Who could forget him? Who could say they did not respect him? And who, who knew him, could say they did not fear him? I refer, of course, to the once met, never to be forgotten , Flight Sergeant
" Nobby" Clark. A "tower" of a man, even although he wasn't an Armourer.My first meeting with Nobby was in June of 1964, so long ago that many of the incidents I care to try to recall are already a bit faded in detail.

However, here is one where I can almost remember ALL of the events as they happened.
Flight Sergeant Clark ran a good Admin Office, years of experience saw to that. In those years it is doubtful he had ever missed out on anything that was to be gained that would be of some unknown value at a later date. By the time he became the Squadron admin aficionado he was more than well equipped for the task, after all, it was only a pretty sad bunch of aeroplane fitting merchants and the inevitable up and away aircrew gentlemen, he had in his administrative charge. A dawdle, as far as Nobby was concerned. His assumption was probably very accurate because to all and sundry and the C.O., he managed his area of the daily Squadron proceedings extremely well.That was true up to the day the Squadron detached to RAE West Freugh. (Where the blankety-blank is West Freugh? WK)

It had been on the cards for some time that a detachment somewhere within the UK would be the next ' trot - along' for The Squadron. The destination on this occasion came as a bit of a surprise to most, in that no one had a clue where it was. One thing was certain, with an unknown destination such as this, it was sure to be a right old dump. Many a true word is spoken in jest, I hear you say. ........................ Correct!.

Came the day of departure transport for the 'troops' was yesteryears' aluminium cloud, the Beverley. This too, however, provided some mediocre entertainment even before it left the ground. (Which was always a point in question) Most of the " aeroplane fitting merchants" had spent the previous evening imbibing the varied selection of ales available in the local hostelries in and around Fakenham. This form of preparation for a flight in a rumbling, airborne, block of flats was not always the best form of planning.

Anyway, came the day it was a case of up the wall and into the boom, find a seat and strap a bit of the aeroplane around one's waist. After engine start the rather large freight doors at the rear of the fuselage would be closed amid generous rumblings from both engines and door mechanisms. Next the aircraft would pile on some RPM and roll forward then come to an abrupt halt. Just making sure the brakes worked, as advertised. Real confidence-building stuff this.

It was at about this time that one of the well-known Squadron guys was forced, by physical circumstances, to agree that last evenings activities were not going down as the best ever prelude to the forthcoming trip. In fact quite the reverse was evidently the case. Where upon he proceeded at great haste to the loo at the rear of the boom, there to indulge in a rather noisy "technicolour yawn" accompanied by the usual audience participation and encouragement. After his masterly performance he returned to his seat in sheepish style, wearing what could only be described
as an 'out of fashion' pastel green shade on his face.

It is thought AF went down in Squadron history as the only one ever to participate in such activity before getting airborne. Whether that was accurate or not we never found out, suffice to say, no one has come forward to claim the record.

So we rumbled on our merry way. One very heartening feature of the Beverley was the fixed undercarriage. If the pilot had honed his skills at controlling the rate of decent then the chances were the landing would probably be one of the variety we could walk away from. Sitting in the boom we would still be airborne even after we had landed.

We duly landed at West Freugh and disembarked to find an already established tented camp, which would be our home for some weeks to come. The organisation was certainly in place so Nobby and his army had obviously starred again. There were lists, with everyone on the Squadron allotted a tent and bed space therein. The Mess and cookhouse tents were also strategically positioned and already functioning.( Flight Sergeant Bryant and his merry men were in their element with such adventure). Each of us in our turn had to visit the Admin tent to be given the necessary information of where we would be tented. There was Nobby, with his assistant Corporal,and the list of who went where, so we trooped through, were given the required information, whereupon we each set off to navigate the tent lines in search of our own little bit of West Freugh.

