WAS 1984 REALLY THAT BAD ?

 Hello again readers.  

To me the year was one I will never forget. Firstly the romance side of my life was eventually going into overdrive. Work was good and I was getting great annual assessments, which were great for my plans for my future career. Because of my new romance, some of my outside activities began to reduce, so my involvement with the Life Saving ended, which was mainly due to the fact I moved out of the Barracks at St. Mawgan and initially moved into a house share in Camborne, which was closer to work. Jane had found a job at Treliske Hospital in Truro so I was seeing her a lot when I wasn't at work. 

At Easter, my mate Tony got married, and that weekend I proposed to Jane, and she accepted. Eventually we found a place near Truro to rent, and we moved in together. The property was a bit unusual as it was part of a farm. The landlord lived in the main house, and there were a couple of apartments adjacent to the house. He had initially had them made as holiday lets, but found it easier to rent long term. The choice of animals he farmed was also not what you might expect for Cornwall. No fields of cows or sheep. Rather several barns of pigs !

Our mornings were usually woken by the sound of pigs getting excited when the pigman brought the food around. It was quite noisy and sometimes the din was made louder when the farm hand started shouting and cursing at them when they were being naughty.

As I was becoming domesticated I had to  get used to having my holidays in the summer, and so we went off on a touring holiday of South Wales and Pembrokeshire. We took our own accommodation in the form of a tent and camping gear. The weather was perfect for this trip and the drive up from Cornwall was great. No delays on the A30 or the M5. Those were the days before the major delays that happen currently.

We camped for one night near to the Brecon Beacons park, but then made our way to St, David's in Pembrokeshire

This part of Wales (as is most of the country) is very beautiful and there was so many places to visit and  to explore. We had plenty of opportunities to hike, especially along the coastal paths. The city of St, David's is the smallest in the country and in most  places would be considered a village. The main attraction is St. David's Cathedral which draws in many visitors every year.

We ventured a bit further away one day and drove to the other side of St. Brides Bay in order to catch the ferry to Skomer Island. Skomer is a national nature reserve, home to many wild seabirds, including Guillemots, Gulls, and of course the fabulous Puffins, which nest there during breeding season.

 
Apart from an old farm building used by naturalists during study periods, the island is uninhabited. The daily boat trips drop people off to spend the day following the footpaths around the island then takes them back later on.

We spent the rest of the year going about our daily lives as everyone else does, basically getting on with life and going to work. We started to make plans about our wedding the following year. We decided we wanted to have the big day in February, as not many people tie the knot then, so we could  pick which ever weekend we wanted and the decision was made that our honeymoon would be in Switzerland to take in a bit of skiing. Jane did say that we might have a problem with snow in February, although optimistic me said we probably wouldn't. (Famous last words - more about that later). As Jane was from Shropshire, that's where we would be holding the service. We had to visit her home to arrange the bans to be read in the church, as we did for my home church in Old Windsor.

We spent Christmas Day in Truro and drove to Newquay to say we had been to the seaside . It was a dull overcast day and freezing cold. The sort of day when you need to wear a duffle coat or parker to keep out the cold. The next day we began an epic roundtrip journey. We drove 300 miles up to my parents house to deliver presents and see my family. After spending a day there, we set off again to see her father in Shropshire. Again another long day driving, although only half the distance of the previous day. Again we spent a day with her dad then set off finally to get back to Cornwall. We were shattered when we got back and spend a day recovering, before Jane had to get back to work. I, being in the RAF, still had a couple of days before I returned to work.

As we were both off on New Year's Day we drove down to the Lizard Point and on finding a small shop open, had our first ice cream of the year, at the most southerly point in the UK.

So that in a nut-shell was 1984. The following year was going to have several changes to our lives which meant moving away from the county and starting a new job, but I will talk about that next time.

All the best 

Rob

How I found skiing and a wife.

 Hello folks welcome back to my tale.

Back in the 1970s I used to watch Ski Sunday most weeks and marvel at the speed the skiers went when travelling down the mountain slopes. Coming from a country that rarely had enough snow and from the southeast of England where there were no decent hills, let alone mountains it was just a dream for me to even think about learning to ski.

Once I was committed to enlisting in 1982, I decided that I would resign from my job at Marks and Spencer a couple of weeks before my attesting (at Reading Careers Office) and go to Switzerland to learn the art of skiing down hill. I asked my younger brother if he would like to join me, and he readily agreed. As I previously mentioned my father was a long time employee of British Airways, and one of the perks of working so long ( he started in 1941 during WW2) was that he accrued a number of free staff flights, which his family could also use. The scheme acted like stand-by passengers, so we had to wait in the terminal until the staff knew that there were unsold seats available. We were lucky and managed to get seats on the flight from Heathrow to Zurich.

My brother, Andy, and I bought some basic skiing clothes from our local branch of C & A ( remember them?), and decided that we would hire the rest of the gear ( boots and skis) at the resort. As we were both in the Scout Movement at the time we were going to stay in Switzerland as cheap as we could, and were making our way to the International Scout Centre in Kandersteg in the Bernese Oberland part of the Swiss Alps. We were going to stay in bunkhouse accommodation, and we would help with certain tasks each day (cooking, serving food and a little bit of cleaning), before and after the day on the slopes. It was run on a similar way to a youth hostel.

 

The International Scout Centre Chalet at Kandersteg

The Centre was at the end of the Kander Valley and we arrived by train all the way from Zurich Airport, with a change at  Bern, which is the capital of the Bern Canton. Swiss Railways pride themselves on the punctuality of their trains and we weren't disappointed on our spectacular journey. After leaving Bern, the journey took us to Interlaken which lies between Thunersee and Brienzersee lakes. ( The name of the town describes the location). The train then started a slow climb up to the village passing through several tunnels and looping around to make the climb possible.

