by Ian Walker
“But Sprout and Carrot have gone all the way,” I pleaded.
Before I could finish Sarah cut in.
“I’m not Carrot,” she said. “I don’t believe in sex before marriage.”
I thought that was going to be it for the day, but pretty soon we were snogging again and I was fondling her breasts.
She could tell I was disappointed but soon all my disappointment vanished as she reached down and unzipped my fly. I already had an erection and was extremely grateful that she’d released my dick from its confinement.
We continued for several minutes, passionately snogging. I stroked her breasts and she rubbed my cock. Then something happened. Suddenly my cock began to shudder and I immediately grabbed hold of Sarah’s hand in order to stop her from rubbing it. To my amazement it was all wet and sticky.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “You’ve only ejaculated.”
“Ewhatulated?” I asked in horror.
Sarah started laughing.
“My poor little innocent,” she said.
Sarah and I returned to the hop store many times over the coming months. It was fantastic, although she never let me get inside her knickers.
Nevertheless, it was another step on my journey towards manhood. They say you never forget the first time you have sex. Well, it wasn’t actual intercourse that we had that night, but I will never forget it all the same.
Chapter 9
“I don’t think we will finish clearing out the house today,” said Molly.
They had been working for two hours and were still nowhere near finished emptying the second bedroom. The problem was that there was just so much to sort out. Okay, most of it was junk, but they still had to examine everything just in case they missed something of value.
Just as in the main bedroom, the second bedroom contained two chests of drawers. The difference was that none of the drawers in the second bedroom contained clothes or bedding. Instead, they all contained a variety of papers and objects that Uncle Miles had accumulated over his long lifetime.
Not only that, but there was a wardrobe that was also filled with similar items. The wardrobe had the letters M and S carved on the front.
“That must stand for Miles and Sarah,” commented Nigel. “From its style it looks like it was made in the 1950s. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a wedding present.”
With that the two of them went back to the task of sorting through their uncle’s things.
It was when Nigel and Molly were halfway through clearing out the second chest of drawers that Nigel discovered an RAF cap badge.
“Do you think this is worth anything?” he asked, holding it up to the light.
“Probably not,” came the reply, “although we might find more militaria later.”
*******
It was June 1946 and the three of us had just finished school after taking our higher national certificates. Under normal circumstances, Sprout and Herman would have gone to work for their fathers and I would have spent all summer in the brewery before heading off to university.
But these were not normal times. World War ll had only ended twelve months previously and all eighteen year olds were expected to do their National Service.
I could have gotten out of it if I’d decided to go and work down the pit, but I had no desire to do that. Alternatively, I could have trained to become a doctor, but I hated the sight of blood. I briefly considered pretending to be mad before eventually bowing to the inevitable. After all, how bad could it be? Britain wasn’t at war anymore so it wasn’t as if I was likely to get killed.
Father said that he could have a word with his old regiment and get me a commission, but I told him that I had no desire to make a career out of the army. I merely wanted to serve my eighteen months and then get out, which is why I signed up for the RAF.
This was quite normal for boys who’d been to the Grammar School. The RAF attracted a better class of recruit than the army, which was full of rough sorts from council estates. In fact, it turned out that most of my class had enrolled in the air force, including Sprout and Herman.
I knew the odds were stacked against me being stationed at the same base as anybody I knew. So imagine my surprise when both Sprout and I were posted to RAF Spitalgate in Lincolnshire. Herman wasn’t so lucky though as he was sent to RAF St Mawgan in Cornwall. It was a nice place if you were on holiday, but not if you were doing your National Service, especially since it was an eight-hour train journey from Chesterfield.
Herman looked pretty dejected as the three of us met for a drink on the Saturday before we were due to start our RAF training.
“You know Sarah said something really odd to me the other day,” I announced whilst supping my pint of Goodyear’s Pride. “She said that being apart was a real test of our relationship. She also added that she would wait for me, but if I wanted to sow some wild oats whilst I was away, then it was okay. Just as long as I kept quiet about it and returned to her once my National Service was complete.”
“Bloody hell,” said Sprout. “Carrot would cut my balls off if I messed around with another woman.” Then he added, “What about you and Lydia, Herman?”
It was just a wind up since Herman was not at all romantically involved with Lydia. It had the desired effect though as Herman told us in no uncertain terms that he and Lydia were not an item.
We reflected on the fact that the girls were far luckier than us since female conscription had ended with the war. Carrot had a job as a trainee with a firm of chartered accountants on Saltergate. Lydia had joined the police as a WPC, which Herman said made her even scarier once she’d put on her uniform. Sarah, meanwhile, had enrolled at the new teacher training college in Matlock, which she went to every day on the bus.
It wasn’t as if we’d never be allowed home whilst doing our military service. But despite this, we couldn’t help thinking that we were starting an eighteen month prison sentence.
As a result it was with heavy hearts that Sprout and I caught the train to Grantham the following Monday morning.
