On Monday 9th December 1940, I reported for duty at RAF Cardington, a receiving centre near the city of Bedford. I was sent to the airmen's mess for my tea on arrival. Some airmen already present asked me what I had joined for. When I told them I was going to be a pilot, they burst out laughing! 18 years old, then only five feet four inches tall and baby-faced, I had the last laugh!
A week of inoculations, form-filling, uniform issues, and a bit of "square-bashing", and we were off to the recruit training centre at Bridgenorth, Shropshire, where we were to spend the next five weeks becoming trained airmen. It was a time for learning discipline the hard way; not quite in the Guards tradition, but certainly a hardening, healthy way of life in which I revelled.
The weather itself was "hardening". Lots of snow and bitterly cold winds over the Christmas period of 1940 and into 1941, and there was a mild epidemic of influenza among the airmen, but it didn't stop the general enthusiasm of the younger men, especially those destined to go on to flying training in due course.
By mid-January we had completed our training. My special ‘buddies' were three men quite a lot older than me, and I think they had taken it upon themselves to act as my guardians, in view of my youthful appearance! Roy Whitney, Ray Kent and “Tommy” Tomkinson, all married.
Roy Whitney went to Canada for EFTS and stayed there as an Instructor. Ray Kent was serious, a loving man to his wife of only a few years. He was an architectural designer, and I don't think he had any children. As a pilot he was killed in action. "Tommy" Tomkinson was a very large man, almost fat, and a joy to have around. He had a wonderful sense of humour. He failed his early flying training, being unable to judge his height from the ground when coming in to land, and he was quickly "grounded" and sent to a suitable mustering for the duration of the war.