MY TIME ON CHRISTMAS ISLAND

By: 2786996 Cpl. John Jones RAF

(more to come)

   It all started in the Orderly Room at RAF South Cerney in the summer of 1958. I had just been told I was on PWR’s (Posting Warning Routine for the uninitiated). So I volunteered for Hong Kong, Singapore and Germany. “You won’t get any of those” said the clerk, “it’ll be Cyprus or Christmas Island”. As ‘they’ were shooting at us in Cyprus, I was fairly relieved when it turned out to be Christmas Island.

   I went to RAF Wroughton for a blood test, to see if I had some I suppose. Then to RAF Innsworth to be kitted out with my tropical uniform, Innsworth was handy as I only lived down the road and with a bit of help from brother in law who had a car, I could get home to see the wife.

   Next stop was RAF Hendon, North London my old stamping ground before I joined up. Some of the guys had never been to London so Jim, from Paddington and whose Dad was a Taxi driver, and I volunteered to show them around. We did Soho, Piccadilly, Leicester Sq., Oxford St., Bayswater Road and finished up in Hyde Park talking to several Ladies of the night. We only talked, being good boys at that early stage in our lives.

   The next day we were shipped off to Stanstead and I embarked on my first flight, a Bristol Britannia. I have never been very good on roller coasters and things like that and I was a bit apprehensive, not of crashing but of being sick and looking a fool. As the plane taxied out for take off the tail end where I was sitting went up and down quite a bit. I thought “Oh s**t, we haven’t even left the ground yet”.

   Once in the air it was as smooth as a boat on a mill pond with one exception as we approached the coast of New Foundland we hit an air pocket and dropped like a stone. Some said a thousand feet others two, all I know is that I’d just bought two gin and limes from the bar and I was sitting on the floor and the gin and limes were dripping off the ceiling. We saw the occasional ship and later Artic ice floes but attempts to photograph them were not very successful.

   We landed at Goose Bay with at least six foot of snow either side of the runway. I sent postcards home and bought a maple leaf scarf ring for the wife.

   Vancouver was the next stop, couldn’t see much on the flight there as it was dark and I think we flew over the prairies. Vancouver was warm and a very clean and busy city and we became aware of the different English language spoken on the other side of the Atlantic. A very busy waitress, who actually ran between tables, told us a tale of how when in England someone had offered to “knock her up early the next morning” her reply had been “Hell do I have to wait that long”. One group hired a car and got to see a lot of the city but we found public transport quite good and managed to visit the zoo on Prince Albert Island.

   Bars in the town where men only and women were only allowed into a sort saloon bar when accompanied. The Bar we chose was sparsely furnished, just rows of benches and tables. Two pints of a weak chemical beer was enough for us, we decided to try our luck elsewhere. Luckily we met up with two Canadian Air Force guys, one of whom came from Streatham.  They put us on the right track and led us to a hotel bar which was really just like a pub back home. The Canadians had been up in the North West Territories for months and were loaded with back pay. They were buying we were drinking, several triple whiskies later I don’t remember too much except that we finished up in a coffee bar called the Cave and my friends dragged me away from a very attractive young lady, got me back to the hotel, stuffed me into my nice new khaki drill uniform and got me on the plane just in time.

   Because of the previous nights debauchery I don’t remember a thing about the flight to Hawaii, I think I slept or spent a lot of time in the toilet. Honolulu was warmer than Vancouver and we were beginning to realise what was in store for us. This was only a refuelling stop so just time to grab a drink of coffee. Whilst in the restaurant we saw our pilot being ribbed by some Americans about the plane he was flying. When we took off the pilot must have wanted to show his tormentors just what it could do, as we went up almost vertical after using about half the runway. I hope it impressed the Yanks, ‘cos it scared the pants off me.

   Our first sight of Christmas Island came a couple hours later, lots of sea and not much land was the first impression.. As we stepped off the plane the heat hit us like a blast furnace, and who were these strange sun burnt people in grass skirts, sharks teeth necklaces and brandishing spears? Natives? Oh no these were the RAF ground crews we had come to replace. To chants of “Moony Moony” we were bussed to a tent, collected our kit and started the usual process of arriving at a new camp.

   The transit accommodation as usual was very basic, it’s pretty awful on most camps but on Christmas Island it was bad. We were give a yellow electric light bulb, a blanket, a pillow and a fold up camp bed. I shared an empty tent with someone, can’t remember who, got the bed set up and promptly fell out of it when I tried to lie down. Dying of thirst we thought we’d try to find the NAAFI.

   After walking what seemed like miles across the sand in the pitch dark we eventually arrived at a lighted area and were just about to enter the Beer Hall when the blokes in front of us were greeted with shouts of Moony Moony and a shower of beer cans, all empty unfortunately. Not being thirsty enough to brave this onslaught we had a look around the NAAFI shop and headed back to our tent. We found a water bowser on the way and managed to slake our thirst a little before bed. My first night was spent on the floor with the useless camp bed on top of me, I didn’t know about the crabs then.

   Next morning I washed and shaved in cold sea water, not even Wonderful Pink Camay could get a lather in that so my bar of Lifebuoy didn’t stand a chance. We had yet to learn about Grapple Heaters and the like.