All Saints, Lullington, Derbyshire
I woke at six after a fairly good night's sleep. Had a shower, got dressed and went down for breakfast, hoping to meet more old colleagues.
There are at least three and a half thousand current and former RAF Armourers, so the chance of meeting more I knew during the day seemed high.
As it was, there was just one other person in the semi-dark restaurant. And although there was food, it was limp and barely warm. Still, it was included in the cost of the room, so I filled by boots with fruit, yogurt, sausage and bacon, and a croissant with one of the four cups of coffee I had.
We were due to meet at half twelve, meaning I had maybe three hours to fill.
With churches.
The Church Conservation Trust is a great organisation, and their churches, although redundant, are open ten to four daily.
There was one less than ten miles away, so it was there I drove first. Out of Burton, going against the heavy traffic which tailed back some two miles over the series of roundabouts and traffic lights.
Back into the country, and down another dead end lane to Streeton-en-le-Field.
A heavy dew lay on the ground, and parkland stretched back towards Burton. Trees stood still against the blue sky, again their foliage, though mostly green, was turning golden brown at the edges of their leaves.
I walk through the churchyard, into the porch and pushed the door. It opened though I was twenty minutes early, but that was because the door had been forced and the lock broken.
Sigh.
Though no damage had been done, at least to my eyes, it is a shame that people treat our historic buildings thus.
I take my shots of the building. It must have been quite ruinous at some point recently, as windows had been blocked up, and the chancel arch rebuilt too using the same simple stones.
Functional, but not pretty.
Once done, I went back to the car and programmed the National Memorial Arboretum, 12 miles away, and set off.
At least I was lead across country. Maybe, I thought, I might pass a church or two on the way.
The road wiggled through the countryside, but came in time to a leafy village called Lullington. The handsome church overlooked the village green, the phone box now a library of sorts.
I parked and went to try the church door. It was locked, but on the board there was a named keyholder, so I called and Mrs Cooper said I could have the key, she lived in the long white building opposite.
It was almost a mansion, and her handyman was tending her flower beds. I went to knock, but he asked me what I wanted, and when I explained he went inside to pick up the key and hand it to me.
The church, although handsome, held no great treasures, though is obviously loved, with knitted flowers woven into garlands over the lychgate arch and the arch of the porch. It was only when close could I see the flowers were knitted.
When I returned the key, the bloke asked what I did (with the photos).
I explained, and then told me in a broad Midlands accent two double barrelled named churches nearby that were good. I didn't catch their real name, but a third sounded easy enough: Haw Cross.
But it wasn't Haw Cross or Hawcross.
Nor was it Haugh Cross.
It was Hoar Cross.
I found that on the sat nav and set off back in the general direction of Burton. Which was perfect.
I was lead across the Wolds, along at one point a narrow lane that went straight as an arrow for five miles, over a series of blind summits, through woods until it came to a junction, just shy of Hoar Cross.
Into Hoar Cross, past the pub on the crossroads with the finest pre-warboys finger post I have ever seen, though I didn't stop for shots as I was in a hurry: it was five past eleven and I hadn't found the church.
I went north, east and west out of the village and saw no sign of a church or a church lane.
And then, on the hill overlooking the village, I saw a tower. Modern, well, 20th century perhaps, but a church, and just a hundred yards beyond where I had turned round.
Holy Angels sits beside what counts as the main road in those parts, what little traffic there is motors past. But beyond a Boston Ivy overed wall and brick lychgate, the church rises, impressive in the autumn sunshine.
Inside it is stunning. Grade I listed, beloved by Betjeman and the highest of high Anglican churches.
I only had a matter of minutes, but this is a seriously impressive church: full of light, he smell of incense lingering, stations of the cross on all outside walls, and as a whole church, is nearly as impressive as Cheadle.
Nearly.
I hated to leave, but I had twenty minutes before I was due to be at the Arboretum.
Down the main street, onto an A road, doubling back towards Burton, then picking up signs directing the way, over a main road and railway, across some marshes and there it was.
Packed.
The parking ticket I bought had said sternly not to arrive before your allotted time. Many knew better and ignored this, so the main car park was full, so had to use the overflow beside the landfill site, then walk back.
Inside the main building a table had been set up for those attending. I signed in, and received a program and small token. I looked around.
No one I knew.
Still.
I bought a drink, sat outside and dozens of people around me and more arriving had our trade tie on, or the waistcoat. Some in uniform too, still serving.
