I spent 22 weeks here in 1990 doing my trade training as a clerk
(Personnel Administration) for the Royal Air Force. It initially sounded like a really long time it passed incredibly quickly, though. I finally escaped to my real unit (RAF High Wycombe Headquarters Strike Command) in November. I spent my first two weeks waiting for my course to start, one of which was spent on Poole Flight (normally doing shitty jobs, but we had a decent SNCO1 so we did some quite good stuff no real hard work).
Poole Flight is where you are if you aren’t on a training course. You wear mostly greens (combat jacket, trousers, beret and boots) because you’re doing what they call ‘gash’ (rubbish) jobs. I was there at the time with one other girl clerk and a bunch of suppliers; we got to know our way around the camp and generally had a good laugh. What you’ve just read is unusual. Normally clerks and suppliers do NOT mix at Hereford. It’s an unwritten Law.
They eat in different places, they live in different blocks and they
train at opposite ends of the camp. We get our training in nice warm office buildings, they get lumbered with crappy wooden huts circa Air Jordan 8s 1943. Air Jordan 17s The devil could freeze to death in one of those huts.
Anyway, I digress. The first week was pretty casual helping prepare
one of the blocks for a bunch of YTS2 kids I think they were the
last YTS intake the RAF ever had and also doing another block for a
bunch of space cadets (how we in the RAF commonly refer to CCF3 people). During that week we went to RAF Morton On Lug and did some shell collection picking up used rounds (this was a total skive) there, because it had just been used for MFT4.
The trip back was us generally behaving like a bunch of 10 year olds waving at motorists out of the back of the wagon (one of those 3 ton green jobs used for ferrying troops about), holding up signs saying ‘I am being kidnapped!’ or having a pee over the tailgate whilst driving down the motorway totally insane! See what I mean? And we’re the people defending the country getting paid from your taxes!
In the second week I did guard duty, which wasn’t too bad, Jordan 13 Retro mostly doing vehicle checks and passes on the main gate. I got to meet some SAS
guys who came in to play rugger against the station team. They
just look like ordinary people sorry to ruin the illusion for
most people who think they all would look like Sean Bean!
Vehicle checks were a bitch. It was hot and we were wearing flak jackets. These restrict movement at the waist so it makes bending over to check under a car very hard. During that week I was bitten by a dog whilst checking passes. I’ll explain.
It’s the 7am 9am stint on the main gate. Everyone that comes in gets their pass checked unless they have a special sticker in the
front window or it’s an RAF vehicle. I’m checking them through like a demon then I check my watch; it’s 8.35am. Next! In comes a guy, stops like a nice person, opens his window and reaches the pass out ever so slightly. Ok, I’d better mention I’m wearing my green woolly gloves because it’s a tadge on the cold side at that time in the morning. The sun is just coming up so it hasn’t taken the edge off the rather cold overnight temperature yet.
I put my hand a fraction inside the window and what happens next happens so quickly it’s unreal. MUNCH! Some yappy dog has just attached itself to my damn hand and won’t let go. In the background I just heard the armed guard cock his weapon (I think!). The owner blokey is hitting the dog over the head to make it let me go. I say as calmly as I can under the circumstances’Excuse me, sir, I think you’d better make the dog let go as my
friend over there is about to shoot either you or the dog.’ This isn’t a threat to him, merely a statement of fact to give the chap
a reality check about what just occurred. The damn mutt finally lets my hand go and dives into the back seat.
I get the guy to pull over for a vehicle check and radio the guard
commander. I take off my glove and there’s a mark, I had to be taken off the gate and ferried over to the medical centre in the station guard force land rover for a tetanus jab. The bloke got to work late as the vehicle checkers went over his motor with a fine tooth comb. He was still there when I got back and the Guard Commander went over ‘to have a word’. Turns out he was done for damage to government property (ie me!) and had his permission to bring his dog to work removed.
At the end of the week we had an exciting incident. A real bomb! A couple of the supply lads on Poole flight were on the station golf course digging a new bunker. One of them finds something metal, kicks the dirt off it, deems it to be dull and kicks it off into the middle distance. 20 minutes later his mate goes to check it out, wipes it clean and discovers the red writing on it which reads ‘LIVE’ in 3 inch high letters.
It turns out this thing is a 9 inch WW2 mortar bomb and it’s real! We had to do perimeter guard to move people back then we had to go to our proper station on the Sergeants Mess gate. This gate links the back of the camp to the married quarters so our orders are no one comes in until it’s blown up. The nearest anti bomb people are the SAS who leg it over in a van as it’s a good chance to practice what they do best blow stuff up. After that week I started my clerk course and we just struggled along. Learn, remember and drink in the NAAFI once a week. We also had PT5 (which I quite enjoyed) and, on the hottest day of that year (1990), we did our course aero run; 1.5 miles to be run as fast as possible. I ran an all time personal best of 8 mins 35 secs, beating a female cross country runner into second place. That time went on the top 50 all time bests on the PT board. When that board was moved to Halton I’m fairly certain my name was still on it. The board was retired so my name would still be on it today!
I also remember the fine tradition of the Chip Van after the NAAFI bop. Chips with red sauce, brown sauce or salad cream.
The maddest thing about RAF Hereford was the Feral Cats. RAF Hereford has this underfloor heating system so there are underground pipes everywhere. The Air Jordan 9s rats and mice get in these tunnels where the pipes are so the station had brought in cats which bred. We used to chase these cats when we were drunk, chucking apples Air Jordan 2s at them.
That was another thing about the camp. The apple trees. Once a year Bulmers (the cider people) ask people stationed on the unit to volunteer to pick apples payment being a tour of the cider factory. NEVER mention free alcohol to forces people, we love the stuff! I was there and how so!
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