THE 216 ENTRY CRAFT APPRENTICE
BY BORIS GILBERT
1 JULY 2005
Boris and Janette
I MET Roy Gorringe at RAF Twinwoods who recognised the Locking
Apprentice tie I was wearing. Soon we were chatting about our times
at RAF Locking and the very shiny floors in the barrack blocks, “No!”
he didn’t remember because the Blocks hadn’t been built when he
was there, he was in the earlier ‘Huts’, “With the pot bellied
stoves in the middle” said I. Apparently they didn’t even have
heating but that’s a story for Roy Gorringe to tell. Clearly, as a
‘new boy’ I had different experiences….. Before my meeting
with Roy, I thought I had it tough; two years of seven days a week
Drill, Rifle Drill, P.E., Inspection Parades and trade training, and
no, this wasn’t borstal, I had volunteered for all of this…….
This is my story:
It’s amazing that the date, entry number, service number and place
are engraved into my memory like a birthmark. On the 9th
September 1969, I became E8009727 Craft Apprentice Boris Gilbert of
216 Entry RAF Locking studying Ground Radar.
I caught the train from Midland Station in Nottingham clutching my
RAF rail warrant in one hand and all my worldly possessions in the
other. At 16 years old my escape to a new family called the
Royal Air Force began. I immediately met another fresh faced
youngster on the train. “Going to RAF Lockington?” said I and a
shy looking chap nodded back. Within minutes of boarding the train,
I had already met fellow adventurer Trevor Evans who would prove to
be a good friend at Locking.
Having successfully negotiated the London underground (not for the
last time), we finally arrived at Weston Super Mare Station to be
herded together with many other spotty faced youngsters by some
severe looking NCO’s. The RAF blue/grey bus drove us to our new
home.
The next few days were like a whirlwind but the first thing we HAD to
do was write home and say we had arrived safely. Next came the
medical which included a thousand different inoculations against
everything you could catch and one against Martian Flue ‘just in
case’!! Whilst the main uniforms (No 1s, 2s and great coat) were
withheld, we were issued with a button stick, shoe brushes, three
shirts and six collars complete with my first introduction to the
collar studs and a tie that had to have a Windsor Knot and of course
the famous holdall which seemed like a very awkward bag, but was soon
found to be beautifully shaped to fit your back and provide an arm
rest for hitchhiking duties. Even underwear was issued and our
pants were affectionately known as Shreddies (does anyone know why?).
These were usually the first casualty of the inexperienced
laundrette operator as most ended up yellow when washed with a
duster. We were expected to wear Coveralls, webbing belt, beret and
highly bulled boots every day for the first three months and we were
confined to barracks for this period. The privilege of being allowed
to wear Jeans after this had huge status but they were worn in
conjunction with the regulation haircut (not so hot!). I remember an
apprentice from a senior entry shaving his head and being confined to
barracks until it had grown back.
The Apprentice Mess had birds flying about inside and often there was
‘pecked at the sugar’. The Corn Flakes were scooped up with your
bowl and when the milk was added any lurking cockroaches would crawl
out. If you weren’t early enough for the fresh milk, powdered milk
was made up. This really was disgusting
(Kath's note: not known for being an early riser, I wonder what was more important to
Boris at that tender age – more sleep or fresh milk!!) .
Our Drill instructors managed to gel us together with the common bond
of ‘Hate the DI’. Flt Sgt Batel was a kindly paternal figure.
Sgt Watson of ‘A’ Flight was an Irishman from the ‘Old School’
who wanted every one to become stars of the Boxing Ring, Cpl Price
(RAF Regt) was great, very easy to get on with, but commanded
respect, this at a time when every job was an RAF Regt job. I seem
to remember that firemen as well as DI’s were members of the Regt
and funnily enough several years later, I did a tour with 2 Sqn RAF
Regt where I earned my Parachute Wings, was I influenced in any way
by the said Cpl Price? And finally there was that ‘Hard-man’ -
Cpl Mullon who we hated beyond hate and …...wait for it, would have
followed him anywhere and sometime later I did meet him again in a
NAAFI at St Athens and thought what a great bloke, even bought him a
drink in a moment of weakness.
Drill was done every weekend and coming to a halt whilst wearing our
studded boots out side Thompson Block (I think) which was on the
slope nearly always ended up with us skidding, sliding and falling
over.
We had bull night after bull night to keep us busy and not get home
sick, we would glide over the floors in the blocks on polished pads
and the floors were like mirrors until the dreaded pass out of a
senior entry who would raid our blocks and ask us for money or they
would ruin our precious floor. Many a night had been spent repairing
the damaged floors with the result of yawning apprentices at college
the next day.
Sometimes we would crack under the pressure, there was no real means
of redress and I recall plotting to go AWOL with Ken Holdaway. We
kept this idea afloat for several weeks before reality stepped in. A
lad called Chetwyn turned to religion in a big way and some escaped
to the band in D Flight so that they could alleviate their
frustration by strangling a bagpipe or banging a drum.
These days were punctuated with the occasional red cross parcel from
a loving parent and all in the billet were invited to a feeding
frenzy. Then there were birthdays when a parent would send a giant
birthday cake for the birthday boy to share, oh jolly days.
