May - Old Scarborians

10Room at the British Museum. The library employed,seemingly, at least two men for eachand every job. Subsequently, there was littlefor me to do, and I quickly learned that if Ivolunteered to work in the private rooms andstudies or the most distant galleries I wouldbe left to my own devices for the day. I spentthe next 9 months or so reading first editions,studying rare manuscripts and getting verydrunk on scrumpy in the pubs in South Kensington,Chelsea and Earls Court. I earned apittance and could afford to eat lunch in theMuseum canteen infrequently, being forced tosupplement my diet with Sandwich Spreadsandwiches. Patrick (Lou) Henry, a chumfrom school, was a neighbour, and, together,we would, on occasion, frequent RonnieScott’s and other havens of academia in Soho.Boredom set in and, knowing that I would becalled up for National Service, I volunteeredfor The Royal Air Force, resigned from theBritish Museum and spent the late summerawaiting my call-up living in Paris and workingin the kitchens of the Hotel George Cinq.Thanks to Les Brown my schoolboy Frenchquickly improved, although many of thephrases learned were not in any French-English dictionary, particularly those deliveredby the chefs. The vin ordinaire was freelyavailable in the kitchens, but no matter howmuch was guzzled down, no-one ever appearedthe worse for wear; it was so stiflinglyhot in those kitchens and the pace of work sofrenetic that the wine simply oozed out ofyour pores and into the soupe du jour! I doremember, however, on one occasion, a souschefchasing a waiter with a threatening meatcleaver, but that was simply a difference ofopinion.I joined the RAF in the autumn of 1958, didmy basic training at Bridgenorth, volunteeredfor aircrew and went down to the Isle ofWight for selection. My application was, regretfully,turned down. I just did not have thenecessary aptitude to be entrusted with such apiece of valuable machinery as an aeroplane.I trained in Air Traffic Control at the RoyalSchool of Navigation at Shawbury, and oncompletion of training was posted to HongKong. I soon realised that there were numerousopportunities available to enable me toescape the drudgeries of Service life. Sportwas one. I volunteered for both the rugby andcricket teams, and, occasionally, when theywere desperately hard up for players I wasselected. These forays not only took me toother Army and RAF installations in the Colony,but also to Singapore, Malaya and Korea.I learned to sail, sub-aqua dive and, for relaxation,took A-levels. Every now and then, ofcourse, I had to work, but even then it waswith the civilian Air Traffic Authority at KaiTak airport where I learned to play wickedlyserious Poker. I had a wonderful time andwas horrified when I realised that I wouldsoon be returned to Blighty’s sunny shores.Fearful of this I signed on for a further year onthe clear understanding that I could spend itwhere I was. And the RAF agreed! Duringthe next months I visited both Japan and thePhilippines courtesy of the USAF and countriesthat don’t even exist anymore; Siam andIndo-China, now of course, Thailand, Laosand Cambodia. One evening, walking downNathan Road in Kowloon to catch the StarFerry to Victoria Island where I was to meet avery attractive redheaded nurse from the militaryhospital on The Peak, I bumped intoKeith Watson (1950-55), walking in the oppositedirection. We had not seen each othersince Keith had left school. We passed eachother by with only the briefest of greetings, nomore than a brief hello. Callow youth! Inever saw Keith again, but have become agood friend of Gary, Keith’s elder brother,who now lives in New Zealand. Anne and Iwere in Melbourne in February of last yearand had hoped to meet up with Keith whowas living there, but Keith sadly died. Thatmakes this story somewhat more poignant.The last few weeks of my RAF career werespent at Acklington, near Newcastle uponTyne, firing either green or red Very flares at