Having met in the late 1950s, former RAF Air Training Corps cadets reunite at the RAF Museum in Hendon to revisit their roots and remember lost friends. They tell Leïla Davaud how their squadron shaped their lives

A man in a suit and military cap, holding a black and white photograph of men in uniform on parade. — Peter Torre with a photograph from his days as trainee – (Credit – Leïla Davaud)

History surrounds curious souls wandering the vast hangar of the RAF Museum. A little girl stares wide-eyed at the iconic Mk Vb Spitfire’s belly and asks if she can buy it from the shop. “This one, but a little. It’s too enormous for my shelf,” she tells her mother, who can’t hold back her smile.

Behind them, a few silver heads make their way towards Hendon Kitchen, the museum’s cafeteria. Suits on, pins in place, they chatter away. Moments later, they are bent over black-and-white photographs.

“You’ve never been good at cards. You were a born loser,” states Peter Torre to one of his friends, provoking a fit of laughter from a few comrades. He organised this long-overdue reunion.

“We all met as cadets in the 120 Squadron, right here, in the late 50s.” Emotion clouds his eyes as he looks over the dozen participants. “Some of us haven’t met in 30 or 40 years. The fact that we are reunited today shows how being a cadet here was the experience of a lifetime.”

The squadron’s roots go back to May 1939, when it was established as part of the civilian-run Air Defence Cadet Corps on Brent Street, Hendon. Two years into the war, in February 1941, it was brought under RAF administration by Royal Warrant, becoming part of the Air Training Corps.

By 1949, with the post-war armed forces scaling back, it had absorbed two neighbouring units, 1154 (Mill Hill) and 410 (Edgware), emerging larger and firmly replanted in four huts around a tarmac square on the north-west corner of Hendon airfield.

“It was there that opportunities began to open up for us cadets. We could fly aboard RAF aircraft,” explains Peter Torre. He points at a photograph. “That’s me…With more hair, of course.”

As he sets the frame down, the Rolls-Royce specialist shuffles away, climbs onto a cafeteria table and asks for everyone’s attention. A “Don’t break your hip, Torre,” is sent his way.

If they have lived a whole life since they first met, the banter remains intact. “You don’t get a connection like ours anywhere else. It’s like in sports, we’ll always be a team,” confides Keith Reid. Among his former cadet classmates, he falls silent as Peter Torre lists those they have lost.

Trays of food slowly weave their way among the memorabilia. Anecdotes fire around the table. Eventually, the cafeteria travels back in time, when the group were nothing but “untamed teenagers,” as Roger Williams puts it.

“I was thirteen and a half when I joined, and I stayed for twelve years. In the early days, we were petrified of one of the officers. Eventually, we learned he was a great man.” He smiles. “I was in the band and that was, without question, one of the high points of my life.”

A few seats away, Brian Collo, who joined the event with his brother, confesses: “The US Navy would be based on the airfield so the guys could fly from here to Berlin. But while they would get drunk, we’d steal their fuel. We were 16 years old, they can’t do anything to us anymore, thankfully…” A smirk plastered on, he leaves the table to order a cup of tea.

Sitting down in his place, Brian Cable states: “Scandals aside, the best of my education was here, not at school. I learnt to fly gliders, a bit of electronics, and some aircraft engineering. I was a city boy and I knew nothing about the wilderness. Suddenly, I was sent on an outward bound course. I was going up and down mountains, falling off canoes. It gave me confidence. It inspired me.” He pauses. “I left during my A-levels, joined the RAF, and didn’t look back for thirty-three years.”

Having decided to make his training a career as well, Keith Reid shares: “I joined at fourteen, in 1958, and there are only a dozen or so of us left from that era. There’s a sense of commemoration about today as much as celebration.”

He leans forward, nostalgia kicking in. “Imagine being fourteen, fifteen, sixteen and towing gliders, driving trucks, working alongside the RAF. At that age, it was unbelievable. It gave us independence; it gave us responsibility. We couldn’t just be devil-may-care teenagers. People relied upon you. It made me a better man, for sure.”

He went on to join the army, trained as a helicopter pilot, and served across numerous postings. The experience, he says, never left him. “We want to tell young people how it was, what we gained from it. Give them a taster.”

At the end of the day, they disperse to return home and to their personal lives. Peter Torre murmurs: “It may be the last time we see each other. I’m trying not to think about it, but we are not youngsters anymore. I’m thankful for my time here and the people I’ve met. Always.”

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