| Royal Air Force Administrative Apprentice Association |
RAFAAA
| Multum A Parvo |
Member's Articles
| Some Recollections Of Life As An Administrative Apprentice And Of The Royal Air Force Submitted By Members Of The Association |
Memory plays strange tricks! The TV was on the other day. It was a WW2 film in black and white. I wasn’t really watching when suddenly I heard a piece of music.
The scene was a big RAF parade on the square and the tune was “General Salute”.
I was suddenly transported back to St Athan. A similar parade but one where it seemed everyone was singing, albeit very softly, the familiar “Stand by your beds,
here comes an Air Vice Marshal. He’s got rings and things but he’s only got one ******* “. I don’t remember any action being taken but do remember the looks of
shock on the dais. I’m sure it was a rehearsal and there was no reviewing officer but I think we were all a little more careful after that.
Ken Cameron 4th Entry
RAF Bircham Newton closed in December 1962 and AATS moved to RAF Hereford. The last Station Commander at Bircham Newton was Group Captain Panton who
later went on to become Provost Marshal. In December 1966, when I was serving in Singapore at 389MU RAF Seletar, Gp Capt Panton was in a staff appointment at
HQ FEAF at RAF Changi. He held a reunion in his Married Quarter at Changi that Christmas for those serving in Singapore who had been at Bircham Newton when he
was CO. Most if not all of those present were ex Admin Apps and their wives - as shown in the first photograph. John Dyer (46th), Dave Hopewell (42nd) and Grimes
(42nd) are instantly recognisable from the photo - but who else is shown there?
Incidentally, I was Grimes's bull-boy - and he never paid me. Does anybody know where he is - if so, let me know and I'll send round the heavy mob! The second
photo from that reunion at Gp Capt Panton's OMQ at Changi in Dec 66. It shows the then Jnr Tech and Mrs Dyer but I have no idea who the chap on the right is.
John Dyer (46th Entry)
Despite serving in the ‘real’ Air Force in UK, Far East, Middle East and ‘The Isle of Christmas’ on operational stations, I had the extremely good fortune to serve at two
of the softest postings in the history of the RAF.
Having departed from Hereford (24th Entry) in August 1956 I was posted to RAF West Malling in Kent, with Don Phillipson and Ming Gould. I did not enjoy this posting
at all, serving under an odious SEO and an equally odious ex-Cranwell Pilot Officer – my face did not fit! Suddenly after about seven months I was advised by a chum,
probably Don Phillipson, that a posting had come through for me to go to 3701 Radar Reporting Unit, BRIGHTON. I was delighted and when told of the posting by the
SEO, I replied “Yes Sir I know”. He naturally wanted to know how I had heard before him. We had a mutual dislike and I’m sure he was glad to see me go, he had in
fact rejected my promotion to Corporal the previous month.
3701 RRU was an Auxiliary Air Force unit located in a beautiful Victorian house in an exclusive district of Brighton, Preston Park. It consisted of 12 full-timers
together with auxiliary airmen and WAAFs who came in for training at weekends and one night a week.
My ‘duties’, about 4 hours a week, consisted of amending Air Publications and driving to our parent unit to collect auxiliary uniforms and the odd piece of barrack
equipment.
The CO was an Auxiliary Squadron Leader, a bank manager from Hailsham he came in once a week for a drink and a chat. The unit was run by the adjutant, a Flt Lt
(Sec), a lovely chap, one of the old school. Hr ran a chicken farm at Partridge Green where he lived. He employed a couple of the National Service to work on his farm
on a daily basis. They were glad of the extra money. We saw him most days but despite being a regular officer his heart was really in the chicken farm.
I spent most of my time visiting the local hostelries on a RAF bike – what a life! We had some wonderful parties; the local ladies loved them.
Alas all good things must come to an end. After 10 delightful months I was promoted to Corporal and posted to Christmas Island – that was a cultural shock!
My second ‘cushy’ posting was in August 1959. Having survived Christmas Island I was serving at RAF Mounbatten, Plymouth when I was posted to 1107 Marine
Craft Unit, Newhaven.
For those among you who remember ‘The Navy Lark’ on the radio, 1107 MCU was a dead ringer. Once again as the unit Supplier, there was very little work for me
and I spent most of my time on the high speed launch, fishing and sometimes poaching lobster from fishermen’s pots.
The CO was a Flt Lt, with a Fg Off and about 35 others, including a few civilians. The offers lived out and we had 3 SNCOs living in.
On one occasion a very distinguished gentleman in civilian clothes walked up to the gate and asked to see the Orderly Officer. The ‘erk’ on duty told him that we only
had duty NCO, and he asked if he could see him. Eventually and elderly sergeant came to the gate in slippers and braces. The visitor announced himself as Air Chief
Marshal Sir ?????? and asked the sergeant if someone could keep an eye on his yacht overnight. The embarrassed Sergeant recovered some of his composure
and agreed to see to it. Next morning the AVM turned up with thanks and a crate of beer.
