Boy Entrant; The Recollections of a Royal Air Force Brat

by Brian Carlin

  Our left hands came smartly around behind our backs as we resumed the normal at ease position.

  Almost immediately, Stannard followed with the command, “Ah-tten-shun!”

  As one, we pulled the rifles backwards into the upright position beside our right legs and came to attention. As we executed this movement, I couldn’t help noticing out of the corner of my eye just how ominously close the tip of the bayonet came to my right armpit. Typically, one or two people would faint during a long parade such as this and I just hoped that it wouldn’t be my turn today, because the idea of being accidentally impaled on my own bayonet was discomforting. I pushed the thought aside. Our bayonets were fixed and we were ready.

  “Number twenty-ninth entry! SLO-ope ARMS!” Yelled Stannard.

  In three movements that were executed in perfect synchronism, we brought our rifles from the position alongside our right legs to rest at a slope on our left shoulders, with the brass heel of the rifle-butt cradled in the gloved palms of our left hands.

  Stannard then ordered, “Number twenty-ninth entry will move to the left in column of threes, LE-eft TURN!”

  The words enunciating the order seemed to issue visibly from Sergeant Boy Stannard’s mouth in little puffs of vapour, before quickly dissolving into the surrounding fog. In unison, we all pirouetted anti-clockwise in a quarter-turn. Stannard then executed a right turn and strode off to the head of the column, as Parade Warrant Officer. He disappeared from my view because of the fog, but I knew from previous experience that he halted and then turned to his right to face in the same direction as the members of the flight. Sergeant Boy Foster took up position behind him, as commander of No. 1 Squadron. At the same time, Sergeant Boy Eric Critchley marched into place at the head of No. 2 Squadron. In a likewise manner, the Corporal Boy flight commanders each moved to the head of their respective flights. When everyone was in position, Stannard yelled out an order, which sounded incomprehensible because of the muffling effect of the fog. But we all knew very well not to react to this command anyway, because it was really only addressed to the commanders of the individual flights, ordering them to each march their own formations forward in turn.

  Since the combined 1 and 2 Wing Drum and Trumpet Band would have the honour of leading us to the Drill Shed, Drum Major “Nobby” Duff was the one who actually gave the first order to march. Almost immediately, the drummers beat out a tattoo of “two threes and a seven” during which the No. 1 Wing Trumpet Major, “Adgy” Barber, called out the name of the first trumpet tune to be played. The trumpeters began playing right on cue when the tattoo ended, whilst Drum Major Duff swung his mace with a practised flourish as he proudly led his Entry to the passing-out parade.

  The No. 1 Squadron ‘A’ flight commander waited until the band had marched a few paces and then ordered his formation to march forward. Then, one by one, the other flights started marching as the flights ahead of them moved off.

  When our turn came, Corporal Boy Spinks, who was in charge of my flight, turned his head slightly so that we could hear the order that he was about to give.

  “‘B’ Flight, Number 2 Squadron…by the left, quick march!”

  We stepped off on the left foot, pleased to be finally moving towards our moment of glory and happy to get some circulation moving through our bodies at long last. We badly needed to generate some warmth that would counteract the damp chilliness of the fog, which by this time had managed to seep through the fabric of our heavy greatcoats. We marched proudly, heads erect, right arms swinging vigorously, whilst our left forearms and hands remained immobilized and parallel to the ground, supporting the rifles resting on our shoulders. I could see very little ahead of me, except for a bristling forest of bayonet-tipped rifles that bobbed rhythmically together, reflecting the weight shift of the marchers from one foot to the other whilst they marched. Most of the flights ahead of us were enveloped by the surrounding dank greyness and it appeared that we were following them blindly into the grey oblivion. By now the faint boom of the bass drum was difficult to hear in our location far back down the column, so Spinks began calling out the step, ’eft, yoyt, ’eft, yoyt. Similar but fainter calls from some of the boy NCOs leading the other flights reached my ears like echoes percolating through the denseness of the fog.