But no one I knew.
I ambled down to the site of the ceremony, more folks milling around. Still no one I knew.
I took shots and enjoyed the moment.
I spied one person I know, another Ian, so I went and we shook hands. He also knew few folks. We chatted and caught up on a decade and a half's news since we last met in Lincoln.
Mark arrived.
He was nervous, as he was the play The Last Post (Taps) prior to the two minute's silence, so he went off to practice quietly, if quiet is a thing you do to a bugle.
One more person I know, though many others knew dozens of other attendees.
A serving Sergeant saw my camera and asked if I would supply him with shots for BFBS, so I did my best. But there were so many people getting a clear view was impossible.
At one, half an hour late, the ceremony began, with a former CO of mine doing the introductions before an Air Commodore, ex-Armourer, read the dedication covering a history of the trade and how family-like our trade is:
"Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, colleagues, and friends, It’s a real privilege to speak to you today about a group of professionals whose contribution to the Royal Air Force has been, AND REMAINS, vital and that is the Royal Air Force Armourer. Versatile, ingenious and relentlessly loyal, the Armourer is a strange creature! From the forward edge of the battle line disposing of bombs and munitions, to the comfortable warmth of the armoury and bay, through the enduring domination of the line hut amongst the lesser trades to the demands of the bomb dump, we are unique and ferociously proud bunch.
From the earliest days of the RAF in 1918, through two world wars, the Cold War, and across every conflict through to the 21st century, Armourers have stood at the sharp end of conflict —enabling decisive and battle winning Air Power and combat effect when called upon.
That history is marked around us today, in this most important and impressive National Memorial Arboretum. And it is against this backdrop that I felt it worth taking a moment to
reflect on our history, highlight our evolution, and celebrate the critical role armourers continues to play in the modern RAF.
The story of the RAF Armourer begins even before the Royal Air Force itself. In the First World War, the Royal Flying Corps and Royal Naval Air Service employed men trained to handle and maintain machine guns, bombs, and ammunition fitted to fragile biplanes.
When the RAF was founded in April 1918, as the world’s first independent air force, the need for dedicated tradesmen to manage weapons was clear. Early aircraft such as the Sopwith Camel carried Lewis or Vickers guns, with bombs literally dropped by hand in some cases. Armourers were the ones who kept those weapons firing, safe, and effective. More importantly it was the crafty and ingenious armourer who created new and novel ways to win the fight.
They weren’t just technicians; they were pioneers in a new form of warfare.
They had to innovate, often under fire, solving problems that had never been faced before in aviation history.
By the time of the Second World War, the role of Armourers had grown enormously. The RAF’s bomber fleets—Wellingtons, Lancasters, Halifax’s—and its fighters—Spitfires, Hurricanes, and later Tempests and Typhoons—all relied on Armourers.
It was the Armourers who loaded the .303 Browning machine guns on the Battle of Britain’s fighters, often working under pressure, at night, and in all weather. It was the Armourers who fitted the bombs, sometimes Grand Slam and Blockbuster bombs into the belly of the heavy bombers before raids over occupied Europe. And it was Armourers who adapted quickly to new technology, such as rockets and early guided weapons.
Perhaps what is most striking from this era is the relentless pace. A returning Lancaster would land, the aircrew would debrief, and the Armourers would already be preparing it for the next mission. They worked under blackout conditions, often with little rest, knowing that the success of the next sortie depended on their skill and dedication.
After 1945, as Britain entered the nuclear age, the Armourer’s trade evolved again. The RAF was now responsible for weapons of unprecedented destructive power. Armourers were trained to handle and prepare nuclear bombs such as Blue Danube and WE.177, as well as conventional ordnance.
The Cold War also saw the introduction of jet aircraft like the Vulcan, Lightning, and later the Tornado. With these came new weapons—air-to-air missiles, precision-guided bombs, and
electronic countermeasures. Armourers had to adapt constantly, mastering advanced technologies while never losing sight of the basics: safety, reliability, and effectiveness.
This period also saw the RAF Armourer community establish a reputation for professionalism around the world. Whether on Quick Reaction Alert at home, deployed in Germany, or stationed further afield, Armourers were essential to Britain’s ability to project power and deter threats.
