February 2010
I'm a Michigan man, born and bred. This means we always joke about how most other folks can't handle the sub-freezing temperatures. I joined the United States Air Force in February 1976 because the economy was poor, there was no work locally, and I felt as if I wanted to start my adult life. I was 18 1/2. After basic training at Lackland Air Force Base in Texas, I was shipped out to Biloxi, Mississippi just in time to see hot weather in the spring and summer. Because of my abilities stemming from taking a typing class in High School and doing well, I was to be trained as a clerk, sort of along the lines of what "Radar O'Reilly" did on the M-A-S-H TV show for so many years. My AFSC was "702".
About half way through my studies, I received my orders for my first duty assignment. Zaragoza, Spain. Spain?! Good God in heaven, my only Spanish was 1 class of "conversational Spanish" in High School... which I pulled a "B-" on. So there was a huge mental adjustment, plus I took on the task of trying to study all my classes and study Spanish on my own from lessons out of the base library. A few weeks later, I received word that my orders had been cancelled. What the..? No idea where I'd be going. That's worse than the shock of being told you'd be going to a country that you didn't even know Americans were stationed in... not knowing anything at all. May as well stop trying to learn Spanish and concentrate on my studies....
A week or so later, I got word that I'd be going to RAF Woodbridge, in England. Well, at least they speak English (little did I understand the differences between "American" and "English" at the time). I'd at least already become part of a minority of Americans at age 8 and ventured into Canada with my parents and helped drive on a family vacation from Michigan to New York through Ontario at age 17. Only some small sub-10% portion of Americans ever leave the confines of the USA or ever get a passport - after all, it's a very big and varied place. Michigan alone is approximately the size of England and Scotland combined (not including Wales).
I graduated from Biloxi (after continually being screamed at in my earhole by sadistic Sergeants who wanted to know why my boots weren't shiny - it was because the wax literally melted off them on the march across the base, due to the sun and heat). I learned quickly and bought some "plastic" boots which were "permanently shiny." I decided to splurge and bought an instant camera at Biloxi. It quite literally melted in the sun. (Hence I didn't have many good pictures early on in England because I simply bought an instamatic).
I was very lucky and was able to get home to Michigan on leave for the Bicentennial of the United States, and when it was time to go to England, I flew into the UK and was ordered onto a coach which would transport me to Woodbridge and my duty station. I recall distinctly that I was the only guy on the coach who bothered to stay awake to look at the scenery go by. Despite being as exhausted as everyone else, I was utterly fascinated. My life had turned from routine to adventurous.
The roads - so small! Everything so familiar in some ways, but so very different! The houses - they're almost all brick! Must be expensive... Being a "car guy" I already knew the cars would be small compared to the giant vehicles we still had in the states, but what surprised me were the number of adults on bicycles. Americans abandoned their bikes for cars as soon as they turned 16 and could get a driver's license - bicycles were for kids, in my time and culture. I was also surprised about the weather. It was August 1976, and it was easily 70 degrees F. in England. What was that about fog, cold, constant rain, gray skies and miserable bones? Pshaw. Exaggerations, obviously (little did I know that 1976 was a highly unusual year, but I would soon find out!)
I knew from going to the base library in Biloxi, that RAF Woodbridge was a small base tucked away in a rural area. I'd studied up on it. I met my bosses, St. Sandra Beem and SSgt. Woodrow Copeland, at the 78th Tactical Fighter Squadron and got busy with my new life, my new work, and my new country. At least, for two years or more it'd be my new country.
There wasn't much in the way of barracks at Woodbridge and I was rooming with a Sgt. whose wife refused to come to England. He clearly was not happy about being "stuck" with a no-striper newbie, especially as he'd had the whole room to himself for some time. I also distinctly recall the kindest nicest Scots lady who worked at the chow hall at Woodbridge. I only had one little problem. I couldn't understand one single syllable of what she ever said. I had a tough enough time with the local accent, but Scots....?! It became a sort of a game to me to try to determine what on earth she'd just verbalized and try to make the most appropriate guess as to how I might respond. She clearly could understand we Americans. After a few weeks, I started to catch on - a bit. It was just one of the first culture shocks of many that I knew would be coming, but had no way of really anticipating the exact details.