  After a several minutes of marching, (’eft, yoyt, ’eft, yoyt), the huge monolithic shape of the station water tower began to take shape as it loomed out of the murk, taking on a progressively darker grey hue as we approached, in contrast to the unchanging light greyness of the surrounding fog. Nearly there! The Drill Shed was just across the road from the water tower. Ahead of us, I was just able to see the faint silhouette of Drum Major Duff making a right wheel to lead the band down the slightly inclined concrete ramp that would take him to the large entrance-door and then into the Drill Shed. Shortly after that, we also made the same right wheel and followed the other flights down the ramp into the Drill Shed. Inside, the steady “boom-boom” beat of the bass drum, which was supposed to pace the march, actually defeated that purpose by echoing around the interior of the Drill Shed. It was impossible to separate the real drumbeats from the echoes, causing confusion and forcing the Flight Commanders to compete directly with the band by calling out the step even louder.

  Ceiling-mounted floodlights brightly illuminated the interior of the Drill Shed, where it was also dry and relatively warm. Being inside and out of the fog was quite a relief. The dais, or saluting base, was set up along the wall nearest the road, which meant that after entering through the doorway, all flights left wheeled at specific points to form up in an array centred on the dais. On reaching our appointed position, we marked time until given the order to halt.

  “‘B’ Fliiiiight, Number 2 Squadron…into line, LE-eft TURN!” Commanded Corporal Boy Spinks.

  We turned and faced the saluting base, noticing that the Parade Commander, Flight Sergeant Boy Gilkes, stood near it, waiting for his cue to take command of the parade. Flanking the dais were two Standard Bearers, Corporal Boy Drinkwater of our squadron of Electrical Mechanics and Corporal Boy Crawford of 1 Wing, each Standard Bearer holding a No. 4 School of Technical Training Standard by his side.

  When all six flights were present and facing the dais, Sergeant Boy Stannard marched to the front and centre of the parade, then turned and faced towards us.

  There was a moment of silence, while he collected himself, then he barked out the order, “Parade! Order arms!”

  In unison, we transferred the rifles from our shoulders into position alongside the right of our bodies—the noise of our hands slapping against the various parts of the weapon magnified by our number and amplified by the echo-chamber acoustics of the Drill Shed. The movement was finally punctuated by the dull thunk of the brass end caps of the rifle butts, as they made gentle contact with the concrete floor.

  All seemed silent for a moment, but it was short-lived. For the next few minutes, we were brought to attention and then stood at ease several times, as dictated by ceremonial necessities of the parade. Eventually, the cue was given for the Parade Commander, Flight Sergeant Boy Gilkes, to take over command of the parade from Sergeant Boy Stannard.

  More drill movements followed as Gilkes now put us through our paces, ending with the order that transformed our close ranks into open order, ready for the Reviewing Officer’s inspection. When this had been accomplished, Gilkes momentarily surveyed the scene and then ordered the parade to stand at ease to await the arrival of the Reviewing Officer. The time was now 0930 hours.

  We remained in this position for a few minutes, until Gilkes acted on a discreet signal from the sidelines by bringing the parade to attention once again and then giving the order to slope arms. As we performed the drill movement, both Standard Bearers hoisted the golden eagle-crested Standard staffs onto their right shoulders and then marched together towards the large door that we had entered several minutes ago. The sky-blue, golden-fringed Standards that they carried hung limply from the angled staffs
and swayed from side to side with the bearers’ motion, each displaying the school badge with the legend “Number 4 School of Technical Training RAF St. Athan” beneath it.

  When the Standard bearers arrived at the doorway, they came to a well-rehearsed, simultaneous halt. Almost immediately, the Reviewing Officer, Air Vice-Marshal Hutton, appeared framed in the doorway. The Standard bearers then escorted the Air Vice-Marshal towards the parade centre, followed by two other figures. They were Air Vice-Marshal Spreckley, Commander of 24 Group—the Group to which we belonged—and Air Commodore Perkins, the commandant of No. 4 School of Technical Training—our headmaster in a sense, although he was an administrator rather than a teacher.

  As the small party of Air Officers approached, Flight Sergeant Boy Gilkes took the deepest breath he could muster and then called out, “Parade, general salute…pres-ent ARMS!” With the last word of the command still on his lips, he turned to face the approaching party, at the same time bringing his right hand up smartly in salute as the crash of hands against rifles noisily heralded our “present arms”. At the same time, Trumpet Majors Williams and Barber greeted the Reviewing Officer with a resounding fanfare as he stepped up on the dais, turned to the parade and saluted in response.

