ZOM (IN FOUR PARTS)

By John (Zom) Parker.Instruments

John submitted four short articles, one at a time, over a period of time but I've put them together here to make just one article. Thanks John. Brian.

ZOM 1

Compulsory leaving age from my Quaker-run boarding school was at sixteen and something had to be done about a career. I'd already learned from my father and step-mother that living at home was not an option (don't ask!) so any job I could get should, preferably, include accommodation. Thus I applied to join the RAF as an aircraft apprentice. The entrance exam came through the post to Chaigeley and it was me in a room with one invigilator - the sadist (sorry no names as the swine might still be alive!). Luckily I had been an avid reader from an early age, so English, History and Geography papers were not too difficult, but I remember struggling with Maths and Physics. I also discovered that the sadist had a human side, as he actually helped me with a couple of questions. Highly illegal, even then, and I still don't know if it was an act of kindness, or his way of sending me on my way (and out of his sight!)

ZOM 2

In July 1955 I turned up for a 6-week induction course and was given a uniform with non-shiny buttons and unpolished boots. After endless hours rubbing and shining and even longer on the parade ground under the tender care of brutal drill instructors, it was a wonder anyone agreed to stay on. In the event most of us did and thus I started my time with the 81st Entry. We were Nos 1, 2 and 3 Flts of No. 1 Sqn and were part of No. 3 (A) Wing along with two other Sqns taken up by the 75th and 78th Entries. This was a recipe for bullying on a grand scale and if we thought fagging was restricted to public schools, we were soon disabused.

The routine for the next three years was invariable. We would march to workshop in the morning then back for lunch. We marched again in the afternoon to school and back again in the evening. The buildings were about a mile (or seemed it) from the barracks. Wednesday afternoon was set aside for compulsory sports. Saturdays were free and Sunday mornings were taken up by a compulsory church parade. Non Anglicans were also forced to attend, but before the Padre kicked off, and with a suitable word of command, they were ordered to march three paces backwards (but still within earshot!). All marching was done behind a pipe band, which is where I gained a life-long loathing of bagpipes. I was in No.1 Flight of No. 1 Sqn, No.1 Wing, which meant we were at the front of the column twice on weekdays, twice on Sundays (sorry did I forget the Sunday parade practices?) and this for a whole three years! To compound the misery I became a C/A/A. which meant being at the very front from then on.

ZOM 3

At Halton, school and workshops were, on the whole, enjoyable. I was able to receive a good Maths, Physics and Science education and obtain skills in repairing and calibrating aircraft instruments. For the first few months our life was made hell by the senior entries. Being tipped out of bed was a minor inconvenience compared to the endless polishing of boots, button and lino - oh! and their windows as well. All these actions were forbidden by Air Force Regulations, but nobody dared to complain. Any hint of a reproof from up high and the next night we would be tipped out of bunks in the middle of the night and forced to perform little tasks, such as cleaning out toilet bowls with our tooth brushes. Luckily the 82nd arrived taking on some of the roles as victims and our own torture diminished as ever more intakes arrived. At long last we were the Senior Entry. It would be nice to think that we were a more civilized and gentle bunch, but when it came to our turn, I'm sure the 89th received a bit of a roasting. I like to think though, that we may have been a little more INVENTIVE.

ZOM 4

I obtained School Colours for athletics but never quite discovered for what. There was another Parker in 3 Wing who was a whiz on the track, but never received colours, so I think they may have given me his! I tried my hands at boxing (more as a means of protecting myself from the 75th, than for any love of the sport). It didn't last long. The PTI got a bunch of us kitted up in gloves etc. and took us into the ring, one at a time. I was first and after standing me opposite him, turned to the others and explained that when he instructed us to hit him, we should do it as hard as we could. I mistook this for an order and let fly whilst his head was still turned. He sat down with a bump and gave me a long hard look. I decided that further participation with this fellow, now bent on revenge, was certain suicide, so I turned to rugby instead.

Sport was one area where, if one dedicated a bit of time and effort, other less enticing occupations, such as special parades, cleaning duties and painting anything that didn't move, could be avoided. Apart from rugby, I remember being in the athletic team mainly as a pole-vaulter. It was only at a recent 81st reunion that I met up with my old training partner and discovered that my true sport was ROAD WALKING. This is the race where you clench your buttocks, keep the knees close together and walk as fast as you can, keeping one foot in contact with the ground at all times (i.e. one was not allowed to run). In my defence, I can only state this happened about sixty years ago and they do say that particularly embarrassing events are often blocked from the memory!