Part 18 Summary

Telegraphist Trained Operator Royal Navy

Served in Combined Operations Bombardment Unit with the Long Range Desert Group in Sicily and landings made at Cape Muro di Porco, near Syracuse and Augusta Harbour, in Sicily.

In Italy with the Scots Guards at Anzio, and with the Princess Patricia Canadian Light Infantry at Rimini.

In France with the Fusilier Marines (a French regiment) at Hyeres near Marseilles, southern France.

With the French Maquis (Resistance) took a fortress on the Isle D’Oleron near the estuary of the River Gironde on the west coast of France, in the Bay of Biscay.

The Landing Craft Infantry Small (L.C.I.S.) 2503, sailing between Troon and the island of Arran, with personnel returning from leave, post,

Awarded the 1939-45 Star

The Africa Star with Rosette (for service with the 8^th Army)

The France and Germany Star

The Italy Star

The Victory Medal

The Bombardment Unit’s job was to direct fall of shot from warships out at sea, on to shore targets using the radio with morse code. We were trained up to 22 words per minute. Type 18 army wireless set, then Type 22, carried in white scout car.

Part 17 Demob

On arrival at the camp I was billeted in a Nissen hut along with about 20 hopefuls waiting patiently for their number to be called. We had to parade every morning, and then the numbers of those going on release were called out. It was rather frustrating as the numbers seemed to go up very slowly, and we were all impatient to get back to “civvy street”. We spent most of our time in the camp making briquettes, from piles of coal slack, and bags of concrete, within wooden frames. I hoped they burned O.K. as some of them seemed to have a lot more concrete in them than seemed necessary.

After about 3 weeks my number was called out, I think it was 162, and then I had to proceed to Maryhill Barracks in Glasgow to hand in all my service equipment as required, and collect my civilian attire.

I got a grey lounge suit, shirts, shoes, and a trilby, and when I came out of the stores it was with a great feeling of relief, knowing that I had survived, where thousands had not.

I said thanks to the man at the counter for my civvies beyond description. I also said thanks to the Lord up above for having spared me from is conscription.

Catching a train at Glasgow I went home to my parents’ house at Kelloholm, and they very kindly let Helen, and I, have their front bedroom upstairs, in which to set up house.

I now had to find a job as I had resigned from the job I was doing when called up to the forces. This was a job working for the Ordnance Survey Dept which entailed being in lodgings, and travelling all over the country. This was an interesting job for a single chap but not so good for a married man.

Helen’s brother John was a fireman in Manchester, and this was suggested as a possibility, so I decided to have a go, as John had told me that the Fire Brigade would eventually fix us up with a house. This seemed a good idea, as my assets consisted of Helen, sixty pounds savings, sixty pounds gratuity, and my demob suit.

Part 16 Service in Scotland

We travelled back across the channel and went back up again to Dundonald Camp.

I wrote to my mother, and Helen, and gave them all my news, and got theirs as well, as there was mail waiting for us on our return. Helen had now got a job as a cook at Prestwick Airport, and was helping to feed the American aircrews. There did not seem to be any shortages for the Yanks as I was told that if they ran out of chocolate the cooks just boiled some Mars bars to make chocolate sauce.

Helen found a room with a family in Ayr, so that it was very handy for both of us.

The Bombardment Unit was disbanded (Many years later I learned that the job is done by the Royal Marines. Info from the new bursar at Rossall School, Fleetwood, who was a former commander in the Royal Navy) and I was then posted to an L.C.I.S. (Landing Craft Infantry Small) 2503, which was stationed at Troon, and run personnel and stores, mail etc, from Troon to Arran where there was a military base. Out in the open sea the little boat bobbed about like a cork, and for the first time in my service, I was seasick. The crew of about 20 were very sympathetic, as most of them had suffered in a similar fashion. Conditions on the boat were very cramped, and it was possible to hold a conversation sat on a lavatory seat, over the top of a half size door with a colleague who could be having his dinner.

About this time lists were issued of numbers relating to a person’s discharge date, which was based upon the length of service; first in, first out, except for a few highly specialised jobs.

I spent most of the time on the boat employed as a seaman as there was no telegraphy required and when in post took my turn at sentry duty on the gangway.

After about one month of this, I was told to go to the lieutenant’s office who was oi/c the boat, and he gave me the necessary travel permits to go to Cookham camp in the south of England. This was a dispersal point for personnel whose release number would soon be coming up.

Part 15 Isle d’Oleron

When I got back to Dundonald Camp, all the required equipment was issued, and our section was told to proceed to the French side of the English Channel, and contact a group of the French maquis (resistance) where the river Gironde run into the Bay of Biscay.

There was a fortress on an island, called Isle d’Oleron, in the Bay, which had been bypassed by our forces, and which was still occupied by Germans. Our forces by this time had just started fighting in Germany.

When we contacted the French group, it was difficult at first to get any order from the assembly as they were all dressed in civilian clothes, and carrying rifles, and tommy guns, but order eventually prevailed, after a lot of arm waving, and shouting.

It was arranged that we would be taken over to the island by a rowing boat in the early hours of the following morning while it was still dark.

Once we had loaded all our gear into the rowing boat it was well down in the water, but we managed to get safely on to the island, the oarsman having kept very quiet, and having muffled his oars. He dropped us on a sandbank, and then rowed himself back to the mainland.

We positioned ourselves comfortably on the sandbank, and the captain, peering over the top with his binoculars, started to work out the map reference for the fortress.