The small, traditional Swiss village of Kandersteg is situated at 1'200 metres above sea level, 65 kilometres south of Bern. It is easily reached by road and rail and provides an excellent base for sightseeing or exploring the Alps.

Situated on the main railway line from Benelux/Scandinavia/Germany to Italy, Kandersteg is very well served by fast trains. During the high seasons, a regular bus ran from the local railway station to the Centre.

We enrolled at the local ski school after renting our equipment. I found it harder to stay upright than I thought it was going to be, and in fact Andy was doing much better than me. We were only on the nursery slopes and were learning very basic stuff, like Snowplow turn, and how to stop. We were taken up to one of the slightly harder slopes to practice our new found skills. I was petrified at first as I kept falling over every time I wanted to slow down and change direction.

A fine view of the village while riding the chairlift to the higher ski area

At the end of our week, I felt I hadn't progressed as much as I wanted to but I had better things to do in a few days time, starting my new job and life.

After being posted to Cornwall I didn't feel the need to have a summer holiday, after all  where do loads of people go for their summer holiday ? I rest my case !!! Having said that in the service we were allowed 30 days annual leave, so I had to take it at some point, so I decided I would go away in January when everyone else was back at work after the Christmas festivities. Apart from going to the antipodes for more sun shine, the best holiday would be to go skiing again, and as I had tried it the previous year and enjoyed staying at the Scout Centre I looked into what Kandersteg had to offer. 

I found out that they had a special deal which included accommodation, and two weeks of ski instruction. As I was still a Scout Leader I was still eligible to attend through membership and of course I still had to factor in the cost, which I found was still affordable to me, so I went ahead and booked the holiday.

I duly arrived in Switzerland in the second week of January and booked into the centre. Also present on the course were about a dozen other scouters from around Europe. I remember there were a pair of twins from Finland and a few from Britain, with a sprinkling from Germany. We all mucked in with cooking meals and clearing up afterwards and being scout leaders were happy to entertain ourselves. Someone had a guitar so we sang quite a few songs around the wood burning stove.

I was glad I returned to to Kandersteg and found the instruction was much better than the previous visit. We had to demonstrate to our teacher what we could already do so that he could put us into different groups according to ability. This was a good move and I found I was able to quickly build on my skills learned the previous time, and then improve on them.

Not quite Olympic standard but I'm still upright

I was soon able to do a parallel turns, and to stop much quicker without falling over. Our instructor got us to the stage of being able to ski from the top of the ski area and back down to the village. I was getting used to riding the ski chairlift, when we were told that the next day we would be going to a different ski area at a different part of the resort. We would be going up to the area in a cable car, which was just down the road from the chalet.

The ride to the Sunnbuel ski area took about ten minutes and once we had arrived at the top we then took a chairlift to the skiing area. It was a large open area which had plenty of scope to have further practice away from the crowds in the previous areawe had been learning. We had a period of instruction, then we were left to practice on our own, so we could come and go at our own pace.

   

As this was a fairly easy area to practice on, once our instructor felt we were confident enough and able to, he introduced us to the more difficult run which went directly to the village. I found this very challenging in a number of places, but completed it without falling down or breaking any bones.

Another aspect of skiing holidays I enjoyed was the mountain restaurants we visited at lunch time. 

I particularly enjoyed eating a hearty bowl of hot Goulash Soup with loads of freshly baked bread and a glass of local beer. Even though it was the middle of winter, the more southerly latitude and altitude made it feel warm enough to sit outside on the balcony to eat our meal.   

I thoroughly enjoyed my winter break and returned to Portreath refreshed and ready to crack on with whatever the RAF put my way. So for now thoughts of skiing were put on the back burner for another year, but I definitely wanted to return the following year to improve my style.

After the summer of 1983 had passed and the holiday makers had returned home for the season, I started thinking about planning my forth coming visit to the slopes. I went into the office and asked Sgt Clarke if I would be able to take time off in January to have another trip to Switzerland. Unfortunately I was in for disappointing answer. Unknown to me Jack Small, the civvy steward had already booked the first three weeks of January so that he could visit his sister, who lived in the Dutch West Indies island of Aruba.

The course I wished to attend was held at the same time, so I had make new plans about a skiing holiday. In those days we had no option but to go to a travel agent and get a brochure. That was exactly what I did the following weekend, going into Newquay to get a pile of brochures.

I took them back to my room at St. Mawgan and started thumbing through the pages, to see what was on offer. I soon realised that what I wanted was a holiday that was suitable for young single people. This whittled my search down to one company, which I had heard of, but not for organising winter skiing holidays. Their summer vacations had gained a bit of a reputation a rather hedonistic activity for young adults on hot summer get-aways.

You've guessed it CLUB 18 - 30 !

They had a holiday in the first week of February in the Austrian resort of Seefeld which was in the Tyrol. It had hosted the Nordic Cross country and Biathlon events in the 1976 Winter Olympic games. After checking again at work that I could take the time off then, I went ahead  and booked my holiday and paid the deposit. I also paid another visit to C & A and bought a new ski jacket, salopettes, and ski gloves. I found out there was a ski exhibition in London, so I drove up one weekend staying with my parents one night, then taking the train to London. In the exhibition hall at Olympia I found a stall selling cheap equipment, and there I found some ski-boots going for a bargain, so I had to buy them. This meant all that I had to get at the resort would be skis and poles and the passes for the lifts.

The holiday soon arrived and I made my way to my parents to leave my car, before taking a train to Gatwick Airport and after boarding the Dan-Air BAC 1-11 settled down for the short flight to Munich in Germany, which was the closest airport to the resort. We boarded the transfer bus which took us over the border into Austria and then to the hotel in Seefeld.

