A44920 was my number.
On 26th January 1966 I joined the RAAF and was given a number, a revised name and a train ticket to Melbourne. A44920 Cadet Wheatley, L.B. was created and sent to RAAF "Frognall", in the Melbourne suburb of Camberwell, as a member of Number 12 Engineering Course of the Diploma Cadet Squadron to become an engineering student, a defender of Australia and keeper of world peace, except on the weekend when the base was closed.
On arrival at RAAF "Frognall", there were sixty or more young men in the same boat; stunned by the surroundings, a long way from home and friendless (I had only met A44919 Cadet Siebert, J at our induction in Adelaide the day before).
As all young men do we told each other a part of our story; where we came from, what we had done that was heroic and what we were going to do that was even more heroic. All of us embellished our stories to be bigger and better than real life, which in turn became the source of our new nicknames within the group, which in its turn helped to form bonds between us against the rest of the world. We very quickly learned the pecking order of RAAF life. New cadets were at the bottom of the food chain; the krill of "Frognall". Above us were the Air Cadets, the second year cadets and above them were the Senior Air Cadets, the third year cadets; they were the "Frognall" elite one of whom was to rule our lives in our first year
. . . Bloody Rod Locket.
On the first day, we were divided into groups of sixteen and assigned to sleeping quarters in the huts on the grounds. My group of sixteen included fourteen Queenslanders and a New South Welshman who were assigned to Hut 21. A Senior Air Cadet was appointed to each of the huts as the Hut I/C. Who did we get?
. . . Bloody Rod Locket.
So began the military mantra; everyone was "Sir", if it moved salute it, if it didn't move salute it just to be sure. After a couple of days getting the hang of the regime, our world erupted the night the rest of the Air Cadets and Senior Air Cadets returned from holidays. The earthquake at Hut 21 began around mid-night when the door of exploded open, the windows rattled in their frames and every bed turned somersaults in the air, landing with a deafening crash and spilling its contents inelegantly over the floor. These were the days of bastardisation when the seniors could and would subject the juniors to all sorts of indignities because it was "good for you". On this night, a correct answer to an enquiry by a senior was rewarded by a dousing with a bucket of cold water, if you didn't say "Sir" several buckets of cold water was the reward for the omission and a wrong answer guaranteed a fire hose hosing down. Snapping to attention and stamping your feet in the approved manner and shouting "Sir" was very difficult with no shoes and worse when you were near naked, dripping wet and shivering with the cold. Who let this bastardisation take place?
. . . Bloody Rod Locket.
After the earthquake, life settled down again - but not for long. Monday nights became Panic nights. Everything had to be cleaned until it was spotless and polished until it shone. The bed had to be set up in the manner prescribed in the Cadet Manual (complete with photos); the grey blanket wrapped around the stack of white blankets folded such that the blue stripe was in the centre and a sheet horizontally placed in the centre of the stack. Mirror finished shoes and boots placed in order at the foot of the bed, clothes hung in the wardrobe organised according to colour and type facing the same direction with the open end of the hanger over the rail. Any small infraction of the standard, according to the Manual, was punishable by the cancellation of leave and a weekend confined to barracks with a full kit inspection and a redoubled cleaning effort known as "corrective training" or CT. Who decided if your efforts were good enough and hence your weekend fate?
. . . Bloody Rod Locket.
The only way to avoid CT was to get it right first time but before being able to escape the base on leave at the weekend, it was necessary to have a leave pass which had to be applied for. Again, in the manual, there was a prescribed format for leave applications. It started with the words "Security Grade". I am sure that this was meant to be things like "Secret", "Top Secret" even the James Bond-ish "For Your Eyes Only", but if it wasn't "Security Grade", it was rejected to be done over again. If the words weren't exactly in the centre of the page, it was rejected. If there was a full stop in the wrong place, it was rejected. If the spelling was suspect, it was rejected. If there was the remotest variation from the manual's version, it was rejected. Who was the arbiter of correctness?
. . . Bloody Rod Locket.
Before leave on Saturday night there was compulsory sport. We tried everything; cricket, rowing, pistol shooting, swimming and athletics. Some of us wanted to play football and in Melbourne, football meant Aussie Rules but there was no such thing at "Frognall"; it was Rugby Union or nothing. Several of us from the southern and western states chose to play Rugby anyway and surprised the die-hard Rugby players from Queensland and NSW with our ability to actually kick the ball long and reasonably accurately. However, it was an enjoyable sport played in the mud of a wet and cold Melbourne winter at Elsternwick Oval or Olympic Park. Rugby provided us with an escape from the base for a few more hours every week, an opportunity to go to the pub for beer afterward and a chance to learn about, to trust, and to form friendships with the others in the team.
Who just happened to be the captain of the "Frognall" Rugby Union team?
. . . Bloody Rod Locket.
Prior to the Rugby season, we had been measured for our formal uniforms, the 1A's. These were tailor made for us to fit perfectly and to look good. The problem was, of course, with the diet at "Frognall", with the physical activity involved in PT with Sergeant Rickaby, with the square bashing with Flight Sergeant Williams and with being a Rugby player, that most of us changed shape and grew muscles where they had never been before. When we got them, the 1A's did not fit and had to be altered several times as we developed. Who was it that pushed us hard every morning to get out of bed and be ready for PT?
. . . Bloody Rod Locket.
Getting out of bed in the morning became an art form. Everyone in Hut 21 did the same thing to squeeze just one more second in bed before the Hut I/C walked past on his way to the showers. When to door to his room closed with an audible click, he would walk at a carefully measured pace through the hut and each of us would minutely time his walk so that we would just be out of bed the millisecond before he reached our area. However, the slightest error in calculating the additional time in bed guaranteed CT for the weekend if you got caught out. The awarding of weekend CT was always closely followed by a muttered utterance of
. . . Bloody Rod Locket.
Not all things at "Frognall" were bad. We got board and lodging and developed great and long lasting friendships. We also got paid to be there, albeit not much by today's standards, on alternate Wednesday afternoons. Wednesday afternoon was traditionally a half-day set aside for sport but RAAF cadets always had to fit in more than that. There was Graduation Parade practice for an hour or more (more if it wasn't done right) followed by lectures on life and leadership by Principal Air Chaplain Smith. These lectures always seemed to be about the evils of masturbation. No matter what the beginning topic, the ending was always masturbation. I am reasonably sure it is more than likely we spent so much time on the parade ground, played so much sport and were kept so busy that we would be too tired at night to indulge in the evils of the solo vice. I am also reasonably sure we were much more resourceful and had more stamina than we were given credit for.
Pay Parade usually followed the Graduation Parade practice after which we were marched off the parade ground to the Recreation Hut and arranged in orderly lines to receive our money. By presenting our pay book, and saluting smartly, payment was made in cash by the Orderly Senior Air Cadet of the day supervised by an officer from the base. Who was our Flight Leader for these parades and sometimes made the payments to us?
. . . Bloody Rod Locket
Today, as I look back on those days at "Frognall" I wonder if they left any lasting impression on me as well as these memories. After forty years, I don't think I carry any emotional scars or have been bent out of shape by the experience, but just take a look in my wardrobe and you will still find the clothes organised according to colour and type facing the same direction with the open end of the hanger over the rail: it drives my wife crazy
. . . Bloody Rod Locket.