Any ideas we may have had about learning to fly were soon dispelled when we arrived at the barracks. It appeared that we were going to spend the next year and a half scrubbing floors, cleaning toilets and learning how to march.
The worst thing about National Service was that no one had any privacy. There were sixteen of us all bunked down together in one large dormitory and even the showers weren’t private. In fact, the only place where we could be alone was on the toilet and that was questionable due to badly fitting doors.
Many of my fellow recruits had come from other grammar schools around the country and Sprout and I soon became friends with Frank Johnson from Guildford and Richard Wells from Stockport. At least, there were four of us looking out for each other.
We were all under the watchful eye of Sergeant Dyke, or Dastardly Dyke as we christened him. He liked nothing more than to torment us ex-grammar school boys. He’d obviously been to a secondary modern himself and he was now able to get his revenge.
The first day we were there he shouted out,
“Right you bunch of namby-pamby grammar school boys. Your mummies aren’t here to wipe your arses for you any more. There will be no one to tuck you into bed at night and read you a bedtime story. I am your mother now and, believe me, Snow White’s wicked stepmother was an angel compared to me. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes sergeant,” we all replied in unison.
“Right,” he said. “I am now going to inspect your beds.”
One of the first things we had been told to do upon arrival was to make our beds and put our personal possessions into our bedside cabinets.
“That’s not good enough aircraftman,” said the sergeant as he ripped the bedding off the first recruit’s bed. “I want to see square corners. What do I want to see?”
“Square corners, sir,” came the reply from the serviceman who was visibly shaking.
“You do not refer
to me as sir, aircraftman. I am not an officer. You refer to me as sergeant. Do I look as though I have too much Brylcreem in my hair? Do I have a plum in my mouth?”
“No sergeant,” answered the terrified recruit.
“Well, there can be no mistaking me for an officer then, can there?”
The sergeant was barking all of this into the face of the frightened aircraftman who was only a few inches away. You could see the spittle flying into his eyes.
Sprout was next.
“That’s a better effort,” said Sergeant Dyke.
Sprout thought he was going to avoid a tongue-lashing from the sergeant, but his optimism was short-lived.
“Is that bum fluff I can see on your chin, aircraftman?”
Sprout didn’t know what to say in reply, as he had no idea what bum fluff was. Fortunately he didn’t have to wonder for long.
“I’m asking you aircraftman, if you’ve shaved this morning.”
“No sergeant,” replied Sprout.
“Well, you’re in the RAF now lad,” said Sergeant Dyke, “and in the RAF we shave in the morning not in the evening. Is that clear?”
“Yes sergeant,” answered Sprout.
With that Sergeant Dyke moved on to the next recruit much to Sprout’s relief. He didn’t want to admit that he’d never shaved in his entire life until that point.
Soon it was my turn.
“What on earth is that, aircraftman?” said the sergeant who was pointing to Edward who was lying on my bed.
“It’s my teddy bear, sergeant,” I replied.
“And have you brought your dolls with you as well?” he asked. “Perhaps we could have a tea party for them later?”
“No sergeant, just Edward here. I’ve slept with him ever since I was little.”
“Really?” replied sergeant Dyke. “Now let me tell you this, you little nancy boy. Sleeping with small furry animals may be normal where you come from, but it is not normal in the Royal Air Force. Get rid of it and report to me at six o’clock tomorrow morning for toilet cleaning duties.”
“Yes sergeant,” I replied and hurriedly placed Edward in my bedside cabinet.
As it turned out I wasn’t the only person told to report for toilet cleaning duties. In total there were five of us who assembled outside the toilet block at 6 o’clock the next morning waiting for further instructions. We waited and waited until eventually Sergeant Dyke showed up at half past seven and gave us all mops and buckets. It was a harsh introduction to life in the RAF. However, things were to get even worse, as Edward was missing when I got back to the dormitory.
“Which one of you bastards has taken him?” I shouted out.
“I think he’s gone absent without leave,” replied the chap from the next bed.
I wanted to punch him in his stupid face. But I had no desire to find myself on a charge and so I let it rest. After all, I was confident that whoever had taken him would return him to me eventually. It never crossed my mind that it would be another fifty years before I got him back again.
Life in the RAF didn’t get any better over the forthcoming weeks and months. I felt like a prisoner just counting down the days until my release.
After spending a year in Lincolnshire, we were eventually transferred to RAF Altona in Germany. It didn’t make any difference to us where in the world we were stationed, as one RAF base was pretty much the same as every other one.
The only thing that altered when we were in Germany was that it was no longer possible for Sprout and I to return to Chesterfield during our leave. So we usually went into some of the towns and villages close to Hamburg instead.
Hamburg had been badly destroyed by allied bombing during the war and we were there in 1947, only two years after the war had ended. At the time, Hamburg was still under British control and we Brits were not popular with the locals. That was especially true for those of us in the RAF, since they blamed us for destroying their city. Personally, I thought it was a little harsh. For a start, I hadn’t been old enough to fight in the war and, if they wanted to blame anyone, they should blame Adolf Hitler not us.