I must point out that this holiday was nothing like the holidays held in the Mediterranean during the summer. For a start it was too cold to run around with little clothing, and of course everyone was there to ski or learn to ski. They did get the clients to meet up in one of the hotels each evening to enjoy bar games, but that was the limit of the fun part of the vacation. 

The next day we headed for the ski slopes. I decided that I would have a couple of lessons to brush up my skills after a year away from the slopes. Off I went, and soon enough I picked up from where I left off the previous season. In the group was a young woman who was struggling to get a hang of this skiing lark, and I felt sorry for her, so after the formal lessons had finished I skied over to her and asked her if she would like some help. On further enquiry I found out her name was Jane and she lived in Shrewsbury with her widowed father and worked as a staff nurse. We hit it off straight away and so we began our holiday romance. Jane was also on the 18-30 Holiday but was staying at a different hotel to me. When the evening bar games finished I would walk her to the taxi rank so she could get back to her accommodation. 

Unfortunately the week went too fast and we had to make our way back to home in Britain. We boarded the coach to return to Munich Airport, only this time I had somebody to sit next to for the journey. We arrived at the airport and checked our baggage in, only we were on different flights. I was returning to Gatwick, but Jane was on the flight to Manchester Airport.

We had a last hug and a kiss after going through security, and waved goodbye to each other as we went through our individual gates. Jane's flight left first and I watched it taxi away and take off.

I  boarded my airplane and set off back to England, but all the way I was only thinking of one thing, the person I had just said goodbye to. 

When I got home I still had another week before I returned to Cornwall so I spent some of the time meeting up with my mates and going to the pub. But all the time I was thinking about Jane, and so one day I sat down at home and got out some writing paper and a pen. ( remember writing)? Before we parted company at Munich Airport we had swapped addresses so I knew where I was going to send my note.

I'm not going to bore you with details of what I wrote but all I will say is, in Shropshire a similar letter was being penned addressed to me!

Next time I will talk about what happened next !

See you then,

Rob 

 

What is this place called work?

 Hi again !

I've thought about this and did you know I actually did go into work most of the time? The routine until I moved off camp in 1984 was to get up, have breakfast in the mess then get down to the carpark before the bus left for Portreath. Once I had got my car, I wasn't too worried about missing the bus as I had my own backup transport available, and besides it was nice to have a chat on the bus while somebody else did the driving. It was also a sensible thing to do if you had had too much to drink the night before.  

The bus drove from the camp via the married quarters at St. Columb Minor ( just out side Newquay) and at Trellogan ( on the other side of the town), then set off to Portreath along the winding road that seemed to go on forever.

Once the bus got to camp, it drove up to the Ops building, where the controllers worked and also the location of the communication centre ( Commcen) which housed the small base telephone exchange. There was a crew room with TV and some armchairs, where the off duty control staff would head for a break. It also had a mini kitchen with a kettle and microwave oven.

Although the mess was only open form 9 to 5 each day, the station was open 24 hours seven days a week. The controllers and support staff were rostered for shifts, which included night shift. This meant that the mess also prepared plated meals and snacks for the shift workers to be heated up in the microwave when they wanted to eat them during the night. When the bus pulled up outside the building either I or another staff member from the mess would collect the dirty crockery and food containers to be taken back to the kitchen washup machine to be cleaned.

The routine for going home usually meant we would take down a big bread basket with that evening's meals and drink requirements. We would wait in the crew room with the day shift for the bus to arrive. Usually the tv was on, and a new program started on the recently started Channel 4 which kept loads of people captivated by the female co-host, Carol Vordeman ! 

The original hosts of Count Down, Richard Whiteley & Carol Vordeman

Back in the mess we still had a turn over of staff, but mainly in the chefs department. The first to go was Mick Vincent, who was replaced by an older corporal called Bob Smith. With his arrival the mess was full of Bobs ! 

 Cpl Smith was from Northern Ireland and had been in the RAF quite along time. He told us that he joined up as a butcher, but when that trade had been disbanded he remustered as a chef. Bob was quite a laid back chap and didn't get flustered. One day he announced that he was going to learn to play the guitar and so he brought a wooden acoustic  guitar in to work. After the meal service had finished Bob would go into his office and practice playing. Sometimes he left the door open and we could listen to him learning his cords. If he felt he almost had a tune, he would call one of us in, to see if we could tell what he was playing. As usual in the RAF micky taking was going to happen, and Bob's shoulders were big enough to let it slip away without hurt feelings. Comments like " is that Beethoven's 5th"? or " Didn't the Beetles play that"? I took it one stage further one day. Bob was in his office and I went down to clear away the cups in the Officers' anteroom. There was a telephone in the room, so I rang the kitchen office, knowing that Bob was in there practicing. Anyone that knows me will know that I was quite good at mimicry so when Bob answered his phone, I greeted him him using the Catering Officer's voice. Fortunately Bob fell for it. I asked him if he was still enjoying his posting at Portreath and then I said in a stern voice that I had heard he was practicing the guitar in his office during lunch service and leaving the work to the SACs. Bob went a bit quiet then I asked him how he got on with the stewards and SAC Wyatt particularly. It was at this point that he smelled a rat and finally twigged it was me. " Bob you ***** " he said then he went on " You got me there you ***** " !!! 

I went back to the kitchen howling with laughter and when I saw Bob and we had a chuckle together.

Not long after, Bobby went, to be replaced by Ian McKellen a young lad who was about to get married. After a while he started a part time business with his wife while he was still serving. They rented out the restaurant of one of Newquay's hotels and ran it as their own business. As it was out of season, I don't think they would have had many customers and the venture didn't last very long.

