Tales from Halton

Stories and anecdotes from the 69th's time at RAF Halton, between 1951 and 1954. From the Haltonian Magazine, 2007.

The Equitation Skive, by John Stroud

After joining the 69th in September 1951, most decisions seemed to be made for me but I did have to choose a sport to do on Wednesday afternoons. For that first winter I chose rugby but, at the end of the season, I realised that I was not a natural, having only just scraped into the squadron team and had begun to think that getting cold, wet, and bruised was not my idea of fun. Also, if the kick-off was not on time, it could delay my departure for the Toc H in Wendover - an important part of my social life at that time. The summer season was no problem since I could get into both the squadron and School athletics teams and the timing of Wednesday training schedules could easily be arranged to coincide with my social activities.

The RAF Equitation Club, 1952.What to do for the winter became a very real problem until I became aware of the 'Equitation Skive'. This scheme was not divulged to many and it went like this: put down for equitation and try to be seen talking to Titch Taylor, who was very keen and owned a pair of jodhpurs which he wore with a best blue jacket and a hat - very smart.

After sports parade, saunter down to the stables off McEwen Ride whilst trying hard to look as if you were not dawdling. Arrive at the stables after all the horses had been found keen riders and departed. Console yourself by sitting around the coke stove chatting to the WAAF grooms whilst smoking a couple of Woodbines. Leave in time to make early tea in the Wing and then get spruced up and off down to Toc H to meet the latest date. There, we would chat, drink tea with a bun or, if the funds allowed, beans on toast, and finally walk back to the Wing in time for Lights Out. What simple pleasures would satisfy an 18 year old in those days!

This scheme can be seen as the perfect solution and one which I often blessed on cold wintry afternoon when others were getting wet and miserable. However, inevitably, disaster struck one afternoon when I was spotted by the Officer i/c and informed that they were one rider short. To his query of "Can you ride" I answered, "Not very well" but this was ignored and I was instructed to mount up quickly as they wanted to get started. It seemed that the AOC was watching an important rugby match and the OIC Equitation was determined to show off his sport in front of the great man. We were to roam about in his sight as much as possible and then at half time gallop down the far side of the pitch close to the canal.

Off we went and I very quickly became cold, wet and miserable. I had ridden before but could never see the sense of leaving my perfectly good 350 BSA for a cantankerous beast with a mind of its own, not even capable of breaking the speed limit!

By now my wet, hairy Best Blue trousers were rubbing my legs sore as I gripped the animal and the final burst of galloping brought real agony. The resplendent Titch Taylor, having got his horse going really well, was suddenly catapulted over its head when it decided to make an emergency stop.

Landing headfirst, his SD hat was rammed down over his ears and his antics in trying to get off resembled a Laurel and Hardy sequence. This gave me some comic relief soon to be dispelled when I returned to the billet to find that the inside of my thighs were raw and bleeding and I could hardly walk. No Toc H that night and my date had to be told that I had been injured playing sport.

Next winter, I took up basketball, not so far to walk, and an indoor activity where you kept clean. The down side of course was that there were no Waafs and no Woodbines, but then you can't have everything.

All this came back to me when I recently discovered one of the reports which were periodically sent to our parents. My Fit Cdr, Flt Lt Massey, had put as a final remark, "A keen member of the Equitation Society". I wonder if he was being sarcastic or just did not know the facts. I'm inclined to think the former was true since he was no fool and often asked how my motor bike, which I kept at home in Great Missenden, was going.