And let us not forget the Falklands War, whether embarked on HMS Hermes and Invincible with the Harrier Force, preparing the Black Buck raids for their critical and strategic attack on Stanley or on the ground in the most austere and extremely dangerous conditions clearing air delivered munitions, the RAF Armourer once again demonstrated their professionalism and utility.
The end of the Cold War did not mean the end of conflict. From the Gulf War in 1991 through to operations in the Balkans, Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, and more recently in the Middle East, RAF Armourers have remained on the front line. Many of you here today served and fought in those campaigns.
The armourer of today handles weapons which are far more sophisticated than their predecessors: precision-guided bombs, next generation missiles, cruise missiles, and more.
But the essence of the job remains the same, ensuring that when aircrew press the button, the weapon performs as intended.
On operations, Armourers are the bridge between engineering and combat. They work long hours in heat, dust, or freezing conditions to prepare aircraft at short notice. They are also problem solvers—often improvising solutions to keep aircraft mission-ready in austere conditions. Not to mention often establishing the first bar in Theatre!
So, what does an Armourer do today? In the modern RAF, they are trained across a wide spectrum. Like those who came before them, they handle conventional bombs and missiles,
aircraft gun systems, countermeasures like flares and chaff, and ejection seats.
On the ground, they serve in expeditionary support roles, providing the capability to deploy weapons and aircraft anywhere in the world. On operations, they are part of integrated teams that keep the RAF’s fast jets, helicopters, and transport aircraft ready for action. At the heart of
modern Agile Combat Employment. And just to quash the rumour, we may even still have some Airfield EOD cutting about, perhaps one for a chat for over a beer…..
Today’s Armourers are not just weapons technicians—they are ambassadors of RAF professionalism. They deploy alongside allies, often sharing their expertise and learning from
others. They bring a blend of tradition and modern skill, embodying both the heritage of the trade and its future. And much like those early armourers behind the WW1 trenches in Europe, they are also at the heart of prototype warfare, ensuring we can continue to destroy our
adversaries wherever they may be in new and innovative ways.
If there’s one thing that connects the Armourers of 1918 with those serving today, it is a sense of responsibility. Handling live ordnance demands absolute precision, discipline, and integrity.
There is no room for error.
But there’s also a deep camaraderie within the trade. Anyone who has worked alongside Armourers will tell you about their humour, resilience, and pride. They may joke about being the
“last to let you down”— a nod to their role with ejection seats — but behind that humour lies a serious commitment to keeping aircrew safe and the mission successful.
Our history is full of untold stories: people working tirelessly behind the scenes, ensuring that the RAF can deliver air power when it matters most.
The RAF Armourer’s trade has evolved over more than a century, from fitting Lewis guns to biplanes, to loading smart weapons onto the Typhoon and F-35 Lightning. Through every era of RAF history, they have adapted, innovated, and excelled.
They are a vital link in the chain of air power—a chain that connects the engineer on the line, the pilot in the cockpit, and the strategic effect delivered on operations.
As we look to the future—with the growth of uncrewed systems, directed energy weapons, and ever more complex technology—one thing is certain: the RAF will continue to rely on the professionalism and expertise of its Armourers.
So today, let us not only recognise their history, but also celebrate their ongoing role in defending our nation.
In closing, I would also like to take a moment to thank Squadron Leader Mick Haygarth and the team, alongside all of those that contributed to bring this memorial to life, as a symbol of commemoration and also as a celebration of everything this proud trade continues to deliver for
the RAF and Defence.
As many of you know, the father of the Royal Air Force, Air Chief Marshal Lord Trenchard, held the trade in exceptionally high regard, exemplifying his vision of a highly trained technical workforce, who could keep pace with rapidly evolving technology. And perhaps it was this that
led him to famously state that “Without Armament, there is no need for an Air Force” or perhaps words to that effect……
Ladies and Gentleman, when my grandfather and armourer, Chief Technician Bill Michie, inspired me to join the Royal Air Force as an Armourer, I was privileged to become part of a
wider family which revelled in its history, accomplishments and kinship. While my career has moved on, I will always remain an Armourer and it is with that in mind that I am hugely moved
and proud to join with you here today to unveil this memorial and celebration of our family, our kin and our future, The Royal Air Force Armourer.
Thank you."
No Thank you, Air Commodore Jamie Thompson.
Mark sounded the bugle, the standards were lowered, and a silence fell on the place. We stood to remember those we have lost over the years.
One final prayer, then the Lord's Prayer, and it was over.