When John Davis went his position was filled by one of the civvy mess hands. Mel Walker had previously worked as a chef, so he was offered the job of civilian chef. He was a very cheerful northerner who was always full of humour. Mel was also happy to work most weekends so that the RAF lads could have the weekends off.

After Sgt Clarke had been in post for about a year he was given several months notice that he would be going on detachment to RAF Stanley in the Falkland Islands. This obviously meant there would be no Mess Manager NCO in the mess for four months, the powers that be decided to post in a corporal and disestablish one of the SACs on the return of the Sgt. Now Tina had a theory that as I had been there longest, I would be going back to St. Mawgan. She was adamant that she would be staying at Portreath, and took great pleasure in telling every one who would listen about what she wished to happen.

Unfortunately for Tina, she went back to St. Mawgan, and I stayed at Portreath. We also had a new station commander, Sqn Ldr Rimmer. He was living in a rented Farmhouse near to Camborne and after looking into his entitlement decided that as Station Commander he would like a steward to work in his home for dinner parties and to help his wife keep house. The rules dictated that due to his rank he could only have a few hours per week so Jack Small was asked if he would work in the residence for three days of the week, with the remaining days back in the mess. Jack was happy with this arrangement as it meant he didn't have so far to travel to get to work. I was happy as it meant I could continue my extra work activities.

The new corporal was another Bob ! Bob Shepperd and a very nice guy at that. So Sgt Clarke went off on his detachment, where he lived and worked in the coastels that were leased by the MOD while permanent accommodation was made at the new airfield, 30 miles away at Mount Pleasant.

A very war like looking Taff Clark in the Falklands

We seemed to have a high turn over of chefs in the three years I was at Portreath. Bob Smith was replaced by a Cpl called John Edwards. He was a tall chap with a tash, and the micky takers often referred to him as Basil Fawlty. Ian McKellen was replaced by a guy called Nigel Diggle. Nigel was from Jersey, and when ever he went on leave it was usually back home to the island. He drove a large motorbike which had Jersey Plates. Being a Jersey vehicle meant that as long as it returned to the island regularly it was taxed and insured there, which was a lot cheaper than on mainland UK.

Nigel was then replaced by Billy Sneddon who came in from Germany. He was married, but going through a divorce. Portreath was also his last tour, so he didn't stay in post very long. Finally a fairly local chef turned up. ( local as in west country) Pat Rossiter was from Torquay in South Devon so he didn't have too far to go to visit his family.

As I mentioned before when I was first at St. Mawgan, I got pally with Paul Gibbons as we went to visit airshows in his car. At the same time I became mates with some of the guys at Portreath. One was a clerk on the camp who arrived not long after me. Tony Preston was from Stroud in Gloucestershire and we became good mates. Outside the holiday season the pubs and clubs in Newquay were back to having locals, and RAF people as their main customers.

On a Friday night the routine started of sharing a taxi to Newquay and going to one of several pubs in the town centre for a few beers. When we had drunk enough in the pubs, a group of us would spill out onto the street, and walk down to the Tall Trees Night club.

The club had separate bars and dance floors over three levels. Us young single blokes only had one thing on our mind when we walked into the venue, and it wasn't about trying our dance moves on the floor. No, we were there to chat up the young women and see if we could pull. In my case it was a very frustrating time, as I neither danced with or pulled any young ladies present. Tony on the other hand was a dab hand at this skill. He eventually managed to go out  with one young lady and in 1984 he got married to her.

Tony had a very understanding boss at work who would volunteer him for all sorts of activities. Not content with having to work his own job, Monday to Friday, on one occasion he was tasked with doing crowd control at the RAF St. Mawgan Air Show.

Tony posing in front of a Buccaneer bomber at St. Mawgan

Tony had the last laugh though, as he went on to serve 38 years in the RAF retiring in the rank of Squadron Leader, having worked his way up through the ranks to Warrant Officer, before taking a commission.

Tony on his Retirement in 2020

I got invited to a number of weddings of service personnel at Portreath. We had a MT driver called Andy Mecklenburgh who was going out with a young female driver who worked mainly at St. Mawgan. A load of us went to their wedding, which was held just outside Gloucester. We all left early on the Saturday, for the drive up, then stayed in Bed and Breakfasts after the reception. 

After they had returned from their honeymoon, they settled into married life. As I've mentioned before my usual work week was Monday to Friday, but two years into my tour of duty we had our annual AOC inspection, so in order to make sure the mess was in a clean state we were required to work on the Sunday to do extra cleaning and polishing etc.

I was in " Scruff order" in other words scruffy civvy clothing, as we didn't want to get my uniforms dirty. Anyway, after the chefs had served lunch to the airmen on duty, we carried on cleaning. Suddenly we heard a loud moaning noise coming from the staff toilet. On investigation, I found the mess hand, called Malcolm lying on the floor having a fit. I put him in the recovery position and called the other staff for some assistance. As we were a military unit we were fairly well self contained. So instead of calling 999, we called the station phone exchange, who called the MT section, as they had a field ambulance there. Like most other sections the MT drivers were also getting their area and vehicles cleaned. 

Andy was on duty and wearing his boiler suit for cleaning the vehicles. He dropped his cloths and jumped into the Landrover ambulance and drove as fast as he could to the mess. Unfortunately there wasn't a medic on duty, so Sgt Clarke decided that one of the chefs and I should take Malcolm in the ambulance and drive to Treliske Hospital in Truro. So there was Andy in his boiler suit driving, Ian the chef in his cooks whites, and me in scruffy jeans and T-shirt in the back of the ambulance. Sgt Clarke phoned up A & E and told them to expect a military ambulance with a patient.