The Sergeants Mess was really the ‘local’ and frequented by all ranks. It was run by a Chief Tech Engine Fitter who never seemed to set foot on any of the launches
and hadn’t been to sea for years. (I’ve drawn a veil over his ‘private’ life as described by Jimmy)
The CO appeared puzzled by the amount of money that went over the bar from only 3 SNCOs! When the local pubs closed all the ‘boozers’ headed for the mess and
closing time was, to say the least, flexible. They had a civilian Mess Waiter known affectionately as ‘Scrotum the wrinkled retainer’. It was a fun place to be.
I volunteered as the driver of the 1 ton Bedford and once a week drove to Tangmere to pick up spares. However on one occasion I was dragged from my bed to use
the truck to block the towpath to assist Customs and Excise in arresting diamond smugglers arriving by boat from France.
On another occasion I ‘volunteered’ to jump from the high-speed launch, swim around until I was winched up by a 22 Squadron chopper and then lowered on to the
still moving launch.
We often worked in conjunction with the Newhaven lifeboat. When there was a ‘call out’ the lifeboat crew were at sea in minutes. It took a bit longer for the RAF
crew who were not actually on standby and had to found.
When tied up the launches were used for all sorts of ‘romantic liaisons’ I even saw a coxswain baking cakes in the galley.
I spent 2 ½ great years at Newhaven. Met my wife. Joined the local Amateur Dramatic Group with some of the other RAF men. Used the Bedford to move scenery
from the Theatre Royal at Brighton. Yes Jon Pertwee and Leslie Phillips from the Navy Lark would have fitted in well.
At last good things came to an end and in Feb 1962 I rejoined the ‘real’ RAF at Tengah, Singapore where another culture shock awaited me.
Jimmy James 24th Entry
When I graduated from the University of Durham in 1993, I swore that my essay writing days were finished, irrevocably and totally. I had not, I am afraid, legislated
for the demands of your erstwhile editor. Just like University, he has put a deadline on this article. And before we progress any further, I can assure you that this
offering will very quickly disabuse you of any idea you may have had that university turns out even moderately competent essay writers.
So why did a very unacademic, not particularly well read, some might accurately say, pretty thick ex-Winchman renounce the vocation of Search and Rescue, cast
aside the protective cloak of the “Masters Mafia” and set heading for university? I can recall telling people at the time that I felt the need to take on a new challenge;
that I wanted to cross the “T’s” and dot the “i’s” and that I wanted to use university as a bridge between the RAF and whatever the future held. It all sounds pretty
high minded now but quite simply, I wanted to try and get a degree. I wanted to see if I could prove something to myself. But the truth is that having decided to leave
the Service, going to university happened more by accident than design. I will not bore you with the how or why, save to say that at the eleventh hour I did try very
hard to wriggle out of it. I had a very severe dose of cold feet and felt very uncertain about the whole thing and especially uncertain about my ability to crack it. The
confidence I had gained from getting a couple of “A” levels during my last year in the RAF suddenly seemed very fragile indeed. But the ignominy of backing out was
too much to contemplate! The time had come to lie on the bed that I had made for myself.
Thus I arrived at Durham with the other (young) students; I referred to them as “The Children”, and that was my first surprise, the “Younger Generation”. They were
in fact, one of the major revelations of my time at university. Obviously, necessity and circumstances did not separate us and their insecurities and tensions were
as real as my own. I simply had more experience at hiding my anxieties and more confidence to carry it off. After an initial standoff they accepted me on equal
terms; it must have been nerve racking for them having an old goat on board who was in most cases much older than their own parents. But once the thaw had
taken hold I found them to be great fun; very witty, incredibly clever and great source of help and inspiration to me. I learnt a great deal from them and still count a
number of them amongst my friends today. At university though, we seldom if ever socialised, mainly because student antics were more reminiscent of barrack
block behaviour in my days as an airman and I had absolutely no desire to relive experiences like throwing up over the banisters at three in the morning. Thus I
tended to restrict myself to giving them supper occasionally in my “two-up-two-down” terraced house that I bought for the duration of my time at Durham. But, for
the parents amongst you, believe me you would have a “duck fit” if I revealed some of the “Kid’s” secrets that they allowed me to share. Some of the things that did,
thought and said were hilarious. Like two girls, rather posh, talking about how awful it would be to be old and, more especially, to have wrinkles like one of the girl’s
mother: “But Imogen” said the other girl, “Your mother is absolutely gorgeous”. “Yes” replied Imogen “but only at a distance!”
I resolved at the outset that, in going to university, life should not be all reading, library time and learning. There had to be more to it than plodding one’s way through
three years and so I joined the Durham Union Society (the Debating Union). That was one of my better decisions and throughout my time at Durham I enjoyed
spending any (perhaps too much) of my spare time at “DUS”. The debates were great fun as well!
