Chapter Three

David told Jack that he was supposed to go to stay with a distant aunt at Gravesend. Fortunately the arrangement was only tentative. David’s father - apparently he was a schoolmaster - seemed to have very little idea of the distances in London, and he’d obviously not heard of any of the tales that Jack thought were common knowledge; lurid stories that were boastfully circulated among the seafaring community, and which related to the temptations that could confront unsuspecting young men who ventured into Gravesend. ‘I don’t think he’s quite ready for that,’ thought Jack, remembering guiltily a certain skipper’s sister back in Grimsby. Following Jack’s suggestion the two of them went to the Salvation Army canteen, where they were able to get tea and sandwiches, ‘char and ‘wad’ becoming two new words for David’s vocabulary. Also they obtained an address where they could get cheap clean accommodation, safe from any temptation, for a couple of nights.

***

‘Bloody hell, Dave! You didn’t tell me it was for 22 years. I’d be an old man by the time I got out,’ said Jack, completely astounded by what the recruiting Sergeant had just said.

‘Well, Jack, it’s up to you but I know what I am going to do - I am definitely going to enlist.’ David had evidently spent a lot of time thinking about it and had made this decision much earlier, although he admitted to Jack that the reality was that his father had made the decision and David had accepted it. As for Jack, he had been considering the prospect of joining the RAF for only the past 48 hours - he really needed more time. He liked to think things through more carefully before making any decision. Now he was beginning to seriously question the whole idea of coming to London.

‘Hell’s bells! 22 years!’ But what were the alternatives? Working the trawlers was out, definitely not the steel-works, and not the mines. His thoughts went back to the row with his father, where they’d come close to blows...

‘The trouble wi’ thee lad,’ his father had said, ‘is that tha don’t realise what struggle ’tis t’ keep t’ family off t’ parish.’

‘Oh yes I do - don’t I send money home regular?’

‘Aye and what’s tha going to do now? Nowt?’

‘I’ve helped a lot. I’ve done my bit and I’ll keep on helping thee, but I’ve got a life to live and I want more than this.’ He recalled how he’d swept his arm in a gesture of contempt around the shabby room, furnished with the best that poverty could buy.

That had hurt his father. Had he meant to be so cruel to the Old Man?

‘Well, mister high and bloody mighty, if that’s the way tha feels, tha can bloody well bugger off again and well manage wi’out thee and tha money.’

David was speaking and suddenly Jack was back in the present.

‘I said, what are you going to do then, Jack?’

It was decision time. What was he going to do? Big decision time, crucial life-changing decision time... a deep breath.

‘OK, Dave. I’m with you.’

David’s face lit up. It was as if the past two days in Jack’s company had been just about the best in his life. Jack wondered if David had many friends - or any friends at all. Perhaps he’d just been under the thumb of his parents all his life.

‘Oh that’s great, Jack. I’m sure you won’t regret it.’

‘Hold on, you two. Let’s not get carried away,’ interrupted the Recruiting Sergeant. ‘Nowadays the Royal Air Force wants people to train for useful trades...’

‘I know. My father...’

The look from the Sergeant made David wish that he’d kept quiet.

‘It’s not that easy,’ continued the Sergeant. ‘You will have to take tests and even if you pass them you will have to get through a medical examination at the training camp.’

This was more news for Jack. Even though David must have known about the tests, he’d presumably decided to keep quiet about them in case they might have put Jack off. David waited until he was certain that the Sergeant was not going to say anything else.

‘Nothing to worry about, Jack - it’s straightforward enough,’ he said cheerfully. ‘My father told me that it is only basic Arithmetic and English with a few observation tests.’ He did not tell Jack that he had failed his Matriculation and that his bitterly disappointed parents could hardly live with the shame of it.

‘That’s OK for you, Dave, but you’re forgetting that I only went to the Elementary School.’

What Jack didn’t tell him that he’d been the star pupil, and that his schoolmaster had pleaded with his father to let him go on to the Technical School.

His father had been dead against it, of course: ‘I tell thee summat, schoolmaster - by the time I was young Jack’s age I’d been in t’ steel-works for nearly two years. I don’t ’old wi’ all this fancy education. ’E can read and write well enough, and come t’ Christmas ’e can start there t’ ’elp support family. So I’d be obliged t’ thee t’ stop putting fancy ideas in t’ young lad’s ’ead.’