A RAF Ambulance similar to the one at Portreath

We got Malcolm onto the stretcher and secured it into the back of the ambulance then set off to Treliske Hospital. Ian and I sat in the back keeping an eye on the patient. Fortunately he was breathing normally but was still a bit delirious. Andy drove as fast as he could. We had a blue light flashing away ( not very obvious in broad daylight), and a rather pathetic siren sounding away. We got to a straight bit of road and tried to go a bit faster, but low and behold got stuck behind a little old lady driving a Morris Minor ( seriously). We became typical back seat drivers, shouting all sorts of insults at the lady, who of course couldn't hear any of the words aimed at her.

Fortunately we managed to overtake her and eventually arrived at A & E . We dashed in and asked for a trolley to take Malcolm into the building, which was found along with a nurse. After booking him into the hospital the medical staff took over and looked after our colleague.

It turned out that unknown to us he was diabetic and hadn't been taking his medication correctly. After he was stabilized he was discharged and went home. Apparently his GP gave him a telling off and ensured he had a revised medication regime to help him take them at the correct time.

Another wedding we were invited to was in Newquay (so not so far to drive). A Junior Technician called Steve was marrying a local lass and some of us were invited to the reception afterwards. Everything started as normal and we enjoyed the sit down meal. Then it was time for the speeches, which is when the event started to go down hill big time.

Steve's brother was best man, and was a rating in the Royal Navy. Both Steve and his brother were in No.1 uniform and Steve also wore white belt and gloves. So his brother started the toasts, but because he had had a few too many drinks beforehand  started to make some very rude and crude remarks about some of the female guests present. As you imagine all hell broke out, so we decided to make a hasty retreat and left at the earliest opportunity.

All this talk of love and romance didn't pass me by but I will spill the beans in my next post when I will also tell you about another sport that I enjoyed.

Until then, see you soon.

Rob  

HEAD FOR HILLS

 Hello again.

When I started at secondary school in 1970, ( am I that old), the headmaster was an advocate of encouraging the pupils to enjoy the outdoor life and appreciate the wild places in our small country. We had a lesson called "Outdoor Pursuits" where we learned about the National Parks, their geography, geology and history. We also learned how to read an Ordinance Survey map as part of the lesson. All this was manna from heaven to me and I really excelled at it. So much so that and the end of the year I was placed top of the class in the subject.  The lessons lead up to the annual expedition to a National Park, where we went on the school bus ( a retired 1950s Thames Valley Bus) and stayed in Youth Hostels, whilst going out to practice our map reading and enjoying the countryside and hills.

The kids in the first year ( school years have changed since I was in education) went spring half term break to stay at the Edale Youth Hostel in the Derbyshire Peak District. We got to hike over the Kinder Scout Plateau, and up Mam Tor.

The lonely expanses of the Kinder Scout moors

Mam Tor looms over the Hope Valley

If any one watches Channel 4 they sometimes run a channel identifier with a giant " 4 " figure climbing to the top of a hill then sounding off like a Fog Horn and the village people falling over, well that is Mam Tor.

As we went through the school years the expeditions became a bit harder. We still stayed in Youth Hostels, but the destinations differed each year. The second year went to The Yorkshire Dales, and years three and four alternated between the Lake District and Snowdonia. 

The fifth year didn't have an expedition, as they were studying for CSE and O Level Exams, but what did happen was a summer holiday Exped to Europe. Some years they went to Norway and another year they went to Corsica. I left school in 1976 aged 17 after taking O Levels and my final school activity was to go on the Summer expedition to the French Pyrenees and the Atlantic coast near to La Rochelle.

The Pyrenees Summer Expedition camp site at Argeles Gazost

I also did a bit of hiking when I was a Scout, when we went on our summer camps but it was nothing as challenging as the school expeditions.

Roll on to 1982 and there I was at RAF Portreath and looking to do some more adventurous activity. Not content with the life saving and gliding I was looking to the great outdoors for more enjoyment. The South West Coastal footpath went past the perimeter of the camp, along the cliffs and further afield in Cornwall was Bodmin Moor. So there were opportunities to go walking within the county.

As usual I would scan Station Orders and one day I noticed something about the Strike Command Cambrian Expedition. There was a form available from the Physical Education section ( at St. Mawgan ) in which stations within the Command could enter four person teams to take part in a Four day expedition in the Black Mountains of South Wales. It consisted of teams Canoeing down the River Wye starting near Hay on Wye with camping gear stowed in the canoes, with a overnight stop half way then finishing at Hereford. We took transport back to the starting point for a debrief, then taken to the start point of the second stage of the expedition.

Before I talk about this any further, I must tell you about the training we had to do before going out to the mountains and river. First of all a team had to be chosen. That year there was enough people to warrant two teams going from Portreath so getting to that stage was quite easy. There was also a team going from St. Mawgan, so for some of the training activities we went together. St. Mawgan had a slot booked every week  at Newquay swimming pool for use by aircrew doing survival training, but sometimes the slot wasn't being used, so we all turned up so that we could be trained to exit a canoe correctly should we capsize. We also trained to help someone to safely return to their canoe, by steadying the kayak with paddles and another craft. We were not expected to learn how to do an Eskimo roll that experienced canoeists do. Once we had become proficient at that, the next stage was canoeing in open water. We didn't have many decent rivers or lakes nearby to practice on, but we did have the Atlantic Ocean ! We had at Portreath the RAF C1 Canoe Champion, Cpl John Harvey. He was always disappearing for a few days to take part in competitions either in the UK or further afield in Europe. John was handy to have around to give us useful pointers and tips when it came to canoes.

