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
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