The Old Man had made a decision and that was that. The schoolmaster had realised that there was no point in arguing against it and had reluctantly given up trying.

‘There’s no need to look at me like that, mother,’ his Old Man had said. ‘Tha knows times are ’ard and young Jack can ’elp quite a bit. Tha knows what struggle ‘tis t’ keep off t’ Parish, and tha knows what I think about charity.’

Jack had been bitterly disappointed but had said nothing, and his face had given no clue to his feelings.

Several days after the schoolmaster’s visit, the family had been in the scullery - mother, Jack, Cissy - who was the next eldest after Jack - younger brother Alan, and Doris the baby. The hooter that signalled the end of work for the day had sounded at its normal time but the Old Man had come in a little earlier than usual. He’d looked worn-out.

‘Where’s tea then, missus? Should be ont’ table.’

All of the pent-up disappointment and frustration within Jack had suddenly exploded.

‘Tha’s just not fair to me mother - tha treats ’er like a bloody skivvy, thee old bugger,’ he had blurted out.

In all of our lives there are words that we wish we had not uttered and so it had been with Jack on that occasion. It wasn’t the stinging blow around the head that had sent him reeling across the scullery and nearly into the shiny blackened cooking range, that had made Jack regret the outburst - it was because what he had said was not true. Although he’d felt sorry for himself, Jack had also felt rather ashamed. He had been well aware that his father was devoted to his mother. The Old Man was no hard-drinking wife beater, as was all too common in the area. No-one had worked harder to try to make life easier for his wife than Jack Toulson senior. He even went grave-digging before starting work at six o’clock in order to bring in a little extra money.

‘Tha’ll not swear at thee father, or I’ll thrash thee wi’ in an inch of tha life.’

Jack couldn’t recall ever having seen his father this angry before. He had known it was not the swearing that had upset the Old Man so much. Jack had sworn at his father before, although blasphemous language had earned him a taste of the belt on one occasion. Jack had begun to feel more ashamed as he’d recalled the time, the winter before, when his father had been off work with an injury for two weeks and there’d been no money coming from the steel-works. His mother had nearly collapsed when she came in from a scrubbing job that she’d taken over Ilkley way, despite the fact she was ill. The Old Man, despite his injury, had managed to get her into bed with Jack’s help. Later that night he’d seen the Old Man, the ‘hard man’ of the steel-works, kneeling and crying at his wife’s bedside. He would never know that Jack had seen him.

Oh yes, Jack had regretted his outburst, but what is said can’t be un-said. The Old Man may have been hurt by Jack’s words, but he would have despised Jack if he had apologised and Jack knew that. ‘A man must stand by what he says and does’ was the code by which his father lived and Jack was cast in the same mould.

About a week later, when the family had been having their evening meal, Jack had turned to his father and asked: ‘Can I give thee ’and wi’ graves tomorrow?’

His father had looked at him, their eyes locked on one another in a long unspoken conversation.

‘Aye, tha can that, lad. T’ would be a reet ’elp.’

***

The tests were not quite as simple as David had said, and despite his reassuring comments beforehand, David only just scraped through, whereas Jack passed with flying colours. Although David was pleased for Jack he was perhaps a little jealous and visibly disappointed with his own performance.

‘Reckon I was just lucky, Dave,’ said Jack, trying to make his new friend feel less inadequate. But he did wonder how different his life might have been if his Old Man had let him go to the Technical School.

***

Four days later, as the train stuttered to a hissing halt, the off-white letters on the faded green boards spaced along the tiny platform informed the train’s occupants that this was Dumpton Park. Jack recalled how apt the name Grimesthorpe was for his home in Sheffield. He wondered if this place was equally well named. It certainly didn’t look very exciting.

‘This is where we get off, Jack,’ said David, already on his feet and taking his case down from the rack –Jack didn’t need telling. They’d already carefully studied their travel documents and the destination was clearly stated on them.

‘Calm down, Dave - the train won’t leave straight away.’

‘Well you must admit, Jack, it is rather exciting,’ said David, keen to see what the day had in store.