Sheltered Newquay Habour beach

More exposed Watergate Bay surf beach

We started off paddling around outside of Newquay Harbour and later we went canoeing at Watergate Bay, which had more surf, and more chances of capsizing. Two of the St. Mawgan team were young LACWs in the AATC trade. I came across both of them later in my career. Both had changed their jobs in the RAF. One, Helen, re-mustered as a Loadmaster and she worked with me on 10 Sqn VC10s, and the other, Yvonne received a commission and I met her again while she went through the Air Traffic Controller's course at RAF Shawbury seven years later.

Back to the training. We next had to become skilled at map reading in wild country, so after doing a crash course on maps,  we set off as a team to the Dartmoor National Park, which was not far away over the county border in Devon. 

Dartmoor on a clear day

We were dropped off at a point in the south of the moor and were given a point on the map that we had to navigate to. In this part of the country we had to get used to using natural features as landmarks, so as to determine our location. We became proficient at taking compass bearings and navigating using only the compass and map. Once we reached our destination safely, we were deemed safe to take part in the main event. 

Once we arrived at the main base camp near Hay on Wye we were given more instructions and a chance to meet the other teams and Direction staff. It was here at the base camp I bumped into someone from my Air Cadet days. Peter Welch enlisted straight from school and had undergone technical training, becoming a Sergeant fairly quickly. We had a good chat and catch up over what we had been up to. I next met Peter while I was undergoing my Air Steward training at Brize Norton. He was doing his Tristar ground engineers course, before starting on 216 Sqn. I occasionally bumped into him when we crossed paths at Brize.

Peter Welch who now works for British Airways

Not long before we went on the expedition, I had to go to Plymouth to buy a decent pair of walking boots from Blacks outdoor shop. I found a pair, and spent several weeks breaking them in. Unfortunately there was a bit on the left heal that hadn't broken in enough, and after a while started rubbing my heal enough to create a big blister.

The Black Mountains - part of the Brecon Beacons National Park

Our route took us from the carpark  ( near the top of the picture) and climbed the ridge past by the ruin of Castell Dinas up to the summit of Pen y Manllwyn at 766m ( 2,513 feet). 

Pen y Manllwyn our first summit

We then turned right and followed the faint track towards the next summit of Waun Fach 

(811 m)

The track to the summit of Waun Fach

From the summit the track followed a ridge due south for several miles until it sloped to the valley below and the village of Llanbedr. On this day it was very misty with low cloud so we couldn't see very far. On one side of the ridge was the valley below, and the other side was forested into another valley. Suddenly from out of the mist one of the PTI directing staff appeared. He was checking that everyone was not getting lost. Obviously our map reading training had paid off especially as we were walking in mist so land marks were difficult to find. My blister was agony so I told him about it. He had a look at it and said that it was pretty bad. After applying a large plaster to the blister, he said I should speak to the medic who would be at the halfway camp in Llanbedr. So I struggled on, following the team as we made our way down the track towards the campsite. I felt I was letting the guys down as they had to go at my slow speed. If they had a problem they didn't say anything about it.

Eventually we made the camp site. The first thing we did was pitch our tents and sort our kit out ready for the next day. Whoever planned the expedition had been spot on with the choice of campsite. It was in a small field near the village Pub ! We decided not to bother cooking our own own meal, but went to the pub to eat and have a pint ( or two).

Before we went to the pub I went to see the medic. She looked at my blister and  a proper dressing. She said that I shouldn't wear my boots the next day and keep in training shoes. There was a problem with this. It meant if I didn't complete the task, we couldn't get the trophy at the end. We discussed the problem with the DI staff and a solution was fortunately found. The route we should have taken meant climbing the ridge on the other side of the valley to where we had hiked that day. However there was a narrow road going down the middle of the valley, which then turned into a unpaved track. It gently climbed up to a pass  at Mynydd Llisiau (662m) which then joined the track we would have taken back to the rendezvous point at Pengenffordd.

So once we had broken camp the next day we started off on the lower route which I managed to walk in trainers, although I was still in a some pain. Once we had completed the task we were taken to Base camp where we waited for all the teams to arrive. Before setting off for home the presentation of trophies took place.

My Trophy 

( it is kept in the display cabinet in the living room)

Next time I will talk about another sport I did while at Portreath. ( when did he actually work you ask?) and how it changed my life forever !

See you soon.

Rob

Any Excuse to get into the Air

 Welcome back folks. 

I grew up with the sound of aeroplanes flying over the house, as we lived five miles away from the runways of Heathrow Airport. Not only that but my father worked for BOAC / British Airways so aviation ran in my family. At the age of 15 I joined the Air Training Corps ( now known as RAF Air Cadets) so that I could have a go at flying with the Air Experience Flight. Also when I was 14 I went on a student exchange to Germany, and while there I was lucky enough to have a flight in a glider over the Luneburg Heath.

When I was sixteen the Commanding Officer of my Air Cadet squadron phoned me up one weekend and asked me if I would like to go to White Waltham Airfield and take the Gliding Proficiency Test, which culminated in three solo flights. Without hesitating I said yes, so throughout the summer of 1975 you could find me at the airfield undergoing training, in the rather old fashioned Kirby Cadet Mk3 ( T31 )  and Sedburgh two seater gliders.

A Sedburgh glider taking off with a winch launch

The seed had been sown and it was then that I wanted to somehow fly for a living. I didn't mind if it was with an airline, or in the RAF, I just had to fly. I then narrowed my choice down to cabin crew, as I didn't have the qualifications to become a pilot. From that time I focused my training and experience to getting the cabin crew job. After leaving school I enrolled at the local catering college at Slough, and gained City & Guilds in catering.

