Since about the age of ten my ambition was to have a career in flying. Once Price’s had given access to the necessary certificates at O and A level, I applied for a flying commission in the RAF. Result – go away and come back in two years, or put another way, come back when you are more mature.
Disappointed but not disheartened, I found a temporary job at the White Star Garage on the Wickham Road in Fareham, serving fuel and greasing cars. Not much fun and only 3/- an hour. There was a semi-automatic car washing machine in the bay next to the grease bay, marketed by what nowadays we would call a start-up called Eurawash. Chatting to its managing director he realised that there was a bit more to Eric than being a grease monkey, so offered me a job setting up machines and starting the business for new customers. Soon the clientele expanded to regions beyond the range of my trusty Lambretta, so six lessons at BSM et voila! licence to motor on 4 wheels. With customers anywhere between Honiton and Glasgow most of my time was on the road dealing with people who often were expecting more than could be reasonably delivered. The motor trade proved to be a very good place to do one’s growing up, so when Eurawash went bust I promptly reapplied to the RAF and after a few months on hold in the old Ultra TV factory on the way to Gosport, thanks to former classmate Curly Curtis who was big in the HR department, off to South Cerney for initial training.
Three months of effort and a little humiliation, heady day of being commissioned as an Acting Pilot Officer. Then it was Gaydon followed by Stradishall for navigator training and graduation with licence to aviate on my chest. Next stage was the PR Canberra OCU at Bassingbourn before posting to 39(PR) Sqn in Malta operating the queen of the skies, the mighty Canberra PR9, followed by a move to the other side of the airfield to 13(PR) Sqn. In the days before cheap mass transit airlines Malta seemed a long way away to my then fiancée and self, so we married just before my departure for the sun. Married in the eyes of God but not in the view of the RAF, being under the age of 25, I found us a cheap rented flat and Angela joined me for a happy but too short time on the island. Angela had to be repatriated because of a serious medical condition. In those days the RAF looked after its people, so I was found a job in my career structure on 58(PR) Sqn at Wyton so that she could be cared for as an out patient of the RAF hospital at Halton. The high spot of that short tour was opening the Blackpool illuminations in 1969 when the theme was the Battle of Britain, the film of the same name having just been released. We flew alongside the prom and dropped a stick of photoflashes, switched on the lights, landed at Squire’s Gate and attended a mayorial dinner. I’ve still got the souvenir stick of rock.
Angela’s condition deteriorated to the extent that she had to be near the renal unit at Halton, so once again a job was found for me as Flight Commander at Halton’s famous No 1 S of TT and in loco parentis of 93 teenage apprentices, a job which gave me a certain sympathy for what our teachers at Price’s must have had to put up with. In July 1970 Angela had a kidney transplant and I am delighted to say that we are still together some 54 years later, kidney still going strong. Renal problems solved, it was back to 39 Sqn, by this time at Wyton where I spent two eventful tours with many detachments to exotic climes for photo surveys, twice yearly detachments to Norway to practice our war role and lots of fun rushing round at low level. The second tour, after the post-graduate Staff Navigation Course, was as the nav instructor on the squadron and responsibility for introducing a complete revamp of the PR9’s nav system which resulted in the award of a Queen’s Commendation, otherwise known as Air Force Cross (failed).
In the miscellany of appointments which the Air Secretary’s staff liked to call a career some stand out. So it was that promotion to Squadron Leader led to the most enjoyable of all my tours apart from flying. I was appointed as the Royal Air Force Staff Officer to the Flag Officer First Flotilla, a seagoing job based in Pompey Dockyard. The lead-in to this job involved a tour of the RAF to learn what all the various roles could and would do for the RN as well as a tour of the Navy attached to a course refreshing senior officers naval knowledge before going on to command ships. All very good fun, especially being the only one in the different colour uniform. It included a deployment to Brazil via west Africa and Ascension Island (before the Falklands War), as well as many NATO exercises in the North Atlantic and Med. The summer of 1980 was filled by another deployment, this time to the far east, the highlight of which was the first visit of RN ships to China since the Amethyst Incident in 1949. Four days in Shanghai with not a skyscraper in sight as China was starting to open up were among the most memorable of my 30 years of service.
Then it was back to 39 at Wyton as Flt Cdr and 2i/c. We prepared for a move to the South Atlantic as part of the Falklands War but got no further than Belize. 39 Squadron was disbanded in late 1982 and reduced in size to become No1 Photo Reconnaissance Unit which I had the honour of commanding until tour’s end in 1983. Next came a three year NATO appointment at the multinational HQ Allied Air Forces Central Europe at Ramstein in Germany as a war planner followed by another three years at Honington as OC Intelligence and Planning Squadron.
1989 saw promotion to Wing Commander and another NATO appointment as Chief Intelligence (really!) in Allied Tactical Operations Centre 2 at Maastricht in The Netherlands. We watched the wall come down and wondered what the future held (more on this later). Next came a home posting in 1992 to Brampton’s HQ Support Command, once more in the Plans Branch. This was not what a died in the wool operator liked but at least we could move back to our house near Cambridge. Further downhill went my fun factor when Support Command moved to Innsworth and Brampton became home to the newly formed Logistics Command, where I was the contingency and war planner. Now I will admit that logistics is a vital part of any large organization but it is no substitute for being near the action. And then the government of the day decided that as the menace of the Soviet Union had gone away, and with an election looming, that there should be major savings in the defence budget, presumably in order to tempt voters with the promise of lower taxes. Rapid savings in defence spending are made by getting rid of people in uniform. As the work for the logistics world on this distasteful subject landed on my desk and because there was little prospect of another ring on my sleeve I ensured that my name was well up the redundancy list and in 1996 took the money and ran.
We ran to our holiday cottage in south-west France which we had bought while at Maastricht. If, during my time in the RAF, someone had said that I would one day eagerly look forward to the first wild orchids emerging in the spring I would have asked them which substance they were abusing. However, it is true. Life here for the last 28 years has been very good in a tiny village where everyone knows everyone, where unspoilt nature abounds and the air is pure – the wine’s not bad either. Two terms as a conseilleur municipal were very interesting until Brexit put a stop to re-election. I liken it to the second world – we have all the advantages in terms of health care and modern amenities of the first world, including full-fat fibre connectivity, but people still have time to stop and chat and take an interest in their neighbours, reminiscent of my memories of growing up in Wickham. Brexit was a bit of a setback but we now have dual nationality and will stay here where I hope to achieve my remaining ambition – to have received more pounds in retired pay than I earnt during my active service.