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Into uniform.

I was 'Called Up' to start my 2 year National Service on the 13th of November, 1951, aged 18. I arrived at RAF Padgate in civilian clothes, carrying a small suitcase and, like others of my 'intake', with a slightly heavy heart.
It was fortunate for me, because of my earlier flying experience, that I had been accepted into the Royal Air Force as potential aircrew material. As such, I was allocated a bed in a hut in which there were a number of other somewhat apprehensive and intimidated young civilians. Collectively we were referred to as 'Static Aircrew', part of Padgate's No.3 Squadron, and designated Intake 46. At an early stage on the day of arrival we were issued with the standard necessities of knife, fork, mug, and spoon so that we could eat in the Airmens Mess.
Few of us ate much that day. Some of our number were in tears, others cursed and swore profusely - particularly on being marshalled by a well-meaning Corporal to the Bedding Store in misty drizzle to collect our pillows, blankets, and sheets for the night. Two of our number were detailed to attend to the stove in the middle of the hut. Lighting it proved a problem but was solved somehow. That evening, when most were either sobbing quietly or busily writing first letters to girlfriends and Mums back home, I took a more adventurous approach and decided carefully to explore my wider surroundings. Time was on my hands and I had until 'Lights Out' at 22.00 hours to fill. I somehow found the Station Cinema and decided to watch the evening programme, the main feature film of which was 'Coastal Command'. For me, it was the best thing I could have done. I was now in the Royal Air Force (just), and it put me perfectly in the right frame of mind for what was to come. I slept reasonably well that night, but finding one's way in the dark to the outside toilet block was not the most congenial of occupations.
During the next few days we completed many forms, were Attested, kitted out, and made to send all civilian kit (except shaving gear, handkerchiefs, and writing materials) back home. After this we all looked the same in our AC2 uniforms and had quickly to learn to recognise our associates by means other than the civilian clothes we had been wearing. We were interviewed by various 'Bods', allocated our Service Numbers, and given medicals of varying degrees of severity. During one of these we all had, individually, to enter a room, drop our trousers, and present our rear orifices to the Medical Officer. He was thereafter referred to as the "Arsehole Inspector", and there was much conjecture as to how many he saw in a week. No-one envied him his job.
The FFI inspection sticks in my mind because of the circumstances in which it was

Taken about 2 days after being kitted out at Padgate and in front of just about the only greenery on the camp.

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