I soon got used to being in the company of men I truly looked up to, F-4 Phantom pilots. Our big boss was Commander of the Squadron, Lt. Col. Sidney B. Hudson. I also got used to the sound of extremely powerful turbojet engines pushing "the flying bricks" to speed under full Military power. It was also really mind-blowing to me to see 2 and 3 stripers having the responsibilities they did as Crew Chiefs. I was impressed.
I recall walking along the road going along the fence, on the way to chow hall for lunch. It was quite a walk and I didn't have access to any car of my own, as I'd gotten used to over two years of being able to drive myself; nor did I have access to a squadron vehicle just to go grab lunch. Well, my reverie was disturbed as I suddenly realized there was a very loud noise over my right shoulder - something very large, powerful and loud was approaching my position on the actual flight line. Not a Phantom. I glanced to the right just as this massive delta winged aircraft screamed past at speed, nose just touching down, landing. I swear that I suspect two years must have been taken off my life right then and there - I quite literally jumped about a foot straight up out of shock and surprise. I had absolutely no clue as to what that thing was, nor did I have any understanding of the round red white and blue circles within each other on the side. I got to the chow hall, ate my lunch, and hurried back to the 78th to ask "what the haetch eeee double sticks was that?!"
Turns out an RAF Vulcan bomber had a mechanical problem and the crew needed to avail themselves of the original purpose of the base, an emergency landing field. I then learned not only some history, but that RAF Woodbridge had one of the longest runways in Europe even in 1976. We at the 78th did get invited by the RAF boys to come look at the Vulcan, and I distinctly recall the wide eyes of the Lieutenants and Captains at the 78th as they gawked unashamed. Seeing guys that I was in awe of, themselves in awe, was very illuminating to me. I also obviously learned about the RAF symbol, which nobody had bothered to educate me about. It was quite a sight to see that Vulcan and something I've never forgotten. It took a few days before parts, tools, and expert specialist Vulcan mechanics could be brought to Woodbridge and the Vulcan left in noise and fury like I'd never heard before or since. It was awesome, and I don't mean that in the lame sense that the word is used by youngsters nowadays.
I managed to get my first stripe (meaning instead of "Airman Basic" I was now an "Airman") and so I attempted to sew the stripes on my blues dress uniforms and also my fatigues, with less than good success. I finally gave up, realized my "tailoring" skills were nil, and hired it done on base.
Suddenly, I was informed by the Colonel that he'd been ordered to send me to Bentwaters, despite the fact that this would leave the 78th short-handed. I was highly disappointed and quite boldly asked if there had been something I'd done wrong?... No. Were they even more short-staffed where I was going? No, in fact, they were fully staffed. This only caused me more pain and confusion. I was learning about military politics. How was it that the "demands" of a Chief Master Sargeant could overrule the needs of a Lt. Colonel's squadron?
So I was told I had to get myself to Bentwaters and wouldn't be given any compensation to do so. "It is a twin base." Yes, I thought, but moving expenses are moving expenses, whether 15 miles or 150 miles or 1500 miles... no use arguing. So I started work at the Supply Building at Bentwaters and soon learned how to play dominoes. Every single morning. The whole crew. I think they regarded it as some kind of bonding thing or tradition. In January, I got my photo taken while meeting a 4 star General. I still only had one stripe. (Photo 1)
By this time, winter started to set in. Given the budget constraints, which were severe after the OPEC business in 1973 half crippled the United States, I soon realized that I needed to wear my winter dress blues and my dress blues winter overcoat - inside while at work. Due to military bearing requirements, I couldn't wear a hat and obviously could not wear gloves to type. I was cold, damp, and miserable. It felt colder than Michigan because in Michigan, once the outside goes below freezing, the humidity drops out of the air. The office was probably at 45 degrees F., absolutely misery. It was bone chilling, and the only places with heat were the barracks, HQ, chow hall and chapel for Sunday services. It wasn't just the flightline boys and the air police guys who were freezing. How was it that the "most powerful nation in the world" could not afford to even heat the offices at Air Force bases? It made no sense to me. Perhaps we'd best just let the Brits defend their own country, and the rest of Europe, too. But I only have one stripe, I had no say at all.
