Initiation seems to be much of a muchness no matter where the RAF invited us to attend for initial training. In my case, having started at Padgate on 28/11/49 and expressed my wish to be a National Service pilot, having been asked if I had been in the ATC and said "yes" (as far as I know this was never checked) and as a result was given a service number which began with 312****, different from the others who replied "no", we were issued with uniforms, hustled off to Hornchurch for aptitude assessment, back to Padgate for a couple of days, then off to Driffield for a few more days ( our initiation into "skiving") doing nothing but sewing our aircrew cadet laurel wreath insignia on our sleeves, then being sent on Christmas leave where Mums did a proper job of re-attaching our handiwork before reporting to No 1 ITS Wittering on 28/12/49. And then it all began. Learning how to march, make up bedspaces, bumper floors, salute, much to the amusement of warrant officers who suffered the indignity of squads of cadets "eyes righting" as we passed them.
Three things from that period stick in my memory - Wednesday afternoons travelling in an old Fordson bus to Northampton baths for dinghy drill, red polony (!!) sausages for tea in the airmen's mess, and an introduction into the foolish ways of military life. At this time, although we were months away from an aeroplane, we were issued with leather flying helmets with earphones and a long lead. Every Saturday morning there was a Station Parade of which the cadets formed one wing. Some bright spark had remarked that when cadets got to a real aeroplane they were unused to these helmets so it was decreed we would parade wearing them, the long lead being tucked into the greatcoat pocket. The inevitable result was an utter shambles as it was impossible to hear words of command so we all did our own thing. Unbelievably, this fiasco was repeated the following week too. But it was all taken in its stride. Pete Shoen never could march with his arms swinging correctly i.e. his right arm and right leg moved forward at the same time. How was this lack of co-ordination not picked up at Hornchurch?
The next twenty years were fun too and we met great friends.