I set up the radio, and got ready to transmit, the supporting warship being French, and called the Montcalm. We had a liaison officer on board shi

Suddenly the sand, a few inches from my body started spurting up, and I thought the worms must be very active in the pile of sand. I realised that the spurts were in time with machine gun fire from the mainland, and I realised that we were being shot at by our allies on the mainland. Someone on the mainland seeing shapes moving about on the island must have thought we were Germans. I swung my radio round to protect my chest, wishing that it was a lot bigger than it was (the radio). Fortunately the bursts of gunfire soon stopped, and we were none the worse.

After I had transmitted the map reference figures to the Montcalm, a few ranging shots came over and soon we were bang on target. We used a clock code to correct the fall of shots. Twelve o’clock being due north, and three o’clock due east, etc, and every 100 yards away from the target was a letter of the alphabet, “A” being 100 yards, “B” two hundred yards and so on. E.g. 6C meant that the shells were falling due south – 300 yards from the target.

Shortly after the shells started landing on the fortress, the Germans ran up the white flag, as they realised that they were fighting a lost cause.

Our friend with the rowing boat came over with a delegation who were going to the fort to arrange the surrender, and he took us back to the mainland. Nobody knew who had been firing at us from the mainland at the start of the operation, or if they did, they were not going to say.

We learned later that the first few shells that had been fired by the Montcalm had simply dropped out of the gun barrel into the sea. Our liaison officer told us that initially the French gunners were getting a bit panic-stricken, but they got it right in the end.

Part 14 To Scotland

Having got safely back to Dundonald camp, and handed in all my armaments, I was gives a pass, railway warrant, and food ration coupons for nearly a month’s leave. I must have had a good tan, because the milkman told my mother that I looked like a n****r. (Sorry, I could not bring myself to publish that word. Please see end of Part 12. RM)

After a few days at home, I contacted Helen, and arranged to see her at the weekend when she came home. Having kept in contact for two years, even although mail deliveries had sometimes been difficult, and came in batches, we seemed to be suited, and so we decided to get engaged.

During my absence overseas Helen had left her job at Walsh’s, and had been directed to work in a machine tool factory, which previously had been a carpet factory. This work had been very noisy, boring, and repetitive, and she hated it.

She was given time off to look after her niece, Margaret Gavin, when her elder sister Mary suffered an injury to her leg.

Helen’s next job was a probationer nurse at Irvine Central Hospital, which entailed her with a lot of studying, and was a bit of an obstacle as regards courtship, but we usually managed to find a way around it.

On completion of my leave, I returned to Dundonald camp, and recommenced the merry cycle of running around once more dressed up like a packhorse. It was tough going, after so long away, but it all came back eventually.

This training was kept up for several months, and then we were given some more leave, prior to going on another operation. This was unexpected, as we seemed to be well on the way to winning the war as our troops were nearing the German border.

During this leave, we decided to get married on the 6^th February 1945, and the happy event took place at the Masonic Hall, Muirkirk, under the auspices of the Rev. John Henderson B.D. who during his little speech at the reception, warned me to beware of the left hand, having noticed the bride was left handed.

Even although rationing was in force, there seemed to be plenty, and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.

We travelled by bus with my Aunt Janet to Cambuslang, and there was knowing smiles from the rest of the passengers as we hadn’t managed to get all the confetti off our clothing.

The rest of the week was spent with my cousin Nan at Musselburgh, and we spent our time wandering around the sights, and at the zoo in Edinburgh.

Part 13 Language Problem Solved

When I said “Merci beaucoup” (thank you very much) to the French people after a service done, they usually burst out laughing, but nobody would give me an explanation.

Many years later I met a girl who had graduated as a language teacher in French and Italian, and I told her of this wartime experience.

She explained that “beau” means beautiful and “coup” is a slang term for “rounded bottom”. The correct way to say “beaucoup” is to sound them close together, and make the “coup” sound like the “coo” a dove would make.

In my schoolboy French I had been saying “Thank you, beautiful rounded bottom”, and she said that for obvious reasons this variation is not taught in the classroom.

She also supplied the English translation of the Italian propaganda postcards. Pp67-68

(If I ever gain access to the required equipment, I will post images of these postcards. They show Italian soldiers looking heroic, a subhuman, very angry “Bolshevism” and a German and an Italian soldier removing one of John Bull’s teeth. RM)

Part 12 To France, then England

Some time later we were directed to Algiers harbour, and to get on a boat which was going to land us on the south of France. We found that we were to support the Fusilier Marines, which was a French regiment which had been made up from people who were previously on the French Navy boats which had been sunk by the Royal Navy, or scuttled to prevent them falling into German hands. While sailing across the Med. Towards southern France, we heard that some of the merchant seamen were threatening to go on strike, as they didn’t think that they were getting enough danger money. It must have been sorted out, because the operation carried on as planned, and we landed on France on 15-8-44.

We landed on the coastline, near the town of Hyeres which was a few miles from Marseilles, and the landing initially was not opposed. We met with some resistance further inland but the French troops managed to cope. We had to march very fast, because we were throwing a loop round Marseilles as the French Foreign Legion had landed on the other side of Marseilles, and we had to join up with them. They invited us to join with them in their meal at the rendezvous point but we declined with thanks. They were having baby octopi cooked in olive oil, which they seemed to regard as a great delicacy.

Both the French forces turned south, and we entered the Marseilles area. Most of the Germans had fled from the town, so that it didn’t take long to clear the port area, and our ships were soon able to come in and berth.

We spent the night in one of the dock offices, and the following day we were reunited with our white scout car.

Our officer told us that our programme now was to head north up through France towards Paris if it was clear, and then go west, to a Channel port for home.

About halfway towards Paris, we stopped to spend the night in a town where the people were so pleased to be liberated that they put us up in the best hotel in town for free.