‘Right you are then - let’s go and see what we’re letting ourselves in for,’ said Jack, not wanting to dampen his friend’s enthusiasm. Truth to be told, a little of David’s enthusiasm was beginning to rub-off on Jack, despite the fact that he was still in the throes of coming to terms with the thought of a twenty-two year commitment.

As they disembarked and collected their belonging together, they could see along the platform other small uncertain groups similarly occupied with their luggage. In all there were about three dozen young men; no-one was quite sure what to do next. A copper-haired young man who was standing a few yards away from Jack and David picked up his belongings and approached the duo rather like a stray seeking the security of the herd.

‘Hello, off to join the RAF as well?’ he enquired with an affected air of nonchalance.

‘We certainly are,’ replied David with quite a show of eagerness.

‘I’m Ted Sawyer,’ said the newcomer, quickly adding ‘but I expect that you’ve already guessed that everyone calls me Ginger.’

‘Nice to meet you, Ginger,’ chipped in Jack, signalling acceptance of the nickname. ‘This is Dave White and I’m Jack Toulson.’

‘I suppose they call you Chalky,’ said Ginger nodding towards David, who began to look a little ill at ease. He didn’t look like the sort of person to ever have had a nickname before: Jack had noticed his slight hesitation in replying when he had first addressed him as ‘Dave’.

But, bowing to the inevitable, and presumably anxious to obtain acceptance in his new life, David replied: ‘Chalky is OK by me.’

‘You two fancy a Woodbine?’ Ginger asked, taking a crumpled packet of five from the breast pocket of his jacket. ‘These paper packs are worse than bloody useless,’ he muttered by way of apologising for the somewhat less than pristine condition of the cigarettes he was offering round. They both took one and lit up. Jack smiled when David coughed a little, then tried to cover it up - smoking was another new experience, he guessed. Nevertheless he made a passably good job of it.

They’d taken but a few puffs when onto the platform strode an RAF NCO. The precision of his stride, manner of his bearing and general turnout were quite striking. The hazy sunlight reflected from his polished cap-badge and the toes of his boots added to the overall crispness of his appearance. Although he was only of medium height, his erect posture made him seem taller. He was a bullish man with strong hard features, which created neither a paternal or avuncular impression. The only concession to age was a slight greying of the hair at the temples, which otherwise was strikingly black just like David’s. The clicking of the studded boots on the concrete and cobbles had produced an expectant silence. Before he’d uttered a word, Sergeant Major King had commanded the attention of the would-be airmen.

‘Good morning, gentlemen - I assume that you are all for RAF Manston?’

There was an uncoordinated sound of agreement from the assembly on the platform. David, newly christened ‘Chalky’, quickly removed his cigarette although Jack and Ginger didn’t bother.

‘If you would all assemble outside the station, we’ve got some trucks waiting that will take you to the air-base. Oh, and no smoking in the lorries, if you don’t mind, gentlemen.’

Jack and Ginger stubbed out their cigarettes. Bags, cases and brown paper parcels were gathered up and the young men followed the Sergeant Major out of the station, no-one wanting to be first - not even Chalky - and certainly no-one wanted to be last.

There were two canvas-covered trucks waiting in the road and soon everyone was milling around them.

‘Get aboard, then!’ the Sergeant Major shouted.

Hesitantly at first, some of those nearest one of the trucks started to clamber aboard, then others began to throw their luggage to those already embarked and quickly scramble into the truck themselves.

‘Come on, then - don’t all try to get in the one truck. There are two of them,’ King yelled.

The herding of the young men into the cramped confines of the two lorries seemed to act as the catalyst that broke down the barriers of reserve that had been so apparent on the platform.

‘Same every bleeding time - no sooner do they get into the transport than they start twittering like a flock of effing sparrows,’ said the Corporal in the second lorry to the driver sitting next to him. The driver nodded agreement.

‘You’re right there, Corp - they’ll learn. Don’t think we’ve left any behind, so let’s go. Don’t want to keep ol’ King waiting.’

The journey was quite short and although rather uncomfortable everyone was so engrossed in conversation that they hardly noticed it. In what seemed like no time at all they’d arrived. Following the command of ‘everybody out’ barked out by the Sergeant Major there was a general anxious bustling searching for luggage followed by an enthusiastic clambering to get out of the transport.

