大象传媒

I left school in my native Lanark in June 1940.

Although I was of military age, the consensus of opinion was that the war would be over soon 鈥� clearly nothing had been learned from the lesson of the Great War when such expressions of optimism had proved tragically incorrect 鈥� so, with my grammar school education, I went to work for ICI in Billingham.

By October 1942 I was bored with civilian life and wanted to join up. I had been previously prevented from doing so by reason of the fact I was in what was termed a 鈥榬eserved鈥� occupation. At that time, however, I discovered that I could be released if accepted by the RAF for aircrew.

That did it! I volunteered immediately and was told to report to George Street, Edinburgh to sit the entrance exams. That would take all of three days, which did not set well with ICI鈥檚 personnel officer when I broke the news to him. 鈥淵ou want three days off! What are you doing 鈥� walking there?鈥� was his reaction. 鈥淣o鈥� I said, 鈥渂ut I would if I had to.鈥� With that I was on my way.

The exams and medicals were tough, but I managed to get through. I was a little disappointed to be told that my initial classification was as a P.N.B (pilot, navigator or bomb-aimer.) This meant that my final designation would only be determined after some training. (I had wanted to be accepted immediately as a pilot, like everyone else.) Further disappointment came when I learned that my name would go on the 鈥榙eferred service鈥� list. This meant that I would have to bide my time and continue in my civilian job until the RAF had a place for me.

My call up came in August 1943. And, looking forward to a new style of life, I travelled to London in a state of excitement. On arrival I was billeted in a large building in Hall Road, St John鈥檚 Wood. I was then kitted out. A white flash set in the front of the cap denoted my status as 鈥楢ircrew Under Training.鈥�

It was ten months since my medical in Edinburgh so, along with everyone else in my group, I was told to report for another in London. After the routine eye test, which was given by a WAAF sergeant, I was amazed when she told me to return the next day for a further eye examination. This, more thorough test, was carried out by a Flt Lt. At the end of it he said, 鈥淚鈥檓 sorry, but I鈥檓 afraid you have Hypermetropia.鈥� In plain language it meant I was longsighted. It also meant that I would not be allowed to fly. I was devastated (and not entirely convinced that the Flt Lt had been honest with me.)

Two days later I was posted to a Combined Re-selection Centre on the Isle of Sheppey. I immediately set about trying to get another eye test. I was told this was out of the question. After a while there, doing a variety of tests and tasks, I was just coming to terms with the fact I would be Ground Crew for the remainder of the war when, out of the blue, the Ministry of Labour and National Service ordered me back to my civilian job. My war (or so I thought) was over.

I had answered an advertisement in the Daily Express placed by the then Anglo-Iranian Oil Co. They wanted instrument technicians for their refinery in Abadan. They replied, asking if I could be in London on 19th April 1944 for a medical examination. I most certainly could, and was looking forward eagerly to a post in the Middle East when鈥he dreaded Ministry of you-know-what sent me my call-up papers! Somehow, my job had come off the reserved list and I was instructed to report to Maryhill Barracks, Glasgow on 20th April. Crazy!

Of course this time I was destined for the Army. And I had to undergo their medical. There was a question and answer session before the actual examination, during which I was asked if I had been in any other of the services previously. The fact I HAD been led to a chat with one of the doctors on the civilian panel. I made it clear to him that I did not believe I suffered from Hyperwhatnot and laid the blame for my early departure from the RAF on the Flt Lt. For his part the doctor assured me that, even if I were longsighted, it would not preclude me from Army service. He was though good enough to offer me the chance to see a specialist.

Three days later I went to see the eye specialist in Hamilton. He was an elderly gentleman who gave me at least as good an examination as had the Flt Lt. But when I tried to elicit from him whether I really DID suffer from Hypermetropia he was noncommittal. Whether I did or whether I didn鈥檛, I expect he was reluctant to take issue with his eye-man colleague in the RAF.

I remember the opening remarks from my platoon corporal, a hard, regular soldier in the Camerons. After looking us up and down and shaking his head, out it came: 鈥淭HINGS JUST GET WORSE ALL THE TIME! SOME OF YOU LOT CAN鈥橳 EVEN STAND UP STRAIGHT! IF HE COULD SEE YOU, HITLER WOULD THINK IT WAS HIS BIRTHDAY! (I doubt if the corporal was aware, but that day really WAS Hitler鈥檚 birthday 鈥� and I certainly wasn鈥檛 going to tell him!)

After basic training I was assigned to the R.E.M.E. (Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers) with whom I spent my entire time in the Army.

I went from place to place, never seeing any action at all. In August 1945, in a camp at place called Dehu in India, I learned that the Americans had dropped a new type of bomb on a city called Hiroshima and, according to our company major, that meant the war in the Far East would soon be over.