The hotel manager told us that if we had been a little earlier that we would have seen one of their freedom celebrations. The partisans had rounded up all the women who had been fraternising with the Germans, and given them the option of having their heads shaved, and being marched through the town, or spending some time with the French Native troops. Most of them chose the former punishment.

About thirty miles south of Paris we were directed to stay in a big house which stood in its own grounds with a river flowing through, and on which it was possible to take a punt. We had a good rest there, and were able to write letters, do our washing, and generally laze around. The allies captured Paris on the 24/25 August 1944, and when this was announced, we were able to proceed on our journey.

When we got to Paris we were given an empty house, previously occupied by the Germans to live in, and once settled in, our captain made arrangements for us to go to the Folies Bergere in celebration.

When we got to the hall we had to stand right at the back, and the stage seemed a long way away. There were no opera glasses available for hire, as they had all been commandeered for the war effort.

After a couple of days we headed westwards to a channel port, crossed over, then travelled up to London, to get a train for Dundonald camp.

The first train that we had got on to, after crossing the channel was full of school kids going to school, and it was wonderful to listen to them talking away to one another it English. We had been overseas for about two years.

(My father was not a racist, but he was born in 1922 and expressed himself as a man of his time. The "French Native troops" he refers to were French colonial troops from Africa. RM)

Part 11 Back to North Africa Again

We set sail from Naples harbour, and headed south for North Africa. Before we came into view of the coastline, we ran into a swarm of locusts, which must have been blown off course. The sea was covered with them, and on deck they snapped and crackled underfoot.

Our disembarkation point was Djidjelli, a small port on the east side of Algiers. Transport took us out to a small camp about 2 miles from the town, and we were given tents in which to live. The camp had been vacated by its previous occupants but in each tent they had left their beds which consisted of pieces of wood driven into the ground and stretched across the top was a Summerfield tracking. This tracking was like reinforces wire netting which was put down on beaches to stop vehicles sinking into the soft sand. They made comfortable beds, and it was a comfort to get above ground level, on which to rest.

After a few days I took a walk into Djidelli, but it was a small town and there wasn’t much to be seen, so I went into a barber’s for a haircut. I asked for a short back and sides, and the old Frenchman eventually understood, as he had a smattering of English, and I remembered some of my schoolboy French. He asked me where I had served, and when I told him I had just come back from Italy, he told me that his son was in Italy fighting with the Free French forces. He then told me that he was looking after his grandson and his daughter-in-law while his son was away.

I had a few squares of chocolate of my ration left which I had meant to eat on my way back into the camp. I gave them to him for his grandson and the old chap was quite overcome, as chocolate was very hard to come by. He then told me that he was shutting shop soon, and that he would be delighted if I would stay and have tea with his family. The house was over the shop, and he took me up to meet his wife, and grandson. His daughter-in-law was out at work somewhere, and I didn’t meet her.

The meal was bread, with salad, and cheese, with wine, and it made a nice change from our usual fare. He invited me to come back and visit him the next time I was in town, and I went on my way back to the camp, thinking I had done a little bit towards the Entente Cordiale.

My rank had been upgraded from ordinary telegraphist to telegraphist at Naples, and we were told now to get into the Naval barracks at Algiers and take the exam for leading telegraphist. When we got into the barracks one of the petty officers told us that those who passed for the leading rank were to be sent out to the far east to fight the Japs. I obtained sufficient marks in the exam to get the leasing telegraphist grade, but I declined the offer with thanks, and took the telegraphist trained operator grade which meant getting an additional star on the telegraphists badge, instead of two which it would have been for the Leading Tel’s grade. I preferred to go back home instead of going out further east, even at the expense of promotion.

My pal A.J. Godfrey passed the test for Leading Signalman, and some time later he was instructed to get out to the local airport, and catch a plane to take him further east. He was limited with his weight of luggage, and gave me his boot brushes to reduce his amount. These were very good brushes and are still in use more than forty years on. They have his name stamped on them so they have been good souvenirs.

After the exams were completed, we were allowed out of the Algiers barracks to have a look around the place, but were warned not to enter the kasbah (the native quarter). A few of the lads did, and when they came back to camp, they told us stories of exceptional things a woman had done with bottles, and with a mule, in a club they had visited. We saw one of the official red lamp premises, and the women were sat on a bench just inside the door which was open, as it was very hot. They had on so much makeup plastered on their faces it would have been difficult to identify their features. We carried on to the bazaars, where everything was done by haggling over the price, but we didn’t get very much as we didn’t know how we were going to be fixed for transport in the future.

A few days after the trip to Algiers we were all turned out of our tents, and they were all searched for an officer’s missing bedroll. It was never found, and it was believed that Arabs must have sneaked in, and out with it, although how they did it was a mystery, as the camp had a guard at the gate, and the perimeter fence, which did not appear to be cut anywhere, was continually patrolled.

Part 10 Back to Naples

We were allowed to keep the jeep, and used it to travel down south, back to Naples. We went to the fort in Naples harbour, but were redirected to a big house on the outskirts of Naples which was to be our unit’s base.

As the drinking water was obtained from wells, we had been given a supply of tablets to put in the water before it was drunk. The tablet gave the water an unpleasant taste, but most of us followed instructions. One of my friends, John Liggins, wouldn’t use them, and to my sorrow I heard that he had been taken in to Naples hospital, and died of typhoid fever. I wrote a letter to his mother, and she wrote back inviting me to visit her when I got leave. She lived at Irthlingboro, near Wellingborough, but I never did go and see her in case it reopened old wounds.

Living in the house was good, but it meant that we had to assume greater responsibility for our safety and equipment, and had to take turns at doing guard duty. Everything was in such short supply, including food, that it had to be watched or it disappeared.