‘Can’t one of you morons let down those tail-gates?’ bawled King.

In an attempt to obey, an anxious occupant of the first lorry pulled out the two retaining pins, and without warning, the tailgate flew open. In the process one of those who had already disembarked was hit on the head and knocked unconscious. Two others fell out of the lorry - one hurt his arm, the other his ankle.

‘Bleeding hell!’ exclaimed the Corporal. ‘It’s just like something out of the Keystone Cops.’

No-one asked who’d pulled the pins out, but one look at David’s face told Jack who’d been responsible. He edged over to him and said in a very quiet voice:

‘There’s no need to say anything.’

‘But Jack...’

Jack shook his head slightly and David kept quiet.

The Corporal alongside the driver of the first lorry double marched to the sickbay to get help while the rest of the group was ushered into one of the ‘buildings’.

‘No, this is not a ruddy dormitory.’ These were the words of the Corporal that met them as they entered the building. ‘This will be your Flight.’

He went on to describe how the squadron was made up of three flights. This group was to be Flight C. To make it clear he repeated the quarters were also known as Flights. Some still appeared to be confused after the explanation.

‘Now find yourselves a bed, and dump your bags on it, then we’ll go over to the Stores and get you lot kitted out, and then it’ll be time for the medical.’ Something seemed to amuse him when he said this. He didn’t pause for them to take it all in, but went straight on. ‘On the command “get fell-in outside” I want you all to go out on to the road there,’ he said, pointing to where they’d just been, ‘and line up in three rows facing your Flight.’

That confused a few.

‘Fall-in outside!’ shouted the Corporal. Everybody hurried to comply.

At the Quartermaster’s stores the issuing Sergeant explained to them how lucky they were to be getting these new uniforms. He said it as if he personally was responsible for paying for all the kit they were to be issued with.

‘Some of us remember, not long ago, when we had to make do with a mixture of old army and navy uniforms,’ he said. ‘In fact we looked a bit like Fred Karno’s Army. But now because Air Marshal Trenchard intends to have a very smart RAF, you lot are going to be properly turned-out. All of you make sure that you look after it. Woe betide anyone who loses anything.’

With that, the issue went ahead from best-blues to ‘drawers, cellular, airmen for the use of’. The recruits struggled with carrying their new uniforms back to the Flight where they dumped their acquisitions onto their beds. However before they had time to try on the uniforms it was time for the medical inspection. They were told once again to ‘fall in’ outside and were marched off to the sickbay and ushered into a large hall. They had been told that when the Medical Officer reached them they were to drop their trousers and stand with their hands above their head. Although Jack was no stranger to the sight of naked bodies, or of being naked in front of others - bath-night at home at home had been the tin bath in front of the stove - he felt as much ill at ease as the others. As for David, whose nickname of Chalky just hadn’t stuck, he appeared to be suffering agonies of anticipated embarrassment. His face was a brilliant crimson. The young men stood in two rows, one on either side of the room, facing inwards and facing each other, stripped to the waist waiting for the MO. The real embarrassment occurred when the doctor, squatting to navel level, lifted the recruit’s penis with a pencil and peered inquisitively at it and the surrounding area using a torch to aid him in his genitalia exploration. Only one of those in the Flight shamed himself. When the pencil was deployed his penis started to lift of its own accord. This was soon corrected by the MO with a sharp flick of the pencil. This brought the offending member into line and tears to the eyes of the unfortunate recruit. In the future the ‘freedom from infection inspections’ - the dreaded FFIs - were to become an altogether routine occurrence.

After this, each recruit in turn went into a series of rooms situated at the end of the hall for various examinations including hearing, eyesight, having their scrota clutched and being told to cough as well as other checks. The Medical, including the jabs, lasted just over an hour. Four of the group failed and were sent off to return their kit and pick up railway warrants, to get back home.

‘They’ve got it arse-about-face!’ exclaimed Jack. ‘Why didn’t they do the Medical first?’

‘What are you complaining about, Jack?’ said David, who was clearly relieved that the ordeal was now over. The colour in his cheeks was beginning to subside. ‘You, me and Ginger came through all right.’

‘Nearly didn’t though,’ retorted Jack. ‘I came close to thumping that medic when he squeezed my balls.’

