Your National Service memories keep coming in, and one of the nice things is that the odd reunion has been set up between people who haven't seen each other for years.

It's often a surprise to see what happened to a lad you shared a billet with way back.

Don Burslem, of Keighley, recognised one old acquaintance on television. "Up to joining up, I had led a sheltered, middle-class existence; and rubbing shoulders with recruits from all walks of life and all strata of society certainly made me a more rounded, confident person," he recalls.

He spent most of his RAF life as a clerk at Sculthorpe in North Norfolk, a bomber base housing American B29s and B36s.

"During 1950 it was the height of the Korean War and there was a genuine fear of a nuclear conflict after China had been drawn in," recalls Don. "A detachment of the RAF Regiment was drafted in, though what purpose they could have served I never found out.

"One perk from the presence of the Yanks was Hershey chocolate bars, sweets still being rationed in those far-off days."

Don's service coincided with that of swimmer Philip Mickman, from Ossett, who in 1952 became the youngest man to swim the Channel both ways.

Another RAF type was to make a splash rather later.

"I took over at the station HQ from a man called Matthews, a really sharp operator," says Don. "A year or two ago I was idly watching TV when a man advertising frozen turkeys came on and, yes, you've guessed - it was Bernard Matthews from Sculthorpe, now a multi-millionaire. I wonder where I went wrong!"

Others vanished into obscurity, like the lad Mr E Redman, of Keighley, remembered from a wet Thursday morning in Bradford in 1951.

He was waiting for his pre-service medical at the Mechanics' Institute and went into a caf.

"While there I became friendly with a young lad also waiting for his medical. He had bought a Kit Kat bar which he broke in two and offered me half," says Mr Redman.

"Then he did something most peculiar - he tore the silver paper in half and rolled it into two small balls and then swallowed them.

"When I asked why he had done this, he told me he didn't want to pass the medical and hoped the examiners would find he had an ulcerated stomach. I never set eyes on the lad again."

It's unlikely the trick worked, and more than likely that the lad in question ended up doing his two years' service.

At that time he could have ended up in any number of places, as Derek Lister of Bingley, known to older Bradfordians as the DJ Dal Stevens of the Gaumont and the Majestic, recalls.

"What became apparent with most British campaigns, whether they were 'confrontations' or 'peace-keeping missions' was that we would end up being piggy in the middle.

"We were prime game for any terrorist organisations to have a go at. Many young National Service soldiers died or were seriously wounded for their Queen and country while serving in Kenya, Korea, Malaya, Cyprus and Aden."

Derek ended up doing three years with the Independent Parachute Brigade in Cyprus and the Yemen, during which time he wasn't allowed a phone call home.

"Even after many disturbing sights and sounds engraved on young minds, there was never any talk of counselling or compensation - we were there to do a job.

"While some (the minority) say that National Service was a waste of time, the majority support the discipline it gave, not forgetting the friendships forged through camaraderie.

"National Service was not, as some believe, painting coal black and grass green; it was real, and a thought should be spared for the many young men buried in parts of the old British Empire, who died 'because they were there'."

This is the last of our National Service reminiscences; but there is another side to military service - the women's stories. What did you do in the Second World War on the home front while the men were away fighting? Drop us a line, ladies, or email us - we'll tell your tales in a new supplement in the T&A in the near future.

Humbug hand-outs that helped the poor...

Call somebody a humbug these days and they'd feel insulted. But Bradford's Chief Humbug in the early part of this century was proud of the title.

He was Ely Hill (above), who worked as a rep for a London belt and hose firm.

His job took him on to the floor of the Bradford Wool Exchange, where strict no-smoking rules applied when business was being done.

In 1906 Hill began handing out humbugs to members. In return he expected a donation to the Bradford Cinderella Club, the charity founded in 1890 to provide food, clothes, entertainment and holidays for the city's poorest children.

The club still exists to help the less-well-off.

Hill also introduced the Exchange's first auction, and each Christmas from the mid-1930s and through the war years, a giant humbug and a large rock walking stick went under the hammer. After being bought, they were often handed back and sold again.

Over the years Ely Hill's efforts raised thousands of pounds for the needy - and the work even spread to London.

Hill left a mystery behind when he died in 1943 aged 82 - the mystery of the Manningham tunnel.

The stone used for Leeds's covered markets came from quarries at Harden and Cullingworth; but Mr Hill recalled his boyhood, when there were also two large quarries at Manningham near Belle Vue.

"The most fascinating thing about these quarries," he said, "was a tunnel which was cut underneath Manningham Lane to connect them. It was over 200 feet deep from road level and was, as you can imagine, a source of great attraction to adventurous boys."

Attempts to find records of this tunnel have been fruitless. If anybody can throw any light on it, please email us or drop us a line.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.