After about a fortnight we were told to leave the jeep, were given a white scout car, which is a half-track, armoured vehicle, and make our way very quickly up to Rimini on the North East coast of Italy. There we were to link up with the Princess Patricia Canadian Light Infantry. They had run into strong German resistance and had asked for Naval bombardment support.

We drove up almost non-stop, and we each took a turn at the driving. I had only driven my father’s Morris 10 for a few months before being called up, but I consoled myself with the fact that if we hit anything they would be worse off, as we were heavily armour-plated, unless it was a tank.

We arrived at Rimini safely, and contacted the Canadians, who we found were right into the town.

They told us that a warship had appeared off the coastline the day previous, and shortly afterwards the Germans had packed their bags and left, so that our services were not required. They kindly shared their rations with us, and then we returned back south again to Naples in a much more leisurely fashion, to report back to base.

After returning to the unit at Naples, and getting everything straightened up, a few of us decided to explore the surrounding countryside. Vesuvius had erupted some months previously and we were told of a village called Pollena Trochia, which had been almost completely buried under the lava. We went to have a look, and most of the houses were buried, but the top of the church was still sticking up through all the ash. I thought it rather symbolic, the cross above the fire, and brimstone.

Even although the visit was made several months after the eruption, the heat from the ash could be felt through the soles of the boots.

Shortly after this trip we were directed to pack up all our gear, make our way down to Naples docks, and wait for a small merchant ship to take us back to North Africa

Part 9 The Battle of Anzio

We spent a few days in the comfort of our foxhole waiting on our orders to make our way triumphantly up to Rome, when suddenly there was a mighty big thump, and earth and grass flew all over the place. So did I down the foxhole. This was the first of many.

There was a range of hills overlooking the place where we had stopped, and the Germans had brought up their heavy artillery and now were going show us what good gunners they were. Somebody took pity on us, gave us a jeep and told us to move down to the town of Nettuno, which was also in the beachhead. We found a big house, mostly occupied with American military police, but there were two rooms spare on the top floor which they let us have.

We very soon found out why the rooms had been left empty, as Nettuno was also being blasted by the German artillery, and it was safer on the ground or first floor, than on the top floor. I found a single bed on the top floor, abandoned by its owner, and it was luxurious to get on it at night, securely wrapped in my single blanket even if the house did shake occasionally. (Friendly with American M.P. Tin of sardines for army blanket.)

We were ordered to use the jeep and get ourselves, and equipment up to a two-storey farmhouse which was on the front line, and use the upstairs as an observation post. The captain gave us map references which we transmitted back to the supporting warship, and soon the shells were screaming over our heads towards the Germans. They must have realised that the farmhouse was being used as an observation post, because they started shelling it with great fury, and everything started to shake and rattle, including my knees and teeth. We hurriedly made our way downstairs, and there was a unit of the London Scottish, newly arrived in there as well. One young soldier was in a corner crying for his mother, and scraping at the wall with his fingernails. A sergeant took him out the back but I don’t know what became of him, as we had to go back upstairs again when there was a lull in the shelling, and carry on with the bombardment.

We did this intermittently as required using different observation posts, and eventually contact was made by land with the 5^th Army on the 25^th May. The frigate “Penelope” was sunk off Anzio on 18/2/44 by a radio-controlled bomb from a German aeroplane, and some of the survivors stayed at our house until taken back to Naples by sea.

Part 8 Pompeii and Anzio

After a few days we ventured further afield and went on a trip to the ruins of Pompeii. Pompeii had been a retreat for the rich, the houses were elaborate with murals, gardens, and pools, and was sited about 12 miles from Naples at the base of Vesuvius. In 79 AD there had been a violent eruption, and the place was buried under ash, and white-hot lava, with the loss of about twenty thousand lives.

Legend had it, that the city had been destroyed because of its sinful ways, and a close look around the properties exposed, could lead one to understand the reasons for this suggestion. On street corners where relevant, the house walls had a penis carved on the walls pointing in the direction of the brothel. Inside the brothel there were several little cubicles, and above the entrance door to each cubicle, was the painting of a girl in the position in which she practiced her art.

Various shops, the Forum, Temple and museum were also on view, and the streets were straight and narrow. The grooves left by the chariot wheels could still be seen along the roadways. Our guide took us into one big house where a large painting was kept hidden behind a locked door and he told us it was for viewing by men only. The drawing was of a man who had a very large penis which was resting on one side of a pair of scales, and on the other side he was placing gold bars.

In the museum were several plaster casts taken of people whose bodies had left spaces in the ash and they were all in hunched up positions, with their arms over their faces, no doubt for protection. It must have been a horrible death.

We spent several more weeks at the fort, and then one day we were told to be ready to leave at short notice. This meant checking all our equipment, writing any letters that were due, and getting our smalls washed.

Marching orders came, and we were taken to the docks to embark on a troopship, where we found we were going to serve with the Scots Guards. I wandered around the permitted parts of the ship, and I found two lads whom I knew, both from Kelloholm, Kirkconnel. They were called Andrew McMinn, and Jimmy Boyle. I had been at school with Jimmy’s younger sister, Lizzie and Andrew’s younger brother, Jim. The McMinn family were keen bagpipe players and we could often hear them being played in my family home, particularly by the father who was in the local pipe band.

The troopship stopped a few miles from the coastline and we were told that our landing was going to be at a place called Anzio. We scrambled down the nets into the landing craft, and set off for our destination

When we got to the beach everything was silent, and in the darkness appeared to be completely deserted. We marched a few miles inland and then were told to dig ourselves in. Fortunately the ground was fairly soft and soon we had a foxhole that no fox would have been ashamed of, made by using a trenching tool with which we had been supplied. This was on 22-1-44.

