The Forum is replete with those who say that Gutersloh was their dream tour. Amen to that.
1967 found me, aged 30, briefly living in the famous Mess on this old Luftwaffe station, with a shiny new car. My new S Met O was disinterested, his successor was no better, and what I learned not to do if I ever became a boss was valuable. Very early on we had a big station Open Day. On flyaway day I was on the morning shift, walking through the woods towards ATC/ Ops/ Met when I beheld a comely young woman who had clearly enjoyed a good evening and a rough night. Did I perchance wish for a rapid procreative encounter? The very idea! Duty calls.
It later transpired that she was a new assistant manager in one of the service charity shops, just arrived. She subsequently had a dalliance with a very senior pilot and they disgraced themselves. ‘Some recollections may vary’.
The office was 24/7/365 and our Lightnings were on QRA [called battle flight I think]. We had two large squadrons, 19 and 92, the runway end being very near 29 Zeppelin Strasse, our OMQ on the top patch. The very noisy noise of freedom. Not to be outdone, 2 and 4 squadrons operated beautiful Hunters. Flt Lt R A F Sandy Wilson was a near neighbour, but his career prospered rather better than mine. We also had resident choppers and handled Trooping Flights so boredom was never a risk.
The weather was difficult, with Ruhr smoke trapped for days between the hills and under inversions. The winters were harsh, worse than any I had known in UK. Rain ice could be spectacular: wind the car window down and a sheet of transparent ice remained unbroken.
Unfortunately ’Personnel’ [not ‘HR’ yet] had not made any attempt to pick quality staff. The observers were fine [many went on to high rank] but my colleagues only went through the motions without enthusiasm or commitment to this sharpest of sharp-end locations. One such, a married man, ‘went to bed’ every night shift, climbed out of the ground floor window fully dressed, drove towards the first lay-by, pleasured his girl-friend, drove back, went to bed, and was truly grateful when awakened with a coffee. All RAF Gutersloh knew, a splendid advert for Met.
Participation in Mini-, Maxi- and TACEVAL was cringeworthy. LB made himself very unpopular, having failed to force through reforms, because he bent a few pilots’ ears over a pint and OC Ops told S Met O what he wanted. The simplest and best reform was to always prepare a complete suite of Warsaw Pact-facing forecasts every six hours. Hitherto they were generated on demand when the hooter sounded, thus hindering briefings and creating headless chicken responses. My confidential reports, unseen, could not have flattered.
When Czecho was invaded in August 1968 the office was thus better prepared than many. All was peaceful in the small hours, LB had sent the observer for a rest, and then an American chopper landed very near to the closed ATC building. Met was the first door on the right and the captain broke the news of the invasion. The station slept on. Taking a deep breath I phoned the station commander and introduced the pilot. Light the blue touch paper and watch!
All the forecasters had to have Dormant RAF commissions as Flt Lts, to be activated in TTW. I was the only one to ever wear combats because my secondary duty was as understudy to S Met O 1 Br Corps. Every field deployment found him [funny old thing] on leave, so I spent a lot of time in NBC gear and respirator in the Teutoburgerwald. I once managed to sleep for about eight hours in the respirator.
All good things come to an end, RAF Finningley next.