大象传媒

When two twelve-year-old boys have been given the coppers required for bus fare home from the Boys Brigade sunday school,the need for some serious decision-making can arise. Fit young laddies are inclined to favour some tasty treat over a mere two-mile bus-ride. So it was,having consumed whatever it was that we'd taken fancy to---a carrot,maybe an apple, or even a lemon [no icecream or sweets in those days--]--we were happily walking homeward. Our route took a diversion from the highway just before the entrance to the railway station, and a left turn took us alongside the railroad boundary fence till, as we arrived by the Waterside farm steading, we again turned, sharp right this time and through an underpass which exited on the other side of the railway. A short rise brought the pair of us up to the level of the tracks, and a more open view of the terrain ahead. There was a small bog, down left, one side bordering the rail boundary fence. The bog formed a triangle, roughly one hundred yards a side.
"The farmer's going to be buryin' a sheep!" I pointed, getting the attention of my Pal Neil. Being young boys, and ever curious, we arrived beside the new bog feature, about five feet from the railway fence.
The Sunday rail gang working on the tracks above us paid us little heed. We looked into the hole. Full to the brim with dark peat water, it was more or less rectangular, about a foot-and-a-half by two feet. Something didn't quite seem right to me. I pointed out the disposition of the mud which had obviously come from the hole in the ground. It looked as if it had been splashed out, rather than removed using a shovel or spade. Pal Neil it was who spoke up,"Maybe there's a bomb in there!" Not as far fetched as it might seem, for on the Wednesday evening of the preceding week, the rail station at Kirkconnel had suffered an attack by a German bomber. The infamous "Lord Haw-haw" had broadcast an account the following day about the destruction of an important rail junction in Southwest Scotland. The "destruction" consisted of the death of some poor kid's pet rabbit, and the gable wall of the local co-op being demolished. So, if the German pilot had a go at Kirkconnel, why not New Cumnock on the same run?
So, having weighed the possibilities with all the patience and sagacity of twelve-year-old scatterbrains, we decided that we'd look for further evidence. This consisted of robbing the stone wall which formed one edge of the bog of two of its larger stones, and heaving them down into the depths of the water in order to discover any solid metal down there! Neil's stone went in first, with no tangible result. I raised mine, and smacked it down wards enthusiastcally, just as the voice of Ned Smith the rail ganger spoke up behind me.
"What are ye doin' there, Bobby?" I turned to see Ned leaning over the top wire of the rail fence.
" We think there's a bomb in here, Ned!" I said brightly. Ned took a hard look. His knuckles turned white where he held the top wire of the fence. His face changed colour suddenly. He was over the fence in a flash, and had a collar in each fist , pushing us emphatically in the homeward direction. "Home--the pair o ye!" He cried, "And no word to anybody bar yer Dad about this!" Suitably cowed, home the pair of us went.
Next day at school, Pal Neil and I had no trouble at all keeping our mouths shut. After all, it WAS a military secret! Our secret excitement can be imagined when we were greeted by the sight of the bomb removal squad at lunch break, parked in front of the police station, right next to the school. The afternoon session in class began. Presently, there was a knock on the classroom door. It was Police Sergeant Leslie himself!
"Is Bobby Rogerson in this room?" he asked. Miss Lees seemed quite taken aback. "Yes Sergeant" she said. "Can I speak to him?" asked the sergeant.
Miss Lees turned . "Bobby, " she said, indicating that I should leave class. Out in the school corridor, Neil had already been summoned, and the pair of us were lectured by the Sergeant about the need for discretion etc., and thanks for keeping it quiet till the bomb squad got here. He made us feel like a couple of heroes, and I'm sure, looking back he was enjoying his application of "flannel" to the egos of two young lads. He informed us that there was ,indeed, a bomb in the bog, and it was of a type which was safe if, after nine hours it hadn't detonated.
That bomb, as far as I know, is still there. The hole in the bog sprouted a clump of willow bushes which persisted for many years. I grew up,went to Canada --where I am till today-- and on one return trip discovered that an opencast coal company had constructed a settling pond above the site of the hole in the bog. I wonder if anyone told them.....?

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