We learned that this beachhead had been made to try and get the Germans to leave Monte Cassino which was an abbey on top of a mountain, further south, so that we were now behind it, and the Germans’ line.

The Germans had made the abbey into a fortress, and despite repeated bombing raids by the R.A.F. and assaults by the Allied troops, held grimly on. They were not dislodged from this position until the 18^th May 1944.

It was an American general who was in charge of the Anzio beachhead, and instead of dashing north to take Rome a few miles up the road, he decided to stay in the beachhead and build up supplies of men and arms before moving any further.

This cautious attitude may have been caused by a landing which had been made at Salerno, a few weeks previously, and it very nearly was a disaster. It was because of air force superiority that they were able to break out of the beachhead, before the Germans had pushed them back into the sea. A member of one of our bombardment teams was killed in the operation, by one of our planes dropping its bombs on our lines, instead of on the Germans, as the operations were changing so swiftly.

Part 7 To Africa and Back to Italy

We disembarked at Sousse, a port on the North African coastline, which was very much shattered by the recent fighting. On the way into the port, there were ships’ hulks sticking out of the water, and the harbour installations appeared to have been devastated. There were teams of naval craftsmen working on repairing the damage, and it must have been a hot and sweaty job as the sun was blazing down.

We were billeted in a ruin of a house, the roof of which was open in parts, and there was no furniture about the place at all. We each picked ourselves a corner in a room, in which we dumped all our equipment, and at night wrapped up in a blanket, and lay on the beautifully tiled floor, and admired the heavenly constellations, and thought of home.

We got a lot of mail sent to us at the time, which had been building up in North Africa, while we were in Sicily, and amongst letters from my mother, and Helen, there was also a gift parcel from the W.V.S. Inside there were socks, and a recorder, which was much appreciated. I was able to squat in my corner, and tootle on the recorder, rather quietly in case any of the local snakes accepted it as an invitation to come into the house.

For many years afterwards I astounded my family with my rendition of “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine”, which up to that time had been a wartime favourite.

After a few weeks in Sousse, we were put on a tank landing craft, which was a big landing craft capable of carrying several tanks, and their crews, and we headed across the Mediterranean once again for Italy. About halfway across we ran into a violent storm, and the ship shook and trembled so much, we were afraid it was going to split, and sink. This had happened to several of the so called “Liberty” ships, which ships had been made up by prefabricating the various parts, inland in America, sending the parts to a Naval shipyard, and sticking the parts together, for launching.

We were very glad when the Italian coastline came into view, and the peak of Vesuvius was prominent on the horizon. The volcano had been in eruption, but appeared to be quiet when we arrived in Naples harbour.

A large fort called Fort Delloro, projected into the harbour, and was linked to the mainland by a long causeway. We collected all our gear from the ship, and marched into the fort. Sentries at the gate examined all our identity chits and paperwork, then let us pass through to take up quarters in what appeared to be a semi-dungeon.

There were various bits of metalwork, and hooks projecting from the walls but it may possibly have been used as a storeroom in the past, as it was a very old building. The flagged floor was not so comfortable to sleep on as the tiled floor at Sousse, but we eventually got used to the ridges, by sleeping on our sides, and letting them fit into the bodily contours.

We were allowed out the fort the following day, and took a walk in to have a look around Naples. The main street was very busy and looked impressive, but this was just a façade. The back streets were filthy, and the houses mostly appeared to be run down or derelict.

Several times little boys came up to us and said, “You want a girl Johnny, me got nice sister, very clean, very cheap”, but we declined all their offers.

We had been warned before leaving the fort that the Germans on their retreat Northwards had injected some women, who thinking it was for their benefit, to prevent disease, had been injected with venereal disease. This had been effective in disabling a lot of troops, and caused as many casualties as a regiment would have caused in battle. When news reached England a woman M.P. asked Parliament (Reported in the Forces newspaper) that it be made a law that men returning from the Middle East should be made to wear some distinguishing mark, so that everyone would know that they were possibly affected by the disease. This was turned down, but it was agreed that any man who caught venereal disease should stay abroad until he was cured. This was a big incentive to stay celibate.

On the way back to the fort we found some people rummaging amongst the bins which were waiting for collection on the causeway. Food was so desperately short that they were trying to find something to eat amongst the troops’ leftovers.

Part 6 Augusta

After some days encampment we were told to get kitted up again for some more action further up the coast. We boarded a ship called the Ulster Monarch, and headed for the town of Augusta. This town should have been taken by the Durham Light Infantry, but they had met fierce opposition, and had been pushed out again, by German troops.

When we got into Augusta harbour, all hell was let loose, and we were subjected to heavy gunfire from the roof tops of the houses, on the occupied side of the harbour. The boat couldn’t stop but moved slowly backwards and forwards, firing at shore targets.

We scrambled down the nets on the quiet side of the ship on to a landing craft getting protection from the ship.

The landing craft couldn’t go all the way into the beach, as there were a lot of slippery looking rocks sticking out of the water. I took the wireless set off my back, and carried it in my hands, as I didn’t fancy being weighed down by it if I slipped into the water. I did slip into the water, but was able to place the wireless on a rock above water level as I went down. Several of the lads nearby were picked off by snipers bullets, and I did not see them again.

On landing on the shore, we were mustered together, and then the soldiers started fighting their way around the town from house to house. My wireless was set up on the flat roof of a house, and progress messages sent to the ship. Opposition was a lot stiffer than previous, as in this engagement, we were fighting Germans.

