 Where can I start? Well, I suppose following a building apprenticeship and an intrusive medical in Glasgow in the autumn of 1959, I was given 3 choices - Airfield Construction in the RAF, Royal Engineers, or driving (my hobby)for the RASC. What did I get? I was called up in time for Christmas as a trainee clerk in the RASC. As a present I received 2 haircuts on Christmas Eve, from the Lancejacks who would have preferred being on leave.
After basic training I got sent to Buller Barracks as a POC, but after more basic training, cadet initiation tests, and sampling tear gas, they said I had no academic achievement. So got sent to Willems Barracks for more basic and trade training. Main memory - opening the darkened TV room door in Aldershot NAAFI, when 30 voices balled out Shut that door! Then 3 More choices - Hongkong, Germany, UK. UK was limited to married guys, so they sent me half way to Hongkong - HQ Middle East Command, Aden in June 1960. First a week in Singapore Lines transit camp Khormaksar, then Steamer Point where they found me a job In Staff Message Control (or Signals Registry to the RAF). Being a shift job, this mean't no morning parades, and being allowed to sleep through CO's billet inspections. Favourite hobby, spending time in the RAF PSI boat club, running 3 old ship's lifeboats and a couple of fibreglass runabout dinghies. Main memory - sneaking in hot NAAFI sausage rolls with the Top Secret messages from ComCen. Often wondered what it did to the Duty Officer's appetite! Two weeks leave spent in Kenya. Starting at the Rainbow Hotel, Mombasa. The less said about that, the better. A trip to Nairobi, then Kericho near Lake Victoria. All this when Jomo Kenyatta was a jailbird and still thought to be a bad guy.
To break the monotony, a trip to Dhala near the Yemen border as conyoy guard. Main memory there watching 45 Commando playing football against the Aden Protectorate Levies, who played in their bare feet! The marines won. A bit of a fuss in Kuwait when General Kassim started a bit of a coup. All the pale Z-Reserve guys got hauled out from the civvy jobs in a hurry, loaded with kit. I always thought army organisation was so beaurocratic and unthinking until then. When the chips were down, and troops were needed, it happened like lightning - and did the job!
By now, the government had decided to scrap National Service, and some poor blokes had an extra 6 months added to their service to eke out the establishment to fulfill the need. Got home in December 1961, weighing 10.5 stones. I was 12 when I went in. Now I am about 14.5 and it's a struggle at that.
It wasn't all bad, but most of it was boring. It didn't do me any lasting damage - apart from a broken nose; but that's another story.
If there are any contemporaries out there, there is a lot more; and pictures to go with it.
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