They all laughed including David and it seemed to relieve the tension that had been gradually building up since their arrival.

After they’d all signed on the dotted line and sworn allegiance to His Majesty the King, it was lunch in the Airmen’s Mess. At least the food was quite good.

‘Well that’s it then - twenty-two years,’ thought Jack.

After lunch they were marched - if you could call it that - back to their Flight where they were to renew their acquaintance with Sergeant Major King. He now seemed to be a very different person to the one that had met them at the station. There was no longer any pretence of friendliness in his face. Wearing their new uniforms, many of which - despite the quartermaster’s eloquent praise of what they had been issued with - were ill-fitting, the recruits were all lined up standing alongside the beds that they’d chosen. The Corporal brought them to attention before King began. He started to pace up and down the Flight with a slow, measured, deliberate step. The expression on his face made all the recruits feel very apprehensive and they were soon to discover that their fears were not misplaced.

‘Some of you may have ideas of eventually becoming officers so that you can lord it over us humble NCOs who have worked very hard to get where we are,’ said King. ‘Well let me tell you it’s not going to be that easy - if you wanted it easy you should have gone to the college at Cranwell. Of course, for that you would need to be educated.’ He paused. ‘Do any of you bright sparks have one of these fancy new education certificates?’

Briefly he seemed lost in his own thoughts - he was, and it was always the same. It was back to the summer of 1900, back to the time when he was stationed in the garrison at Catterick. It had been the most wonderful but most tragic time of his life. He’d joined the Army at the age of 14 as a boy soldier; five years later he’d risen to the rank of lance corporal. One Sunday afternoon he had been walking in the nearby village of Richmond when he’d caught sight of a young lady walking with what he had taken to be her mother, who had been dressed in the fashion of the queen - all in black complete with cape and bustle. The young lady, by way of contrast, had been dressed all in white with a broad-brimmed lacy hat. He had become immediately besotted. For the next four Sundays he’d made a point of being in the village at the same time, and on three of those occasions he had caught sight of her again. The Sunday after that not only had he caught sight of her, he’d actually caught her eye. She had smiled demurely but the mother had seen this and hastily pulled her away. That would have been the end of it, but luck was to shine on him before the cup of happiness was to be snatched from his lips. This time it had been a Saturday afternoon two weeks later when he’d been walking along the footpath on the bank of the small river just outside the village. He had walked past a woman asleep on a picnic rug a few feet from the path. He had immediately recognised her as the young lady’s mother. He had walked only about a dozen paces when he’d come face to face with the young lady herself. They had smiled at each other, and she had nodded her head in the direction of the sleeping mother. She’d leaned across and whispered in his ear, and a tryst had been arranged, one of half a dozen that were to take place over the next two months. She’d never told him her name so he’d called her ‘petal’, as she had reminded him of the softness of a flower with a complexion to match a soft pink rose. He had known her name was Betty, though, because he had seen it embroidered on her handkerchief.

Then one day disaster had struck. They had been in the process of parting at the end of what turned out to be the last of their meetings. She had still been touching his hand as they walked on the path towards the village when, by an unfortunate coincidence, her father - out walking with his dog in a nearby lane - had seen them. He had immediately hurried across the rough ground between the lane and the path to confront them. All the time he had been shouting ‘Get away from him, young lady - get away from him’. The fact that he’d stumbled into a patch of stinging nettles on the way hadn’t helped. Purple in the face with anger and shaking his walking stick he had turned to the soldier and bellowed: ‘I forbid you, a common soldier, to associate with my daughter. You are not to contact her in any way. She is not for the likes of you, or any of your “sort”. She is of gentry stock, and I will decide with whom she keeps chaperoned company. Let me assure you they will be well educated and proper young gentlemen, certainly none of your ilk. Now be off with you before I send for the constable! Come along now, my dear! Your mother and I will have words with you when we get home.’ With that, he had quite forcefully grabbed her by the arm and led her away.

After his humiliating experience at the hands of Betty’s father he’d returned to the garrison to lick his wounds. Her father had written to the garrison commander, and when he had been hauled-up in front of the commanding Officer, King had discovered that Betty’s father and his superior had gone to the same public school, one for the education of ‘the sons of upper-class families’. The CO had made a point of stressing this, rubbing salt into King’s wound. He had also made it clear that King had come within a whisker of losing his hard-earned stripe. Entered into his record had been the words: ‘he has an inability to conduct himself correctly in the presence of superior young women’. This made it even more difficult for him to gain further promotion.

