of the defaulters to reveal the contents of their small pack, their large pack, or their water bottle. It was a requirement that each of these contain certain specific items: the large pack was supposed to contain certain articles of clothing such as shirts and underwear, whilst the small pack was required to contain toiletry items and the brushes that we used to clean our buttons and boots and of course the water bottle needed to be filled with clean fresh water. Only the ammunition pouches were to be left empty. Any
janker wallah
unlucky enough to be found wanting of any of these mandatory items would probably be placed on another charge. It was common barrack-room wisdom that it was a very difficult accomplishment to finish the original “award” of jankers and avoid being put on another charge, during the usual course of these defaulters’ inspections. More often than not, the original award became a self-perpetuating vicious circle, because the risk of getting even more days of punishment seemed to increase exponentially with the length of time that a person remained on jankers. Much depended on the mood and personality of the daily Orderly Officer and Orderly Sergeant, many of whom took their duties very seriously with regard to defaulters, often to the point of mean-spiritedness.