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I was living with my family in Glasgow when I was called up in 1942 aged 18.
I was sent to Deerbolt near Barnard Castle for training. We had six weeks hard training; our sergeant was really tough but well liked, his name was Sgt Locke. There were 50 of us, all from Scotland training together.

I was allocated to the 1st Northamptonshire Yeomanry. I was sent to Bury St Edmonds to join my regiment and complete further training. Our job was to operate Sherman tanks. Each person was trained to do two jobs; as I was an accurate shot I became a driver/ gunner.
We used to watch the American ‘flying fortress’ ‘planes come in to land after missions on the continent; it was amazing how some of them ever got back As they often had wings missing, half a tail, only one engine going, it was unbelievable that they had made it ‘home’.
I was sent into action on D1, the day after D day, we were landed on a beach in northern France the tanks were amphibious so we went through the waves and onto the sand. Our job was to secure the beach, which we did. We were then ordered to advance inland; we travelled towards Caen. Our squadron was placed on the hill overlooking the town, we watched as the British planes on the 2000 bomber raids attacked the town and flattened it. We were ordered to assist by training our guns on the town and firing in from the hill. All of a sudden, out of nowhere a little German tank appeared on the skyline behind us, driving along as if we were not there. The whole squadron turned their guns on it and it was blown to smithereens.
Six weeks after landing and continuing our advance we were involved in a tank battle with the Germans at the battle of Villers Bocage. Our tank was badly hit; the commander was killed instantly; I was seriously injured in the head and chest. It was unbelievable how the infantry came and immediately picked me up. I was put on a Dakota ‘plane and flown to Birmingham where I was hospitalised in the Queen Elizabeth hospital. I had serious shrapnel wounds. The journey home was so uncomfortable with all of the shrapnel sticking out of my back; every time the plane jolted the pain was terrible, especially on take off and landing.
After my operation my parents were contacted as I was so gravely ill. They came down from Glasgow to see me, I must have looked a bonny sight with bandages everywhere and my hair shaved off. Luckily I recovered, I was sent to convalesce at a rest home outside Barnard Castle. When I was well I was sent to Catterick where I became a driving instructor, my job was to teach the new recruits how to drive.
I met my wife in Darlington on a night out at a showground in Fleethams, that’s how I stayed in Darlington! We were married in St Hilda’s Church in Darlington in December 1945 just after the war had ended; we will have been married 60 years in December of this year. Most of the lads I met dispersed back up to Scotland, a few stayed, one lad was the landlord of the Dun Cow pub in Darlington.
My brother was a sergeant in the Cameronians. He was a member of the Chindits squad. They were dropped behind enemy lines in Burma and told to ‘do their worst’. He spent much of his time in the jungle; they had to kill and eat snakes and monkeys to stay alive. I think they had an awful job, but fortunately my brother made it home.

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