How Henry King detested educated young men! And how that resentment had festered and fed upon itself, to become a downright bitter hatred over the years.

Six months later, after being part of a special guard of honour at Queen Victoria’s funeral, he had been redeployed to Aldershot, never again to see Betty. By the time of the outbreak of the Great War, despite what had been entered on his record at Catterick, he’d risen to the rank of Sergeant, met and married - but never loved - Eunice, who was ten years his junior. When the RFC was deployed to France in 1914 King had been at first seconded to it and then permanently attached, and had been promoted to Sergeant Major just before the RFC became the RAF. But he had never lost his utter contempt and hatred of ‘the educated class’ as he called them.

He abruptly returned from his self-pitying ruminations as David and one other member of the Flight cautiously half-raised their hands in slow motion in answer to the apparently harmless question. King stopped his pacing.

‘No, you dozy pair, in the Royal Air Force we don’t put up our hands,’ he bawled. ‘What do you think this is? A school? No, you misbegotten lot, you come smartly to attention, or if you are already at attention, you take a short step forward’. Click! Slam! ‘Like that,’ said King, having taken one pace forward with a practised precision acquired over many years. ‘Well until our two young gentlemen here have become officers, and while you are all on this camp learning how to be common airmen, there are a few things that I would like you to understand very clearly.’ There was a progressive iciness creeping into his voice, like water freezing across the surface of a pond.

‘Although I am not the King that you that you’ve sworn allegiance to, it might just as well have been...’ There was a long pause, a very long pause. Then, with the suddenness of an animal pouncing, he snapped in a voice that could have been easily heard outside: ‘You do what I say, when I say, in the way that I say, without question or delay. No matter how well educated you are!’ He spun on his heels and glowered menacingly at David.

‘Ye –e –es, Sergeant Major’ stuttered David so nervously that it made quite a few of the other members of the Flight equally ill at ease, especially the other recruit who’d half put up his hand.

Since leaving school at the age of twelve, Jack had come up against quite a few bullies and would-be bullies, and he’d always managed to handle them. He recognised another one in the form of King. ‘It won’t work with me,’ thought Jack.

Turning abruptly to Jack, the Sergeant Major demanded ‘what about you, lad?’

It was almost as if he’d been listening to Jack’s thoughts.

‘I understand,’ said Jack, thinking ‘you bullying bastard’ to complete his reply.

‘I understand... Sergeant Major,’ snarled the NCO, slowly enunciating the words ‘Sergeant Major’.

‘I understand, Sergeant Major,’ repeated Jack, keeping his unflinching gaze directly to the front.

After King had finished his ‘talk’ to the new recruits and left, they found themselves in the charge of Corporal Rydal, who seemed downright friendly in comparison, despite the fact that he spent the next quarter of an hour telling them what they could and couldn’t do - and what they would do, or else! The difference between him and King was that he appeared to have the humanity that seemed to be totally lacking in the Sergeant Major.

Reading between the lines of what Corporal Rydal said to them, they realised they would have to be extremely careful not to get on the wrong side of the Sergeant Major. Jack noticed that, for some reason, when the Corporal was giving this warning he was looking directly at David and the other recruit who had put his hand up.

Before ‘lights out’ that night they were joined by the three who’d been involved in the accident in getting out of the truck. Fortunately for them they’d missed the first onslaught of the Sergeant Major’s tongue. Unfortunately for them, they hadn’t heard the Corporal’s warnings.

David, Ginger and Jack had picked three beds alongside one another - the selection had been mostly David’s doing; the other two didn’t wish to upset him and had fallen in with what he’d arranged. By now even Ginger had abandoned the attempt to nickname David as Chalky - it just didn’t seem to fit.

‘You know what?’ said David, just before lights out. ‘If we three stick together, we are going to be alright.’

‘Yes, but it’s going to be tricky protecting you from that bastard King,’ was Jack’s unspoken reply. Protecting him? It occurred to Jack that he was already looking on David as a younger brother. What the heck he thought - somebody’s got to look out for him.