ire, and retribution (threatened and actual) was more than one would imagine. Such added to the tensions in the student lives of aspiring 'Officers and Gentlemen'.
Passing Out Parades were conducted with the course passing out marching on as the first Squadron, followed by junior courses as supporting Squadrons. Guests and parents were always invited. Drill was impeccable on these occasions. We reckoned it was as good as anything the Pongos could put on - and we were probably right.9
By a mischance, not of my making, I failed my course. I felt cheated. I knew that I had done better than I had been told so sought redress with my Flight Commander, and asked to have my exam papers rechecked. He agreed, but not before I found myself on my way (along with a handful of other failures) on the train to the Personnel Holding Unit at RAF Innsworth, Gloucester, while decisions were made as to my future.
Innsworth was an awful camp. Discipline was lax. And there were WRAFs, many of whom were after Airmen's bodies, and snogging was rife in the NAAFI and the cinema. Barrack huts were cold, and bedding was damp. Fortunately I was there for less than a week before I was summoned back to Kirton-in-Lindsey for an interview with my previous Flight Commander.
I was greeted warmly and was told that a mistake had indeed been made. He explained that there was someone else on the course with a similar surname to mine. He was Sarner, I am Senar - easy for clerks to confuse - and our marks had been confused. By this time he had been passed and posted to Canada for flying training, and I had been chopped - on his marks. The sad sequel to this was that he was killed during later training.
I could not now be passed out on my own so was re-coursed to join the then Senior Course. I sat the exams again - and passed.10 Some of us were fortunate at this time to have a half-day visit to RAF Binbrook to see, close-up, the new Canberra bombers and to talk to some of the aircrew. This was a big morale booster after our severe regimen.
Passing Out Parade rehearsals began in earnest and much time was spent in perfecting our drill. In case the weather was bad there was a plan to hold the parade in an empty hangar. To try to march to an RAF band and keep in step within the confines of an echoing empty building needed concentration almost beyond the call of duty. The more so because some floor area had to be kept free for spectators, the band, and the Saluting Base. In the confined space, too, drill manoeuvres had to be very tight and accurate.11 Practising on the open parade ground was a far better proposition. By comparison it was enjoyable!
We were kitted out with our Officer's uniforms by representatives of approved military tailors, sang in the NAAFI, and breathed sighs of relief. Smiles returned to our faces once more. Inspections were over, and our barrack room became cluttered as each of us had our flying clothing and our new Officer's clothing. Only then was our Sidcot flying kit formally handed in. Just why we had to keep it on personal charge for so long was not explained to us, for it had been in store since our arrival.12
As a National Serviceman I was neither given a clothing grant nor expected to acquire a full 'Best Blue' uniform. I was issued with a basic Officer's uniform instead. Unlike me, the majority of this course had 'signed on' for short service commissions, so were expected to have full kit.
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9 The Army, a nickname we were later ordered not to use because certain brass-hats in khaki took exception to it.
10 They weren't the same question papers. The Central Examination Board set a different selection of questions for each course.
11 I well remember one Erk (nickname for Airman) whose sole job, it seemed, was permanently to sweep the hangar floor with a platform brush. Every time I was anywhere near the hangar he was there.
12 I had parted with my own flying kit before my previous departure to Innsworth.
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