| Members Memories |
R.A.S.C. Holding Company, Farnborough in 1959
written by David Commerford
 On leaving boys service the majority went to Buller barracks to complete their driver training whereas those few of us destined for the Isle of White were sent to the R.A.S.C. holding company based at Farnborough to wait for the administrative process to catch up with us.
A more miserable military establishment it would be hard to imagine, all the dropouts the Corps couldn’t use were assembled here, national service men mainly, those who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, be trained rubbed shoulders with university graduates who looked on their eighteen months as an imposition to be got through as quickly as possible. The sick, the lame and the lazy all wound up here. The permanent staff were little better consisting mainly of men awaiting discharge on medical or other grounds. All conversations consisted of how long before discharge and as we had committed ourselves to six years we were very much the odd ones out.
After the hustle and bustle of Junior Leaders the lifestyle here seemed surreal. We would still get up at around half past five and after walking through an apparently deserted camp we would approach the Cookhouse. That first morning this was locked and seemed deserted, we eventually found a side door and presented ourselves to a cook sergeant who was reading his paper behind an otherwise empty counter.
“Good lord! Who are you?” We introduced ourselves,
“Well explains a lot, what do you want?”
“Whatever’s going Sarge”
“ You name it you’ve got it, not many make it for breakfast and they wont be in much before half seven.”
Back in boys service I was always hungry, I decided to become a cross country runner because I had heard that running for the company meant extra ‘perks’, one of them being a massive breakfast. After early morning training which meant getting up an hour early and was spent jogging along mist shrouded Hampshire country lanes we would shower and change before reporting to an otherwise empty cookhouse where mountains of food were consumed. Now here at Farnborough the other lads finally realised why I had been such a dedicated sportsman.
At first we would report to the admin block on a daily basis only to be told to go away and wait for instructions which never came. We would spend our time watching the ejector seat test rig being fired in the aircraft establishment next door making small bets on how far up the rig the seat would go. Life began to revolve around mealtimes and it was easy to see how the lethargy which griped this whole establishment came about.
Relief came about in the form of Sgt. Royal, coming back from breakfast one morning we entered our room to find a tall thin Sergeant examining our bed spaces. Boxing your bedding, rolling the bedside mat and placing the hand towel, folded, in the centre of the beds foot rail was a daily procedure carried out whilst still half asleep, simply a part of the days routine but one that must have rung a bell with this man.
We stood to attention “Morning Sergeant” we chorused.
“Stand easy: ex boys?” We nodded.
“Bored to tears I expect? Right get fell in outside lets see what your made of”
From then until we left the first two hours of the day were spent on foot drill, I have no idea who enjoyed it more us or the sergeant but it helped make the days go quicker. The highlight of each day came as the daily orders were pined up, eagerly we would scan them to see if we were being freed from purgatory. At last came the day; transport was provided to the station and warrants clutched firmly in our hands we set of for Limington,the Isle of Wight and Water Transport Training Company R.A.S.C.
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