Basic training over, next step.
Glad to say, I managed to avoid Guards of Honour for most of my career. Just as well. Sounds too bloody dangerous to me.
Ancientaviator62,
I once got a "permission to not shave for a week" for myself and the two prop forwards, but never had the chit. Never got pulled up for stubble though.
Dave Wilson,
I can only remember visiting Newton once during its tenure as Plod HQ. We (Squadron, All Ranks) weren't allowed to continue our onward journey until 'reviewed' by a Flt Lt in SD cap, greatcoat and slippers! but more of that later.
Next step forward.
Camlobe is no longer a raw recruit, but he is is still just AC camlobe. After a short period of leave which the kind people at RAF HQ decided we were due, it was back on the train. Next stop Buckinghamshire. Number 1 School of Trade Training, RAF Halton. I am amongst brethren this time as all trainees are travelling in Number One's. Once again, when we detrain, there are a selection of DI's there to make us feel welcome. But we have been here before, and it is taken in our stride. Bedford Bus, our familiar method of transport, eases us of toward our new home. All goes well until we turn up the hill through the camp gate. In Lincolnshire, there was no issue, but here, thar be hills. The bus all but dies getting us up to the Parade Square. We are 'politely' invited to debus, and a roll call is taken. Many of our number are marched back onto the bus and head off to the "other side". These are the Trenchard's Brats, or RAF Aircraft Trade Apprenticies, and they will be spending the next three years at Halton learning about the 'heavy' side (Airframes and Engines). Those apprentices going for the 'light' side (avionics - Air Radio and Air Radar) are going through an identical process at RAF Cosford, and will be forever known as Fairies. Most of these young lads are 16 years old, and have come straight from school and Basic Training.
Those of us left standing are now sorted into groups by trade. At Halton, it was Engines, Airframes and Weapons. Electricians and Navigational Instruments were trained at Cosford.
From the Parade Square, we are marched off to the three-storey blocks and introduced to our 18 man rooms, home for the next six months. A few of my room mates from Swinderby are still my room mates. We start unpacking, and then a couple of us stop and have a meeting. Two of us are 19, and three are 18. The other thirteen are 16. Now, that might not sound like much of a difference, but to an 18 or 19 year old, it is a huge age gap. The five of us aren't ageist, but we have signed on the dotted line as Adult Entry Technicians. The minimum criteria for this method of entry was; must be 18 years of age or older; must have previous technical experience. We ask our fellow room mates what they have signed up for. They are all on a Direct Entry Technician scheme, straight from school. We five decide we better have this sorted as we are obviously in the wrong room.
The Discip Sergeant is surprisingly welcoming and approachable, and listens intently to our quandary. He immediately gets on to the blower and it seems as if he is ringing around the whole of Training Command in order to sort out our issue. After a considerable length of time, he tells us to sit down while he updates us on our future. We are no longer Adult Entry Technicians, as the RAF did away with this scheme a couple of months ago. If we wish to continue our technical training to the same end result i.e. complete technical training successfully and gain promotion to Junior Technician, then we must join the 16 year olds on the Direct Entry format. The only real difference other than the age difference is, training is no longer six months, but nine. Or we can remuster.
We are stunned. The RAF offered us a path, we agreed and signed up, and then, without telling us beforehand, they removed the goalposts. For the five of us, this was the hardest part to accept. The extra three months at AC wages we could tolerate. Stuck with a bunch of very young guys for a long time was going to be difficult. But the lack of decency is what hurt hardest.
The Sergeant very wisely and kindly advises us to go away, have a cuppa and chew it over, and let him know what we wish to do. We find the NAAFI and sit down. After having a good team winge, we all agree that we are here now, let's keep going. The RAF might not care about us, but we sure cared about the RAF. We decided we would make it through this, and we would not leave anyone of us behind. We must have had a determined look on our faces because the Sergeant took a step backwards when we returned. When we told him of OUR decision, he genuinely looked pleased. Maybe it was wind.
Camlobe
You play ball with the RAF, and they will still shove the bat up your a%$e.