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.
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