I found my destination fairly quickly and upon entering I also found two other Squadron armourers already ensconced. Within a very few minutes the tent "family" had arrived and claimed their bed spaces, all of them armourers. The immediate conclusion was, Nobby has flipped his lid, this situation could not possibly be correct. One tent, occupants all armourers, no one could be quite that crazy, surely. Being typically honest chaps it was decided I'd have to nip back to enquire whether some minor error in the listings had occurred. So I trogged back to the Admin tent, explained the findings to Nobby and awaited the answer with baited breath, fully expecting a fierce tirade relating to my non-existent intelligence and dubious family connections. But no, my enquiries were met with firm conviction that the lists were correct, no mistakes had been made and that I should get back there and get sorted because the Kites would be arriving soon. I made one final pleading request along the lines of, " are you certain all the armourers should be in one
tent because everyone else appears to have been purposely set into a mixture of trades throughout all of the other tents". The reply left me in little doubt that my enquiry had been unnecessary. I departed, as suggested, but without the need of the loo, as recommended. I duly informed the other members of the tent of the result. Happiness prevailed.

The first item to be issued was the old Tilly lamps, which were duly picked up at the Admin storage tent, one per tent was the standard issue so the armament "establishment" ended up with four. All very legal and above board.Speaking of which, duckboards were also distributed at the rate of one
between every two camp beds. After I had collected my issue and returned to the tent I found that in placing my duckboard it neatly closed the gap of the whole floor area. Like the lamps, these boards had been acquired legally and officially, the mere fact that the armourers had found a sufficiency to cover the complete floor area was a distinct advantage. In the meantime one of the troops had discovered a source of small sandbags and an endless supply of sand. Result, the armourers tent did not flap around in the wind and the trapped heat, afforded by the lamps, made the establishment just that little bit more comfortable.

The meals in the Mess tent, whilst wholesome, did leave something to be desired. The armourers would have to work hard at finding an alternative to "hard tack". By the morning of the second day there were certain features of every day life that would definitely have to come in for serious amendment. In order of priority they were, ablutions and breakfast.

We found, during the course of the first morning that the billets standing at the rear of the hangar area were easily accessible,( one carelessly "closed" window left by the last resident,) and provided both hot showers and clean standard issue loo's. These the armourers put to full use immediately. It also came to our attention that there was a fully functioning canteen being run by a couple of old ladies who were able to supply all the normal ingredients of a wholesome breakfast. This facility turned out to be mainly for the use of the RAE people who "worked" there but the ladies would be only too pleased to increase the content of the menu if we so wished. This detachment was taking on the complexion of something far better than we originally envisaged. The strange thing was, no one else even bothered to try to improve their lot. To this day I am convinced the others on the Squadron thought the armourers had been allotted a building to act as a temporary Armoury and that was where we trogged off to each morning at commencement of work before returning to the Flight Line to begin the daily routine.

It was around the middle to end of the first week of the detachment that a squad of Army chaps announced they had erected a shower facility near the hangars which were now fully functional. So, off trotted the holier- than-thous, with towel and soap to hand for the big but cold water clean up.
Except the armourers, of course, who had been enjoying indoor hot water showers every day. Not to mention the rather goodly ‘ brekkers ’ we enjoyed too. If memory serves me correctly, Nobby did twig on to what we were up to and most of these activities were essentially brought to a quiet but sad conclusion.

The detachment continued and the armourers gradually became accustomed to the Mess tent fare.
The hot showers and loos we managed to retain, which by itself was a comforting achievement.
The duckboards also had to be reduced in number and the light emissions from the armament tent grew somewhat dimmer for the remainder of the detachment The Flight Sergeant invented a new name for us but using old terminology.

I was the one who paid a bit of the price for the enjoyed comfort. During the final day of the detachment, when all was dismantled and packed and we awaited the arrival of the aluminium cloud to take us back to West Raynham,some bright spark suggested we get a game of murder ball going. During the resultant melee' I became the proud owner of a dislocated shoulder which hurt like hell but was nothing compared to the 0.05 of a second during which it felt as if the form of rectification applied by the M.O. had been in the form of a bullet. Then, after being suitably "strapped up" I had the unenviable task of climbing up the Beverley wall and into the boom. For this particular manoeuvre I did have to call upon some outside assistance, which, needless to say, was freely given. All set for the gruelling trip back to West Raynham and the guaranteed home comforts therein.

We were allowed a space of several weeks back at base. Time for my shoulder to repair and the horrendous bruising to subside, then it was time for the all too regular trip to El Adem for the APC. The Lybian Desert, the scorching sun. Hot aircraft to work on with , even hotter, just been fired , 30mm Aden Guns

But that is, of course, quite another story.