91热爆

I joined the RAF in 1941, had six months training as a wireless operator - three months in Blackpool where we took over the entire town as there was no proper camp. We were billeted in what in peace time would have been B&B houses, street after street of them. We had been building it for days - everyone knew that the end was coming: it was just a case of "when". We had been gathering this stuff to burn for days - we had a lovely blaze. I remember the lights coming on again in the streets - you no longer had to creep around in the blackout, and you could actually see to read a newspaper in the light of the street lamps.

The RAF was in no hurry to let us go once the war was over, although in my case (as in a lot of others' who had 'operational' sorts of jobs) there was nothing for us to do. We just had to wait until our de-mob numbers were called. My number was 54, and they started at number one, so it was the spring of 1947 before I was let out!

In the meantime the squadron was disbanded and we were split up. I was sent to a rehab centre close to Wolverhampton, where they were handling people returning from Japanese prison camps. Some of them were in pretty bad shape - it was sad.

My de-mob day finally came: first day of spring 1947. I broke my mug carrying it out of the mess hall of the de-mob centre. I had had that mug all the years I had been in and was most upset.

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