Demob
Chapter 15
Demob...Return to WORK...Marriage.
One day we were at a loss as to what mischief we could get up to when it struck one of us that perhaps we had been forgotten in Ireland! Our Divisional Officer, who was one of us happened to be sitting there and was involved in the conversation. Someone said, you’re our Divisional Officer, why don't you get off your bum and find out when we are going to be demobbed? Well, what an error that was, he came back and told us that he should have brought this up sooner and gave us a date to report to a demob centre in Belfast, we were shattered! We had only said it for a joke. Now what a fine mess we had got ourselves into.
I recall that Cliff and I were posted first and for some reason Fin followed a few days later. I always regret that Cliff and I didn't follow up a prank that we had in mind at the time, which was to meet Fin at the station having swapped our demob Civvy suits. Cliff being about six inches taller than me! What a laugh we would have had. It had already been a hoot at the demob centre. We had about a dozen different outfits to choose from like... A suit, sports jacket and flannels, raincoat or overcoat, shoes, and various types of hats. Of course you could spot a demob from twenty miles away. However, there we were, three little civvies, paid off, railway warrants to home, and not so much as a thank you for winning the war!
Of course, whenever there was a crisis among us we used to head for the nearest Pub and stay there until it went away.
It was quite a trauma for us all and for some months we did nothing really serious except meet up and commiserate with each other. Eventually I plucked up the courage to go to my old firm and get my job back. I was very surprised at the reception. A great lack of enthusiasm and pay scales as though I was a complete beginner. I managed to stick it out for about a year but I was very unhappy and could not see myself staying. I made a lot of complaints about my pay but was always put off with the excuse that I had to catch up on the greater experience and expertise of those who had remained throughout the war.
Life was not all bad though and I used to get out a lot with some mates who hadn't forgotten I existed. Finally I was given a job that a number of the old hands had had a go at and failed. When I finished it OK I used that as a reason for me now getting the full rate for the job. This was accepted and as soon as it was agreed I gave notice to quit.
I took the Commercial Pilots Licence Examinations and got the Licence but at this time there were no jobs around. Cliff had done the same and found a job flying some smugglers in and out of Switzerland. They were caught, and he had a worrying time for a while. All turned out OK in the end and he had managed to increase his flying hours which was important. He went on to take the Airline Pilots Examination and got a job as Second Pilot with BEA.
Soon after our demob Cliff and I had bought motor bikes. He had a war surplus Lee Enfield and I had new one. I remember when I went to collect my bike (I had never driven a motor bike before) I couldn't wait to get going but I stalled it about three times in front of the shop. The owner said "You have ridden before" Of course I have, it's the clutch. It's a bit fierce. Anyway I got started and took off in a cloud of dust. That'll teach him to doubt my capabilities! Change gear. What's happening, the gear change is in reverse to that which I swotted up on all last night!! I am now in top gear but can't figure out how to change down. Right de-clutch. Stop. Put it in neutral and start again. I had to continue like this until I got home when I got it all figured out...... I'm glad the shop owner didn't see me.
I was out of work and studying for my further Licences but I was not happy with the situation and I told my Father that I would have to get a job in order to contribute to the home. He said not to worry. But I did. So he suggested that I should try using the old lorry he had. He had bought this so that he had petrol coupons during the war. But it was not used much.
I used the lorry to transport conduit tubing. This was an interesting story and typical of the situation just after the war. A couple of chaps had a pre-war business making single, cot type beds, out of conduit tubing and springs. After the war when the factories went back to normal peace time production they were granted purchasing rights based on a percentage of their earlier, pre-war orders. Every commodity was in such short supply that they soon found they could make more money selling on the tubing without bothering to work on it.
For me it was really hard work but I made money. The lorry had no self starter so it was a hand crank job. I used to park it at the top of a small rise in the mews opposite our house. Each morning I let it run down the hill and prayed that it would start when I let in the clutch at the bottom. If it didn't I had to turn it over by hand and I only had the strength to do this a few times, before taking a rest, particularly in the winter.
Eventually I got fed up with this and thinking I was going to be stuck in this environment I found a job with a small family firm making machines associated with the printing industry. It was high precision work and I quite enjoyed it for a while.
During this period. July 1947. Madeleine had come to England to join her Mother who, with Mr. Taylor, her second husband, had accommodation in our house. After many months, we met and used to go out together. It was soon clear that neither of us was happy with our present circumstances and we began to discuss the possibility of changing things.
At one time we even thought of going to West Australia. And had a morning at Australia House. However they didn't want a new Prime Minister so we let it drop.
At some time I had made two applications for employment. One was for an Oil Operative in Kuwait. And the other was to rejoin the RAF who suddenly found themselves short of Pilots.
When I attended the interview for the job of Oil Operative, in the Cumberland Hotel. The very smooth interviewer asked me if I knew what the job was. When I replied. NO. He said well lets talk about your background. When he learned I had been a Pilot he was full of enthusiasm and we talked of little else. At the end of the interview he said I am sure you could manage. If it is agreed, you will receive a further telegram to discuss contracts.
Well at this time I was having some very severe troubles with Tonsillitis and as per Murphys Law I received both his telegram and the Air Force acceptance at almost the same time. I chose the latter because I didn't want to get too much sand in my throat.
Having returned to the Air Force I was sent on an OCTU at Spitalgate and flunked it. So that was twice I had missed out on a commission.
I was posted to a flying refresher course at Finningly. This was about a month flying Harvard’s together with a few hours on Spitfires. On this course I had expressed my preference to go on Fighters. However, we then went on to a non flying post at Wolverhampton and during this period I had a chat to a friend of mine who had been commissioned at Spitalgate and was going on the CFS instructor’s course. I decided to change my mind and opt for the Instructor role.
At this time the RAF was experimenting with some new titles for Aircrew. These were. Master Pilot, P1, P2, and P3. This equated with the earlier Warrant Officer, Flight Sergeant, and Sergeant. The P3 grade had no precedent and was if I recall correctly a trainee pilot. This was to be a big structural change separating the aircrew from the administration because however much they disliked it they had to pay the aircrew more than equivalent ground crew grades. The aircrew were even going to have their own separate mess. However in the event they failed to change the Officer grades, which led to big problems. The whole scheme was dropped soon after as an abysmal failure and a return was made to the old system.
I was scheduled to go to Brize Norton to do the Flying Instructors Course when Madeleine and I decided to get married, much to the annoyance of both our families it seemed. My Father had died in the November but he was in full agreement with our proposal and in fact left us a little cash to blow on our Honeymoon in Paris. We were married on the 24th. December, despite receiving no help from our families.
We flew out of Heathrow. First Class, in an Air France Languadoc. In those days you were named passengers and well looked after. Unfortunately, I had a massive hangover, the result of my Stag Party, the evening before. The flight was about one and a half hours, followed by a couple of hours in the stack, due to fog at ORLY. I recall a nice old lady sitting in front of me and seeing my discomfort said. "Don't worry young man. These airplanes are quite safe now"
Our few days of honeymoon were spent with Madeleine's Aunt and Uncle. It must have been the most unusual honeymoon. We sat to the table at about eight o'clock and we didn't leave it until about two o'clock. A traditional French ‘Reveillion ‘This didn't leave me much time, or improve my physical condition to enable me to carry out my matrimonial duties. I leave it to the reader to guess if I was Man or Mouse. Suffice to say I was tired in the morning!! And couldn’t have faced cheese!!
I said we only had a few days, because I had to depart without Madeleine to join a course of Flying Instructor training at Brize Norton, which was then the satellite of Little Rissington. The RAF's Central Flying School.