Finally, January 1977 came along and I availed myself of the opportunity to take a guided coach tour to London and act like a tourist. (Photos 2-7) I also got to go see Orford castle and also the village (Photos 8-11), along with Snape, Woodbridge town and Ipswich. I'll never forget the very first time I went to Woodbridge. It was Saturday, I was off, took a taxi and I very much wanted to see a red phone box on a real British street to get a photo of it. I saw a British Bobby which I'd recognized from TV shows such as the Saint, and approached him to ask whether there might be a phone box nearby? He didn't respond verbally but instead simply pointed behind me and around the corner was a red phone box. I probably turned as red as the phone box and stammered "thanks" and simpy walked away in utter embarassment, not even bothering to take the photo! I can only imagine what he told his wife that night! "Crazy American GI's..."
Around February, I bought a used car (US Spec 1971 Volkswagen 411 sedan, "tax free") and got a loan on it for $1000 from the Biloxi Credit Union. It was far cheaper than it would have been in the States because being tax free, only another GI stationed in England could buy it... stupidly, that GI was me. It took a year to pay it off and the automatic transmission grenaded itself outside the library on Bentwaters one fine Saturday afternoon a couple of months after I'd bought it. I'd only seen London once with it and had managed to use it for some weekend day-trips, but not much else. I found that reverse was gone as was top gear. I decided to drive it to the Volkswagen dealer in Ipswich - in 2nd gear - hoping that there would be no occasion where I needed to reverse and carefully planning ahead. I told the mechanics that I'd looked it up at the library and thought the problem was the direct-drive/reverse clutch. He openly scoffed at me saying "Oh, I doubt it, they never go". He came back to me in 45 minutes, with the longest face I'd seen for some while, and had to admit to me that it was the direct-drive/reverse clutch gone out. The repairs were more than the value of the car, so I gave it up and junked it after a short while. Given that I'd bent my meager one-stripe budget to even buy a car, I had no chance of buying another while paying the first off, even though it was in the scrap yard. Back to taxis for Glenn.
I decided to take leave and go home to Michigan to see a pal of mine graduate. He was a year younger than I and had been set-back in school due to physical problems, so he didn't graduate until 1977. (Photos) When I returned, I walked to the aircraft at the Traverse City Municipal Airport, and sat next to a British gentleman. It ended up that we were both going to East Anglia, and in fact, had seats next to each other on the next aircraft going out of Detroit to London. We talked and visited for hours, and even ended up sitting next to one another on the train, until I got off in Ipswich and he carried on home.
One of my roomates was a great guy, but he was only known by one name. Henry. It was his last name. He never told ANYBODY his first name. (The guys in the barracks seemed to settle on the idea that his front name might have been "Adolph" so he didn't want to use it. But why not use a middle name? Maybe he didn't have one?) Henry was a cook. I recall extolling Henry to come on out and have some fun on weekends when he wasn't scheduled to work, come see some sights. He didn't seem too interested, and it boggled my mind. Finally in frustration, I said "when you have grandchildren and they ask what you did and saw in England, what are you going to tell them, Henry? I saw the chow hall where I worked and my barracks?" Finally he relented to come out and do some sight seeing, probably just to shut me up. My next roomate was also a cook, Vinnie.