The town was cleared by the following morning and the troops did a bit of searching around in the premises for anything they fancied. In the previous engagement at Syracuse, a pianolo had been found, which was thought to be suitable for the officers mess on board ship. It had been pushed down to the harbour, but when it was found to be too big to be ferried out to the ship, it was just pushed off the harbour wall.

Admiral Troutbridge, who was in charge of the operation, and on board the “Ulster Monarch”, congratulated the troops on their success in capturing the town of Augusta. We returned to the ship, and shortly we found to our dismay that we were sailing back towards North Africa.

The Germans were driven out of Sicily by the combined forces of the British, American and Canadian troops by the 7^th August 1943.

Mussolini, the Italian leader, had believed that Hitler was a certainty to win the war, and he had declared war on the Allies on the 10^th June 1940.

Churchill regarded him as a bombastic hanger-on, and called him “the bullfrog of the Pontine Marshes.” Mussolini was eventually to find that he had made a very big mistake.

Part 5 Operation "Husky" - Night 9/10 July 1943

On 8-7-43, we set sail at night and slipped out of port in darkness, and the buzz soon got round that our destination was Sicily. When the officers had been briefed on the master plan, they got their own men together, and told them what their part of the operation would be. We were ordered to land at Cape Muro di Porco, which is a little cape that is on the bottom right hand side of the island, near Syracuse. We were also given wireless frequencies, and call signs, and told that three gunboats would provide navel bombardment if required. Our allocated gunboat was called “the Scarab”.

Gliders containing troops had been sent in before the main seaborne attack, and some of them had come down in the sea. It was dark, when we came near the coastline, and we could hear the troops shouting for help, but the landing craft just carried on to the beach head. I heard later, that the glider pilots had taken evasive action to avoid all the flak being shot up at them, got lost, and came down in the sea. The pilots who survived were returned to America, and courtmartialled.

Our particular part of the beachhead was very quiet and there was not a soul in sight, much to our great relief. We had landed at H-4, meaning four hours before the main assault, and the L.R.D.G. troops had to march inland, to create a wide safe beachhead, in which the main force, with armament, and stores could be landed. It started to get light, and we started to encounter opposition. The captain gave us a position to transmit to the ship, but to our horror the shells landed behind us. We quickly sent them a signal to stop shooting, and the captain rechecked his figures, and said they were correct, but for safety’s sake he added a few hundred yards on, and when the ship started firing again, the shells roared over our heads towards the enemy. The captain said that we were shooting at a concentration of troops and transports which appeared to be Italian. When the ranging shots came close to the target the captain ordered us to send a message to the ship to fire broadsides, which it did.

The devastation which this caused was too much for the Italians, and they were surrendering in large numbers.

We marched a lot of them to a prisoner of war camp which had been put up near the landing point, and some of them kindly offered to carry my wireless set. One of the Italian soldiers told a British soldier guarding them that the safety catch was fastened on his rifle, and it would slow him down in firing if he tried to escape. They all thought it was a great joke. A lot of the Italians could speak English with an American accent, as they had been to the States, got some money, and then returned home. They were glad to be taken prisoner.

It was a rural area, and the housing left a lot to be desired. They were two storey but their animals were kept on the ground floor, and the family lived above. There was no running water, and drawn, as required from wells. All bodily functions were done in the vineyards, which no doubt helped the crops.

Two women wearing Red Cross armbands were seen hanging around the camp, and we assumed that they were Red Cross workers. We heard later that they had set up business in a barn, as comforts for the troops, and that the badge was a sign of purity. The story went round that a queue had formed, amongst them the padre but this may have been a soldiers joke. We had gone fishing using captured Italian hand grenades.

Part 4 Long Range Desert Group

About 3 weeks later, we were put on a boat, and sailed up the Suez Canal to join up with the troops with whom we had been attached. This was the Long Range Desert Group, (now the S.A.S.) which had been operating behind German lines in the desert, and they claimed to have blown up more planes on the ground than the R.A.F. had managed to destroy. (See cutting, Death in the Desert, The Independent, 15/4/88.) (Colonel Paddy Mayne i/c)

We joined them at a camp near Alexandria, and were issued with their uniform, and weapons, comprising a Smith and Wesson revolver with ammunition, 2 hand grenades, and a dagger.

I still had the type 18 wireless set to carry around, and with a gas cape, blanket, toilet articles and emergency rations, and bandages, “field dressings”, I felt like a pack horse when fully kitted up.

We went out on marches with the troop, and I was asked if I was the pipe major as he apparently is the only man allowed to grow a beard in the British Army. As I wore a naval cap with an army uniform, I was also asked if I was drunk. We were eventually issued with berets similar to the rest of the troops. As water supplies had now improved, I decided to shave off the beard, as I still had my safety razor in my pack. The bottom part of my face looked quite pale after shaving, but it soon got tanned all over. There was a lot of speculation about where we were going, and we knew it was going to be across the Mediterranean, as Winston Churchill said that the “soft underbelly” of Europe would be next for attack on completion of the North African campaign which was finished in August 1942. The idea was to try and draw troops away from the French channel coastline fortifications to reduce casualties when the second front started up, across the channel.

We were attached to the headquarters company of the troop, so that we could be informed if any section met very strong opposition after landing on the beachhead. They only carried light weapons for greater mobility, and with us for contact, could call up the fire power of a warship for support.

Our unit was part of the Combined Operations Bombardment Unit, and comprised a Royal Artillery captain, a bombadier (corporal), and two naval telegraphists.