  On completion of this portion of the ceremonial, Flight Sergeant Boy Gilkes marched up to the dais and, whilst saluting the Air Vice-Marshal, announced, “Numbers 1 and 2 Squadrons ready for your inspection, SIR!”

  AVM Hutton then descended from the dais as Gilkes gestured towards No. 1 Squadron and accompanied the Reviewing Officer as he headed in that direction, with the two other Air Officers bringing up the rear. As the first squadron endured inspection, the remainder of the parade was stood at ease. Meanwhile, the station band, consisting of a number of accomplished musicians, began playing the first of a number of pieces from their repertoire of “music to inspect troops by.” It was pleasant to listen to and helped while away the time that it took for the inspection party to wend its way along the ranks of 1 Squadron. Every now and then, the Reviewing Officer would stop and talk to one of the boys. He would smile and chat in relaxed friendly fashion, usually in stark contrast to the boy, who would retain his stiff demeanour and stare fixedly ahead as he responded to the officer. Occasionally, someone somewhere on the parade ground would faint and crumple at the knees. No one ever fell full length: that was a cartoon-like caricature. The giveaway came when a person started swaying; before long his knees buckled and then down he sagged, crumpling to the ground in an untidy heap. Medics who were standing at strategic points around the perimeter of the parade always rushed over to get the poor unfortunate back on his feet and off to the side; there he would be allowed to sit for a while and savour a reviving drink of water. Fortunately, none of the fainters fell on their bayonets, which seemed to ridicule the fear I had harboured earlier. Meanwhile, the inspection continued relentlessly.

  After what seemed like a very long time, the party returned to the front of No. 1 Squadron at a quick pace. Salutes were exchanged and then Flight Sergeant Boy Gilkes led the group of officers towards our squadron. Sergeant Boy Critchley, who had been watching the approaching party out of the corner of his eye, brought us to attention. Overcoming the stiffness brought on by standing in one position for so long, we responded with a loud reverberating thud of boots on the smooth concrete of the Drill Shed floor.

  “No. 2 Squadron ready for inspection, sir!” Critchley announced, as he turned to the Reviewing Officer and saluted.

  “Carry on Sergeant Boy,” the Air Vice-Marshal replied.

  The same slow inspection procedure was repeated. As the great man passed closely in front of me, he glanced at me up and down, from my head to my toes. I studiously avoided his eyes and focused instead on the ornate white enamelled cross hanging from a crimson ribbon around his neck, to rest on the knot of his necktie—the cross signified his knighthood as a Companion of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath. My tactic seemed to work because he passed me by without stopping, leaving me with mixed feelings of both relief and disappointment: relief that he hadn’t said anything to me and disappointment for exactly the same reason.

  The inspecting party finished reviewing “B” Flight and then moved on to “C” Flight until, after another seemingly interminable age, the inspection ordeal finally came to an end. The Reviewing Officer and his party made their way back in the general direction of the dais, whilst Sergeant Boy Critchley detached himself from the group and returned to the front and centre of the squadron, from where he gave us the order to stand at ease. Meanwhile, the small group of Air Officers, accompanied by Flight Sergeant Boy Gilkes, continued walking until they reached the central position at the front of the parade, where they came to a stop. Gilkes turned to face the parade and brought us to attention. Having done that, he swivelled around on heel and toe to face the Reviewing Officer and then saluted him. The Reviewing Officer returned the salute in a more casual manner than the Flight Sergeant Boy’s, while offering a few post-inspection comments that were inaudible to all but that small group of people out in front of the parade. Flight Sergeant

  Boy Gilkes thanked the Air Vice-Marshal and then requested his permission to carry on. Permission was granted before Air Vice-Marshal Hutton turned away to lead his companions back to the dais. The worst part of the parade was over and now the proudest and most uplifting moment of the ceremony was almost upon us.

  Gilkes drew himself up to his full height, as he faced us. “Numbers 1 and 2 Squadrons, SLO-ope ARMS!”

  The rifles were transferred to our left shoulders.

  A few more orders followed that had us close up the ranks and then straighten them out. When this was all complete, Gilkes marched resolutely towards the dais and came to a classic parade ground halt just a few feet in front of the dais—facing Air Vice-Marshal Hutton—and saluted.

