The Roamers  Chapter 3 “The Welcoming”

I drove for 15 minutes until I finally arrived at the RAF airfield. As I turned the corner, to view the airfield, it turned out a bomb had hit nearby, damaging one of the hangars. However, there was no time to see the sights, I had to hurry for the meeting. I parked my car by the side of the road, just across from the waiting room entrance. As I exited my car, a spitfire came landing on the airfield with smoke pouring from it’s left exhaust. The fire department wasted no time to put out the fire in the exhaust. 

I opened the door, and a few other men were waiting. They turned their head towards me for a few seconds, and then went back to what they were doing. There was a door across the room from where I was. On the right of the door was a desk, where a man with a handle bar moustache sat. My instincts told me to head to the front desk. I trudged towards the desk.

“Ahem… e-excuse me, sir?”

The gentleman made eye contact with me. “Ah, you must be William Campbell?”

“Indeed,” I responded.

“Well, the officer will meet up with you in approximately a couple of minutes.”

I thanked him, and took my seat next to a tall man. He seemed to be about a few inches taller than me, but he seemed intimidating. I looked directly across the room, where a blonde haired man sat. He seemed pretty timid… a bit too timid.

About half an hour of waiting, the door finally opened. It was an RAF officer.

“William Campbell?”

Well, that was the call. It was time for the interview. I swallowed deeply, and made my way to the RAF officer’s room. As I entered the room, there was a door behind the officer’s desk. Must’ve been the entrance to the airfield. I took my seat, and he took his. 

“Alright,” he stated. “Where is your location of residence?”

“68, Richard Road, Oxford.”

The officer wrote down in a form, with my name on it.

“Any history of any injuries? Anything major?”


“Why have you decided to join the RAF?”

“I have decided to join the RAF, to serve my country, and help to win the war.”

The RAF officer looked at me, stunned.

“You know, sir,” he stated. “That is the most energetic response I’ve gotten in my career.” 

“Really?” I responded.

“Yeah… well, you will be trained in both air and ground combat in your time here. Make Churchill proud.”

“I shall, sir,” I responded enthusiastically. 

“Now, I have to call over the commander to come and give you a tour.”

The officer picked up the phone, and rang the bell. He gave the message that the commander should now come and give me a tour. However, I had to wait for a few other newcomers to join in. I was then instructed to wait outside. The officer guided me through the door, and I waited with two other men. One was a man with sideburns, and the other who had short black hair, with a short beard.

“Ah, you must be a newcomer, eh?” The gentleman with the sideburns asked me.

“Indeed,” I responded nervously. 

“What’s up, mate? You look anxious.” The man then chuckled. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, chap! The name’s David. Over here next to me is Wilson.”

“Nice to meet the both of you, lads,” I responded, gathering up some confidence. 

About half way through our conversation, a Spitfire came taking off from the runway, heading off to supposedly the English channel to occupied France, or maybe just for military training. Soon after, the commander came approaching us with two other men in RAF uniforms. 

“Morning, chaps,” the commander greeted.

“Morning, commander,” we all responded.

“My name is Lieutenant Richard Folksworth, but you can just call me Folksworth… ah, here comes the last newcomer for today.” 

The blonde haired timid man came out to us, trudging along.

“Welcome to the RAF, son,” Folksworth greeted.

“Good morning,” the man responded with an accent that seemed to be familiar to me. It certainly wasn’t British, put it that way. 

“Anyway, chaps. These two men next to me are both of our finest trained pilots. You shall refer to the both of them as Charles and Bill. Let the tour commence!”