It was at “DUS” where I was privy to a conversation amongst “The Children” who were discussing “the revolting thought of their parents having sex”. As the
conversation gathered in lurid detail with a liberal supply of “yuks” and “I don’t even want to think about that” type remarks, I sunk ever lower behind my Times (the
old broad sheet version). I really didn’t have the courage to contribute to the proceedings and I certainly didn’t think I would be able to retrieve the reputation of mine
or older generations. I was left feeling quite inadequate! The bottom line however was left to a flinty young Glaswegian lass who said “Well, I cannot imagine my
mother getting her kit off for anyone!” It really was excruciatingly funny.
And so what about the academic side of life? I had opted to read for an Honours Degree in Politics. No joint honours for this boy; as I rightly surmised, keeping my
eye on one ball was going to occupy more than enough of my time. My first shock was that having assumed for years that I had fostered a deep and abiding interest
in politics, I discovered that what I had in fact nurtured was an abiding passion for current affairs. I very soon leant that there is a world of difference ‘twixt the two
and I wasn’t quite as prepared as I thought for what was to come.
My first year was probably the most frenetic, cluttered and worrying of my life and even now I raise my eyes aloft (metaphorically) and give thanks that my years in
the RAF had taught me organisation, time management and the ability to work on until the job is finished.
Shock number two came when I found, much to my dismay and apprehension, that in year one I wasn’t going to be doing very much politics at all. To successfully
negotiate Preliminary Honours, I would be required to study three subsidiary social science subjects outwith and in addition to my major subject. It will be quite
obvious at this stage that I hadn’t done very much research into this university game at all! My (graduate) son who gained a degree in economics and history at Hull
severely warned me off having anything to do with economics and my (undergraduate) daughter who was doing psychology at Newcastle severely warned me off
that subject and also sociology. As I did not very much fancy philosophy the options were serious narrowing. I then found that my (rather mediocre) A Level grades
(2 “C’s”) were going to determine what subsidiary subjects the social science faculty would allow me to take. I decided that the only way I would overcome this very
blatant bias toward educational achievement would be to kick down a few professorial doors and state my case in person. In order to do what I wanted to do rather
than what the system thought I should do, or thought I was capable to doing, based on my A Level results. Apparently this was not something that undergraduates
in their first year (first days even) at Durham were supposed to do, but it was I found surprisingly effective, although it did gain me rather too much notoriety. Oh
well, nothing new there then! I had become used to Squadron Commanders who operated more of an “open door” policy rather than something akin to cloistered
reclusiveness. In the end the system buckled and I settled down to study Constitutional Law, History of the Totalitarian Era and Anthropology.
So year one passed in a blur of blind panic but by being organised, if not particularly able or outstanding, I scraped through my “Prelims” without the ignominy and
distress of having to do any “Resits”. That was at least an improvement on my days at Apprentice school!
Rob Danes (33rd) – Second Year
In year two I got down to Politics proper and much to my surprise found that I could pick my own subjects. This was a huge benefit for me as there were very
definite areas that I wanted to study i.e. Foreign and International Politics especially Europe. I was very fortunate in being able to do this and apart from an obligatory
Political Theory course, which was very abstruse for an ex-Master, I found myself feeling far more settled and my confidence marginally boosted from having
negotiated the traumas of my first year.
I still felt rather a fraud though and still out of my depth amongst the very bright and clever “children”. But they in turn, I later discovered, were very impressed by
my grasp of all aspects historical; what they failed to understand was that I was so old (comparatively) that I remembered much of what we studied actually
happening! E.g. the Cuban missile crisis, the overthrow of Khrushchev and other relatively recent political events of the 40s, 50s and early 60s etc. (I did not of
course mention how much older senior apprentices were and how much more they had seen along life’s seedy path!). So along with pursuing Political Theory of
the Liberal Tradition (the concepts of power and authority, liberty and freedom and punishment etc) which was taught by a really terrific character, my other second
year courses were the Politics of the USA (something of a political pantomime), International Politics (rational action theorems! - I didn’t get on with the lecturer who
was an idle so and so) and finally the Politics of Western Europe (which was incredibly interesting and something that I could have gone on and on with). The
lecturer in the last subject was dynamite and made university feel exactly how I thought it should be. He was a young Canadian PhD who was really gifted. He made
the topic absolutely zing; I wish there had been more like him.
So that was year two and it concluded with what is called Part I Finals. Much to my amazement, I emerged with passes all round and found myself sitting on a
prospective “Second”. But I still had not been able to master the intensive revision agenda that was so imperative and for me had proved to be a real nightmare
during my first two years. Despite my passes, what little examination technique I possessed simply deserted me as soon as I turned the paper over! In fact a young
student recited one of my answers in year one back to me in the year behind me. It was one of those examination “howlers” you so often hear about. I could not
believe I had been that stupid. Fortunately for me it was in Constitutional Law, where they used anonymous marking. But I can imagine that they still trot my howler
out every year!