I looked around, still just three people I knew. Should I stay for the evening's get together in the local 'Spoons, or go home early and be home this evening?
I worked out the route and timings, and thought I would miss rush hour's in the local area, get past Cambridge by about half four and be on the M25 by half five, and be home by half six-ish.
So I drive to the hotel, checked out, grabbed my stuff from the room and threw it in the back of the car.
I programmed the sat nav for home, and it guided me south out of town until I joined the M6 Toll, then south on the M6 before turning off on the A14 again.
A glorious day for driving, and the road was fairly clear until about ten miles shy of the A1 junction, but beyond that it was three lane roads and driving at the speed limit as I pressed on to Cambridge then down the M11.
No hold ups, no jams certainly, even turning onto the M25 wasn't the stressful event it usually is. I made it to Dartford by five, the sun now low in the west, it was in golden light as I reached the midway point of the bridge and entered The Garden of England again.
I stopped off at Burger King in town for supper. I had their Wagyu burger, the most expensive take away burger in UK history, as I had seen a few folks on Facebook try it.
I got Jools a spicy chicken burger, as well as onion rings, cheesy chilli bites, and BBQ chicken fingers.
No fries.
Back home to eat and catch up.
How was the £11 burger?
It was OK.
Just OK.
I had unpacking to do, and then sort my pictures out and begin to write all about it. Whilst listening to football.
But I was back home.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The church dates from the 14th century. The spire, nicknamed Lullington Spud,[2] was rebuilt in 1776.
It was restored between 1861 and 1862 under the supervision of the architect John West Hugall and the contractor Elliott and Lilley. The main addition was a new south aisle. The gallery which blocked the tower was removed, and the tower arch opened up. The seating in the nave and choir stalls were renewed. The floor was laid with Minton tiles, with those in the sanctuary containing evangelistic symbols. A reredos was made from the alabaster slab which formed the old altar, and was inlaid with a centre cross of Rouge royal marble and Derbyshire Blue John, and four smaller Maltese crosses. The font was made of a bowl of Devonshire granite supported on five shafts of St Mary Church Torquay marble, raised on three steps of Mansfield stone. The restoration work cost £2,000 (equivalent to £235,735 in 2023)[3] and the church reopened on 23 September 1862.[4]
All Saints, Lullington, Derbyshire
I woke at six after a fairly good night's sleep. Had a shower, got dressed and went down for breakfast, hoping to meet more old colleagues.
There are at least three and a half thousand current and former RAF Armourers, so the chance of meeting more I knew during the day seemed high.
As it was, there was just one other person in the semi-dark restaurant. And although there was food, it was limp and barely warm. Still, it was included in the cost of the room, so I filled by boots with fruit, yogurt, sausage and bacon, and a croissant with one of the four cups of coffee I had.
We were due to meet at half twelve, meaning I had maybe three hours to fill.
With churches.
The Church Conservation Trust is a great organisation, and their churches, although redundant, are open ten to four daily.
There was one less than ten miles away, so it was there I drove first. Out of Burton, going against the heavy traffic which tailed back some two miles over the series of roundabouts and traffic lights.
Back into the country, and down another dead end lane to Streeton-en-le-Field.
A heavy dew lay on the ground, and parkland stretched back towards Burton. Trees stood still against the blue sky, again their foliage, though mostly green, was turning golden brown at the edges of their leaves.
I walk through the churchyard, into the porch and pushed the door. It opened though I was twenty minutes early, but that was because the door had been forced and the lock broken.
Sigh.
Though no damage had been done, at least to my eyes, it is a shame that people treat our historic buildings thus.
I take my shots of the building. It must have been quite ruinous at some point recently, as windows had been blocked up, and the chancel arch rebuilt too using the same simple stones.
Functional, but not pretty.
Once done, I went back to the car and programmed the National Memorial Arboretum, 12 miles away, and set off.
At least I was lead across country. Maybe, I thought, I might pass a church or two on the way.
The road wiggled through the countryside, but came in time to a leafy village called Lullington. The handsome church overlooked the village green, the phone box now a library of sorts.
I parked and went to try the church door. It was locked, but on the board there was a named keyholder, so I called and Mrs Cooper said I could have the key, she lived in the long white building opposite.
It was almost a mansion, and her handyman was tending her flower beds. I went to knock, but he asked me what I wanted, and when I explained he went inside to pick up the key and hand it to me.
