Coronation and Registration - Tony Cunnane's Life and Times

Coronation Day, 2 June 1953, was a public holiday. Even Dad had a day off from his duties at Wakefield Prison. We dared not ask him if the inmates would  be watching television - Dad never spoke about his duties at the prison. My Mum, my sister and I spent the whole day watching the Coronation on a neighbour's nine-inch black and white television set. Dad, having refused to buy a television, had spent  the day on his own in our house. I never found out whether he was anti-television (a lot of folk were in 1953) or whether he thought it was not worth the money. Small black and white single-channel TVs in 1953 cost more to buy than many large colour sets  cost these days. However he must have realised he was onto a loser because ours must have been the only family in the entire United Kingdom that bought a television set on the day after the Coronation.

While I was waiting my turn to spread-eagle myself on the fearsome-looking contraption, I just happened to notice a large wall poster which stated that young men with my birth date were required to register for National Service on Saturday 13 June – not by the 13th but on the 13th – just four days later. Quite how I was supposed to know that, had I not happened to see the notice in the Labour Exchange that week, remains one of life’s little mysteries.

When I got home that evening I re-read the Royal Army Education Corps pamphlet which I had secreted in my bedroom and then wrote a letter to the Army Recruiting Office expressing my interest in signing on. I received a reply by return of post telling me to report for an interview at their Leeds office. Return of post is not a concept that many people understand these days, let alone the Post Office. The postal service, and businesses, were very much more efficient in 1953 so business letters were usually answered on the day they were received. The interview left me disappointed and depressed. Apparently there were very few vacancies in the RAEC and, although my educational qualifications were adequate, most successful applicants had university degrees. The next day, 13 June, I dutifully went back to the Labour Exchange and registered for National Service. I was the only one there.

A week later I filled in an application form, cut from the Radio Times magazine, to sign on as a regular airmen with the Royal Air Force. The advertisement was headed ‘There’s a Place for You in the RAF’. I cycled into Wakefield to post the letter at the main GPO in Market Street. I received a letter from the RAF, again by return of post, enclosing a recruiting booklet and inviting me to visit their recruiting office in Cookridge Street, Leeds, to see what they had to offer a 17-year old with 6 GCEs. The booklet, called ‘A Future in it’ claimed to tell the story of ‘…the men and women who carry on the traditions of The Few.’ It really was very interesting. There were photographs of all the new aircraft then coming into active service, all of which I flew, or flew in, later in my career. ‘The RAF does not offer you easy living but you will live your life to the full’ it promised.

During the interview the recruiting officer, a flight lieutenant with lots of medals, quickly decided that I was pilot material. That surprised me not a little because it was a career that had never occurred to me. I was easily persuaded that I had nothing to lose by going to the Aircrew Selection Centre at Hornchurch in Essex to enjoy a few days in London at the RAF’s expense. I'd never been within a hundred miles of London and so I accepted the offer. I had not even told my parents that I'd been to the recruiting office so it came as a great surprise to them when a blue letter arrived a few days later inviting me to attend the Aircrew Selection Centre. I went, with my parents’ rather bemused blessing, and it was an absolute disaster!

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