Terry goes off to Swinderby
Terry looked in at the Prince of Wales public house on his way to an evening class at the college. He called in to see his friend, Brian. “Well, did you get me a start for next week?”
“Of course. Be at the yard at eight on Monday.” Brian called out to the barmaid, “Pint for Terry Susie.”
“No, no,” Terry called to her. “Just half of shandy.”
“Half a shandy,” Brian said. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yeah, I’m off to night school and I can’t turn up smelling of booze.”
“Don’t tell me you are still doing that massage stuff.”
“It’s good fun. It’s interesting.”
“Maybe it is, with all them young women, but it does nothing for your credibility. People will start to think your batting for the other side.”
“Course they won’t. Will they? Who cares anyway, sod ‘em.”
“All right. But try to keep it to yourself. If the lads in here find out they will slaughter you.”
"Who's gonna tell them anyway; you?"
"Of course not. I am your mate, ain't I?"
Terry gave a laugh, swiftly drank his half of shandy and set off to the college.
There were two other lads in the class and nine young women. Joyce was the most popular and most skilled of the group. Terry was quite attracted to her and she seemed to show an interest in him.
The session was mostly on the projector screen, but then they all changed into their swimwear for the more hands on stuff.
The instructor called them all into line. “First, task tonight is support for Joyce who is soon to take her examination. Terry, can you lie face down on the massage table?”
Terry was not expecting this. They were usually split into groups of three or four. He felt a bit nervous to be the victim here, especially with the gorgeous Joyce working her magic on him with everyone looking at them. He looked at Joyce and noticed a mischievous look on her face. He would rather be the one giving a massage to Joyce. He got on the table and right away felt a tingle as her fingers came in contact.
After a few minutes, the instructor spoke. “I can’t see any problems with your skill Joyce. Okay Terry you can turn over now.”
Joyce looked towards Terry’s groin and grinned at him as if she had noticed an obvious stirring in his swimming trunks. As soon as she touched him he felt as if his whole body was twitching. The group began giggling.
The instructor glared at him. “Terry, control yourself. Get up.”
Terry stood up trying to hide the erection as the group continued to laugh.
“Are you trying to ruin Joyce’s chances? You might want to think about if you are right for this course. Get dressed and watch from the bench. Alan, face down on the massage table please.”
Terry left the hall full of embarrassment. He never went back and not just because of his embarrassment. Brian had told all the lads in the bar what he was doing at night school and he got a severe ribbing for a few weeks.
Three months later, Terry met Brian and some friends in The Prince of Wales public house. He had joined up in The Royal Air Force and they were having a drink together before he went off to start his basic training. As he walked in the lads all gave silly fake salutes.
"Tally Ho! Terry, Ole Chap," Brian shouted.
"Idiot," Terry said. "Just get the drinks in.
The evening started well, but as the night went on a few of their friends were becoming drunk. There was a bit of friction between them and another group of youths and it wasn't long before an argument began.
Terry was standing away from his friends after noticing Joyce in the bar and he went over to talk with her. He turned and glanced over at his friends after hearing them arguing at the other bar, but it seemed to quiet down a little and he looked back at Joyce. "Are you still doing the massaging at that sports place?"
"I am yeah, but I don't think I'll stay there long; the money is rubbish. I'm fully qualified now, yet my younger sister earns more money than me working at the greengrocer's. The trouble is, I really like the job."
"I know what you mean. I enjoyed it at night school, and we were only training."
"You were pretty good you know Terry. Why did you pack it in? It wasn't because of me was it?" She gave a laugh. "I didn't embarrass you, did I?"
"No, why should an erection in front of the class embarrass me?"
Joyce gave a laugh. "Anyway, I think your quitting was a bit silly. You could have been qualified now. Just think of all the fun we could have had practicing on each other." Joyce glanced over at his friends who were still arguing. "None of that lot would have the guts to do what you did, and that mate of yours, Brian; he's a right loud-mouthed yob." She looked back over towards Brian. "Oh my God," she yelled.
Terry looked round in time to see a youth with his hands to his face in obvious shock at the blow from Brian's forehead. Brian put up his fists as three more of them rushed towards him and he began fighting them while the rest of his friends just looked on, even though it was them who had started the trouble.
Brian was knocked to the floor and Terry rushed over and knocked one of them down before shoving the other two away. He reached down and helped Brian up, all the time looking about in case trouble should flare up again.