I got a part time job in a restaurant working my way from washing up to being Deputy Manager. I then went to work at Heathrow for an airline catering company, as Assistant Buyer, responsible for purchasing everything the company needed, from apples to diesel for the trucks. . My days were spent getting price quotes on the phone, then writing our orders onto self carbon paper for our Heathrow unit and getting the orders by fax from our Gatwick unit. Once the orders were placed and the prices quoted we then faxed the sheets back to the storeman at Gatwick. At the time fax machines were only just starting to be used so one sheet of paper would take about 5 minutes to send or receive, and had to be manually attached to the drum on the machine. This happened every week from Monday to Friday.

I worked there for about 18 months before leaving to work in America on a summer camp job, then applying to join the RAF on my return. Unfortunately due to being a civilian qualified course the RAF had to wait until there were enough applicants to form the course, before allowing me to enlist. In the 18 months I had to wait, I got a job as a Warehouseman with Marks and Spencer. Even then the desire to fly hadn't left me, so a work mate and I joined the Thames Valley Gliding Club at Booker Airfield, near High Wycombe, and started having lessons.

Before I could go solo again I was invited to enlist, so my gliding was put on hold. This state of affairs didn't last long though, because once I was at Portreath I would study Routine Orders to see of any courses available. Low and behold I noticed there was something called Joint Services Adventure Training, and one of the activities was Gliding. I had a quick chat to Sgt Clarke, and sounded him out on whether I could go or not. I explained I had already done some gliding, and was hoping to carry on. To my amazement he said it would be ok as far as he was concerned, but I would need permission from the Catering officer. With that I went to General Office for the application form, completed it and after handing in, waited for an answer.

About a month later I received the answer, and it was in the form of joining instructions to attend a course at RAF Bicester Gliding Centre. 

FLYING OVER THE AIRFIELD

As I didn't have a car at that point I had a rail warrant to travel to Oxford then a bus to the airfield. Once there the Centre staff would take us to the nearby Army Depot for accommodation, and picked us up each morning. I had a brilliant week at Bicester and wanted to take up the sport back in Cornwall. 

This is where I had a problem. I couldn't drive yet, so here was another incentive to pass my test. I discovered there were two places that I could learn to glide. HMS Heron at Culdrose had a club, which I could have joined as a serviceman, but Culdrose was quite a long way to drive. Much nearer to St. Mawgan was the civvy Cornish Gliding Club who were based at Trevellas Airfield, which was on the old WW2 RAF Perranporth site. 

Trevellas Airfield

I came across it when I started to explore Cornwall in my car. I drove up to the launch point and watched the goings on then started to chat to some of the members. The next time I came down, I joined the club and started to train, with the intention of going solo. I did get to some soaring with an instructor when the sea breeze  was blowing up against the cliff edge enabling us to use the ridge soaring effect. Unfortunately due to the airfield's close proximity to the sea the usual method of using thermals of warm air bubbles to remain airborne for extended flight didn't occur as the land couldn't warm up sufficiently to create the much needed thermals.

I wasn't happy with my progression towards solo flying as there weren't enough instructors at the club, or the weather wasn't good enough to fly. I also found that the cables the club used on the winch launches had a habit of breaking, which was great when you wanted to practice launch failures, but also meant there was a lot of down time while the cable was repaired. I persevered for a few months but in the end decided I would look for a better club later and carry on my training at that time. I had enough other things to keep me occupied anyway.

Although Portreath wasn't a flying station we did occasionally have someone fly in to the station. The first time that I can remember was when the Devon & Cornwall Police helicopter landed. The pilot came over for lunch in the mess. I'm not sure why he visited the airfield, but I got chatting to him while he was having his meal. Anyway one thing lead to another and he invited me and a couple of the mess staff for a quick flight in the helicopter. At the time in the early 80s they where using the French made Squirrel  helicopter so he could get three of us in the cabin

A Squirrel Helicopter similar to the one we flew in

So once the lunch time service had finished and before the chef started preparation of the airmen's' evening meal. Mick Vincent, myself and Bobby walked over to the helicopter with the pilot and climbed in. We strapped ourselves in and we took off. Unfortunately the weather wasn't great, and it started to rain. The pilot flew the helicopter to about 900 feet and he went slowly around the airfield boundary before the low cloud put an end to our joy ride.

About six months later we had some visitors to the airfield who were rather mad but enabled me to have another flight. The Parachute Regiment display team, called the Red Devils came down to Cornwall for some pre season training. Although Portreath wasn't an active airfield, it still had runways, even if they were not in a great condition. However the Red Devils used a small Britton-Norman Islander aircraft which was able to use rough runways, and had short take off capability.

One day the team came into the mess for lunch and as usual I got chatting to them about what they were doing in Cornwall. The warrant officer explained that some of the team were new so they needed to practice the routine they used at a location away from public gaze and with little aviation going on to get tin their way. As usual one thing led to another and I was invited to go up with them on their next flight that afternoon. Once I had cleared it with the Mick Vincent ( who was in charge that afternoon). I went out with them and the pilot. I sat in the co-pilot's seat at the front, while they got in the back with their parachutes strapped on.

There were no seats at the back so they all sat on the floor of the cabin. We took off and started climbing rapidly over the Cornish countryside and Redruth and Camborne. We eventually reached 12,000 feet and at that point the pilot eased back on the throttles to slow down enough for the paras to exit the aircraft. Over the noise of the engines, and the rushing air as they opened the door, I could hear them shouting and laughing their heads off as they jumped out together.