I should explain at this point that a year at Durham wasn’t quite as laid back as I have maybe made it sound. I have left huge gaps; brevity is not my strong suit, but
as you may recall, bullshit is! Apart from exorcising the “bull-shit”, I had quite a few basic problems to overcome. Essay writing, essay style (I had to create one!),
note taking at speed (my shorthand was well dead by this stage) and learning to read economically and selectively (i.e. you do not read absolutely everything). And
that really was silly because I didn’t read half of what I should have done when I was in the RAF so why did I suddenly find it necessary to reverse the process once I
got to university?
The first essay I handed in (History), in my first year, came back to me with the comments “OK as far as it goes…. C minus”. I was furious and took myself off to
confront the history lecturer who had been so condemning of my first masterpiece. “Well Mr Danes” he retorted when I had finished “asking” him just what he
meant by his remarks, “You’re a very good story teller but there isn’t much analysis, is there?” So I took myself off looked up “analysis” in the dictionary and then
promptly rethought my act.
We had to produce eight essays each term (two for each course), four were “Presentation Essays” and had to be a minimum of 2,000 words and had to be
presented during term by certain seminar or tutorial deadlines. These would be discussed, dissected, questioned and then marked. The other four submissions
were “Term Essays” and had to run to a minimum of 2,500 words and be submitted by the end of each term. Terms were of nine weeks duration so that added up
to quite a tidy workload. But I have to admit that since everybody was in the same situation, we all had an essay crisis at some time or another; it had the effect of
creating quite a buzz as the end of term got closer. But it was a measure which illustrated how, as the course progressed, the screw was slowly but relentlessly
tightened and how the emphasis was progressively and inexorably shifted to put the accent and the stress upon the student to perform to a higher standard with
increasingly less supervision. No problem for an ex-Master you might think; don’t you believe it.
Came Year Three and this change in emphasis became even more apparent. Apart from choosing a further four courses, there was a dissertation to consider; an
original piece of work related to a political topic of your choosing which had to be not less that 10,000 words. Thus, with the standard eight essays each term and
the dissertation, years 1992/1993 are lost tracts of time for me; not helped, I might add, by losing from my hard disc my almost completed dissertation one month
before the submission date. If you would like a further discourse on how to contain an acute anxiety state coupled with extreme emotional trauma, I am now an
expert on that as well!
My final year was taken up with Politics of the Middle East (totally absorbing), Italian Politics (more interesting and engrossing that could possibly imagine, but again
headed up by the young Canadian PhD). Political Integration in Western Europe (this left me as a confirmed Europhile and taught me an immense amount about
future political concepts (I am not sure that my Euro enthusiasm is quite as ardent now however!). Finally Politics of the Soviet Union (I thought this would be a
fascinating topic but it was incredibly dry and not made easier in 1992 by the constantly changing political situation in Russia itself). My dissertation was entitled
“Security and the European Institutions – an Appraisal of the Potential to Create a New Security Order”. I did my research for this at HQNATO in Brussels where I
had done a ground tour. It was an incredible experience going back there and having access to some stunning material and some fascinating people. I also had
some time at the EU, which was a real eye opener. That of course was in the days long before they were talking about a Common Foreign and Defence policy.
By the end of year three I had mastered the examination technique and I got three “Seconds” and a “Third” and a “First” for my dissertation. I was home and dry
with a Second Class Honours Degree in politics – just like that, dead easy!
Well, no, it wasn’t easy, I worked like a one legged man in an arse kicking contest and I learnt, perhaps for the first time in my life, that you get out of life (especially
at university!) Exactly what you put into it. I had a stupid smile on my face for weeks after I graduated; I felt unashamedly proud of what I had achieved. My
Professor of Politics compounded my self-satisfaction by telling me that if the course had been of four years duration, I could have got a “First” and how I had got
better and better as the course went on. Quite a compliment, but more probably a reflection of how unacademic I was when I started.
I now understand a great deal more about so much; certainly about politics, but far more beyond that one narrow subject. I met some super people; the youngsters
especially were incredible. The “Academics” were a mixed bunch, the good were excellent, and the not so good were bloody awful. I found other mature students
rather serious and a bit boring! But, believe it or not, I became far more tolerant, more enquiring and more confident within my own mind and of my own ability. I feel
the benefits of having “done it” still today and I sense that they will stay with me forever. I certainly look at things differently now and I am much more aware of
situations and circumstances. I often surprise myself with something that I find I know or understand. And it has all been an imperceptible process and one for
which I feel extremely indebted. I would recommend the experience thoroughly and unreservedly to anyone. I suppose I have realised and fathomed ideas and
notions that I should have latched on to years ago. There doesn’t have to be, nor is there, an age bar to learning. I really had enormous fun and numerous surprises
during my three years as a student. When I started I was 48, when I finished I felt nearer to 80; when I got my results I was the same age as the kids! Stunned,
elated and not far from tears. Age doesn’t matter, believe me; only when you are looking for a job. Mind you I really did miss my Student Rail Card.
