Lunchtime in the Officers' Mess bar. One young Havn'tbeenanywheredriver buying a pack of Rothmans. Brand new; still a Pilot Officer on his first week on an operational station. Collared by an Air Commodore (Engineering Branch).
"What's it like to be in a dead-end job?"
I had never seen an Air Commodore before let alone answer questions from one.
"What do you mean, Sir,"
"Don't you know you are going to be replaced by missiles in a few years and you will be out of a job."
With that he turned back to his chortling minions.
That was in 1962.