My comrades and I wondered at the power of this revolutionary 鈥榓tomic鈥� weapon, as it came to be called. Since one bomb had virtually brought the war to and end we could only draw the conclusion that it was one hell of a destructive device.

In February 1946 my outfit was earmarked for the Army of Occupation in Japan. And, after being inspected by General Sir Claude (鈥楾he Auk鈥�) Auchinleck, we were off on the first leg of the journey to Bombay.

At Bombay we boarded the smart looking cruise ship, Arundel Castle, where we had decent berths in the upper decks (we had expected to be shunted down below.) It sailed the very next day for what turned out to be a very pleasant voyage to the Land of the Rising Sun.

On arrival in the Inland Sea, we were given a naval escort to a bay off the port of Kure. American bombing appeared to have taken its toll on that city 鈥� what a mess it looked!

Initially, my company was based at a holding camp at a wooden-shack place called Hiro. I found the billet very cold, especially having just come from the heat of the Indian sub-continent. At night I went to bed almost fully dressed. There were compensations, though. For one thing the food improved. The reason for that was very simple: We were now on Australian rations. I especially remember the delicious canned fruit.

We had very little contact with the locals to begin with. On my second trip to the town of Hiro, however, I accepted a 鈥榙are鈥� and went into a barber鈥檚 shop. Not, I hasten to add, for a haircut, but a shave. This was considered especially hazardous since the barbers were all females wielding huge cutthroat razors. When it became our turn, my 鈥榦ppo鈥�, Dick, and I took adjacent seats and trusted in Providence. In the event we need not have worried. The resultant shave was so meticulously carried out I felt I wouldn鈥檛 have to bother again for a few days. Moreover, Dick and I left the premises feeling a little embarrassed by all the customary bowing.

During our second week there, I was given the chance to visit Hiroshima. My curiosity about the power and effect of the A-bomb was about to be unexpectedly satisfied. Not everyone was as curious, it seemed, and only two trucks were needed for the excursion.

The twenty-mile journey over the low hills to Hiroshima was, to say the least, no tourist route: pot-holed roads through drab countryside. Yet nothing could have prepared me for sight that met my eyes as the truck crested the final hill overlooking the scene of the atomic explosion鈥�.

The trucks bumped and swayed as we made our way down to what had been the outskirts of the city. Part of the tramway system was operating again. There were few people around and no queues for the trams, which were creaking and grinding over the tracks, struggling along like sad green beetles on aimless journeys. There were none going to the city centre 鈥� it wasn鈥檛 there!

The trucks stopped on the edge of the flat, grey expanse of what had been the city of Hiroshima. We got out and surveyed the scene. There were many low whistles and soft utterances of Jeeeeeeeesus Chrrrrrrrrist!

The outlines of the streets were plain enough and we wandered around gazing at the devastation and desolation one single bomb had caused. One bomb! Apart from one or two concrete structures the city had been wiped from the face of the earth.

We eventually began poking around among the debris and uncovered some strange sights. In what had been a drawer of some sort I pulled out rows of metal-framed spectacles. The lenses had not shattered but fused together to form two long blobs of glass hanging through the twisted frames. Dick summed things up: 鈥淗ells Bells! Some people here must have been incinerated in seconds.鈥� I said I felt as though we were walking over their graves.

Apart from our group the place was virtually deserted, so we were surprised to see a boy about six years old come over to us. He was wearing long, baggy trousers tied to his ankles and the usual wooden platforms, which served as footwear. This little chap was carrying a camera and, after a few customary bows, held it out to us. He obviously wanted to sell it.

The camera was the type, which had a concertina lens and had, to say the least, seen better days. No one wanted it but we took pity on the poor lad and tried to give him some yen. Dick held out the notes to him while at the same time waving the camera aside. The little boy would have none of it. He took two paces back waving the MONEY aside. Dick thought he was trying for a higher price and added some more yen. This, however, met with the same result. It became obvious that the lad was not going to accept money WITHOUT parting with the camera. He was not, in other words, going to accept charity. So Dick offered him the money again and held out his other hand for the camera. The exchange was made, the little lad beamed and, after a few more bows, scampered away.

On our way back to the trucks we left the camera by the roadside, thinking the kid might find it and trade it once more.

After our stay in Japan, we were posted to Malaya for a while. And from there it was back to dear old Blighty, demob and a return to ICI. All in all a war with lots more smoke than fire for me, but I was, after all said and done, one of the few people to see the full effect of the atomic bomb.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

In the 1970s Alex's son married the daughter of the late Mr Bob Tilburn, who while serving as an Able Seaman in the Royal Navy was one of the three survivors of the sinking of HMS Hood.

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