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Friday, 5 July 2013

Gosh, I was so lovable

Colin Shindler's book, National Service, said to be a Sunday Times best-seller although I find this hard to believe, is taking me back past my youth, almost to embryonic time: the two reluctant years I spent in the Royal Air Force.

I've posted about this, how I was force-fed electronics which benefited me if not the monarch I ostensibly served. The RAF also showed I was not fitted for communal life. That I hated my fellow men en masse and they - with good reason - hated me.

Two fights developed out of this mutual antipathy. Given I was an unhealthy scribbler, I surprisingly won both of them. But there's a better example of my lack of gregariousness. During technical traning, which lasted eight months, the other trainees had a whip-round to buy a billet radio. I refused to contribute. "But you'll be able to hear it. Not paying your bit is unfair," someone pointed out.

"Hearing it will be my burden," I replied. "It will always be tuned to pop music."

When we'd finished, having passed nearly thirty exams, the others wanted to celebrate their new JT stripes in a group photograph. I refused to join them.

During basic training (square bashing), desperate for a room of my own, I applied to become an officer. I claimed I wanted to lead men but the interviewing officer saw through me. Flustered at the end of our tete a tete I contrived to salute him before donning my beret. He pointed out this solecism and I remained an erk. The anti-mass tendency remains. Faced with a fortnight in Blackpool I'd rather open my veins.

3 comments:

  1. We used to listen to the Goon Show on the billet radio. Every one was willing and joined the cluster round the speaker.

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  2. One of the (retrospective)advantages of National Service for this fairly solitary country boy was that I had to mix with others from all over the country, from all walks of life. This was good for me and brought me out. I gained experience of my fellow man.
    Since we were all comrades in adversity we constructed a shared method of getting along together, whatever our personal feelings might have been. We even helped the more weak amongst us to deal with what must have been a traumatic experience for them.
    I am so glad that the young prig you describe (and who, I am sure, does not compare to the present R.R.)was not a member of our barrack room!

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  3. Joe: In fact our billet radio was also used for the Goon Show. In order to maintain my rather dubious moral stance I made a point of not standing anywhere near the radio when this was happening.

    Avus: Gaining experience of my fellow men was what I had had to leave behind (ie, in journalism) to join the RAF. So I can't say billet life "brought me out" - in fact, many of my comrades in adversity would have said what I needed was something that would shove me back in.

    But as usual I find myself hung up on a word. Whereas most of my aforementioned CiAs would have agreed that no fire would have been too hot to correct me of my anti-social behaviour, no gallows too high, no well too deep, I doubt that any of them would have identified me as a prig (ie, somebody who is excessively self-righteous or affectedly precise about the observance of proprieties). I wasn't seeking to proselytise, only to separate myself from the herd. What the RAF seemed to threaten was my sense as an individual; in fact square-bashing was organised with this in mind.

    And I fear your good-heartedness has got the better of you when you assume that I've got over these defects. Blogging has allowed me to spread them round the world and I am regularly reduced to apologising for them or contemplating with sadness yet another cyber-relationship as it bites the dust.

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