Boy Entrant; The Recollections of a Royal Air Force Brat (59 page)

There may be a perception in the minds of some people that members of military organizations react blindly and unquestioningly to orders from those in authority and are incapable of independent thought. Nothing could be further from the truth. We were encouraged to use initiative and logic to think our way through the kind of problems that would confront us when we entered the regular Service. Being trained in the ability to “think on our feet’ was an important skill when it came to tracing the source of “snags”, often under extremely stressful conditions, on increasingly complex aircraft systems. Such ability remains with a person as a valuable asset when it comes to making one’s way in life after the RAF.

The military discipline to which we were subjected made our lives difficult at first, but when accepted it made them easier. Eventually, the discipline became ingrained into our personal makeup, transforming us from rebellious youths into citizens who abide by and respect the law of the land.

During training, we were constantly reminded that our work as aircraft technicians placed an awesome responsibility on our shoulders. The lives of airmen who flew in the aircraft we maintained and serviced were dependent on our dedication and conscientiousness. Careless work could very easily result in the failure of an aircraft to return from a sortie, with all the horrific implications involved. If we knew of anything that endangered an aircraft and its crew, we were aware of our moral duty to make that fact known, even if it meant exposing ourselves to the displeasure of others. One person in my experience did not abide by this code of conduct, as related earlier in the narrative, by failing to report that he had lost a tool in an aircraft cockpit. The result was almost disastrous for the pilot, who fortunately survived the incident. The person in question was justifiably banned from ever working on aircraft again. That was an isolated occurrence, however—every other aircraft technician that I ever worked with always upheld the strong tradition of responsibility for the lives of those who depended on his work. As Boy Entrants, however, it was implanted within us at a very early stage in our development, to remain there always.

The experience of successfully passing out of Boy Entrant training gave me a strong sense of direction. There was now a ladder which I could climb, with every rung attained by the achievement of clearly defined goals. To climb up the ladder one step at a time, it was necessary to gain increasingly higher levels of knowledge and experience. The experience came from spending a requisite amount of time on each rung, whilst evidence that the required level of knowledge had been acquired was proven by taking trade tests, sometimes after a further formal course of study. The same sense of direction led me to pursue further education during and after my transition to civilian life, and gave me the confidence to diversify my work experience into other fields, resulting in a long and successful civilian career.

All of this was more than I could have hoped for. As a naïve 15-year-old, the most I wanted was to learn a trade that I could follow after leaving the Service, but happily I got more than I bargained for. And so, if I had to do it all over again—I most certainly would.

Appendix 1

Life After Boy Entrants

In my RAF career, I progressed from Electrical Mechanic to Electrical Fitter and from Leading Aircraftman to Sergeant. I spent four years in Flying Training Command at Cranwell, then trained on Vulcan bombers prior to an expected posting to Florida as a member of the Skybolt Nuclear Stand-off Missile Trials Team. In December 1962, however, Skybolt was cancelled by the then Prime Minister, Harold MacMillan and President Kennedy. This was a great personal disappointment, but the upside was that I had finally escaped from Cranwell and subsequently worked on Vulcans, in Bomber Command, for the rest of my service—except for two interludes. In 1964, shortly after marrying my wife Pam, I was selected to take part in the trials of the P1127 Kestrel vertical take-off fighter—the prototype of the now famous Harrier STOL aircraft. At the end of the year-long trials I returned to Bomber Command but in 1966 I had an unaccompanied two-month stint in Borneo, followed by a 2-year posting to RAF Changi, Singapore, accompanied by Pam. 

In 1968 I returned to Bomber Command and RAF Scampton. There were now just two years remaining in the twelve years of regular RAF service for which I had enlisted when the realization came that I needed more qualifications to further my career in civilian life. To accomplish that purpose, I successfully completed a course of instruction for an Ordinary National Certificate in Electrical Engineering, and continued with partial completion of the Higher National Certificate (HNC) course before leaving the RAF in February 1971 on my thirtieth birthday. I then gained a position as Electrical Draughtsman with a Lincoln company specialising in the manufacture of industrial gas turbine engines. My new company allowed me to complete my HNC and on achieving that qualification, I was promoted to Electrical Engineer. I stayed with the company for six years, during which time my two daughters came into the world. The economic demands of a small family ate up all our financial reserves and I tried taxi driving in the evenings to supplement my income, but the hours were long and the financial rewards not encouraging. I then took a 12-month contract as a Project Engineer with the Arabian American Oil Company in Saudi Arabia. The conditions were Spartan but the salary was easily four times what I had been earning in Lincoln. At the end of my contract I was offered a job as Applications Engineer in Houston, Texas, at a facility owned by my former Lincoln employer, and on February 15, 1979 flew to Houston with my wife Pam and daughters Michelle (7) and Sarah (5). Pam and I agreed that we would stay for only one year in Houston, to see how things worked out. As it happened, things worked out quite well, and we’re still in the USA more than 30 years later.