"Come on, let's piss off down to The Guildford Arms," Terry said. "It's bound to go off again if more of their mates come in."
"Are you bringing the sexpot with us?" Brian said, whilst dusting himself down as if the affray was not really important.
"No, she's waiting for her mates. They're going to Ilford Palais."
"Pity, I wouldn't mind having it off with her."
"You'd have more chance of having it off with my sister."
"You haven't got a sister."
"Well, there you are." Terry gave a laugh at his friend's false puzzled expression.
* * * * *
It was early afternoon when Terry stepped off the diesel railcar at Newark railway station. He walked over to join a crowd waiting at a sign for the camp bus. They acknowledged each other but mainly stood with their own thoughts, wondering what lay ahead. They did not have to wait long before a Royal Air Force coach pulled up and they all got aboard. Terry had been doing a newspaper crossword on the train and suddenly realised he left his pen with the paper on the train. Although a ballpoint pen was not on the list of items he had to bring, he thought he would probably need one. But there was bound to be a shop on camp where he could buy another one.
They soon arrived at the training camp and as they left the coach, a corporal handed out small forms which had to be filled in with the recruit's name and date of birth.
"I haven't got a pen," Terry said.
The corporal moved forward with his face no more than six inches away from Terry’s face shouting at him as if he were a boy. He found it strange, such a skinny man was giving him so much abuse. He thought how easy it would be to flick his head forward and crack the corporal's nose, but good sense prevailed and one of the other recruits had a spare pen, so it all seemed all right. They lined up along the pavement as requested. A rather nasty-looking sergeant joined the corporal and they walked along the line. The corporal pointed a finger at Terry. "You'll have to watch this one sergeant, he's a trouble maker."
The sergeant immediately launched himself at Terry, screaming down his ear about sorting out troublemakers. Terry realised what was going on and thought they probably pull somebody up on every intake to show who's boss. It could have been someone chewing gum, or whistling, or perhaps calling the corporal "corp'". When he said he didn’t have a pen, it was like giving a cue to start the show.
It was in the fourth week when a dance was arranged at the NAAFI club and a coach was coming from the nearby Women's RAF training camp. Terry arrived with Carl, one of his roommates, and they stood at the crowded bar and just managed to catch one of the bar staff's attention. Terry ordered two pints of bitter and while he was waiting he caught a scent of perfume and he looked around. She was a short, plump, but rather attractive girl.
"What do you bloody well have to do to get a vodka and tonic in here?" she said.
"Give us your money and I'll get it for you," Terry said.
"That's not very friendly is it; the last lad bought it for me."
"Well, you'd better go and find him again then."
She looked around to make sure none of her friends were watching and then gave Terry some change. "Half a bitter," she said abruptly.
Terry got the drinks and walked across to Carl with the girl following him over.
"Have you got a friend for me?" Carl said.
"None of them are that desperate," she said.
Carl laughed, but Terry was annoyed by her manner.
"Well, how are you getting on with the training?"
"All right." She lit a cigarette and flicked it over an ashtray, although there was not yet enough ash to fall off. "Do you know you're about the tenth lad to chat me up tonight? I don't know which one of you to go with. I quite fancy you but you didn't buy me a drink, did you? I could have lost the bet if any of my friends had seen."
"I've had a bet I can get sozzled tonight without spending a penny."
"Funny that," Terry said. "Me and Carl had a wager as well tonight, didn't we Carl?"
Carl gave a blank expression as Terry continued. "Yeah, I bet Carl that we would have a drink with the most obnoxious fat tart in the bar, and I've just won."
The girl gave them both a look of disgust as Carl burst into a fit of laughter. "Not funny, you pair of bloody poufs," she muttered as she walked off.
"Well, Carl, if that's a typical WRAF, then you can keep'em."
"You'd better get used to it. My brother's been in for eight years and he said there's about one girl to every twenty blokes. Even the sad ones can be picky."
"Sod, 'em. I'll stick to the civi's."
"Nothing wrong with that."
It was soon time for the passing out parade, and Terry went off for his vehicle training in South Wales followed by a posting to a RAF base in Uxbridge. The posting suited him and although the camp did not have an airfield and was compact by RAF standards, it was right in the town and had an Underground railway station nearby, giving him easy access to his home in East London.