Peter Jensen's story.
During 1938, an advertisement appeared in the Australian newspapers offering applicants a chance to join the RAF on short term commissions. I applied, and so did thousands of other hopefuls. I was interviewed by a panel of Air Force officers at Victoria Barracks (Sydney) and heard no more. However, when war broke out a year later and I applied to join the RAAF, along with thousands of others. Confusion reigned, and in an attempt to get some order, in March 1940, an announcement was made in the newspapers for everyone who’d applied for the RAAF to apply again. Apparently, they’d lost all the initial applications!
Eventually, I was called up for an interview and a medical examination, told I was accepted for pilot training, given a lapel badge and told to wait for a call-up. In the meantime, I spent three hours two nights a week at the gas company’s office at Eastwood learning basic Morse code, aerodynamics, navigation and maths. The word eventually came to present myself at the Dalgety’s building at Woolloomooloo, and on 2nd February 1941, where we took the oath, handed in our lapel badges and boarded a bus for No 2 Initial training Depot at Bradfield Park.
At last, I was in the Air Force!
In due course, we arrived at Bradfield Park – a grim collection of corrugated iron buildings and a hard stony parade ground. We were issued with a uniform and other clothing and went on a life of mind-bashing lessons and square-bashing drill. It was a particularly hot summer, and combined with the inoculations and vaccinations, this made the going extremely tough. Some of the chaps couldn’t stand the pace and disappeared from sight without fanfare.
One day we were marched down to the rifle range for our first shoot with .303 SMLE rifles. We were shooting from a corrugated iron building, which was like an echo chamber. When the first men were shooting, I could feel the concussion on my eardrums and asked a corporal if there were any ear plugs, but the answer was “no”. When my time came to shoot, I plugged my left ear with the end of my handkerchief, took aim and fired. I felt as if a bullet had gone into one ear and out the other and my ears were blocked with a loud screaming noise. I finished the rounds in the magazine and stood up. I could hear nothing but the scream in my ears, and decided that my ear drums were ruptured and I was probably deafened for life. What to do? I knew that if I reported sick I would be discharged – what ignominy!! I imagined going back to Hungerford Spooner (my old employer) and saying I couldn’t make the grade! It was unthinkable, so I decided to tough it out.
After shooting instruction, we were marched back to barracks and later out to the parade ground for rifle drill. I got myself in the back row, and as I couldn’t hear the orders, I just followed the bloke in front.
For the next few days, I managed to get away with it in the class room. I sneaked glimpses of what the fellow next to me was writing and would write the same in my book. Slowly, my hearing came back, and after a week or so, I could hear reasonably well, but I told no one about the problem and hoped it would never be discovered. However, to this day, I have tinnitus and if I am ever subject to loud noises, it starts my ears ringing again.
After a month at Bradfield Park, we were marched into the drill hall and told that the musterings we had on entry had been cancelled and that we would now be re-mustered. There were three officers sitting at a table on the stage and we were told to sit on the floor and as our name was called out, we had to stand up at attention while the officers sized us up and pronounced – pilot, navigator or WOP/AG.
After a while, it became obvious how the selection method worked. The big athletic blokes became pilots, the studious, intelligent ones navigators, and the dregs were WOP/AGs. When my name came, I bounced to my feet, stood as tall as I could, puffed out my chest – all to no avail – the dreaded initials were uttered – “WOP/AG”.
The next day, we WOP/AGs were marched back to the drill hall and told that of the 152 of us, 80 were to remain in Australia for training and 72 were to go to Canada. Problem: how to sort us out, as they would like to give each person what he wished.
“First of all,” said the officer, “naturally, the married men will want to stay in Australia, so all those married, go over to the wall.”
Some of our number crossed the room.
“Now,” said the officer, “Any others who wish to stay in Australia, go over and join them.”
Several others crossed the room.
By this stage, the married chaps were grumbling amongst themselves and one called out “Why can’t we go to Canada?”
“OK,” said the officer, “Anyone wanting to go to Canada, come back here.”
Some of them returned. Numbers were counted and it was found that 80 wanted to stay in Australia and 72 wanted to go to Canada!! We were then sent home for the weekend and we “Canadians” were told to report to the Embarkation Depot on Monday.
Last edited by Wiley; 3rd Feb 2010 at 00:33.
Reason: Typos, amended information from PJ