Some of the fond memories I have are of this gentleman who would drive his fish & chips truck to the front of Bentwaters. I loved those fish & chips. I'm sure he was quite used to the look of horror I gave him the first time I walked up and he asked if I wanted vinegar on my "chips" (French Fries, to me). Vinegar was something my mother had put on my skin when I got sunburned, not something you ate... I soon adapted and began to enjoy vinegar on my fish and my "chips". I was learning that "English" was far different from "American." My boss also told me not to call her husband by his American name, but call him "Randall" instead. "Randy" had a somewhat different connotation in England... I was also told not to be too shocked if a young lady asked me to "come knock her up some time." (In my slang, this meant "come over and make me pregnant some time.") Obviously, in English, it mean come knock on the door and call for a visit.
I'd been "going out" with a WAF (Women's Air Force) on Bentwaters and on Christmas day we'd planned to spend the day together. We weren't really "serious" but seemed to enjoy each other's company. It could have become more, but hadn't yet. Christmas morning, gift in hand, I went to the WAF barracks and enquired. Nope, she's not here. Her Volkswagen beetle wasn't in the parking lot, either. Huhn. That's funny. We'd planned the day... By noon I wasn't mystified any more, I was mad. By 3pm I was livid. When she appeared at 5pm and acted like nothing'd happened, I finished with her and walked away. I never did get any explanation. What a Christmas day. I was upset and moping around the room and poor Vinnie, my roommate, was fed up with me. Finally, on New Years Eve, he told me "put your suit on. You're going to my church dance in Ipswich." "I'm not a Mormon, Vinnie, you know that." "Yeah, well I'm sick of you moping around, and if you don't put that suit on I'll hog tie you and put it on you!" (And he was big enough to do it, too!)
I muttered but complied. "I'm not promising to have any kind of good time." He just harumphed. We got a taxi. Hmmm, some evening. Not my church, not my denomination, I knew only Vinnie, and he's set to leave and go home to the states in two days! What am I doing here? I ended up dancing with married thirty something women who'd asked me to dance because their husbands wouldn't. What fun (not!)
I was fed up and got up to go, not caring that it wasn't midnight (New Years) yet. I recall thinking to myself "well I'll just take one more quick look around to see if there are any young ladies in our own age group." I espied this nice young lady and my plans changed just like that. Hmmm, wonder if... So I walked over, got acquainted, I found out it was her 18th birthday that evening and congratulated her. We had a couple of dances, visited some more and noticed she was trembling. I offered her my jacket, "no, thanks." (Little did I realize she was trembling from nerves - the attraction was bi-directional!) She'd come with her best friend, who was a member of the church whereas she was not. Thinking fast, when it was time to head home, I grabbed Vinnie and said "guess what? I'm paying extra for the taxi and we're dropping these two girls off at their house in Ipswich on the way home." (My parents didn't raise any fools). I figured this way, I could find out where the young lady lived so I could try to continue the acquaintance. She seemed a little interested...
So Vinnie and I took Denise and her friend Liz home to Nacton Road and went home. I asked if it might be possible to visit Denise in a couple of days on my next day off? She nodded yes and even allowed me to give her a little good-night kiss as she departed the taxi (to the horror of Vinnie). I wrote down "170 Acton Road" and promised to come back. In the meanwhile, at base, I had a new roommate, Dave Jungert, who worked in the computer room on Bentwaters. It later ended up Dave began dating Liz, Denise's friend.
The following Saturday, I got a taxi at Bentwaters and gave the man the address. "Has to be Nacton Road." I had to trust his judgement. He was right. I stopped and knocked, the door opened, and there was Denise in a pretty dress. I was invited in, introductions were made all around and she suddenly disappeared into the kitchen to "make a cup of tea." Had to be the slowest boiling kettle the world ever saw, as I was given the 20 questions treatment (politely but pointedly) by her father, Dennis Casey, who it transpires, had been a career RAF Warrant Officer, starting out as a Navigator in the RAF during WWII then being stationed in Germany after the war as an air policeman. (He spoke fluent German). He was then a High School English teacher. One of the questions was "how long are you here?" I replied artlessly and directly "I probably will be going to my next duty station, wherever that'll be, in late July or August." 7 or 8 months away. (Being a Christian man, it didn't occur to me to even lie about it to put him at ease). About half hour after Denise disappeared, she reappeared with tea. It had milk in it. (Americans don't drink milk in tea). I smiled, and gagged it down trying (successfully as it turned out) to not let anyone know. (Why, you put milk in coffee not tea!) More tea? Er, thanks.... (gak). It was months later, when my parents were coming over to visit (and meet Denise) before I mentioned that perhaps it'd work better if they gave my parents black tea without milk... the look on their faces was priceless! "You mean you didn't say anything for months? Do you want your tea black?" I replied no, I was fine with milk now; I'd gotten used to it by then!
