Vic Balshaw
Major General
With one of Jan's numerous entries into the 6th GB being a Lightning of 111 Squadron based at RAF Wattisham, I though a few little snippets of the life and my experiences at Wattisham at that time would help give a bit of appropriate background information.
It was in December 1960 that the first Lightning F-1As arrived at Wattisham to equip and replace the Hunters of 56 Squadron and in early 1961 that 111 Squadron also received its first Lightning F-1As.
I was posted to the station in February of 61 and on making my way to my new section in the early morning fog accompanied by a fellow workers, I got my first sighting of a Lightning. Though in the distance and through the haze of the fog, the view was from the arse end looking straight up the jet pipe which had a couple of very thin looking bits protruding from either side. Being a young naive teenager that had not long turned 17, my reaction of this sight and exclamation of 'how the f**k does it fly' was received with great amusement and a little snigger by the guy walking with me. It also set the foundation for me to receive a great deal of ribbing over the next few days. Yes, I was a sprog fresh out of brat training, still in his highly bulled, mirror shiny boots (the real McCoy, not patient leather), razor sharp creases and a shiny brass (not anodised) cap badge.
As a unit in the early 1960s, Wattisham was to anyone who lived there, out in the wilds which was the case with many of the RAF bases at the time. Remember, it was long before the spread of urban expansion we see today It was about 5 miles from the nearest town of Needham Market to the east, which was only a one street town with maybe just the one pub and a bus stop. But to the north west, about 6 or so miles was the larger town of Stowmarket which was for us more attractive with a few more pubs, some real shops and lots of girls. The County capital of Ipswich was about 10 miles away but it was a bit of a bus ride adventure to get there.
To put this in prospective to modern times, we are talking about the days when very few of us humble airman could afford a car so any means of escaping the base had to be by foot or bus. The base was not to badly services by buses, they were infrequent but seemed to go to the right places at the right time. For example for Stowmarket, departure was at 5 and 7pm daily, returning to base from Stow at 10:45pm after the pubs had closed. Oh, sh*t I can hear Jan say, no bl**dy boozer.
Well fear not my friend for we did have a NAAFI and a YMCA Club. The latter needless to say was alcohol free but they provided the morning and afternoon tea break 'Y' van that ran around the base on working days and you could guarantee a good morning cuppa and a hotdog. 'Ah bellissimo' I can still taste the hotdogs, big fat juicy frankfurter, soft fresh buttered roles and lashings of 'Branston' pickle. Oh yes, and if you wanted a bacon and egg butty in the evening, not a good replacement for a pint, I know but the 'Y' was the place to get it. As for the NAAFI, it was a dreary place for a beer, it was still decked out in the wartime canteen furniture high uncurtained windows and wall painted in green gloss to shoulder height with a putrid lighter green emulsion above this and if I remember correctly, initially it only had bottled beer, nothing on tap. The place made you want to puke in your beer.
All was not lost though, for about a good miles walk up the road was an old isolated farmhouse which was in fact a pub (of sorts). I can't remember what it was called though the name 'Lion' springs to mind and this place had real ale on tap, and I mean literally on tap. It came in an oak barrel which sat in a rack on its side and one would 'tap' the barrel with a stick before opening the tap to pour the beer. The bar, for want of a better word was the former front room of the house and always had this huge open fire which in the winter of 1962/3 was a blessing in itself. There was no bar counter and the beer was served direct from the barrel or the bottle which were in a small room to one side of the bar room. The pub sold 'Green King Ales' (Harvest was a favourite of mine) and like all good pubs in England it had the usual locals, mostly farmers or farm hands who sat supping pints while clicking the dominos or slapping the crib board. They were a friendly bunch who would gladly empty their glass so as you could fill em-up. They also played a mean game of dominos or crib, which could be quite costly in pints.
The 'Lion' was a bit of an unusual pub, to say the least, for besides having no serving counter it also lacked a public loo (privy). Taking a pee was a case of either trudging through the house to the outback or nipping outside the front door and hiding behind the shrubbery which was alright for most of the year but in the cold, well I leave that to your imagination. In the winter snow drifts of 1962/3, trudging to the pub was quite a feat and worthy of the pint that awaited you, but getting back to barracks was not so easy, many a slip and it wasn't the drink would find one spread eagled in the ditch. In better weather, it was also a common thing to hitch a ride with a few others on the back of an Ariel Arrow, I think 5 was the maximum safe number. Another quirk of the pub was no electricity, light was provided by hurricane lamps hanging from the low ceiling which for a tally like me was a bit of a pain. The pub also had one other attraction besides the good beer and warm welcome, this was the landlords daughters, all three of them and for us young hot blooded airmen, they were three of the most desirable damsels walking this earth.
