Your Reminiscences

Charles Truman (Sadly deceased.) - Reminiscences.
THE 25th ENTRY

COSFORD

June 1955, the year of the train strike, reading the joining instructions which had come the week before, the rail warrant of no use what-so-ever, how do I get to Cosford? Every prospective member of the 25th entry was faced with the same dilemma.

I was one of the lucky ones, being told to report to the City Centre Recruiting Office at 0900 on the day of my planned journey to Cosford. A Royal Air Force Staff car awaited me, the car was scheduled to go to the Midlands on some official business and would drop me off at Royal Air Force Cosford main gate. Not knowing any better, I assumed all new recruits would be treated in a similar manner, silly me!

Arriving at Cosford, with my mother's parting words still ringing in my ears, "Keep your mouth shut, do as you are told, don't bother anybody and don't let anybody bother you." The last words I heard my mother speak, she died in her sleep two weeks later. So, here I was, being shown to A lines, billet A2. A sixteen and a half year old, who, for the past two years had been roaming the streets of Tiger Bay since leaving school at fourteen. When I left school, we had just started learning all about fractions and didn't know what a decimal point was, so, I certainly wasn't the sharpest blade in the cutlery draw.

Many lads had arrived before me and many came trickling in after me, I couldn't understand many of them, they seemed to be speaking a foreign language, why couldn't they understand me? I was speaking perfect english! We eyed each other with suspicion, weighing each other up. He's a bit big, Christ! He looks twelve years old, silently, a mental pecking order was formed, barriers were slowly lowered and conversations started, with great difficulty, throughout the billet. That night I fell asleep listening to the quiet sobs of the first to feel the effects of leaving the protective cloak of the family behind.

The following morning we were awoken by a gentle pop song being played on a trumpet, we later learnt the words to this song which went something like, "Get out of bed. Get out of bed. Get out of bed you lazy bastaaaarrrrds. Excitement began to ripple through the billet, bare footed, the lads made their way to the toilets, I cannot remember one pair of slippers, dressing gown or shaving kit that first morning, half the lads didn't even have pyjama's, they had slept in their underpants. One bright lad, obviously well briefed by his dad, said, "These are called ablutions." There was no response from the rest, they probably thought the lad had reverted to his mother language, the word ablutions was simply not in the vocabulary of their language.

We were confronted by a long line of wash basins, selecting one, I squeezed between two lads, where the hell do I put my towel? In the next basin, the boy was desperately trying to work up a lather with a chunk of carbolic soap, obviously sawn off an eight inch slab by his caring mother, he was losing the battle.
I completed my morning wash, listening to the general comments from the others, such as, "I'm not using these showers, they've got no doors!" "Look, you can see right under these toilet doors." We were to learn very quickly.
Our first breakfast, the billet A2 found a table large enough to fit us all, as did the other billets. We had all waited patiently in line at the servery, the food looked excellent, holding my soup plate out to the first man in white, plop, a laddle full of porridge, I presented my flat plate to white man number two, a fried egg slithered onto my plate, next a rasher of bacon and a laddle full of baked beans. "Can I have another slice of bread please?" "One slice only, move on!" We settled at the table after selecting a knife, fork and spoon from the tray boxes. One boy said, "look at this." He was holding his soup plate, full of porridge, up side down, over the table. The porridge remained firmly in the plate. Being all friends now, we all had to do the same trick, only one lad was unsuccessful, his porridge finished up as a small mound in the middle of the table. Inevertably a crude comment was said about what this mound of porridge looked like and one of the boys said "AARRGGHH," pushing his breakfast away from himself, in two seconds his breakfast was shared, nothing was wasted! I jabbed my bacon with my fork, I stared at my plate, the bacon had disappeared, it had shattered and was shared with the six nearest boys to me. We all agreed with one element of the breakfast table, the margarine was the foulest we had ever tasted, from that day on it was named axle grease. Well, the food did look excellent!