Our first date. We went to central Ipswich by double decker bus (my first time on one; Ipswich was a place I'd only visited a half dozen times) and walked, and walked. It was time to find something to eat. I had some Pounds. But could we find a restaurant? No! We finally located a Chinese take-away. Dang, I wanted to sit-in. It's too late to worry now; Denise suggested we simply get a taxi and take the food to her parent's house? (Despite it being what some might consider a "disaster" of a first date, it wasn't our last date). So we did just that.
Walking along, I saw a taxi at a red light, and as the light changed, I raised my hand and shouted "TAXI!" (I'd seen the movies of city life, like New York and Chicago, so I supposed I knew what to do.) Denise looked rather annoyed and surprised and it was only later in the house that I was told "he wasn't supposed to pick us up - it's illegal." He had to know I was an American, and figured - what the heck, I suppose!! I asked how on earth are you supposed to get a taxi in Ipswich, then? You go to a taxi rank. (It sounded totally absurd to me that you would walk to a fixed place to get a taxi, but what did I know? I was a small town guy. Everything was too far from the other to walk - we drove our own cars if we needed to get anywhere). We enjoyed the Chinese and shared it out with Denise's brothers! A good time is something you can simply decide you're going to have.
To make a long story short, Denise and I were walking along in her neighborhood some 3 months later and I said "you know, we're going to be married some day, don't you?" She simply laughed at me as if I were some crazy man, but there was this look in her eye... We kept on dating and became engaged after her mom tricked her into a fake argument as to who's finger was bigger, hers or Denise's? Pam (Mrs Casey's) brother was a Jeweler so on a pre-arranged day, she made an excuse to go shopping in Ipswich and we met at her brothers where I picked out a ring. Yes, Denise was totally surprised! We'd known each other about 5 months. She said "yes."
Here it is 32 years after we met on Denise's 18th birthday, and we've been married for 30 1/2 years. I was sent home to Michigan, to a SAC (Strategic Air Command) base in eastern Michigan in August 1977, and returned to England in July 1978 (with my parents in tow) to get married in Ipswich. We now have two sons, one just finishing up his Master's Degree at Central Michigan University and the youngest just ready to start University at that school after some time at a local community college. We left the Air Force in February 1980, and a couple of years later, she followed me while I went to get a college education on the GI bill. We then started a family.
We've been back to RAF Bentwaters a few times when we actually lived in the UK (1986 to 1993) and visited on family "vacations" back to the UK since, after they were closed. The Twin Bases has a lot of memories for me and were part of the means by which God gave me a lovely wife, a wonderful life and two terrific sons. We live in beautiful northwestern lower Michigan with two Newfoundland dogs, one of which is black & white. Denise is a nurse, Glenn is an agent at the HQ of the largest collector car insurance company in the United States, Hagerty, which also has an operation in the UK.
I've gotten hold of Dave Jungert and surprised him half to death a few years back, but never have managed to find Vinnie or Henry. I can be reached at glenn126(at)centurytel.net
Glenn Arlt
Photos associated with Glenn Arlt's the memories above:
1. Meeting the General
2. St Paul's Cathedral, London, January 1977.
On the right is the original that Glenn sent me. Many of the following originals sent me were in that type of aged, discoloured state, and sent as a PDF. I think it's quite amazing what can be recovered from a faded, discoloured image with editing sofware
- Linn Barringer, 5 Feb 2010.