Daily life on the base was typical of RAF Stations of the time. Wattisham was an operational base and it was well known that in the infancy of the 'Cold War' years, many a Bear was intercepted trying to infiltrate our air space. Consequently we were often being placed on alert be it real and an exercises, though they never told us which. These could be sprung on us at anytime, early morning, late evening and on a number of occasions just after 5pm on a Friday. Yes I confess on a couple of occasion to slinking off base as the alarm went, particularly at the weekends.
So we are on exercise yet again, assumedly chasing Bears real or imagined from our airspace and for us non-essential, non-technical trades it meant being the dogs bodies of the base. We would be detailed to fetch and carry, particularly urns of tea for the pilots and flight-line crew or were place on guard duty over a fuel installations or buildings considered to be of importance. Here we were always armed to the teeth with each of us equipped with one pick axe handle (for defensive purposed) and yes, we had to sign for it in triplicate. For some unknown reason, most of these alerts were never shorter than 48 hours or more and we were still expected to carry out our normal duties and, to rub insult into injury, the authorities would even stop the 'Y' van from coming onto base. The 'Y' canteen was over by the domestic accommodation and technically off the base.
Back in the real world, the station had 3 squadrons to maintain, the third being 41 Squadron flying Javelins. These compared to the Lightning were somewhat cumbersome and on one occasion we had a Javelins have a fire in it's breaks on landing, I was over on the far side of the airfield at the time in the GCA building so had a grandstand view. The fire team were quickly on the scene and soon had the fire under control and assumedly put out, but as the ground crew manoeuvred in to tow the Jav off the runway, the fire started again, but this time with a vengeance and despite the fire crews attempts to control it they had to abandon efforts as it was an armed aircraft and the cannon shells were popping off all over the place. The Jav was left to burn out before any further attempt was made to shove it's remains off the runway.
I was lucky enough to be at Wattisham when the 'Firebirds' were selected as the seasons flying display team. It was a wild time for us base inhabitants, keeping a whole squadron in the air presented its problems. On one occasion we were somewhat short of actuators and it had been arranged for a supply of refurbished units to come direct from the manufactures rather than via the 'Early Bird' system. Luck would have it that I was the duty basher the evening when they arrived and after off loading the goods, I took the driver into the office while I sorted out his paperwork. It was high summer so still daylight outside and while in the office, the 'Firebirds' took to the air, nine Lightning's taking flight crocodile fashion and standing on tails in a reheat vertical climb as soon as the wheels were up. The building would shake, windows would rattle, the floor would quiver and the delivery driver disappeared under a desk thinking the world was coming to an end. Poor bugger thought he was in the blitz again. The people of Stow must have cussed us as the town always copped the roar of the Avon's on full reheat.
Part II to follow
It was in December 1960 that the first Lightning F-1As arrived at Wattisham to equip and replace the Hunters of 56 Squadron and in early 1961 that 111 Squadron also received its first Lightning F-1As.
I was posted to the station in February of 61 and on making my way to my new section in the early morning fog accompanied by a fellow workers, I got my first sighting of a Lightning. Though in the distance and through the haze of the fog, the view was from the arse end looking straight up the jet pipe which had a couple of very thin looking bits protruding from either side. Being a young naive teenager that had not long turned 17, my reaction of this sight and exclamation of 'how the f**k does it fly' was received with great amusement and a little snigger by the guy walking with me. It also set the foundation for me to receive a great deal of ribbing over the next few days. Yes, I was a sprog fresh out of brat training, still in his highly bulled, mirror shiny boots (the real McCoy, not patient leather), razor sharp creases and a shiny brass (not anodised) cap badge.
As a unit in the early 1960s, Wattisham was to anyone who lived there, out in the wilds which was the case with many of the RAF bases at the time. Remember, it was long before the spread of urban expansion we see today It was about 5 miles from the nearest town of Needham Market to the east, which was only a one street town with maybe just the one pub and a bus stop. But to the north west, about 6 or so miles was the larger town of Stowmarket which was for us more attractive with a few more pubs, some real shops and lots of girls. The County capital of Ipswich was about 10 miles away but it was a bit of a bus ride adventure to get there.
To put this in prospective to modern times, we are talking about the days when very few of us humble airman could afford a car so any means of escaping the base had to be by foot or bus. The base was not to badly services by buses, they were infrequent but seemed to go to the right places at the right time. For example for Stowmarket, departure was at 5 and 7pm daily, returning to base from Stow at 10:45pm after the pubs had closed. Oh, sh*t I can hear Jan say, no bl**dy boozer.
Well fear not my friend for we did have a NAAFI and a YMCA Club. The latter needless to say was alcohol free but they provided the morning and afternoon tea break 'Y' van that ran around the base on working days and you could guarantee a good morning cuppa and a hotdog. 'Ah bellissimo' I can still taste the hotdogs, big fat juicy frankfurter, soft fresh buttered roles and lashings of 'Branston' pickle. Oh yes, and if you wanted a bacon and egg butty in the evening, not a good replacement for a pint, I know but the 'Y' was the place to get it. As for the NAAFI, it was a dreary place for a beer, it was still decked out in the wartime canteen furniture high uncurtained windows and wall painted in green gloss to shoulder height with a putrid lighter green emulsion above this and if I remember correctly, initially it only had bottled beer, nothing on tap. The place made you want to puke in your beer.