The 25th entry comprised of over 700 youths, we were congregated in a large room which we were told was the ITS NAAFI. At one end a seperate room was used for individual interviews. In this room was about two dozen desks manned by young RAF Officers, who, we were told, were psycologists??
Each interview lasted approximately 10 to 15 minutes. Finally my turn arrived, we discussed family, involvement in crime, selected RAF trade and given a number which I was told to remember to my death, I didn't realise how true this would be. I had been given the trade of my choice, Air Wireless. Rejoining the masses, we sat and talked all day getting to know each other better, it's funny how we kept in the billet groups and didn't mix much with the other billets, probably, it's the devil you know. By 4 o'clock PM we were told to stand in lines facing an Officer who asked us to raise our right hands and repeat the oath. We collected our Queens shilling and filed out of the building to spend our unexpected fortune. We were in the RAF.
On our second morning we were awoken by the same soloist playing the same melody over the 'tanoy' system, in the ablutions I attempted my first shower, periodically leaping in and out from under the the blast of constantly changing water temperature, no gentle changes here, from extreme heat to extreme cold in the time it takes to draw a breath. Ah well, I was in the Air Force now. The day went very quickly, breakfast was identical to the first morning even to the sharing out of the breakfast of the lad with the delicate stomach, The rest of the boys had found a chink in the poor wretches armour and exploited it. March to stores to get kitted out. "What size?" "Er, er" "This will do!" Catching the flying garment you place it on the top of your growing pile. "Three pairs drawers cellular, Airman, for the use of. Wear one, one in't wash and one for kit inspection." What the hell were they talking about? What's all these straps and bags for? Falling off the end of the counter, carrying a pile of kit you couldn't see around or over, blindly walking into a room with old codgers, tape measures draped over their shoulders. "Name?" "Number?" Number? Oh! Hastely taking the crumpled piece of paper from your pocket, you recite the number you will never forget. "spread your legs." Oops. "29" "Waist 28" "Chest 40" "Collect your uniform when told, move on"

Staggering back to the billet with your heavy load you dump it on your bed and sit down, lathered in sweat, three seconds later the door at the end of the room bursts open and a gentleman with a very loud voice is shouting "Coveralls and pumps, outside in five minutes!" After a group discussion it is finally translated (for me) to boiler suit and daps, never heard the word pumps as a part of clothing in my life.

A quick march to the Medical Centre, fighting a losing battle to keep in step, half the lads are tick tocking. "Left, Left, left Right left, what an 'orrible shower you lot are!" Wishing I could speak the language we arrive at the Medical Centre. "Right! Strip off and stand in line." We suffer our first FFI, later to be affectionately known as, short arm inspection. Donning our drawers cellular, Airman, for the use of, we form yet another line, this time for inoculations. The lad in front of me was a big six footer, with shoulters, waist and hips all the same size, built like a square block of wood. We shuffle forward and come to the first sadist holding a needle, the lad in front of me goes down with no warning, hitting the boy in front who, in turn, bumps the lad in front of him. Unceremoniously, the unconcious boy is dragged to oneside and the line moves on.

The afternoon is taken up with our first drill session on the square, a strenuous period in the gym and a lesson on Air Force history in a classroom. In the evening we laboriously marked all our kit, for what good it did. Falling asleep that night was no problem, we slept like babies.
ITS was for three months, the 25th soon settled into a routine of drill on the square, classroom lessons, P.T in the gym, cross country and road running, kit inspections, bull nights, sport and church parades.

Body fat decreased, muscle and stamina increased, it was a hot summer with little time to ourselves, it was a development period for mind and body. Discipline was strong, group discipline and self discipline. We learnt to think, individually, as a team and to obey orders without question. This rigid routine gave us all a sense of belonging, an identity and strengthened our resolve to survive. This mental attitude would stay with us for the rest of our lives.

Classroom lessons comprised of mathematics, english, history of the Royal Air Force, weapons training, first aid, nuclear, biological and chemical warfare and other subjects which I may now have forgotten. I remember one particular lesson on first aid, we were being instructed by a Corporal Drill Instructor (DI). He was facing about 20 lads in the group, he asked a general question, "How would you treat a severe head wound?" Hands went up from half a dozen individuals, he pointed to one lad who answered, "Put a tourniquet round the neck!" It wasn't the answer that made me laugh, it was the expression on the corporal's face as he tried to work out what was wrong with the answer, failing this apparently, enormous task, he simply moved on to another question.