And would I do it all again? Most certainly not!
Bob Danes 33rd Entry
The scene was a big RAF parade on the square and the tune was “General Salute”.
I was suddenly transported back to St Athan. A similar parade but one where it seemed everyone was singing, albeit very softly, the familiar “Stand by your beds,
here comes an Air Vice Marshal. He’s got rings and things but he’s only got one ******* “. I don’t remember any action being taken but do remember the looks of
shock on the dais. I’m sure it was a rehearsal and there was no reviewing officer but I think we were all a little more careful after that.
Ken Cameron 4th Entry
RAF Bircham Newton closed in December 1962 and AATS moved to RAF Hereford. The last Station Commander at Bircham Newton was Group Captain Panton who
later went on to become Provost Marshal. In December 1966, when I was serving in Singapore at 389MU RAF Seletar, Gp Capt Panton was in a staff appointment at
HQ FEAF at RAF Changi. He held a reunion in his Married Quarter at Changi that Christmas for those serving in Singapore who had been at Bircham Newton when he
was CO. Most if not all of those present were ex Admin Apps and their wives - as shown in the first photograph. John Dyer (46th), Dave Hopewell (42nd) and Grimes
(42nd) are instantly recognisable from the photo - but who else is shown there?
Incidentally, I was Grimes's bull-boy - and he never paid me. Does anybody know where he is - if so, let me know and I'll send round the heavy mob! The second
photo from that reunion at Gp Capt Panton's OMQ at Changi in Dec 66. It shows the then Jnr Tech and Mrs Dyer but I have no idea who the chap on the right is.
John Dyer (46th Entry)
Despite serving in the ‘real’ Air Force in UK, Far East, Middle East and ‘The Isle of Christmas’ on operational stations, I had the extremely good fortune to serve at two
of the softest postings in the history of the RAF.
Having departed from Hereford (24th Entry) in August 1956 I was posted to RAF West Malling in Kent, with Don Phillipson and Ming Gould. I did not enjoy this posting
at all, serving under an odious SEO and an equally odious ex-Cranwell Pilot Officer – my face did not fit! Suddenly after about seven months I was advised by a chum,
probably Don Phillipson, that a posting had come through for me to go to 3701 Radar Reporting Unit, BRIGHTON. I was delighted and when told of the posting by the
SEO, I replied “Yes Sir I know”. He naturally wanted to know how I had heard before him. We had a mutual dislike and I’m sure he was glad to see me go, he had in
fact rejected my promotion to Corporal the previous month.
3701 RRU was an Auxiliary Air Force unit located in a beautiful Victorian house in an exclusive district of Brighton, Preston Park. It consisted of 12 full-timers
together with auxiliary airmen and WAAFs who came in for training at weekends and one night a week.
My ‘duties’, about 4 hours a week, consisted of amending Air Publications and driving to our parent unit to collect auxiliary uniforms and the odd piece of barrack
equipment.
The CO was an Auxiliary Squadron Leader, a bank manager from Hailsham he came in once a week for a drink and a chat. The unit was run by the adjutant, a Flt Lt
(Sec), a lovely chap, one of the old school. Hr ran a chicken farm at Partridge Green where he lived. He employed a couple of the National Service to work on his farm
on a daily basis. They were glad of the extra money. We saw him most days but despite being a regular officer his heart was really in the chicken farm.
I spent most of my time visiting the local hostelries on a RAF bike – what a life! We had some wonderful parties; the local ladies loved them.
Alas all good things must come to an end. After 10 delightful months I was promoted to Corporal and posted to Christmas Island – that was a cultural shock!
My second ‘cushy’ posting was in August 1959. Having survived Christmas Island I was serving at RAF Mounbatten, Plymouth when I was posted to 1107 Marine
Craft Unit, Newhaven.
For those among you who remember ‘The Navy Lark’ on the radio, 1107 MCU was a dead ringer. Once again as the unit Supplier, there was very little work for me
and I spent most of my time on the high speed launch, fishing and sometimes poaching lobster from fishermen’s pots.
The CO was a Flt Lt, with a Fg Off and about 35 others, including a few civilians. The offers lived out and we had 3 SNCOs living in.
On one occasion a very distinguished gentleman in civilian clothes walked up to the gate and asked to see the Orderly Officer. The ‘erk’ on duty told him that we only
had duty NCO, and he asked if he could see him. Eventually and elderly sergeant came to the gate in slippers and braces. The visitor announced himself as Air Chief
Marshal Sir ?????? and asked the sergeant if someone could keep an eye on his yacht overnight. The embarrassed Sergeant recovered some of his composure
and agreed to see to it. Next morning the AVM turned up with thanks and a crate of beer.