3 and 4.
Left is Trafalgar Square, with Nelson's Column. Arrowed in the background is the clock tower of the Palace of Westminster, commonly called "Big Ben" (which is, in fact, the name of the large hour-chiming bell).
On the right is the Tower of London, whose foundations were first laid in 1078. No, that's not a typo - over one thousand years ago.
5 and 6.
Left is The Monument, is 202 feet hight and was erected 202 feet from the spot in Pudding Lane, believed to be the source of the Great Fire of London in 1666. There are 311 steps in the spiral staircase to the observation level.
On the right is a Yeoman of the Guard - colloquially referred to as Beefeaters - at the Tower of London.
7. A (relatively new at the time) double decker bus of London Transport. (It was difficult removing the red cast from this one! Linn Barringer).
8 and 9. Orford Castle, January 1977.
10 and 11.
Left, the view from the top of Orford Castle, looking roughly south, with the river Ore beyond the village.
Right, the Castle Hotel on the left with the castle in the background. This view has not changed since then.
12. Yep, there were literally patrols around the base ready to tear a pound of flesh off of anyone who didn't dress up to military standards. But there was a bright side, too - rewards for looking professional, neat and having good military bearing. And no, I never did turn in the certificate to get the meal - I stuck it in my scrap book because I was proud to be recognized even in the smallest way - which is about all that could be expected, I figured.
13, 14, 15, 16. Coming home on leave, I got several surprises upon entering Traverse City Airport. After my pal, Mike, graduated, we went out to dinner and this Swan decided he was mad at us to impinging on "his" territory so he literally attacked us.
I was an Airman First Class (two stripes) by this time, June 1977.
17 and 18. July 1977, arriving home at RAF Bentwaters. Front gate and Dorm 753.
19. The Supply building, where I worked (Glenn Arlt) July 1977.
20. Glenn Arlt on dorm steps (original photo annotated January 1978).
21. Education center and chapel (on right), dorms out of sight on left.
22. My 1971 Volkswagen 411, dead, before being hauled off for scrap.
23. I have no idea why I sent a photo to my parents of what I was eating that day, perhaps it was to show them that I wasn't starving to death. Maybe (more likely) it was a photo of what better food we got (like steak, in this case) when visiting VIP's came.
21. 
22. 
23. 
21, 22, 23. Rationing was last seen in the United States during WWII, so it was something that hadn't even occurred to me, but it wasn't for the same reasons; it was because we were allowed to pay tax-free, dollar prices for petrol on base, but after we used up the rations, we had to exchange dollars for pounds (and there were currency exchange restrictions, too) and buy petrol "on the economy" for 250% to 300% more.
It is interesting to note that my American friends are always skeptical of my stories about how in Britain, people actually have to buy a license to watch television.
[Linn Barringer note: I'm not really sure why it was called a licence, because it's really just the way BBC is funded. There are no commercials on the BBC, so the funding has to come from somewhere.]
Likewise, it's always interesting to see the faces of my British friends when I relate to them that Michigan weather is as cold as the inside of their freezer compartment in their fridge, for as much as 3 months in a row. In fact, last winter, we had one day short of 5 months of winter snow on the ground. The look on their faces says "okay we both know you're exaggerating" (when I'm actually not).
24. Driving permit
25. I just thought Greensted church near Ongar, Essex, was really neat, being one of the oldest wooden churches still extant.
[Linn Barringer note: Actually, it is the oldest wooden church in the world.]
26. Denise ("the girl of my dreams") and Glenn.
27. Engagement announcement (June 14 1979) and wedding announcements.
28. Yep, I still have my 78th mug. I was proud to be part of this organization, however short my time was with them.
29. Historical piece of news in the Phantom Forum, dated February 1978.
30. 78th selected as the Outstanding Tactical Fighter Squadron for 1976.
The end!