I worked in Houston for the Lincoln-based company for two years and then accepted an attractive offer of employment with another company as Project Engineer. The new company was based in San Diego, California and in 1985 I was transferred there with promotion to Project Manager. Project Management suited me and I remained in that field of work with the same company for 19 years, before accepting early retirement in the year 2000. Since then we have continued to live in San Diego and have the good fortune to be near our two daughters, and five grandchildren, who also live in the San Diego area. Since retiring, I have developed another career as an engineering consultant to my former employer and am also the operator of a small employment agency business.

I look back on all of this with a feeling of satisfaction for having had a successful life and career and firmly believe that it was only made possible by the Boy Entrant training I received all those years ago.

Appendix 2

The
Fate of the Woodvale Spitfires

Whilst researching background material for this book, I discovered that the RAF Woodvale Spitfires eventually found their way to the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight, where two of them still thrill people to this day, as they thrilled me all those years ago. Here follows a brief history, excerpted from various sources.

The Battle of Britain Memorial Flight was born at RAF Biggin Hill as the Historic Aircraft Flight on 11 July 1957. On that date, three Spitfire PR Mk XIXs (PM631, PM853 and PS915) arrived in formation from RAF Woodvale via RAF Duxford, to join the sole surviving Hurricane (LF363). PS915 was immediately swapped for a Spitfire Mk XVI (TE330) on gate-guard duties at RAF West Malling, and then continued in that line of work later at RAF Leuchars and later again at RAF Brawdy. Some time later, the Flight moved to RAF North Weald for a short time and then to RAF Martlesham Heath, during which time PS853 also went to gate-guard duties, this time at RAF West Raynham.

After a short time at Horsham St. Faith (Norwich Airport), the Flight moved to RAF Coltishall in 1963, and shortly thereafter, Spitfire PS853 was returned to it. Coltishall then served as the Flight’s home for the next 13 years.

In 1973, the Flight was renamed the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight, and in 1976 it relocated to its present home at RAF Coningsby.

Spitfire PS915 returned to the Flight in 1987, after being refurbished, but sadly, Spitfire PS853 was offered for auction to pay for the rebuilding of the original Flight member, Hurricane LF363. Then, during the winter of 1997, PS915 underwent major servicing at RAF St. Athan.

After leaving the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight in 1987, PS853 was grounded until 1989 and then, following extensive work, was fitted with a modified Rolls-Royce Griffon engine giving it a top speed of 439 mph and a ceiling of 45,000 feet. The re-engined Spitfire took to the air once again on 20 July 1989. In 1995, the aircraft was bought by a private individual, but it went up for sale a few months later, after his unfortunate death in a flying accident. The aircraft was bought by the Rolls-Royce Heritage Trust in September 1996 and is based at Filton Airfield, just across the road from the Rolls-Royce facilities in Bristol.

Appendix 3

High Flight
, by John Gillespie Magee, Jr.

This inspiring poem is reproduced in full below, followed by a brief history of its author and how he came to write it.

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth

And danced the skies on laughter silvered wings,

Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

Of sun-split clouds—and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of—wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,

I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air.

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue

I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace

Where never lark, or even eagle flew –

And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod

The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

The following is a history of the author and his poem:

“During the dark days of the Battle of Britain, hundreds of Americans crossed the border into Canada to enlist with the Royal Canadian Air Force. Knowingly breaking the law, but with the tacit approval of the then still officially neutral United States Government, they volunteered to fight Hitler’s Germany.

John Gillespie Magee, Jr. was one such American. Born in Shanghai, China, in 1922, Magee was just an 18-year-old when he entered flight training. Within the year, he was sent to England and posted to the newly formed No. 412 Fighter Squadron, RCAF, which was activated at RAF Digby on 30 June 1941. He was qualified on and flew the Supermarine Spitfire.

“Pilot Officer Magee flew on fighter sweeps over France and air defence over England against the German Luftwaffe. Although the dark days of the Battle of Britain were over, the Luftwaffe was still on the job of keeping up the pressure on British industry and the country. At the time, German bombers were crossing the English Channel with great regularity to attack Britain’s cities and factories.

On 3 September 1941, Magee flew a high altitude (30,000 feet) test flight in a newer model of the Spitfire V. As he orbited and climbed upward, he was struck with the inspiration of a poem—“To touch the face of God”.

“Once back on the ground, he wrote a letter to his parents. In it he commented, “I am enclosing a verse I wrote the other day. It started at 30,000 feet, and was finished soon after I landed.” On the back of the letter, he had written the poem “High Flight”.

Just three months later, on December 11, 1941 (and only three days after the US entered the war), Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee, Jr., was killed. The Spitfire V he was flying, VZ-H, collided with an Oxford Trainer from the RAF College Cranwell Airfield while over RAF Tangmere. The two planes were flying in the clouds and neither saw the other. He was just 19 years old”.

Appendix 4

29th
Entry, St. Athan, Graduation List

27th
March, 1958

Airframe Mechanics