Now on the climb up I had been able to clear my ears by yawning. On this occasion I had broken an unwritten rule of not flying if you have a cold. I was so desperate to fly that I ignored the rule and went anyway. Once the paras had jumped out, the pilot put the Islander into a shallow dive to get back on the ground as quickly as possible. It was at this point I began to regret my decision to go up when I found I couldn't clear the pressure build up in my ears, and suffered excruciating pain around my sinus tubes. Because of my cold, the tubes were blocked which meant I couldn't relieve the pain by pinching my nose and blowing out. I kept blowing as hard as I could and eventually the tubes unblocked and I was able to clear the pressure build up. I learned my lesson that day, and later on when I was flying on VC10s if I had a really bad head cold I wouldn't hesitate to call in sick. Fortunately I only remember going sick once during my tour.   

The next day the Red Devils went to St. Mawgan to train so we didn't see them again. Unfortunately their day at St. Mawgan had a tragic end. Part of the display involved stacking themselves one above each other. This meant the parachutist who was above the guy below would wrap his legs around the lines below. On this occasion the warrant officer that I had spoken to the previous day, was  in the above position. Somehow the guy lower had a major malfunction and his chute collapsed. At height this wouldn't be an issue as they would discard the collapsed chute and use the reserve. Unfortunately they were only a few hundred feet off the ground about to land. The Warrant Officer couldn't let his colleague fall to certain death, so he wrapped his legs around the lines and tried to take the weight of both men. Unfortunately the extra weight meant they had a very hard landing, and unfortunately the Warrant Officer broke his back.

Stacking when it goes to plan

I mentioned previously that I had been in the Air Training Corps, but I also been involved with Scout Movement back home after leaving the cadets. I helped run a troop in my home village, and through this involvement I had gone to work in New York State on a camp, I have made a YouTube video of my stay in America and if you wish to watch it here is the link.

Any way I was approached by one of the Nimrod flight commanders, Sqn Ldr Eagers, whose son wished to go to scouts,  and he asked me if I could start a Scout Troop at St. Eval, the site of the old airfield, and where some of St. Mawgan's married quarters were situated. There was already a cub scout pack, but nothing for the older boys to join. I said I would give it a go and so got my old uniform back from my parents home. 

I had an initial show of interest from several boys and tried to develop an interesting program of activities to follow. I even managed to take them on summer camp to my old stomping grounds in Old Windsor, as there was a purpose built scout camp site in Windsor Great Park called Bears Rails.

Unfortunately due to not enough boys showing interest in coming along, I took the difficult decision to close the troop. After speaking to the district commissioner  I stood down from the scouts. As I was still interested in helping youth movements, I approached the CO of Truro Squadron Air Training Corps and asked if they needed any help. After doing background checks on me I was offered a position on the staff. As I was a serving serviceman, I wasn't classed as a civilian instructor, but carried out the same type of work by instructing the youngsters in basic theory of flight etc. and of course taking foot drill.

It was through my connection with the squadron I was introduced to the commanding officer of 626 Volunteer Gliding School which was located at the Royal Navy airfield at Predannack which was at the most southerly point in Britain, The Lizard Point.

Predannack was originally built in the war and due to being built on a peninsular had several runways which could used depending on the prevailing wind direction. In the 1950s Barnes Wallis ( of bouncing bomb fame and designing the Wellington Bomber) set up a unit there to try out working models of a supersonic aircraft with variable swept wings. The concrete launch pads are still there today.

An aerial view of Predannack airfield.

The test track can be seen parallel to the main runway

Predannack Airfield was opened in May 1941 as a satellite for RAF Portreath and back in 1984 and as it is today the airfield is used during the week as a satellite for Culdrose's helicopters to practice using landing away from their home airfield. The Royal Navy fire service also used parts of the airfield for training. Doted around are the wrecks of many ex RAF and Royal Navy aircraft.

A couple of wrecks at the fire dump

I agreed to meet the CO ( Ross Goldsworthy) one Sunday in Truro and we drove down in his car so that I could learn the best way to the airfield. Our first stop was at  the Guard room at Culdrose to sign out the keys to the airfield gate. We drove on a few miles and found some of the other staff waiting for us to arrive. We opened up the gates and went on to the airfield. After opening up the buildings we then moved the gliders out onto the airfield. In 1984 they were still using the Kirby Cadet Mk3 ( Slingsby T31 ) and the Slingsby T21 Sedburgh gliders. They were 1950s vintage and were open cockpit. The T31 had tandem layout while the T21 was side by side. 

The T21 tended to be used for air experience flights and was better at soaring when the conditions were right. The T31 was used for instructing cadets to fly solo, with the instructor sitting in the rear seat. I joined the the staff as a U/T instructor, so the priority for me was to re-solo.  I found that my learning curve was quite steep but enjoyable after the inactivity at my previous club.

The T31 was quite basic regarding the controls and the cockpit instruments in comparison to the newer gliders that I had been flying in. There was no trim leaver so the flying controls were a bit heavy to use while in flight. The gliders were kept on trolleys which were pulled around the airfield by a Landrover. This meant we didn't have to push them around between flights and when the glider over shot the launch point.

  

We also had a novel method of returning the winch cables back to the launch point. There was an old RAF ambulance which had a bar attached to the side, and when in use was locked in place. The two cables were attached to  the bar and the driver would slowly drive along the side of the tarmac runway until next to the launch point.

Cable retrieval

It wasn't long before I went solo and I managed to get several flights under my belt. As a U/T instructor I was also required to drive the retrieve Landrover and to drive the winch, all of which I was happy to do as glider flying is always about working as a team.

At this point in time I was about to make a move to pastures new, but I will talk about that another time, needless to say I had to temporarily stop gliding as I was posted to 241 OCU at Brize Norton.

Before I talk about my next posting I will next talk about some of the other things I did while at Portreath so I hope you've enjoyed this last bit of my tale.

TTFN

Rob