The R.A. captain was thought to be the best for working out map references for shore targets, and naval telegraphists were required to communicate with the warships. Our captain was a tall thin young man who had not long been in a legal practice when he had been called up. He did not seem very sure of himself, and reached most of his decisions with the aid of the bombadier. We got on well with the soldiers, and the sergeants treated us like visitors from another force, which we were, and left us to our own devices most of the time.

After a few weeks we were marched onto a destroyer berthed in Alexandria harbour, and as usual, it was packed tight with troops, and their equipment. We spent one night in harbour before sailing, and I must have had a nightmare, as I woke up, on a deck above the one I had been sleeping on, standing on a lavatory seat convinced that there was a snake on the floor waiting to bite me. It took a long time to get down off the seat, and get back down to the deck below. Everything was very quiet and no one was disturbed.

We had been told to write our letters before sailing, as it was it known when we would get another chance, but it cramps your style when you are told that all the letters will be censored by an officer, to make sure that you are not disclosing any state secrets.

I wrote to my parents, and Helen, sending them my love, and hoping that it would be the last from Africa, but that there would be many more from Europe.

Part 3 To Africa

On completing the training at Inverary, we returned to Dundonald camp, and were told to be ready for a move overseas, destination unknown. After a few days we were put on a train to Greenock and directed onto a troopship called the M.V. Tegelberg, which was a Dutch ship that had been taken over by our government. The ship was so full of troops that the only place we could find to lay down our heads was in the bottom deck, under the mess deck table. Once the ship got under way, at night there was a cacophony of sound, all around, with men snoring all over the place and the ship’s engines banging and vibrating.

We travelled in a big convoy with warships on the fringes, and a zig-zag course was steered to avoid any torpedoes. We wouldn’t have stood a chance if one struck us, as there were three decks above us, but when we had travelled far enough south, it became warm enough to sleep on the deck. Salt water was supplied for washing and it was difficult to raise a lather. Special soap was on sale at the ship’s stores, but it didn’t perform much better. To reduce my water requirements, I requested permission to grow a beard, and this was granted.

Our first port of call was Capetown, South Africa, and it looked a lovely place, after having been a month at sea. We were given shore leave for one day, and some of us went to have a look around the city. There were notices up, which stated that Negroes should not walk on the pavements, and in the public parks they were excluded from sitting on certain benches.

I saw David Fraser, who had been one of my school chums, and later a working colleague, across the road, looking into a shop window.

I went over to speak to him but he did not recognise me at first, as the beard had grown quite well. He told me that he was a D.E.M.S. rating, which meant that he was a Royal Navy gunner on a defensively equipped merchant ship.

I tried to take the rail lift up to the top of Table Mountain, but as it was covered in cloud, the lift was not in operation. We stayed in port for two days, then set off again up the other side of Africa

I heard that a few of the soldiers had not rejoined the ship, but it was never known whether they had deserted, or been robbed and killed.

We hoped that tropical fruit would be on the menu, after we left Capetown, but it was still the same old slops, slapped into a mess tin, and a spoon was the only item of cutlery required.

The journey up the East coast of Africa lasted for another month, and then we disembarked at Port Tewfik, a Red Sea port, near the bottom end of the Suez Canal. We were then transported to a Royal Artillery camp which had been set up in the desert, miles from anywhere.

The table tops in the mess tents were covered with flies, and a quick brush over only caused them to rise, and wait before they could settle again. After a few days most of us had dysentery, and some of the chaps got it so bad that they could not control themselves, and the place soon had an unpleasant smell. The toilets were holes in the ground, with big boxes over the top, with holes in them, over which you squatted, gritting your teeth, hoping that the frame would not collapse.

We went into the Sinai Desert, and practised shoots on an abandoned R.A.F. camp, with a destroyer out at sea providing shellfire. Someone had left a sign in the urinal which said “The future of Britain is in your hands”.

Part 2 Into Combined Operations

Travelling back on the bus from weekend leave I changed buses at Cumnock to get the Ayr bus and on board there were some girls who were regular passengers. A soldier, who was also a regular passenger, and I used to turn on the charm, and use the magic of the uniform with what we hoped was a devastating effect. This was how I met Helen Marshall, who later became my wife.

Helen worked as a cook at Mr. Walsh’s who was a solicitor with a big house near the Ayr seafront. They also employed a young house maid called Jean Smith, and eventually I was invited to the house, and later my pal Donald also came, making up a jolly foursome. The food was very good, and plentiful even although rationing was in force. Mr. Walsh was pain in produce by some of the local farmers.

Later I went with Helen one week end, to visit her family at Muirkirk. When we all sat down for dinner there was a long silence so I got stuck into the soup, thinking that they were all waiting for me to start. To my consternation, the old man of the house bent his head and said grace, so I hurriedly dropped my spoon, and bent my head likewise. The houses were in long rows occupied by miners and their families, and comprised a living room, with one or two bedrooms, and the W.C., and the wash houses were across the road. Helen’s house had two bedrooms as they had a large family, and the beds were recessed in the walls, two in the living room, and one in each of the bedrooms. The wives were allowed the use of the washhouse, on one day per week.

When the wireless course was nearing it’s end, our instructor asked for volunteers for special service, but would give no further details of what it would entail. My pal Donald was the only one to volunteer so the instructor put our names into a hat and told Donald to pull some names out, amongst which was mine.

The reluctant volunteers were then sent down by train to Devonport, a naval barracks on the south coast of England. We stayed there for a week, and then learned that we were going into Combined Operations, a group made up of units from the Royal Navy, the Army, and the R.A.F., and headed by Lord Mountbatten The unit’s badge was made up of insignia from each of the services, a stockless anchor, a tommy gun across the centre of the anchor, and a pair of wings on the anchor top. We were then supplied with winter clothing, and put on a train which took us back up to Scotland. Our destination was Dundonald Camp, which was about 20 miles north of H.M.S. Scotia, and near Dundonald village between Irvine and Troon.