In the gym we met Corporal Bruce Wells, on one session he paired us off for two, two minute rounds of boxing in the ring. Me being all of 5'6", was naturally paired off with the 6' square block of wood that had collapsed at the inoculations. Our turn came and Bruce Wells muttered, "No kicking, gouging or bighting!" Being a lad from the streets of Tiger Bay he had stripped me of all my armoury. It was the longest, most painful and embarrassing four minutes since leaving home, I remember my speed was an advantage and managed to tap the giant half a dozen times but I found I was picking myself up off the canvas just as many times. Just before the final bell, sat on the floor, again, chest heaving, I remember thinking, "I'll kill the bastard when we get back to the billet!" Of course I didn't, half hour later we were laughing and joking about the the incident, with me claiming that I had won the bout.

Week after week went past very quickly and we were soon sending letters home asking who would be attending our pass out parade. On the square we were looking quite smart, well, we thought so! With berry's shrunk to fit, we looked more like the old timers that we saw marching the roads of Cosford camp, not quite, but, we were getting close. Practicing for our parade, the two lads who were tick tocking as they stepped off from the 'about turn' had finally beaten their problem. The great day came, having become an orphan since attestation, my sister and her husband came to see me pass out, how proud I felt, a real sense of achievement, my bubble was quickly pricked by a Seargent who said to me, "now the hard work starts!"

( Other occupants of Hut A2 supplied by, and including Jack Pringle -Patt Todd, Frank McDonough, Geoff Silsby, Peter Stewart, and Roger Williamson.)