Irrespective of this, the fact was that Hamburg was still largely a pile of rubble and, as a result, we usually went to nearby Lüneburg instead. Its medieval centre was totally unscathed and there were plenty of good Bier Kellers to choose from.
It was on one such visit that Sprout, Frank, Richard and I started talking about our favourite subjects, girls and sex.
“So, who’s still a virgin then?” asked Sprout.
It was an unfair question, since I knew that Sprout wasn’t, whereas the closest that I had come to going all the way was being tossed off in the hop store by Sarah. If only the beer drinkers of Chesterfield knew what was putting the froth on their pints they’d have thought twice about downing a glass of Goodyear’s Pride.
Eventually, Frank and Richard admitted that they had never been with a girl either. This came as no surprise to anyone as they were both nice lads, but no one would ever describe them as ‘men of the world’.
I was forced to admit that I had never had sex either, which came as a bit of a shock for Sprout.
“But you’ve been going out with Sarah for nearly three years now,” he said aghast. “What on earth do you get up to in that hop store of yours?”
“If you think that I’m going to give you a detailed description of what we do in there then you’ve got another thing coming,” I replied.
“It doesn’t sound to me as if there’s been anything happening that’s worth telling us about anyway,” replied Sprout before asking if Sarah and I had ever done soixante-neuf.
“What’s that?” asked Frank.
“Soixante-neuf, top and tail,” said Sprout only to be met with blank expressions. It was obvious that neither Richard, Frank nor I knew what the hell he was on about.
“Never mind,” he said “Because today is your lucky day, as I am going to pay for all three of you to have a jump.”
“A what?” said Richard.
“A jump, a shag, a fuck,” said Sprout before explaining. “Some of the other recruits have told me about a house of ill repute called the Eros Centre, which is just around the corner from where we are now.”
Five minutes later we were standing outside the entrance. You would never have guessed that it was a brothel. It looked more like a private members’ club, and since it was the type of place where you could get your member out in private, I guess that was precisely what it was. I was pretty nervous as we entered the whorehouse. Was I betraying Sarah? Was I even still going out with Sarah?
I’d assumed that the Eros Centre would have girls behind windows with red lights in the background. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Instead, it consisted of a large room full of scantily clad women. There were no red lights and no glass to separate the girls from the customers. Much to the concern of Frank and Richard they came up to us and stroked our manhoods before grabbing our hands and placing them on their breasts.
“How much?” Sprout asked one of the girls who was wearing next to nothing.
“Fifty Marks,” came the reply.
Sprout did a calculation in his head.
“That’s about four bob.”
“Right,” he said passing a Fifty Mark note to the girl and pointing to Frank, “Take him upstairs.”
With that she led Frank to one of the bedrooms.
Sprout pushed Richard forward and summoned over a large Brunhilde type who was wearing an outfit made of leather and covered in zips. She was extremely frightening especially since she had a cat-o’-nine-tails in one hand and a pair of nipple clamps dangling from her belt.
“I hope you are going to satisfy me, leetle man, othervise I am going to have to punish you,” she announced and at the same time cracked her whip.
Sprout gave her Fifty Marks and told her to take Richard upstairs. Richard looked absolutely terrified. He was five foot four inches tall and only weighed nine stone sopping wet.
“
She will eat him alive,” I said.
“If he’s lucky,” Sprout replied.
“Anyway, what about you?” I asked Sprout. “Are you going to have a jump?”
“Good god no,” came the reply. “I’m in a serious relationship with Georgina and I’ve asked her to marry me as soon as I get demobbed.”
I was shocked and said, “But you’re only twenty. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Why would you want to buy a cow when you can get your milk for free?”
“Life isn’t just about sex, you know,” he replied. “Granted, it’s important. But I’ve got the best of all worlds with Georgina. She’s funny, she’s intelligent, she’s my best friend and I bet she’s better than any of this lot between the sheets. She’s the only girl for me and I’m going to spend the rest of my life with her.”
I could tell there was no point in arguing with him so I merely said, “And I thought I was your best friend, Sprout?”
“You are, Crapper,” he replied. “You are the best friend out of all of those that I’m not sleeping with.”
“Very funny,” I continued. “Anyway, what’s with calling her Georgina, I thought only her parents called her that?”
“Carrot was all right when we were kids. But we’re grown up now so I’m going to call her by her proper name from now on.”
With that he signalled to one of the girls to come over, gave her Fifty Marks and ordered her to take me upstairs.
One of the other girls had noticed what Sprout was doing and thought that he was some kind of pervert who got his rocks off by paying for other men to have sex. So, she brought a guy over who didn’t have enough cash on him and told Sprout to give him Fifty Marks. She then started to get angry when he refused, which we all thought was highly amusing when he told us about it later.
The girl I was with was athletic, with blue eyes and blonde hair, the epitome of Hitler’s master race. She had a faraway look and I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to her during the war. Lüneburg seemed a million miles away from Hamburg and yet you could only guess what horrors this girl had experienced.