  “Permission for the 29th Entry to march past, sir?” He enunciated in a precise military manner.

  The Reviewing Officer returned the salute, “Permission granted. Carry on Flight Sergeant Boy.”

  Gilkes returned to his post. Now facing the parade, and pausing briefly to gather his wind, he gave the long-awaited order, “Numbers 1 and 2 Squadrons will march past in column of route, Number 1 Squadron leading. Move to the right in column of threes, RI-ight TURN!”

  By rights, this order should have been “in column of flight,” which would have been the precursor to marching past the dais in line abreast, as we had practised day after day on the parade ground. Disappointingly, there wasn’t enough space in the Drill Shed to accommodate the line-abreast march-past and so we would have to march past in the less spectacular column of threes.

  With a loud crashing noise that reverberated throughout the Drill Shed, the entire 29th entry executed a right turn. The Flight and Squadron Commander boy NCOs then marched smartly to the head of their flights and squadrons. Gilkes moved forward to take up position at the head of ‘A’ Flight of No. 1 Squadron, in front of Sergeant Boy Foster. On this cue, Corporal Boy Vickers gave the order that would start the march past.

  “‘A’ Flight, by the left, quick march!”

  Simultaneously, the Boy Entrant trumpet band started playing The 29th Entry March as the flight moved off. This piece had been composed especially for the march past by Drum Major Nobby Duff, Trumpet Major Mike Williams and Cliff Thomson.

  When the ‘A’ Flight had made reasonable progress, the ‘B’ Flight Commander issued his order for ‘B’ Flight to march—and so it went on, until all flights of the graduating entry were on the march, en route to marching past the dais.

  That was where the Reviewing Officer now stood, hand resting on the hilt of his sword, waiting to take the salute that we would present as we marched past him.

  When the ‘A’ Flight Commander reached a certain marker, he turned his head slightly to his right and gave the order, “‘A’ Flight, SLO-ow MARCH!”

  The marchers in the flight immediately ceased to swing their right arms, clampi
ng them to the side of their bodies instead. At the same time, their pace of marching slowed to approximately half speed. This pace forced them to move forward in what appeared to be a series of jerks, instead of the freely flowing movement of the standard marching pace. With the transition into slow time complete and the marchers now within a few feet of the Reviewing Officer, the ‘A’ Flight Commander now gave the order, “‘A’ Flight, EYE-es RIGHT!”

  All members of the flight immediately turned their heads sharply to the right, in order to meet the Reviewing Officer’s gaze when they came abreast of him. The exception to this was the Guide in the front rank, whose job was to steer the flight on an unwavering course past the saluting dais. Meanwhile Gilkes, Foster and Vickers all raised their right hands to the peaks of their hats in salute to Air Vice-Marshal Hutton. The Reviewing Officer, having brought himself to attention, returned the salute, whilst his left hand remained resting on the hilt of his ceremonial sword.

  Each flight marched past the dais in similar manner, receiving a salute from the Reviewing Officer in the process. It took several minutes for all six flights to complete the march and then return to their former positions, arrayed before the dais. The Boy Entrant trumpet band then ceased playing, creating an unexpected moment of eerie silence, which didn’t last for very long. It was now time for the second major part of our ceremonial.

  Gilkes turned and faced the dais once more, taking a deep breath before issuing the command, “Numbers 1 and 2 Squadrons will advance in review order, by the centre, quick MARCH!”

  The trumpet band struck up as the 29th entry marched forward en masse for 15 paces, at which point Gilkes ordered, “Numbers 1 and 2 Squadrons, HALT!”

  We came to the halt as the band abruptly ceased playing.

  Gilkes called out his next order, “Numbers 1 and 2 Squadrons, general salute, pre-sent ARMS!

  The Station band struck up, with a fanfare based on the first few bars of the Royal Air Force March. At the same time, Gilkes and the other 29th Entry commanders raised their hands in salute for the duration of the fanfare, while we in the ranks brought our weapons to the “Present Arms” position. Air Vice-Marshal Hutton and his fellow officers on the dais returned the salute, while the spectators rose from their seats and stood up as a mark of respect. When the fanfare finished, Gilkes ordered us to slope arms, which ended the salute.