	Your 25th Reminiscences
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			Memories of Dickon Povey I have looked at this website quite a few times and added my name to the guest book but I thought it was time for a few memories First if you click on the second picture down on the ?As we were? page I am the very last Boy Entrant on the right. Yes the scrawny one carrying the bagpipes! Boy entrant Povey (I never got beyond that rank, too much of a wimp in those days) But let?s start at the beginning, Do you remember ?A? lines and 12 weeks ITS. Being yelled at by Sergeant Birt and Corporal Rodney? Names are fading, but he was the little Welshman with the pay-stick that he was always going to do horrendous things with. I can?t remember all the names of the new boys in my billet which I think was A3. But a few come to mind. Pete Pardon with his Norfolk accent. ?Titch? Hough, six feet tall or more. Colin? Glazier had the best locker and bed packs! Dave? Parsons from Winchester short curly hair. Leo Dobbs Some memories of those ------------------------------- ----------------------Charles Truman's Family -----------------------------------------------------------
			Charles Truman (Sadly deceased.) - Reminiscences. THE 25th ENTRY COSFORD June 1955, the year of the train strike, reading the joining instructions which had come the week before, the rail warrant of no use what-so-ever, how do I get to Cosford? Every prospective member of the 25th entry was faced with the same dilemma. I was one of the lucky ones, being told to report to the City Centre Recruiting Office at 0900 on the day of my planned journey to Cosford. A Royal Air Force Staff car awaited me, the car was scheduled to go to the Midlands on some official business and would drop me off at Royal Air Force Cosford main gate. Not knowing any better, I assumed all new recruits would be treated in a similar manner, silly me! Arriving at Cosford, with my mother's parting words still ringing in my ears, "Keep your mouth shut, do as you are told, don't bother anybody and don't let anybody bother you." The last words I heard my mother speak, she died in her sleep two weeks later. So, here I was, being shown to A lines, billet A2. A sixteen and a half year old, who, for the past two years had been roaming the streets of Tiger Bay since leaving school at fourteen. When I left school, we had just started learning all about fractions and didn't know what a decimal point was, so, I certainly wasn't the sharpest blade in the cutlery draw. Many lads had arrived before me and many came trickling in after me, I couldn't understand many of them, they seemed to be speaking a foreign language, why couldn't they understand me? I was speaking perfect english! We eyed each other with suspicion, weighing each other up. He's a bit big, Christ! He looks twelve years old, silently, a mental pecking order was formed, barriers were slowly lowered and conversations started, with great difficulty, throughout the billet. That night I fell asleep listening to the quiet sobs of the first to feel the effects of leaving the protective cloak of the family behind. The following morning we were awoken by a gentle pop song being played on a trumpet, we later learnt the words to this song which went something like, "Get out of bed. Get out of bed. Get out of bed you lazy bastaaaarrrrds. Excitement began to ripple through the billet, bare footed, the lads made their way to the toilets, I cannot remember one pair of slippers, dressing gown or shaving kit that first morning, half the lads didn't even have pyjama's, they had slept in their underpants. One bright lad, obviously well briefed by his dad, said, "These are called ablutions." There was no response from the rest, they probably thought the lad had reverted to his mother language, the word ablutions was simply not in the vocabulary of their language. We were confronted by a long line of wash basins, selecting one, I squeezed between two lads, where the hell do I put my towel? In the next basin, the boy was desperately trying to work up a lather with a chunk of carbolic soap, obviously sawn off an eight inch slab by his caring mother, he was losing the battle. I completed my morning wash, listening to the general comments from the others, such as, "I'm not using these showers, they've got no doors!" "Look, you can see right under these toilet doors." We were to learn very quickly. Our first breakfast, the billet A2 found a table large enough to fit us all, as did the other billets. We had all waited patiently in line at the servery, the food looked excellent, holding my soup plate out to the first man in white, plop, a laddle full of porridge, I presented my flat plate to white man number two, a fried egg slithered onto my plate, next a rasher of bacon and a laddle full of baked beans. "Can I have another slice of bread please?" "One slice only, move on!" We settled at the table after selecting a knife, fork and spoon from the tray boxes. One boy said, "look at this." He was holding his soup plate, full of porridge, up side down, over the table. The porridge remained firmly in the plate. Being all friends now, we all had to do the same trick, only one lad was unsuccessful, his porridge finished up as a small mound in the middle of the table. Inevertably a crude comment was said about what this mound of porridge looked like and one of the boys said "AARRGGHH," pushing his breakfast away from himself, in two seconds his breakfast was shared, nothing was wasted! I jabbed my bacon with my fork, I stared at my plate, the bacon had disappeared, it had shattered and was shared with the six nearest boys to me. We all agreed with one element of the breakfast table, the margarine was the foulest we had ever tasted, from that day on it was named axle grease. Well, the food did look excellent! The 25th entry comprised of over 700 youths, we were congregated in a large room which we were told was the ITS NAAFI. At one end a seperate room was used for individual interviews. In this room was about two dozen desks manned by young RAF Officers, who, we were told, were psycologists?? Each interview lasted approximately 10 to 15 minutes. Finally my turn arrived, we discussed family, involvement in crime, selected RAF trade and given a number which I was told to remember to my death, I didn't realise how true this would be. I had been given the trade of my choice, Air Wireless. Rejoining the masses, we sat and talked all day getting to know each other