It is surprising what can be hidden in plain sight – including one of Europe’s oldest and most intact wartime airfields. Now lost amidst the brambles, it conceals a rich history of aviation stretching back to 1916.

(Title from An Irish Airman foresees his Death by William Butler Yeats) 

A chance remark led me to Yatesbury. Kate had mentioned how lockdown had led to more local exploration and had commented on the Commonwealth War Graves at the church in the little village. Her Russian friend had been intrigued to see one of his countrymen was buried there: when I visited it was the only grave with flowers so maybe he was responsible.

It is indeed a quintessential English scene: the  pretty church sits next to a classic honeyed rectory, the burial grounds are shaded by aging yews. It would appear to be far from the World War battlefields yet there are actually 36 Commonwealth burials here (and three Polish), the pristine white stones standing as sharply to attention as any found in the fields of Flanders.

I was intrigued by the story behind this small slice of a lost generation; little did I realise that my investigations would lead to a uniquely preserved airfield which dates back to the days of the Royal Flying Corps, which had created two airfields here in 1916 for training Corps Reconnaissance pilots.

East and West camps lay each side of the minor road which leads from the busy A4 to the village but it is West camp that survives to this day with its officers and men’s quarters and three large hangars.

How different those early planes must have been! The fact went some way towards explaining the seventeen World War 1 graves in the churchyard from a time when training accidents often outnumbered losses during actual operations. Training actually continued until 1919 but finally the squadrons were disbanded and in early 1920, the airfield reverted to agricultural use.

In 1936, the site was purchased by the British Aviation Company for a reserve flying school – Wing Commander Guy Gibson V. C., who led the Dambusters to the Ruhr, trained at Yatesbury in 1936. It was then taken over by the Air Ministry in 1939. Tiger moths were now the aircraft of the day but the base was soon to be turned over solely for the training of airborne wireless operators.

East Camp became No. 1 Radio Camp with morse code and wireless instruction both on the ground and in the air. Later top secret radar training was carried out and in all about 70,000 people passed through the camp. Some never went home: there are another twenty two graves at All Saints Church which date from this era; the average age seems to have been about 20. Together, they came from all corners of the world, from Canada to Russia, from Poland to Ireland, united in a common cause. 

By 1947, the camps were mothballed again, though East Camp was revitalised briefly as RAF Cherill from 1954-1958 with the onset of the Cold War when it continued to train radar operators as well as fitters and mechanics. National Service ceased in 1961 and the camp finally closed in 1965. All the wooden buildings were sold off and the Flying School abandoned. 

And so it remains to this day. I had never previously registered the cluster of buildings huddled on the flatlands of the valley as I whizzed past on the A4 but they are actually very extensive and include three Grade 2 hangars, though sadly two of these have deteriorated beyond repair.

We left the church and parked at the crossroads where you first enter the village. A tarmacked road marked ‘private’ heads westwards through a beautiful poplar avenue, sidewalks lost under weeds and moss: this was once the main entrance to the camp.

Just to the south of the crossroads, Hangar 45 can be seen, a large red brick World War 2 building in good order and converted for modern use. But on the nearby corner of the camp avenue, a wire fence hides the first of our World War 1 hangars.

Squeeze through the gap in the fence and you will find yourself standing on the vast expanse of concrete that was once the floor of the wooden framed hangar which was built for the repair of aircraft in 1916. Little else remains apart from a sad row of wooden rooms on the northern side, much vandalised and damaged. We wondered how original the vinyl sofa was and looked westwards over where the runway would have been.

Proceeding up the avenue, there is a grey nondescript building which was once the main guardhouse to the camp. A previous explorer has taken some excellent photos of the old buildings but years later the brambles have grown up and many of them are difficult to access.

A pillbox materialises soon after on the right and to avoid the private out of bounds house, we switched to the parallel bridleway which runs behind it. The metalled track leads past another open pillbox on the left, heavily disguised under a low apple tree, and shortly after to a junction. Over the field to the south, the facades of the buildings can be seen.

We retreated back down the lane and found a gap in the fence which allowed us better views over some of the site although it is very overgrown. A second hangar lies in ruins but the third appears to have been preserved.

However, saddest of all are the decaying brick buildings including the ready room where the crews once waited and the rendered officers building with its mess, billiard room and offices. It was built in 1936 by Cecil Jones with fine bay windows and arched facade and was described in 2003 by English Heritage as the finest of such on any of the fifty Civilian Service Flying Training Schools’ bases.

Other buildings include a sick bay, ambulance shed, motor garages, generator rooms, office and accommodation blocks and even a squash court which had a fine glazed roof. The base was known for its sporting opportunities from cycling, rowing and running (Roger Bannister once trained at the camp) and even climbing at Cheddar Gorge.

However, the history of the place today does not appear to count for much. Surely there is an argument for the preservation and stabilisation of the remaining unique buildings? I am sure people would be interested in visiting the base if it were open and there is so much fascinating history contained within its confines.

There cannot be many virtually complete WW1/2 airfields left today and there’s the rub. It was bought by a Moroccan businessman in 1998 who aimed to build houses on the base – it still exists only because he ran out of funds for the development in 2008. It would sadly appear to be on borrowed time and one day no doubt will be bulldozed to make way for another sprawling, anodyne housing estate.

Sic transit gloria mundi: so passes the glory of the world and the men who once flew there – best see it now while there is still something left. 

NOTES

Yatesbury lies on the A4 between Calne and Marlborough in Wiltshire. The buildings, in theory, are out of bounds and some appear to be in use of some sort. Much of the site is very overgrown: approach with discretion! 

Coordinates for All Saints church:

51°26’32.53”N, 01°54’36.77”W

The crossroads for the avenue:

51°26’31.43”N, 01°55’06.94”W.

Officers Building:

51°26’22.88”N, 01°55’39.22”W

Memorials: There are two fairly uninspiring memorials side by side on the A4 at the entrance to the Wiltshire Microlight Centre, which now occupies the East airfield. All the buildings on this, bar one brick gymnasium, were wooden and nothing remains today.

One is dedicated to the airmen, the other has a map of the old airfields.

Photographs of the site by John Greach who enjoyed better access than I:

Check it out: Very low rent music video by the Timelords/KLF (1988): Doctorin’ the Tardis. It was filmed on the base and shows the concrete runway and the two westernmost hangars, as well as views over Cherill Down with the white horse and the Lansdowne monument.