situation but they too were ignorant, perhaps because it was the middle of the long vacation and there was no-one of particular authority in residence. The only advice I got was to return to the first base and volunteer in the ordinary fashion, forgetting my Air Squadron connection. I forthwith repaired to that office and had my particulars noted, which included my desire to win the War for them in the air as a pilot.


It was several weeks before I heard anything at all. Then a summons came by post to present myself at yet another Oxford address. In the meantime I had been carrying on with my job for United Steels, motoring around my sales area in my Vauxhall 12 with our High Wycombe home still as my base, for we had returned there to await events. I was now told to report at an early date to the RAF establishment at Uxbridge and I was told, too, that I would be in charge of a small party of half a dozen or so other aircrew volunteers. I was a bit senior in age, being now 26. The day came for our little party to entrain from Oxford to Uxbridge. My first command fortunately required no great exercise of responsibility or leadership and we got to the RAF establishment in good order. One of the group seemed most anxious to impress the rest of us during the course of the journey. It appeared he was something of a mathematical genius, having completed his education in some Swiss seminary which purported to specialise in that subject and he had no doubts about his acceptability as a future RAF pilot.


RAF Uxbridge was scarcely the type of unit to endear the volunteer to the thought of serving in anything faintly resembling it. When we arrived we were treated to some sort of meal and ushered into a long dormitory fitted out with iron bedsteads and the three-biscuit mattresses which boded ill for a comfortable night’s sleep. But before bedtime there were a few hours to get through, and it occurred to me that there would be a cinema just down the road in Uxbridge where I might profitably spend that time if only I could get out of the Station. So I strode off in the direction of the guardhouse, hoping to be able to talk myself into a pass for the evening.


For the first time in my life the old school tie worked some magic for me. I was just approaching the guard-house when I was stopped in my tracks by a young regular officer – at least he looked like a regular. ‘Is that an OUAS tie you are wearing?’ he asked. When I replied that it was, the problem of getting a pass for the evening disappeared and he accompanied me to the guardhouse where all was arranged without difficulty. The following morning, after a night when I think I did actually manage to sleep on my biscuits, began with a breakfast I have not forgotten. I particularly remember the bacon, slightly green at the edges, and the large buckets of what they called tea which arrived at the end of each long, bare wooden table. Dipping your cup into it for the first cup seemed reasonable enough, but any further cup had to be obtained by dipping in again, after rather faster drinkers


12


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