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Early WW2 recollections of volunteering
(all the oldies, kept saying, dinnae rush, never volunteer fur onything) with a hint of ‘’whit`s in it fur me’’ syndrome, but the inevitable lure of cash reward — never mind what you had achieve in order to participate in this proverbial pot of gold — became like the light to a moth, so in search of further propagandistic promises of hidden wealth, namely, help your neighbours, locality, town and city, avail yourself of service to help others, we [un specified person or persons] request and implore all available civilians willing to become involved with His Majesty’s CIVIL DEFENCE SERVICE, either as an Air Raid Warden, First Aid and /or Rescue, Auxiliary Fire Service or Civil Defence (Mobile) Messengers, please help your City, County and Country, by volunteering your own personal commitment to this worthy cause, hurry along to your local Civil Defence co-ordinator, whose address may be obtained from any police station, every applicant will be considered upon merit and suitability for the post being sought after.
After digesting such waffle, or in modern parlance, Spin, a bunch of us young lads, from memory, Jack Sutherland, Bobby Gillon and me amongst others, decided, in view of the financial benefits looming, we would try our luck with this new venture, so made the appropriate noises to the local Air Raid Precautions office, contained within a requisitioned empty shop, duly re-enforced with anti-bomb materials, and a baffle entrance made with sand bag s, the resident full time Warden, too old for active service, but quite capable of duties involving air raid bombing and civilian mayhem, was happy to re-direct us to a Mr Walker, living at Number or other in South Laverockbank Avenue, who, he assured us, would be pleased to enrol us as Civil Defence Messengers, basic duties required to convey information from one C.D Post to any other, by cycle or, if needs be on foot, to anywhere within the city of Edinburgh, a purely voluntary post, but, each individual would receive the sum of two shillings and six pence (NOTE…twelve and one half pence in present money) per month to assist with the upkeep and maintenance of our machines.
Once accepted, without too much (in fact none) formality we are directed to
being kitted out with black Battle Dress uniform, swankie Beret, waterproof cape, all suitably embellished with gold coloured appropriate badges and shoulder flashes, the obligatory black steel helmet, with the white reflective initial M stencilled front and back, and completed with a service gas mask which replaced the ordinary civilian version, so much so that people kept mistaking us for continental troops.
With regular meetings every week, in our local scout hall, to learn the basics of our duties, then be allotted to various Posts — Fire, Ambulance, Search and Rescue, to give whatever help within our remit, apart from during an actual Air Raid Alert when the sirens call all participants out, most of the time was spent playing cards or drinking tea, such places were allowed an extra amount to eke out the meagre civilian ration, we were eventually provided with our own unit premises, 202 Newhaven Road, a lovely large old house next to the Edinburgh — Leith railway line.
Whilst involved with official call out’s several incidents did make us realise it was not just a game, for instance returning to our base from Leith Hospital, having just passed a small cul-de-sac, known as Largo Place, a couple of us were well and truly blown off our bikes, not so much as by a terrific blast, more of a gentle shove, but by golly we were up and peddled home faster than at any time before, or since, the occasion, we learned later a land mine had struck a tenement building, with fatalities, close to this same area other properties had also suffered severe damage, Leith Town Hall and David Kilpatrick’s school.

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