Remembrances

By Michael James

The start of every new year, means different things to different people. We have left behind the Christmas and New Year celebrations and, probably our new resolutions, and are preparing to meet what 2020 will bring. We may be looking forward to the year ahead or dreading it, with all that it might hold for us individually. To the children, it is yet another term in school. To the teenagers and older young people a time of school, college and university exams or the possibility of entering the full time work place (if they are lucky enough to find a job). The 'twenty to thirty somethings' may be starting married life and/or having children. Middle-aged folk may be coming up to retirement or trying to cope with redundancies. Those older still, may have health problems which might find them having to face long term hospitalisation or moving into care homes or coping with the loss of their husband or wife or partner. Who knows what is in store for us?

One thing I know for sure is that, sadly, I will be attending funerals of people I have known and loved. Family, friends, neighbours and former work colleagues. This time of year seems to bring funerals almost weekly, even daily, and at my age attending these services seems to come around on a fairly regular basis. However, for me they are not a problem. Yes, they can be a time of sadness because of our own loss, but for our dearly departed I am certain that there is a wonderful afterlife awaiting them in heaven. I understand that others may not believe this, but no matter what we believe, the sadness and grief is often put to one side for, at least, the time of refreshments, or Wake, following the funeral service. Dressed sombrely in black from head to toe, our faces are soon wreathed in smiles as we chat avidly to people we may not have seen for some time, or at least since the last funeral.

Please, I hope that I will not upset somebody who may have recently lost someone, that really isn't my intention. I am merely making a general observation on funerals I have attended over the years. The mood lightens with the older ones among us, myself included, who, in meeting up with old friends, generally start to reminisce about share experiences and happier times spent with each other.

I vividly remember the first time I witnessed this happening. I was not young, probably in my mid-twenties. A cousin of my father had died and I was to drive my dad and his two brothers to the funeral in Newtown, Mid-Wales. We set off early for the four hour drive and when we got to Llandovery, one of my uncles remembered a pub in the town that served meals. We stopped for a comfort break and to 'whet our whistles', while anticipating our meal, but the pub no longer served food. My uncle, using all of his considerable charm, soon had the landlord's wife going to the local butchers for four steaks which she then cooked for us with loads of chips. Fully fed and watered, we happily proceed to the funeral. The only problem was that having been delayed by our stomachs, we arrived at the Chapel just as the Service was finishing. Red faces and abject apologies soon gave way to smiles and roars of laughter as my dad, his brothers and their cousins, were happily reminiscing of their younger days together. All thoughts of late arrivals (very bad form) were quickly forgiven and forgotten.

I have been to many funerals since then and, nearly always, the solemn mood of the occasions has been lifted by the wrong (different) form of remembrance as family and friends get chatting. For me it is usually school days, soccer and rugby matches both played or watched, especially those during the Six Nations games. It is almost as if the fact that someone has died, is such a sombre thought of our own immortality, that we tend to remember and clutch tightly onto our youth as we are transported back to happier times. Since November and into the start of this New Year, I have attended a number of funerals. The most recent was no exception to be reminded of old times, not of early family times or sporting prowess, but on this occasion, remembering National Service!

National Service, what's that, I hear many of the younger readers asking? If you are of a certain age it will mean a great deal to you. A time of great pleasure or horror, depending on circumstances. Following the end of the Second World War (1939-1945), young men, attaining the age of 18 years were, 'conscripted' or 'drafted' into the Army, Navy or Air Force to serve their Country (UK) for a period of two years, a sort of volunteer defence force in case of aggression against the UK and it's Empire. There was indeed aggression, the Korean War; The Suez Campaign; the struggles for independence in Malaya, Kenya, Cyprus, and Northern Ireland, all of them involving National Service men and where many of them were killed, injured and/or traumatised (before Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, was recognised). No wonder that many dreaded the 'Call-up' and tried to avoid it if possible and even when my own time came, if I could have avoided it, I would have done so. My conversation at the recent funeral brought back my own memories, indeed, as you read this in February 2020, it is 60 years since my 'demob' after serving two years in the Royal Air Force.

Although I would have liked to avoid it, I didn't and despite my concerns, I really enjoyed myself. I was one of the lucky ones. After the usual, tough, eight weeks of basic training, or 'Square Bashing', nothing but early morning runs, endless drills and marching (yes, even in the RAF), we were subjected to countless medical examinations and injections to prevent us catching anything nasty, from whatever source. They even doctored our tea and coffee with something called Bromide for some unexplained reason, except to say that “it was for our own good!”. Then the luxury of a few days on home leave before going back for four weeks of training for whatever trade we had been allotted. Once again I was lucky, instead of one of the basic trades, I was to join, Air Traffic Control, part of the famous Fighter Command Group. I was pleased to be part of this but my joy turned to disappointment when, instead of being stationed at an operational airport, I was assigned to the Air Traffic Control Centre at RAF Barnwood, in Gloucester. Not as I had imagined, being in an elevated control tower directing the legionary Spitfires and Hurricanes from busy runways, but from within a small, brick built, windowless, office block, alongside an urban dual carriageway.

Working in ATC, was considered to be a highly stressful occupation, especially as part of our tasks was to monitor the International Rescue, 'MAYDAY' call sign on it's special radio frequency. We worked in shifts, morning and evening the first day, then afternoon and nights on the second day, then three free days until our next shift. Yes it was busy, but those three days off were a bonus. As I was stationed in Gloucester, it was easy for me to hitch hike to Cardiff and then to my home in the Rhondda. I was home so often that very few people knew I was in the RAF, On the days I didn't get home I usually played soccer at other RAF bases around the Country, including the RAF, Fighter Command Cup Final at St. Mawgan in Cornwall, which we lost 4-0. I always put our bad performance down to the fact that the pitch was alongside the taxiing runway which had a constant stream of jet aircraft roaring past. It was most unsettling to our players, but surely not intentional??

During the last year of my Service, I thought that I might see the world at the Government's (Your) expense and started to volunteer to go abroad as many others had done. I had dreams of Germany, the Middle-East, Singapore, Hong Kong or even the Caribbean as one of my friends, (who later became Lord Mayor of Cardiff) was lucky enough to be sent to. In desperation I even volunteered to go to Christmas Island but didn't get that either, which, in hindsight, was a good thing as we subsequently heard of the atom bomb trials there and it's effects on health. So my postings abroad was confined to being sent to England!

We often hear it said that National Service should be brought back to bring pride, discipline and stability back to the 'unruly' youth of today. It might, especially if they enjoy their time in the Services as much as I did, but the huge cost of doing that, would, in my opinion, be better spent in providing the prospect of jobs for our young people. Leave the past, whatever it is, to the memory and reminiscences, for after the funeral occasions and have a good laugh. I sincerely wish you a long and happy life ahead so that you can look back on it with pleasure.

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