The Sergeants Mess was really the ‘local’ and frequented by all ranks. It was run by a Chief Tech Engine Fitter who never seemed to set foot on any of the launches
and hadn’t been to sea for years. (I’ve drawn a veil over his ‘private’ life as described by Jimmy)
The CO appeared puzzled by the amount of money that went over the bar from only 3 SNCOs! When the local pubs closed all the ‘boozers’ headed for the mess and
closing time was, to say the least, flexible. They had a civilian Mess Waiter known affectionately as ‘Scrotum the wrinkled retainer’. It was a fun place to be.
I volunteered as the driver of the 1 ton Bedford and once a week drove to Tangmere to pick up spares. However on one occasion I was dragged from my bed to use
the truck to block the towpath to assist Customs and Excise in arresting diamond smugglers arriving by boat from France.
On another occasion I ‘volunteered’ to jump from the high-speed launch, swim around until I was winched up by a 22 Squadron chopper and then lowered on to the
still moving launch.
We often worked in conjunction with the Newhaven lifeboat. When there was a ‘call out’ the lifeboat crew were at sea in minutes. It took a bit longer for the RAF
crew who were not actually on standby and had to found.
When tied up the launches were used for all sorts of ‘romantic liaisons’ I even saw a coxswain baking cakes in the galley.
I spent 2 ½ great years at Newhaven. Met my wife. Joined the local Amateur Dramatic Group with some of the other RAF men. Used the Bedford to move scenery
from the Theatre Royal at Brighton. Yes Jon Pertwee and Leslie Phillips from the Navy Lark would have fitted in well.
At last good things came to an end and in Feb 1962 I rejoined the ‘real’ RAF at Tengah, Singapore where another culture shock awaited me.
Jimmy James 24th Entry
When I graduated from the University of Durham in 1993, I swore that my essay writing days were finished, irrevocably and totally. I had not, I am afraid, legislated
for the demands of your erstwhile editor. Just like University, he has put a deadline on this article. And before we progress any further, I can assure you that this
offering will very quickly disabuse you of any idea you may have had that university turns out even moderately competent essay writers.
So why did a very unacademic, not particularly well read, some might accurately say, pretty thick ex-Winchman renounce the vocation of Search and Rescue, cast
aside the protective cloak of the “Masters Mafia” and set heading for university? I can recall telling people at the time that I felt the need to take on a new challenge;
that I wanted to cross the “T’s” and dot the “i’s” and that I wanted to use university as a bridge between the RAF and whatever the future held. It all sounds pretty
high minded now but quite simply, I wanted to try and get a degree. I wanted to see if I could prove something to myself. But the truth is that having decided to leave
the Service, going to university happened more by accident than design. I will not bore you with the how or why, save to say that at the eleventh hour I did try very
hard to wriggle out of it. I had a very severe dose of cold feet and felt very uncertain about the whole thing and especially uncertain about my ability to crack it. The
confidence I had gained from getting a couple of “A” levels during my last year in the RAF suddenly seemed very fragile indeed. But the ignominy of backing out was
too much to contemplate! The time had come to lie on the bed that I had made for myself.
Thus I arrived at Durham with the other (young) students; I referred to them as “The Children”, and that was my first surprise, the “Younger Generation”. They were
in fact, one of the major revelations of my time at university. Obviously, necessity and circumstances did not separate us and their insecurities and tensions were
as real as my own. I simply had more experience at hiding my anxieties and more confidence to carry it off. After an initial standoff they accepted me on equal
terms; it must have been nerve racking for them having an old goat on board who was in most cases much older than their own parents. But once the thaw had
taken hold I found them to be great fun; very witty, incredibly clever and great source of help and inspiration to me. I learnt a great deal from them and still count a
number of them amongst my friends today. At university though, we seldom if ever socialised, mainly because student antics were more reminiscent of barrack
block behaviour in my days as an airman and I had absolutely no desire to relive experiences like throwing up over the banisters at three in the morning. Thus I
tended to restrict myself to giving them supper occasionally in my “two-up-two-down” terraced house that I bought for the duration of my time at Durham. But, for
the parents amongst you, believe me you would have a “duck fit” if I revealed some of the “Kid’s” secrets that they allowed me to share. Some of the things that did,
thought and said were hilarious. Like two girls, rather posh, talking about how awful it would be to be old and, more especially, to have wrinkles like one of the girl’s
mother: “But Imogen” said the other girl, “Your mother is absolutely gorgeous”. “Yes” replied Imogen “but only at a distance!”
I resolved at the outset that, in going to university, life should not be all reading, library time and learning. There had to be more to it than plodding one’s way through
three years and so I joined the Durham Union Society (the Debating Union). That was one of my better decisions and throughout my time at Durham I enjoyed
spending any (perhaps too much) of my spare time at “DUS”. The debates were great fun as well!