The church, although handsome, held no great treasures, though is obviously loved, with knitted flowers woven into garlands over the lychgate arch and the arch of the porch. It was only when close could I see the flowers were knitted.
When I returned the key, the bloke asked what I did (with the photos).
I explained, and then told me in a broad Midlands accent two double barrelled named churches nearby that were good. I didn't catch their real name, but a third sounded easy enough: Haw Cross.
But it wasn't Haw Cross or Hawcross.
Nor was it Haugh Cross.
It was Hoar Cross.
I found that on the sat nav and set off back in the general direction of Burton. Which was perfect.
I was lead across the Wolds, along at one point a narrow lane that went straight as an arrow for five miles, over a series of blind summits, through woods until it came to a junction, just shy of Hoar Cross.
Into Hoar Cross, past the pub on the crossroads with the finest pre-warboys finger post I have ever seen, though I didn't stop for shots as I was in a hurry: it was five past eleven and I hadn't found the church.
I went north, east and west out of the village and saw no sign of a church or a church lane.
And then, on the hill overlooking the village, I saw a tower. Modern, well, 20th century perhaps, but a church, and just a hundred yards beyond where I had turned round.
Holy Angels sits beside what counts as the main road in those parts, what little traffic there is motors past. But beyond a Boston Ivy overed wall and brick lychgate, the church rises, impressive in the autumn sunshine.
Inside it is stunning. Grade I listed, beloved by Betjeman and the highest of high Anglican churches.
I only had a matter of minutes, but this is a seriously impressive church: full of light, he smell of incense lingering, stations of the cross on all outside walls, and as a whole church, is nearly as impressive as Cheadle.
Nearly.
I hated to leave, but I had twenty minutes before I was due to be at the Arboretum.
Down the main street, onto an A road, doubling back towards Burton, then picking up signs directing the way, over a main road and railway, across some marshes and there it was.
Packed.
The parking ticket I bought had said sternly not to arrive before your allotted time. Many knew better and ignored this, so the main car park was full, so had to use the overflow beside the landfill site, then walk back.
Inside the main building a table had been set up for those attending. I signed in, and received a program and small token. I looked around.
No one I knew.
Still.
I bought a drink, sat outside and dozens of people around me and more arriving had our trade tie on, or the waistcoat. Some in uniform too, still serving.
But no one I knew.
I ambled down to the site of the ceremony, more folks milling around. Still no one I knew.
I took shots and enjoyed the moment.
I spied one person I know, another Ian, so I went and we shook hands. He also knew few folks. We chatted and caught up on a decade and a half's news since we last met in Lincoln.
Mark arrived.
He was nervous, as he was the play The Last Post (Taps) prior to the two minute's silence, so he went off to practice quietly, if quiet is a thing you do to a bugle.
One more person I know, though many others knew dozens of other attendees.
A serving Sergeant saw my camera and asked if I would supply him with shots for BFBS, so I did my best. But there were so many people getting a clear view was impossible.
At one, half an hour late, the ceremony began, with a former CO of mine doing the introductions before an Air Commodore, ex-Armourer, read the dedication covering a history of the trade and how family-like our trade is:
"Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, colleagues, and friends, It’s a real privilege to speak to you today about a group of professionals whose contribution to the Royal Air Force has been, AND REMAINS, vital and that is the Royal Air Force Armourer. Versatile, ingenious and relentlessly loyal, the Armourer is a strange creature! From the forward edge of the battle line disposing of bombs and munitions, to the comfortable warmth of the armoury and bay, through the enduring domination of the line hut amongst the lesser trades to the demands of the bomb dump, we are unique and ferociously proud bunch.
From the earliest days of the RAF in 1918, through two world wars, the Cold War, and across every conflict through to the 21st century, Armourers have stood at the sharp end of conflict —enabling decisive and battle winning Air Power and combat effect when called upon.
That history is marked around us today, in this most important and impressive National Memorial Arboretum. And it is against this backdrop that I felt it worth taking a moment to
reflect on our history, highlight our evolution, and celebrate the critical role armourers continues to play in the modern RAF.
The story of the RAF Armourer begins even before the Royal Air Force itself. In the First World War, the Royal Flying Corps and Royal Naval Air Service employed men trained to handle and maintain machine guns, bombs, and ammunition fitted to fragile biplanes.
