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served on a metal tray with indentations for the various food items. Irons and mugs were provided.  The food was excellent, very good quality, well cooked and plenty of it.

            After we had eaten we retired to our mess deck to compare notes with the rest of our course from Shawbury.  We were all in bunks near each other.  As we were talking an R.A.F Warrant Officer came towards us.

“Hello, boys”, he said, “I’m looking for volunteers for cookhouse duties”.  Although I’d been taught never to volunteer for anything I found myself putting my hand up.  That food had been very good and I thought I’d better get as close to is as I could.  I looked over at Bunk and Trevor and nodded but they shook their heads.  They didn’t think it was a good idea.  Five of us ex-Shawbury lads volunteered:  Dennis Cowell, Dick Bartholemew, John Green, good old Mervin Recketts and, of course, myself.

“Right”, said the Warrant Officer knowing he had his five chumps, “You start at six.  Report to the Chief Cook”.  Bunk and Trevor smiled at me knowingly.  “Oh, no”, I thought to myself,  “What have I done?”  But the Warrant Officer had more to say.  “As you volunteered you will be excused all other duties”, he continued. “Great”, I thought to myself.  I had no idea what these other duties might be but the very fact he had mentioned them meant they were time consuming.  “Er, what exactly is the job, sir?” I asked him.  “Working in the spud locker”, he said and departed, chuckling.

            We, the volunteers, looked at each other.  What had we let ourselves in for?  But at this point we were disturbed by one of the lads running onto the mess deck shouting, “The duty free shop is open.  Look at this”.  He was showing us a box of fifty ship’s Woodbines (a large cigarette, for export only).  “This box is the same price as five small Woodbines in England.  They are selling like hot cakes up there”, he said.

There was a mad dash out of the mess deck by all hands.  I used to smoke in those days so I was with them.  We couldn’t get near the shop as there was a queue a mile long outside.  As we had nothing else to do we waited in the queue and in a surprisingly short length of time we were served.  We then had a last walk around the deck smoking our cheapies.

Eventually we went back to our mess deck after I had booked an early call with the R.A.F police.  It took a little time to get to sleep that first night on the ship.  Apart from the motion of the ship and the steady hum of the engines there was an unaccustomed soft blue light from a nearby sealed light unit.  There was also the feeling of having a person so close above you.  If they had a bad bout of wind you weren’t in a very good position.   There was quite a lot of tossing and turning going on as other lads were also having a problem getting off to sleep.

 

(Don’s story continues in the next issue with his spud bashing duties through the Mediterranean Sea, Suez Canal, Aden and the Indian Ocean).

           

Life and Times at RAAF Butterworth 1967 –1970

 By Don Donovan

 

1.  A posting to the Far East

 In 1967 I was working on 25 Squadron, ‘flying’ Mk II Bloodhound Missiles, at RAF North Coates, a cold and windswept piece of land adjacent to the sea wall on the North Lincolnshire coast.  In late summer I was notified that, for my good conduct and devotion to duty, I was being posted to 33 Squadron based at RAAF Butterworth, Malaysia later in the year.  I had better get all my jabs up to date, my passport sorted out and all my outstanding leave taken and be ready to move by the end