It was at “DUS” where I was privy to a conversation amongst “The Children” who were discussing “the revolting thought of their parents having sex”. As the
conversation gathered in lurid detail with a liberal supply of “yuks” and “I don’t even want to think about that” type remarks, I sunk ever lower behind my Times (the
old broad sheet version). I really didn’t have the courage to contribute to the proceedings and I certainly didn’t think I would be able to retrieve the reputation of mine
or older generations. I was left feeling quite inadequate! The bottom line however was left to a flinty young Glaswegian lass who said “Well, I cannot imagine my
mother getting her kit off for anyone!” It really was excruciatingly funny.
And so what about the academic side of life? I had opted to read for an Honours Degree in Politics. No joint honours for this boy; as I rightly surmised, keeping my
eye on one ball was going to occupy more than enough of my time. My first shock was that having assumed for years that I had fostered a deep and abiding interest
in politics, I discovered that what I had in fact nurtured was an abiding passion for current affairs. I very soon leant that there is a world of difference ‘twixt the two
and I wasn’t quite as prepared as I thought for what was to come.
My first year was probably the most frenetic, cluttered and worrying of my life and even now I raise my eyes aloft (metaphorically) and give thanks that my years in
the RAF had taught me organisation, time management and the ability to work on until the job is finished.
Shock number two came when I found, much to my dismay and apprehension, that in year one I wasn’t going to be doing very much politics at all. To successfully
negotiate Preliminary Honours, I would be required to study three subsidiary social science subjects outwith and in addition to my major subject. It will be quite
obvious at this stage that I hadn’t done very much research into this university game at all! My (graduate) son who gained a degree in economics and history at Hull
severely warned me off having anything to do with economics and my (undergraduate) daughter who was doing psychology at Newcastle severely warned me off
that subject and also sociology. As I did not very much fancy philosophy the options were serious narrowing. I then found that my (rather mediocre) A Level grades
(2 “C’s”) were going to determine what subsidiary subjects the social science faculty would allow me to take. I decided that the only way I would overcome this very
blatant bias toward educational achievement would be to kick down a few professorial doors and state my case in person. In order to do what I wanted to do rather
than what the system thought I should do, or thought I was capable to doing, based on my A Level results. Apparently this was not something that undergraduates
in their first year (first days even) at Durham were supposed to do, but it was I found surprisingly effective, although it did gain me rather too much notoriety. Oh
well, nothing new there then! I had become used to Squadron Commanders who operated more of an “open door” policy rather than something akin to cloistered
reclusiveness. In the end the system buckled and I settled down to study Constitutional Law, History of the Totalitarian Era and Anthropology.
So year one passed in a blur of blind panic but by being organised, if not particularly able or outstanding, I scraped through my “Prelims” without the ignominy and
distress of having to do any “Resits”. That was at least an improvement on my days at Apprentice school!
Rob Danes (33rd) – Second Year
In year two I got down to Politics proper and much to my surprise found that I could pick my own subjects. This was a huge benefit for me as there were very
definite areas that I wanted to study i.e. Foreign and International Politics especially Europe. I was very fortunate in being able to do this and apart from an obligatory
Political Theory course, which was very abstruse for an ex-Master, I found myself feeling far more settled and my confidence marginally boosted from having
negotiated the traumas of my first year.
I still felt rather a fraud though and still out of my depth amongst the very bright and clever “children”. But they in turn, I later discovered, were very impressed by
my grasp of all aspects historical; what they failed to understand was that I was so old (comparatively) that I remembered much of what we studied actually
happening! E.g. the Cuban missile crisis, the overthrow of Khrushchev and other relatively recent political events of the 40s, 50s and early 60s etc. (I did not of
course mention how much older senior apprentices were and how much more they had seen along life’s seedy path!). So along with pursuing Political Theory of
the Liberal Tradition (the concepts of power and authority, liberty and freedom and punishment etc) which was taught by a really terrific character, my other second
year courses were the Politics of the USA (something of a political pantomime), International Politics (rational action theorems! - I didn’t get on with the lecturer who
was an idle so and so) and finally the Politics of Western Europe (which was incredibly interesting and something that I could have gone on and on with). The
lecturer in the last subject was dynamite and made university feel exactly how I thought it should be. He was a young Canadian PhD who was really gifted. He made
the topic absolutely zing; I wish there had been more like him.
So that was year two and it concluded with what is called Part I Finals. Much to my amazement, I emerged with passes all round and found myself sitting on a
prospective “Second”. But I still had not been able to master the intensive revision agenda that was so imperative and for me had proved to be a real nightmare
during my first two years. Despite my passes, what little examination technique I possessed simply deserted me as soon as I turned the paper over! In fact a young
student recited one of my answers in year one back to me in the year behind me. It was one of those examination “howlers” you so often hear about. I could not
believe I had been that stupid. Fortunately for me it was in Constitutional Law, where they used anonymous marking. But I can imagine that they still trot my howler
out every year!