Physical training became much more intense and we had to run round training courses loaded down with equipment. One location meant racing along a plank placed over a deep hole, which to my surprise was stuffed with barbed wire at the bottom. Fortunately, my momentum gave sufficient impetus to get to the other side. We were also fired upon, but were assured that they were all blanks

This new camp was very convenient for maintaining contacts made when at HMS Scotia, and I pressed my suit with Helen. We had walks around Ayr Harbour, the River Ayr Walks, and forces’ concerts at Ayr ice rink. We got sustenance from the Church of Scotland canteen and the hot dogs with soya sausages were quite good.

When we were thought to be sufficiently trained, we were sent out to Inverary to practice beach landings from landing craft on Loch Fyne, the local large sea loch. Once landed on the beach we then had to climb up some of the local mountains with a type 18 wireless set, on our backs, and a morse key strapped to our legs. On reaching the top of the mountain, we than had to try and make contact with the other groups. The radio transmissions were usually successful and we could get through when there were no obstructions to the signals.

We were billeted in Nissan huts near Inverary Castle, and nearby were hundreds of Canadian troops who were also under training, in assault landing procedures. We sometimes went route marches around the district, and were fallen out when we got back to the village

We usually made a dash to the village tea shop which resulted in long queues, straining their resources to the limit. A few people at the head of the crowd would get the cups, and the remainder got their tea in jam jars, so it didn’t have to be too hot.

The Canadians had an entertainments hut, which showed films, and occasionally an E.N.S.A. (Entertainments National Services Act, better known as Every Night Something Awful) concert, to which we had a standing invitation, but were usually so tired that we were quite happy to flop down on our bunks, when we got back to the huts.

Part 1 Recruitment and Training

Britain was on its knees, battling against the armed might of Germany and Italy, when it was decided at a high level to call up the ultimate deterrent.

My call up came on the 23^rd February 1942, and I had to report to H. M. S. Royal Arthur at Skegness, Lincolnshire. This place had previously been a Billy Butlin’s holiday camp, but was now converted to a dry land training ship.

We were billeted three persons to a room, which were made up in long rows, with W. C.’s and showers at each end. This lay out proved rather awkward during the cold winter nights, to one of my room mates who drank a lot of beer, and he found the wash hand basin in the room very useful for relieving himself. As he always run the taps afterwards, the other lad and I pretended to be asleep, and didn’t complain.

The training was very basic, and concentrated on squad drill, some knots, and how to row a boat on what had once been the camp swimming pool. Most of the instructors would have had trouble touching their toes, and the majority of them appeared to be men who should have retired, but would no doubt have been kept on duty for the war.

At the end of a month we were given a series of tests, to find out what branch of the service we would be best suited for. My beer drinking room mate was sent to the stokers’ branch, the other lad to be an officer’s steward, and me to be a telegraphist (wireless operator).

All the men who were going into the communications branch were sent by train, with a petty officer in charge, to H. M. S. Scotia, near Ayr in Scotland. This was another Billy Butlin’s Holiday camp which had been commandeered for the war effort.

On the way up, we passed through Kirkconnel station, and I threw a message on to the station platform to let my family knew that I was in the area, and would write to them from my new destination, once settled in.

H.M.S. Scotia was abut 30 miles from where my parents lived at Killoholm, Kirkconnel, and I was able to get home some weekends when not needed for the duty party. Our instructor was a chief petty officer, called Slater, who had been a survivor from the Ark Royal, an aircraft carrier which had been sank in the Mediterranean sea by torpedo.

We started on mastering the Morse code very slowly, but gradually the speed increased, and over a 6 months training period, we worked up to 22 words a minute. A few of the lads could not stand the pace, and had nervous breakdowns. They were sent away for treatment, never to be seen by us again. Fortunately my two best friends, Donald MacDonald from Lairg, Sutherland and Alan J. Godfrey from Wisbech, Cambs, managed to keep up with their instructors, and sometimes came home with me at week-end. Donald was also on the telegraphists’ course, but Alan was training to be a signalman, using flags, which group were known as the bunting tossers.

Towards the end of the wireless course, we were given a weeks leave, and Donald suggested that I could get my railway warrant made out to his house away up in the Highlands, instead of me just going home, to where we both had been quite often during the course.

We set off in the morning from Ayr, got a train to Glasgow, then one to Inverness. We eventually completed the journey on a single line track, amongst the mountains, at Lairg, Sutherland.

We had a good long walk from the station to where Donald’s mother lived, in a cottage at the side of a small lock. She made us welcome, and after a meal, a chat, Donald and I walked back down to the village. He took me into his local and introduced me to a lot of his friends. We were both wearing our uniform, and the natives were very friendly. We didn’t tell them that we were still on a training course, as it may have spoiled their illusions. They kept insisting on buying us drinks, and while in the room everything was fine. I have no recollections whatever of what happened outside, as the next thing I knew, was that I woke up in the morning completely naked except for my socks, and the ceiling was going up and down. Donald told me that he had got the loan of two bikes to get back home, but that I kept falling off, and we finished up walking. We had also gone into somebody’s house, and I had been sick in the fireplace.

I gave Mrs MacDonald my sincere apologies, which she took in good spirit, and I resolved in future to be on guard against strong drink. I found this quite difficult at various times later, as a lot of people think that being a Scot, that you are automatically a whisky drinker. I always stuck to beer on future occasions, and only took a few pints, as I had found that the future pain can destroy the pleasant present.