All was not lost though, for about a good miles walk up the road was an old isolated farmhouse which was in fact a pub (of sorts). I can't remember what it was called though the name 'Lion' springs to mind and this place had real ale on tap, and I mean literally on tap. It came in an oak barrel which sat in a rack on its side and one would 'tap' the barrel with a stick before opening the tap to pour the beer. The bar, for want of a better word was the former front room of the house and always had this huge open fire which in the winter of 1962/3 was a blessing in itself. There was no bar counter and the beer was served direct from the barrel or the bottle which were in a small room to one side of the bar room. The pub sold 'Green King Ales' (Harvest was a favourite of mine) and like all good pubs in England it had the usual locals, mostly farmers or farm hands who sat supping pints while clicking the dominos or slapping the crib board. They were a friendly bunch who would gladly empty their glass so as you could fill em-up. They also played a mean game of dominos or crib, which could be quite costly in pints.
The 'Lion' was a bit of an unusual pub, to say the least, for besides having no serving counter it also lacked a public loo (privy). Taking a pee was a case of either trudging through the house to the outback or nipping outside the front door and hiding behind the shrubbery which was alright for most of the year but in the cold, well I leave that to your imagination. In the winter snow drifts of 1962/3, trudging to the pub was quite a feat and worthy of the pint that awaited you, but getting back to barracks was not so easy, many a slip and it wasn't the drink would find one spread eagled in the ditch. In better weather, it was also a common thing to hitch a ride with a few others on the back of an Ariel Arrow, I think 5 was the maximum safe number. Another quirk of the pub was no electricity, light was provided by hurricane lamps hanging from the low ceiling which for a tally like me was a bit of a pain. The pub also had one other attraction besides the good beer and warm welcome, this was the landlords daughters, all three of them and for us young hot blooded airmen, they were three of the most desirable damsels walking this earth.
Daily life on the base was typical of RAF Stations of the time. Wattisham was an operational base and it was well known that in the infancy of the 'Cold War' years, many a Bear was intercepted trying to infiltrate our air space. Consequently we were often being placed on alert be it real and an exercises, though they never told us which. These could be sprung on us at anytime, early morning, late evening and on a number of occasions just after 5pm on a Friday. Yes I confess on a couple of occasion to slinking off base as the alarm went, particularly at the weekends.
So we are on exercise yet again, assumedly chasing Bears real or imagined from our airspace and for us non-essential, non-technical trades it meant being the dogs bodies of the base. We would be detailed to fetch and carry, particularly urns of tea for the pilots and flight-line crew or were place on guard duty over a fuel installations or buildings considered to be of importance. Here we were always armed to the teeth with each of us equipped with one pick axe handle (for defensive purposed) and yes, we had to sign for it in triplicate. For some unknown reason, most of these alerts were never shorter than 48 hours or more and we were still expected to carry out our normal duties and, to rub insult into injury, the authorities would even stop the 'Y' van from coming onto base. The 'Y' canteen was over by the domestic accommodation and technically off the base.
Back in the real world, the station had 3 squadrons to maintain, the third being 41 Squadron flying Javelins. These compared to the Lightning were somewhat cumbersome and on one occasion we had a Javelins have a fire in it's breaks on landing, I was over on the far side of the airfield at the time in the GCA building so had a grandstand view. The fire team were quickly on the scene and soon had the fire under control and assumedly put out, but as the ground crew manoeuvred in to tow the Jav off the runway, the fire started again, but this time with a vengeance and despite the fire crews attempts to control it they had to abandon efforts as it was an armed aircraft and the cannon shells were popping off all over the place. The Jav was left to burn out before any further attempt was made to shove it's remains off the runway.
I was lucky enough to be at Wattisham when the 'Firebirds' were selected as the seasons flying display team. It was a wild time for us base inhabitants, keeping a whole squadron in the air presented its problems. On one occasion we were somewhat short of actuators and it had been arranged for a supply of refurbished units to come direct from the manufactures rather than via the 'Early Bird' system. Luck would have it that I was the duty basher the evening when they arrived and after off loading the goods, I took the driver into the office while I sorted out his paperwork. It was high summer so still daylight outside and while in the office, the 'Firebirds' took to the air, nine Lightning's taking flight crocodile fashion and standing on tails in a reheat vertical climb as soon as the wheels were up. The building would shake, windows would rattle, the floor would quiver and the delivery driver disappeared under a desk thinking the world was coming to an end. Poor bugger thought he was in the blitz again. The people of Stow must have cussed us as the town always copped the roar of the Avon's on full reheat.
Part II to follow
