| Third Entry |
Have You Any Photographs Or Other Memories Of the 3rd Entry RAF Administrative Apprentices? If So You Can E-Mail Them To: |
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| Pics Above Left And Above Courtesy Of Den Russell Above - Den receives his award from Sir John Slessor on passing out the 3rd entry. Pics Left - When W F Evans and Den were sent over to Belfast (where Den lived ) for 3 days at a recruiting exhibition. The group photo shows us staring knowledgably at an engine model while Air Commodore Reynolds (AOC N Ireland) and the N Ireland Education Secretary look on |
| Photo Courtesy Of David Clark (5th from right back row) |
| Above:- Two Photos of Derek Pitman (3rd) with manager of a fishing resort and the young pilot, and the pilot fuelling up the plain on the 'runway'. All in the Canadian Rockies. Pics Received April 2011 |
| To View Images Of 3rd Entry Reunions Click Here |
| Royal Air Force Administrative Apprentice Association |
RAFAAA
| Multam A Parvo |
Obiturary Jack Rowell – Den Russell (3rd)
I met Jack when the 3rd Entry was "inducted" at RAF North Weald in 1948 where a motley congregation of 16-year-old scruffs from around the UK gathered
there to sign their lives away. Some chickened out after only one night and were given rail warrants home - the rest of us, mostly suffering from pangs of
homesickness, listened intently to the briefings before being escorted across country to a rain-soaked St Athan. Jack ended up with me in the infamous Hut D5
(there's a photo on the Apprentice web site) where Flt.Sgt. Davis, the Beezer Henderson, Sgt. Bradbury, DannyWeir, et al began knocking us into shape. Jack
hailed from Haslemere in Surrey and with his Home Counties accent appeared to me as better suited to the playing fields of Eton than being bawled at on the
square at St Athan, though like myself he was not at all athletic. When being addressed he had that little quirk of blinking rapidly, brows furrowed as he listened
to what was being said - making him appear rather intense. In fact, he had a terrific sense of humour and a light-hearted outlook on his lot. On one of those
short "mid-term" breaks we were given, he invited me home with him and we spent the few days meeting up with his friends and relatives in and around that
beautiful part of Surrey.We thought we were the bees’ knees swanking in our uniforms down the High Street and wondered why the local girls didn’t throw
themselves at us. When they didn't - we concluded they were all at school or at work or just not looking! When the 3rd "passed out" my nearest relative
available and willing to attend was an uncle from Reading. Jack accompanied me to meet him off the Barry train after which he took us for a pint, as you do! As
this was our 'christening' - our introduction to the ritual of having a friendly pint, we travelled back to camp with our heads out of the train window, one on each
side of he compartment, being violently sick! We met up again at AAFCE Fontainebleau. Allan (Jim as ever was) Hawkins, TonyWarrillow were both there at the
same time. I had married at that time and we had one of those little roof top garret flats on the main street. On one occasion, when Jack dropped round for a
visit for tea, he pointed incredulously at the tea pot and spluttered "That tea pot reminds me of my girl friend!" She apparently had a similar one and was not in
fact, shaped like a teapot! He took the chiding he received in good spirit. I contacted him again when I joined the Association but missed him at the couple of the
Annual meetings I attended. I understand he worked as a civilian at SHAPE when his service ended and, happily married, retired to the wilds of Lincolnshire.
We never did meet up again. So my abiding memory is of the youthful A.A. Rowell, Jack, peaked cap bashed into a reasonable facsimile of a Nazi Luftwaffe pilot
set at a jaunty angle, smiling, blinking bemusedly at the passing scene.
RIP, Jack.
I met Jack when the 3rd Entry was "inducted" at RAF North Weald in 1948 where a motley congregation of 16-year-old scruffs from around the UK gathered
there to sign their lives away. Some chickened out after only one night and were given rail warrants home - the rest of us, mostly suffering from pangs of
homesickness, listened intently to the briefings before being escorted across country to a rain-soaked St Athan. Jack ended up with me in the infamous Hut D5
(there's a photo on the Apprentice web site) where Flt.Sgt. Davis, the Beezer Henderson, Sgt. Bradbury, DannyWeir, et al began knocking us into shape. Jack
hailed from Haslemere in Surrey and with his Home Counties accent appeared to me as better suited to the playing fields of Eton than being bawled at on the
square at St Athan, though like myself he was not at all athletic. When being addressed he had that little quirk of blinking rapidly, brows furrowed as he listened
to what was being said - making him appear rather intense. In fact, he had a terrific sense of humour and a light-hearted outlook on his lot. On one of those
short "mid-term" breaks we were given, he invited me home with him and we spent the few days meeting up with his friends and relatives in and around that
beautiful part of Surrey.We thought we were the bees’ knees swanking in our uniforms down the High Street and wondered why the local girls didn’t throw
themselves at us. When they didn't - we concluded they were all at school or at work or just not looking! When the 3rd "passed out" my nearest relative
available and willing to attend was an uncle from Reading. Jack accompanied me to meet him off the Barry train after which he took us for a pint, as you do! As
this was our 'christening' - our introduction to the ritual of having a friendly pint, we travelled back to camp with our heads out of the train window, one on each
side of he compartment, being violently sick! We met up again at AAFCE Fontainebleau. Allan (Jim as ever was) Hawkins, TonyWarrillow were both there at the
same time. I had married at that time and we had one of those little roof top garret flats on the main street. On one occasion, when Jack dropped round for a
visit for tea, he pointed incredulously at the tea pot and spluttered "That tea pot reminds me of my girl friend!" She apparently had a similar one and was not in
fact, shaped like a teapot! He took the chiding he received in good spirit. I contacted him again when I joined the Association but missed him at the couple of the
Annual meetings I attended. I understand he worked as a civilian at SHAPE when his service ended and, happily married, retired to the wilds of Lincolnshire.
We never did meet up again. So my abiding memory is of the youthful A.A. Rowell, Jack, peaked cap bashed into a reasonable facsimile of a Nazi Luftwaffe pilot
set at a jaunty angle, smiling, blinking bemusedly at the passing scene.
RIP, Jack.
| Images Left and Right provided by Tony Johnstone May 2012 |