Remember the ‘bed packs’- the
hospital corners? I recall an inspection one morning when Sgt Watson
and the Flt Lt came round and picked up Trevor Evans’s razor, alas
there was no blade in it and Trevor was asked why not. Quick as a
flash Trevor replied that he didn’t want Sgt Watson to cut himself.
The Officer told him that Sgt Watson was a big boy and could look
after himself. Trevor was put on a 252. The real reason for no
blade was like most of us, Trevor had nothing to shave and a blade on
our super soft skin did major damage to our acne. The first time we
tried shaving cream, we had it all over our faces and our eyebrows
were at serious risk of being removed. We had no idea how to shave
or even why. We learned how to iron using a blanket and table top.
Apart from our own boot polish we found that we had the choice of
only two polishes that had to shine everything else in the block so
metal polish doubled up as the glass polish as well.
We were called into service in other ways too; babysitting for the
officers was one perk that I enjoyed and was paid to do. My Officer,
who I regularly babysat for and whose name I can’t recall, was
selling his record player for £40 which I couldn’t afford. He
generously let me have it for £5 and this coincided with our Year
and a Day. As you know, one is a Sprogg until one had completed a
Year and a Day, so clearly this was an occasion to celebrate. I
cunningly sold the record player for £30 and our entire block
illegally climbed through the fence and descended on a pub nearby. I
bought a pint of vodka amongst the many other drinks and don’t
remember much more. I came round once we struggled back through the
fence and recall spending most of the night on my knees in the loo’s.
The next day I was ill, my head really hurt and my wallet was empty.
I’ve never been drunk since, but as a side note, my good friend
Trevor innocently and proudly told my Officer of the vast profit I
had made on the record player. I was never asked to babysit again.
What a learning curve!
About that time a small apprentice called Jolly was hung up by his
epaulettes on the coat hooks in the tech blocks. The passing Sqn Ldr
was not amused. We were warned not to loiter in front of the Nodding
Horror or our kidneys would cook. Someone from England has since
invented the Microwave Cooker and I hope it was one of our
apprentices who saw the potential and took the money.
A civvy cook from the mess allowed me to drive his car on the beach
which was brave of him as the tide comes in pretty quickly. The Fun
Fare on the pier was a source of amusement. As well as thrashing the
Go Carts at the end of the pier, Andy Digby and I would stand behind
the hand rail in the pitch dark of the Crazy House, after a time our
eyes would adjust to night vision mode and we could see people
passing through. We would touch their hands or let their hands slide
along the hand rail until they touched our hands. In the darkness,
panic stricken people would scream and we would laugh, ah, such
simple things. During the summer months, coach after coach load of
young ladies would appear on holiday and a chap wearing the uniform
of the Royal Air Force held a certain fascination for them. I have
many a happy memory of Weston-Super-Mare!! Hitchhiking was a breeze
in uniform and as you could exchange a pass for money, travelling
became a profitable pastime, providing you didn’t get caught
swindling the public purse.
We could see Concorde fly overhead before it came into service and
even then we all knew it was something special. We were proud to be
British.
During 1970 I volunteered for everything, after much training. I
took part in the Ten Tors expedition across Dartmore, and then went
onto Holland to walk the Nijmegan Marches where the Dutch people were
exceptionally friendly to us, but were distinctly ‘cold’ towards
the German teams. They asked that we call them Hollanders because
Dutch sounded too much like Deutch(land). Being Royal Air Force, we
were very much liked by the locals. It was years later that I
learned about the RAF’s very dangerous role in supplying food to
the Dutch people for months (the occupying Nazis were starving the
entire nation) which had taken place only 25 years earlier, but the
good Dutch people clearly remembered. It was during this trip to
Nijmegan that I met a group of girls from Bedford also taking part in
the Marches who belonged to the Girls Venture Corps Wing of the Air
Cadets. I married one of them several years later, so it’s fair to
say that being a Locking Brat comes with unexpected benefits.
 |
| Boris and Janette wedding. |
All these years later, I would love to know if there was any truth in
the myths of RAF Locking:
Myth One:
An unknown apprentice
was set upon in Weston-Super-Mare which triggered a devastating
response from Locking. According to the Legend, the ‘No one kicks
my dog but me’ principle, applied and just about every apprentice
at Locking descended on Weston where a riot ensued, but according to
the Legend, we were never again set upon by the locals. Certainly,
in my time, we were treated with respect from the local Skinheads
and even went into their strong hold ‘The Dolls House’ with
impunity.
Myth Two:
Another unknown apprentice who was renown for oversleeping woke up in
bed one fine sunny morning on the parade square with his two lockers
and mat by his bed whilst the whole Apprentice Wing stood on parade
smirking at him.
In conclusion, from my back ground and lack of qualifications, there
was a very real danger of me embarking on a life of crime until I
joined the RAF. They believed in me, gave me friendship, standards
to achieve, rewarding challenges and my self respect. I look about
me today and see youngsters who would benefit as I did. I finally
ended up running several different Air Training Corps units and was
able to make a difference to a few souls by drawing on my time as an
apprentice. I was always able to understand just how isolated an
individual can feel and the power of friendship, trust, belief, pride
and achievement. I take great pride in being RAF Brat, it gave me
self worth and set me up for an interesting and independent life.
Boris Gilbert
1 July 2005
Boris Gilbert
1 July 2005
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