WE have run on this page several articles by T&A reader NEVILLE COX, reflecting on his wartime childhood and his career as a Bradford cinema manager.

Neville, a former chairman of Bradford Magistrates, died late last year, aged 91. His family has sent us this article he wrote for the T&A, looking back on his National Service:

I was 15 when the war ended and three years later I had to serve two years National Service. We received a summons to attend Bradford Mechanics Institute, then facing the Town Hall. We were given a thorough medical. I’d worn spectacles from the age of nine, so I thought I might be Grade III and rejected. But no - I was ‘Grade I with glasses’.

I chose the RAF and only recently realised how lucky I was. Anyone without a school scholarship was refused entry to the RAF. The Navy wanted people from the seaside. Everyone else went in the Army. Some RAF hierarchy didn’t seem to know who was leaving after 18 months and who had signed up to stay on for three years. We were offered an officer appointment if we signed on for three years. But I didn’t think junior officers got much respect and they had to pay mess bills and buy their uniforms. I wasn’t having that.

So, at 18 years and two months, I caught the train to Lytham, carrying a cardboard case with my toothbrush and pyjamas. We were collected by lorry to go to camp and issued with kit, identity papers and boots. I’d never worn boots in my life! We should’ve had a working blue uniform; battle dress blouse and best blues and a rather nice fitted jacket with belt and tie. But best blues were out of stock, so it was two pairs of battle dress suits for me. I spent the next two years explaining to the officers why I was on parade in ‘working blue’.

After a week I went to West Kirby RAF Camp for 12 weeks ‘square bashing’. We marched, ran and cleaned the hut. We fired rifles and sten guns and charged sacks of straw with bayonets, supervised by corporals we had to call Sir. We should have had a weekend leave halfway through but it was cancelled because we weren’t smart enough - it always was. After basic training we split up for different training courses. Mine was as aircraft electrician in Melksham,Wiltshire. It was basic. Today’s motor cars are more complicated than those wartime planes! Jet planes were taking over, when we saw them we walked well away as we were told we could be sucked into the engines.

Whilst I was at Melksham, my father died suddenly. When the padre on camp was notified to tell me, all the stops were pulled - I was given travel documents, 10 days leave and driven to Bristol station. When I got back I had to join the next intake of recruits but I kept certain privileges; one week I’d get a 48-hour leave pass with my old comrades and the following week I’d get one with my new buddies. After training I was posted to RAF Flying School near Doncaster, now the Robin Hood airport. On my first morning I was welcomed by the Flight Sergeant when the phone rang. He turned to me. “Have you ever been fire picket?” “No Sir”. “Well, you are now, go and report to the Guard Room.”

Settling in to flying school, I got many opportunities to fly alongside the pilot in Wellington bombers. I was eager to take all the experience I could get. I went in for 18 months and served two years. In 1949 the Berlin Air Lift occurred. Russia blocked roads, rail and canal access to Berlin and the Allies kept our foothold by supplying goods by air. All demobilisation stopped for six months and I served two years.