Heaven

I was stationed at RAF Yatesbury a couple of miles from Compton Bassett and a short trip on the local bus would take you down the A4 (before the M4) and let you off at Smokey Joes. Ah, heaven on earth - open the door and walk in... an old nissen hut with rough tables and benches, thick with smoke and air force uniforms of men and women undergoing training desperate for a 'night out'. The smell of bacon and cigarettes pervaded the atmosphere, a juke box fronted a small cleared area which served as a dance floor and no other name was ever truer than that for Smokey Joes. The year was 1961 and we were (not) at war with the USSR. Tensions were high, training was pressurised and clearly the intention was to get as many trained RAF Signals personnel into active bases in preparation for the war to come. The result was that trainees were restricted to local areas only and Smokey's was the uttermost limit of that range - about 200 yards outside the RAF Compton Bassett main gates.

The place was always hopping! and (strangely for the time) females chose males for partners. I sat at a spare space at long ancient oak table and opened conversation with the person next to me. "Any beer here?", I asked. "No, tea and coffee only but the bacon sannies are incredible". I ordered a bacon sandwich and tea and received a pint mug of tea and a bacon sandwich with multi-layers of local bacon, smothered in white pepper and liberally doused with HP sauce. I received change from a shilling and returned to my table. After sharing my tea and bacon with the WRAF girl I had initially sat beside, she invited me to dance.

Needless to say, I returned to Smokey Joes as frequently as was possible and never met that girl again - but there were so many lonely females that I never ate alone again.

Forty years later In 2002 and I returned to the site of Smokey Joes. And that's all there was - a site. Smokey Joes had disappeared and an empty paddock occupied the space. So, too, had RAF Compton Bassett gone the same way. No crowds of young airmen and airwomen flooded the roads chattering away as they left or arrived at Smokey Joes. No loud juke box played rock and roll music and the floor of that old Nissen hut no longer reverberated to the beat of popular songs. All gone. I think a whisper of the past stole up on me and I shivered in the June air.