I should explain at this point that a year at Durham wasn’t quite as laid back as I have maybe made it sound. I have left huge gaps; brevity is not my strong suit, but
as you may recall, bullshit is! Apart from exorcising the “bull-shit”, I had quite a few basic problems to overcome. Essay writing, essay style (I had to create one!),
note taking at speed (my shorthand was well dead by this stage) and learning to read economically and selectively (i.e. you do not read absolutely everything). And
that really was silly because I didn’t read half of what I should have done when I was in the RAF so why did I suddenly find it necessary to reverse the process once I
got to university?
The first essay I handed in (History), in my first year, came back to me with the comments “OK as far as it goes…. C minus”. I was furious and took myself off to
confront the history lecturer who had been so condemning of my first masterpiece. “Well Mr Danes” he retorted when I had finished “asking” him just what he
meant by his remarks, “You’re a very good story teller but there isn’t much analysis, is there?” So I took myself off looked up “analysis” in the dictionary and then
promptly rethought my act.
We had to produce eight essays each term (two for each course), four were “Presentation Essays” and had to be a minimum of 2,000 words and had to be
presented during term by certain seminar or tutorial deadlines. These would be discussed, dissected, questioned and then marked. The other four submissions
were “Term Essays” and had to run to a minimum of 2,500 words and be submitted by the end of each term. Terms were of nine weeks duration so that added up
to quite a tidy workload. But I have to admit that since everybody was in the same situation, we all had an essay crisis at some time or another; it had the effect of
creating quite a buzz as the end of term got closer. But it was a measure which illustrated how, as the course progressed, the screw was slowly but relentlessly
tightened and how the emphasis was progressively and inexorably shifted to put the accent and the stress upon the student to perform to a higher standard with
increasingly less supervision. No problem for an ex-Master you might think; don’t you believe it.
Came Year Three and this change in emphasis became even more apparent. Apart from choosing a further four courses, there was a dissertation to consider; an
original piece of work related to a political topic of your choosing which had to be not less that 10,000 words. Thus, with the standard eight essays each term and
the dissertation, years 1992/1993 are lost tracts of time for me; not helped, I might add, by losing from my hard disc my almost completed dissertation one month
before the submission date. If you would like a further discourse on how to contain an acute anxiety state coupled with extreme emotional trauma, I am now an
expert on that as well!
My final year was taken up with Politics of the Middle East (totally absorbing), Italian Politics (more interesting and engrossing that could possibly imagine, but again
headed up by the young Canadian PhD). Political Integration in Western Europe (this left me as a confirmed Europhile and taught me an immense amount about
future political concepts (I am not sure that my Euro enthusiasm is quite as ardent now however!). Finally Politics of the Soviet Union (I thought this would be a
fascinating topic but it was incredibly dry and not made easier in 1992 by the constantly changing political situation in Russia itself). My dissertation was entitled
“Security and the European Institutions – an Appraisal of the Potential to Create a New Security Order”. I did my research for this at HQNATO in Brussels where I
had done a ground tour. It was an incredible experience going back there and having access to some stunning material and some fascinating people. I also had
some time at the EU, which was a real eye opener. That of course was in the days long before they were talking about a Common Foreign and Defence policy.
By the end of year three I had mastered the examination technique and I got three “Seconds” and a “Third” and a “First” for my dissertation. I was home and dry
with a Second Class Honours Degree in politics – just like that, dead easy!
Well, no, it wasn’t easy, I worked like a one legged man in an arse kicking contest and I learnt, perhaps for the first time in my life, that you get out of life (especially
at university!) Exactly what you put into it. I had a stupid smile on my face for weeks after I graduated; I felt unashamedly proud of what I had achieved. My
Professor of Politics compounded my self-satisfaction by telling me that if the course had been of four years duration, I could have got a “First” and how I had got
better and better as the course went on. Quite a compliment, but more probably a reflection of how unacademic I was when I started.
I now understand a great deal more about so much; certainly about politics, but far more beyond that one narrow subject. I met some super people; the youngsters
especially were incredible. The “Academics” were a mixed bunch, the good were excellent, and the not so good were bloody awful. I found other mature students
rather serious and a bit boring! But, believe it or not, I became far more tolerant, more enquiring and more confident within my own mind and of my own ability. I feel
the benefits of having “done it” still today and I sense that they will stay with me forever. I certainly look at things differently now and I am much more aware of
situations and circumstances. I often surprise myself with something that I find I know or understand. And it has all been an imperceptible process and one for
which I feel extremely indebted. I would recommend the experience thoroughly and unreservedly to anyone. I suppose I have realised and fathomed ideas and
notions that I should have latched on to years ago. There doesn’t have to be, nor is there, an age bar to learning. I really had enormous fun and numerous surprises
during my three years as a student. When I started I was 48, when I finished I felt nearer to 80; when I got my results I was the same age as the kids! Stunned,
elated and not far from tears. Age doesn’t matter, believe me; only when you are looking for a job. Mind you I really did miss my Student Rail Card.
And would I do it all again? Most certainly not!
Bob Danes 33rd Entry
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