Multicultural, nurses, oh and some training.
After our welcoming bull night, we band of merry men and boys settled into our home for nine months. RAF Halton is nestled on on one side of a hill-line and in the flat land below. The hill line is where the accommodation blocks were placed for the trainees, and on the flat land there was the technical training school and airfield. We wouldn't see the airfield until the final part of our course, but we saw a great deal of the 'school' which consisted of 'sheds' and classrooms. The sheds were where the practical aspects of our technical training was carried out. Thy first task IIRC was to start our snowballing collection of reference and reading material, including the most excellent book "The Jet Engine" which I seem to think was a Rolls Royce publication. The course brief was detailed enough for us to plan what to expect. Continual education and assessment. Failure (a dirty word nowadays but a normal part of life in the late '70's) was awaiting anyone who could not absorb and apply their newfound knowledge at each and every assessment. The assessments were mini-exams, but our attitude and aptitude was also continually reviewed.
The initial brief was founded around the fact that the aircraft of the Royal Air Force were the best maintained and operated in the world, bar none. This would continue to be the case, with or without us. If we failed in any way to come up to scratch, we were out. No ifs or buts. The integrity of the RAF's varied types of aircraft were not to be subjected to any input less than perfection. And to see if we could meet the standards required, we were to be subjected to the most rigorous aviation technical training environment in existence.
And we most certainly were.
But it wasn't just us on course APD21 (Aircraft Propulsion, Direct entry #21). There was a full complement of apprentices; trainee Flight Line Mechanics (FLM's); trainee Airframe, Engine and Armament mechanics. Then there were experienced mechanics who had returned to Halton to undergo Fitter training in order to progress from Senior Aircraftman to Junior Technican.
And then, as mentioned by a number of our crew room companions, there was the international aspect. There were men from just about every African country. Also, from the majority of the Arabic nations. Added to this list, there were Malaysians and sub-continental participants. Our parade ground every morning was a very multinational affair.
On one of our first mornings marching down the hill towards the sheds, one of the SAC's said to me "see that guy there in the PT shorts and Tee shirt? He flew a Lightning". Oh, says I naively, is he a pilot? "No, no, that is Wing Commander 'Taffy' Holden. He was the SENGO at Binbrook. They had a long-going snag with a Lightning, he climbed in to do the next ground run. They had the seat out and a box in its place, the canopy off, and wires running outside from the cockpit to the engine. He powered it up, ran over the chocks, pulled back to miss a truck, and flew it round for ten minutes trying to get it back down. He managed it in the end." I was chuckling, not going to get caught by this leg-pull, only to find out ten minutes later from a bunch of the SAC's who had been at Binbrook at the time that it was completely true. Awestruck admiration replaced disbelief.
The true whole story is freely available in Taffy's own words, and can be googled. There wasn't a box, but an inert seat. Just as useful, really.
At that time, Halton also had a hospital. This meant PMRAFNS nurses. Actually, lots of nurses. Bop nights in the NAAFI were always well attended.
I was really getting to like the RAF, and was now happily forgiving its earlier misdemeanour.
Camlobe
What goes up, keeps going up if it is a Lightning.