When the RAF was founded in April 1918, as the world’s first independent air force, the need for dedicated tradesmen to manage weapons was clear. Early aircraft such as the Sopwith Camel carried Lewis or Vickers guns, with bombs literally dropped by hand in some cases. Armourers were the ones who kept those weapons firing, safe, and effective. More importantly it was the crafty and ingenious armourer who created new and novel ways to win the fight.
They weren’t just technicians; they were pioneers in a new form of warfare.
They had to innovate, often under fire, solving problems that had never been faced before in aviation history.
By the time of the Second World War, the role of Armourers had grown enormously. The RAF’s bomber fleets—Wellingtons, Lancasters, Halifax’s—and its fighters—Spitfires, Hurricanes, and later Tempests and Typhoons—all relied on Armourers.
It was the Armourers who loaded the .303 Browning machine guns on the Battle of Britain’s fighters, often working under pressure, at night, and in all weather. It was the Armourers who fitted the bombs, sometimes Grand Slam and Blockbuster bombs into the belly of the heavy bombers before raids over occupied Europe. And it was Armourers who adapted quickly to new technology, such as rockets and early guided weapons.
Perhaps what is most striking from this era is the relentless pace. A returning Lancaster would land, the aircrew would debrief, and the Armourers would already be preparing it for the next mission. They worked under blackout conditions, often with little rest, knowing that the success of the next sortie depended on their skill and dedication.
After 1945, as Britain entered the nuclear age, the Armourer’s trade evolved again. The RAF was now responsible for weapons of unprecedented destructive power. Armourers were trained to handle and prepare nuclear bombs such as Blue Danube and WE.177, as well as conventional ordnance.
The Cold War also saw the introduction of jet aircraft like the Vulcan, Lightning, and later the Tornado. With these came new weapons—air-to-air missiles, precision-guided bombs, and
electronic countermeasures. Armourers had to adapt constantly, mastering advanced technologies while never losing sight of the basics: safety, reliability, and effectiveness.
This period also saw the RAF Armourer community establish a reputation for professionalism around the world. Whether on Quick Reaction Alert at home, deployed in Germany, or stationed further afield, Armourers were essential to Britain’s ability to project power and deter threats.
And let us not forget the Falklands War, whether embarked on HMS Hermes and Invincible with the Harrier Force, preparing the Black Buck raids for their critical and strategic attack on Stanley or on the ground in the most austere and extremely dangerous conditions clearing air delivered munitions, the RAF Armourer once again demonstrated their professionalism and utility.
The end of the Cold War did not mean the end of conflict. From the Gulf War in 1991 through to operations in the Balkans, Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, and more recently in the Middle East, RAF Armourers have remained on the front line. Many of you here today served and fought in those campaigns.
The armourer of today handles weapons which are far more sophisticated than their predecessors: precision-guided bombs, next generation missiles, cruise missiles, and more.
But the essence of the job remains the same, ensuring that when aircrew press the button, the weapon performs as intended.
On operations, Armourers are the bridge between engineering and combat. They work long hours in heat, dust, or freezing conditions to prepare aircraft at short notice. They are also problem solvers—often improvising solutions to keep aircraft mission-ready in austere conditions. Not to mention often establishing the first bar in Theatre!
So, what does an Armourer do today? In the modern RAF, they are trained across a wide spectrum. Like those who came before them, they handle conventional bombs and missiles,
aircraft gun systems, countermeasures like flares and chaff, and ejection seats.
On the ground, they serve in expeditionary support roles, providing the capability to deploy weapons and aircraft anywhere in the world. On operations, they are part of integrated teams that keep the RAF’s fast jets, helicopters, and transport aircraft ready for action. At the heart of
modern Agile Combat Employment. And just to quash the rumour, we may even still have some Airfield EOD cutting about, perhaps one for a chat for over a beer…..
Today’s Armourers are not just weapons technicians—they are ambassadors of RAF professionalism. They deploy alongside allies, often sharing their expertise and learning from
others. They bring a blend of tradition and modern skill, embodying both the heritage of the trade and its future. And much like those early armourers behind the WW1 trenches in Europe, they are also at the heart of prototype warfare, ensuring we can continue to destroy our
adversaries wherever they may be in new and innovative ways.
If there’s one thing that connects the Armourers of 1918 with those serving today, it is a sense of responsibility. Handling live ordnance demands absolute precision, discipline, and integrity.
There is no room for error.