better, it's funny how we kept in the billet groups and didn't mix much with the other billets, probably, it's the devil you know. By 4 o'clock PM we were told to stand in lines facing an Officer who asked us to raise our right hands and repeat the oath. We collected our Queens shilling and filed out of the building to spend our unexpected fortune. We were in the RAF. On our second morning we were awoken by the same soloist playing the same melody over the 'tanoy' system, in the ablutions I attempted my first shower, periodically leaping in and out from under the the blast of constantly changing water temperature, no gentle changes here, from extreme heat to extreme cold in the time it takes to draw a breath. Ah well, I was in the Air Force now. The day went very quickly, breakfast was identical to the first morning even to the sharing out of the breakfast of the lad with the delicate stomach, The rest of the boys had found a chink in the poor wretches armour and exploited it. March to stores to get kitted out. "What size?" "Er, er" "This will do!" Catching the flying garment you place it on the top of your growing pile. "Three pairs drawers cellular, Airman, for the use of. Wear one, one in't wash and one for kit inspection." What the hell were they talking about? What's all these straps and bags for? Falling off the end of the counter, carrying a pile of kit you couldn't see around or over, blindly walking into a room with old codgers, tape measures draped over their shoulders. "Name?" "Number?" Number? Oh! Hastely taking the crumpled piece of paper from your pocket, you recite the number you will never forget. "spread your legs." Oops. "29" "Waist 28" "Chest 40" "Collect your uniform when told, move on" Staggering back to the billet with your heavy load you dump it on your bed and sit down, lathered in sweat, three seconds later the door at the end of the room bursts open and a gentleman with a very loud voice is shouting "Coveralls and pumps, outside in five minutes!" After a group discussion it is finally translated (for me) to boiler suit and daps, never heard the word pumps as a part of clothing in my life. A quick march to the Medical Centre, fighting a losing battle to keep in step, half the lads are tick tocking. "Left, Left, left Right left, what an 'orrible shower you lot are!" Wishing I could speak the language we arrive at the Medical Centre. "Right! Strip off and stand in line." We suffer our first FFI, later to be affectionately known as, short arm inspection. Donning our drawers cellular, Airman, for the use of, we form yet another line, this time for inoculations. The lad in front of me was a big six footer, with shoulters, waist and hips all the same size, built like a square block of wood. We shuffle forward and come to the first sadist holding a needle, the lad in front of me goes down with no warning, hitting the boy in front who, in turn, bumps the lad in front of him. Unceremoniously, the unconcious boy is dragged to oneside and the line moves on. The afternoon is taken up with our first drill session on the square, a strenuous period in the gym and a lesson on Air Force history in a classroom. In the evening we laboriously marked all our kit, for what good it did. Falling asleep that night was no problem, we slept like babies. ITS was for three months, the 25th soon settled into a routine of drill on the square, classroom lessons, P.T in the gym, cross country and road running, kit inspections, bull nights, sport and church parades. Body fat decreased, muscle and stamina increased, it was a hot summer with little time to ourselves, it was a development period for mind and body. Discipline was strong, group discipline and self discipline. We learnt to think, individually, as a team and to obey orders without question. This rigid routine gave us all a sense of belonging, an identity and strengthened our resolve to survive. This mental attitude would stay with us for the rest of our lives. Classroom lessons comprised of mathematics, english, history of the Royal Air Force, weapons training, first aid, nuclear, biological and chemical warfare and other subjects which I may now have forgotten. I remember one particular lesson on first aid, we were being instructed by a Corporal Drill Instructor (DI). He was facing about 20 lads in the group, he asked a general question, "How would you treat a severe head wound?" Hands went up from half a dozen individuals, he pointed to one lad who answered, "Put a tourniquet round the neck!" It wasn't the answer that made me laugh, it was the expression on the corporal's face as he tried to work out what was wrong with the answer, failing this apparently, enormous task, he simply moved on to another question. In the gym we met Corporal Bruce Wells, on one session he paired us off for two, two minute rounds of boxing in the ring. Me being all of 5'6", was naturally paired off with the 6' square block of wood that had collapsed at the inoculations. Our turn came and Bruce Wells muttered, "No kicking, gouging or bighting!" Being a lad from the streets of Tiger Bay he had stripped me of all my armoury. It was the longest, most painful and embarrassing four minutes since leaving home, I remember my speed was an advantage and managed to tap the giant half a dozen times but I found I was picking myself up off the canvas just as many times. Just before the final bell, sat on the floor, again, chest heaving, I remember thinking, "I'll kill the bastard when we get back to the billet!" Of course I didn't, half hour later we were laughing and joking about the the incident, with me claiming that I had won the bout. Week after week went past very quickly and we were soon sending letters home asking who would be attending our pass out parade. On the square we were looking quite smart, well, we thought so! With berry's shrunk to fit, we looked more like the old timers that we saw marching the roads of Cosford camp, not quite, but, we were getting close. Practicing for our parade, the two lads who were tick tocking as they stepped off from the 'about turn' had finally beaten their problem. The great day came, having become an orphan since attestation, my sister and her husband came to see me pass out, how proud I felt, a real sense of achievement, my bubble was quickly pricked by a Seargent who said to me, "now the hard work starts!" ( Other occupants of Hut A2 supplied by, and including Jack Pringle -Patt Todd, Frank McDonough, Geoff Silsby, Peter Stewart, and Roger Williamson.)