But there’s also a deep camaraderie within the trade. Anyone who has worked alongside Armourers will tell you about their humour, resilience, and pride. They may joke about being the
“last to let you down”— a nod to their role with ejection seats — but behind that humour lies a serious commitment to keeping aircrew safe and the mission successful.
Our history is full of untold stories: people working tirelessly behind the scenes, ensuring that the RAF can deliver air power when it matters most.
The RAF Armourer’s trade has evolved over more than a century, from fitting Lewis guns to biplanes, to loading smart weapons onto the Typhoon and F-35 Lightning. Through every era of RAF history, they have adapted, innovated, and excelled.
They are a vital link in the chain of air power—a chain that connects the engineer on the line, the pilot in the cockpit, and the strategic effect delivered on operations.
As we look to the future—with the growth of uncrewed systems, directed energy weapons, and ever more complex technology—one thing is certain: the RAF will continue to rely on the professionalism and expertise of its Armourers.
So today, let us not only recognise their history, but also celebrate their ongoing role in defending our nation.
In closing, I would also like to take a moment to thank Squadron Leader Mick Haygarth and the team, alongside all of those that contributed to bring this memorial to life, as a symbol of commemoration and also as a celebration of everything this proud trade continues to deliver for
the RAF and Defence.
As many of you know, the father of the Royal Air Force, Air Chief Marshal Lord Trenchard, held the trade in exceptionally high regard, exemplifying his vision of a highly trained technical workforce, who could keep pace with rapidly evolving technology. And perhaps it was this that
led him to famously state that “Without Armament, there is no need for an Air Force” or perhaps words to that effect……
Ladies and Gentleman, when my grandfather and armourer, Chief Technician Bill Michie, inspired me to join the Royal Air Force as an Armourer, I was privileged to become part of a
wider family which revelled in its history, accomplishments and kinship. While my career has moved on, I will always remain an Armourer and it is with that in mind that I am hugely moved
and proud to join with you here today to unveil this memorial and celebration of our family, our kin and our future, The Royal Air Force Armourer.
Thank you."
No Thank you, Air Commodore Jamie Thompson.
Mark sounded the bugle, the standards were lowered, and a silence fell on the place. We stood to remember those we have lost over the years.
One final prayer, then the Lord's Prayer, and it was over.
I looked around, still just three people I knew. Should I stay for the evening's get together in the local 'Spoons, or go home early and be home this evening?
I worked out the route and timings, and thought I would miss rush hour's in the local area, get past Cambridge by about half four and be on the M25 by half five, and be home by half six-ish.
So I drive to the hotel, checked out, grabbed my stuff from the room and threw it in the back of the car.
I programmed the sat nav for home, and it guided me south out of town until I joined the M6 Toll, then south on the M6 before turning off on the A14 again.
A glorious day for driving, and the road was fairly clear until about ten miles shy of the A1 junction, but beyond that it was three lane roads and driving at the speed limit as I pressed on to Cambridge then down the M11.
No hold ups, no jams certainly, even turning onto the M25 wasn't the stressful event it usually is. I made it to Dartford by five, the sun now low in the west, it was in golden light as I reached the midway point of the bridge and entered The Garden of England again.
I stopped off at Burger King in town for supper. I had their Wagyu burger, the most expensive take away burger in UK history, as I had seen a few folks on Facebook try it.
I got Jools a spicy chicken burger, as well as onion rings, cheesy chilli bites, and BBQ chicken fingers.
No fries.
Back home to eat and catch up.
How was the £11 burger?
It was OK.
Just OK.
I had unpacking to do, and then sort my pictures out and begin to write all about it. Whilst listening to football.
But I was back home.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The church dates from the 14th century. The spire, nicknamed Lullington Spud,[2] was rebuilt in 1776.
It was restored between 1861 and 1862 under the supervision of the architect John West Hugall and the contractor Elliott and Lilley. The main addition was a new south aisle. The gallery which blocked the tower was removed, and the tower arch opened up. The seating in the nave and choir stalls were renewed. The floor was laid with Minton tiles, with those in the sanctuary containing evangelistic symbols. A reredos was made from the alabaster slab which formed the old altar, and was inlaid with a centre cross of Rouge royal marble and Derbyshire Blue John, and four smaller Maltese crosses. The font was made of a bowl of Devonshire granite supported on five shafts of St Mary Church Torquay marble, raised on three steps of Mansfield stone. The restoration work cost £2,000 (equivalent to £235,735 in 2023)[3] and the church reopened on 23 September 1862.[4]