大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Nadine from the People's War team on behalf of Douglas Renwick and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

鈥淲e鈥檒l meet again, don鈥檛 know where don鈥檛 know when but I know we鈥檒l meet again some sunny day鈥� It was through tears that Laura Renwick sang the song by 鈥榯he Forces Sweetheart鈥� Vera Lynn to her son as he went off to war. As she sang, leaning out of an upstairs window, the parlour window of 208 Haliburton Place in Galashiels, she waved goodbye to Douglas. They had no idea when or if they would meet again.

It was January 1940. The forces of Nazi Germany were in the process of over-running all of Continental Europe. Britain stood alone. In September 1939, after the declaration of war, Douglas volunteered for service in the Royal Air Force. He did so advisedly. The older men in town said, 鈥淒on鈥檛 wait till you get called up son, you never know where they鈥檒l put you. Pick your service and volunteer.鈥� He chose the Royal Air Force and on 5th January, he travelled to Padgate, near Warrington, Lancashire for basic training.

The 鈥淧honey war鈥� was ending and the real war was looming. Padgate was a huge camp of 4,000 where young men from all over Britain were flung together. Few had been beyond their own backyard. Now they met others from every corner of the island. Londoners couldn鈥檛 understand Aberdonians, Brummies couldn鈥檛 understand Glaswegians and Highlanders couldn鈥檛 understand Taffies. The English couldn鈥檛 communicate with the Scots and neither could communicate with the Welsh, 鈥淩uddy Taffies!鈥� Dougie, as he would be known, was in a unique situation, quite well placed in fact. He was effectively bi-lingual. His native Border tongue had been softened by exposure to the Cumbrian tongue of his mother鈥檚 folks. The Cumbrian accent is similar to the Lancashire accent where Padgate is situated. In addition, having served his apprenticeship as a painter and decorator in some of the 鈥榖ig houses鈥� of the Border aristocracy, he was attuned to 鈥榩roper鈥� English. He had found a new vocation with a talent he never knew he possessed, that of a translator. In the billets Glaswegians would be shouting the odds, complaining about this and that and telling everyone, in no uncertain terms, what they thought of it all. The only thing was that few could understand them. They might as well be speaking a foreign language. They were! Cockneys from London, all agog, would look at Dougie and ask, 鈥淓eya Jock, what鈥檚 ee sai-in we ca-ant unde鈥檚ta-and 鈥檌m?鈥� Dougie, Jock to all his English comrades in arms, would translate back and forth. He was a smart turn not only in the billet but also on the parade ground. As the lads were put through their paces by the flight sergeants, Dougie got a few special responsibilities. 鈥淩enwick,鈥� yelled the drill sergeant. 鈥淵es sir,鈥� responded Dougie. 鈥淵ou are the marker. Get out there till I tell you where to stop.鈥� 鈥淵es sir. How long shall I stand there sir?鈥� 鈥淵ou鈥檒l stand there as long as I tell you to stand there!鈥� 鈥淵es sir.鈥� Dialogue was short but never ambiguous. 鈥淢arkers, quick march,鈥� came the order. 鈥淢arker halt鈥� brought Dougie to a stop at his station.

On the parade ground, stuck out there for ages as the marker, his thoughts ran to his mother鈥檚 family in Carlisle. When he was a boy, his grandfather, Ned Armstrong, would march him along with his cousins, 鈥渢he young uns,鈥� down to the market. Ned鈥檚 wife Nancy鈥檚 maiden name was Douglas and Douglas was named after her. Ned was a local character, well known to all and as manager at the pot-yard, he dealt with the local farming community. They were Tories and staunch royalists. Douglas鈥� uncle, Dick Bulman, was a boiler-man in the railway yard at Carlisle. He maintained, repaired and de-scaled boilers on the big locomotive engines. The work was hard and involved crawling on his belly in and out of filthy boilers in several inches of dirty, oily water. He was as much Labour and anti-royal as Ned was Tory and royalist. On the occasion of a royal visit to Carlisle by King George V and Queen Mary, Ned asked Dick, 鈥淎rt thou not going into town to see King and Queen?鈥� 鈥淲ouldn鈥檛 go down end of street to see that lot,鈥� replied Dick. Douglas liked his grandfather and all his uncles but it made for an interesting upbringing. At the market, Ned would help himself to a plum and pass one out to all the boys. After they all sampled the goods, Ned would say to the stallholder, 鈥淣ot quite ready yet are they Bill鈥� and move on with the boys in tow. Douglas liked his style. After work at the pot yard Ned would come home and have the girls, Douglas鈥� aunts, play the piano and sing. His favourite song was 鈥淭here鈥檚 No Place Like Home.鈥� His supper was always home baked bread, cheese and a jug of ale brought in from the local pub by one of his daughters. Invariably, after he had eaten, he took a nap. His sons, Douglas鈥� uncles, would hang grapes from his watch chain and the like. When he woke up, he would scowl and get ready for a wash. The washhouse was at the back of the house. It was cold water in those days. 鈥淟ook out!鈥� his sons would say, 鈥淗ere comes the flood.鈥� Lashings of water would go everywhere, running down the walls of the washhouse and flooding onto the stone floor in the main part of the house. Ned and Nancy had five sons and three daughters. They were quite a bunch. Ted, the oldest, was a bookmaker and a wealthy man. After work, he would have a chauffeur driven car take him and his girlfriend to a top hotel where they wined, dined and danced the night away. Their lifestyle summed up all the elegance of a by-gone age, the roaring twenties, before the depression hit in the thirties. Ted gave Douglas a good piece of advice with regard to betting. 鈥淗ip pocket, Scotty.鈥� (He called Douglas Scotty.) In other words, keep your money in your pocket son. Next was Willie. Willie was the gentleman of the family, modeling himself on Fred Astaire. He was the cleverest too, a real self-educated man. His girlfriend, Polly, worked in the office of Carr鈥檚 Biscuits, one of the biggest employers in town. They worked hard and played hard. Douglas loved it when Polly and her brother, Hector gave the family a demonstration of the latest dances like the Black Bottom and the Charleston. Hector was a dapper dresser, even to the point of his spats. He was a company 'rep' so he was only home occasionally. Willie had to go into hospital for a simple operation to cure nosebleeds but things went wrong and he never came out. They couldn鈥檛 stop the bleeding and he died. Then there were the three girls, Ethel, Maud and Laura (Douglas鈥� mum). Next, there was Fred, the engine fireman and then Rob. Last, but certainly not least, was Claude. He was a journalist with the Cumberland News. He drove a nice car in the days when few people had cars. Douglas remembers a car journey from Carlisle to Gala with his mum in Uncle Claude鈥檚 car. He and his cousin, Eddie, traveled in the back, in the 鈥榙ickie,鈥� a cross between a back seat and a boot, where the seats popped up. It was the talk of the town. Douglas was proud as he showed off his uncle鈥檚 car to his pals in Gala. What Claude didn鈥檛 know wasn鈥檛 worth knowing. On his rounds, he could pick up anything. In the depression years of the early thirties he would often come home and say to his mother, 鈥淭here鈥檚 a nice bit of steak Ma, picked it up at so-and-so鈥檚 farm. One of the girls, Ethel and her husband Bert had a farm. Laura and Maud used to visit. They took Douglas and some of his cousins, Dick and Maud Bulman鈥檚 kids. There was Eddie, Laura, Dickie, Bob and Willie. The boys had great fun rolling in the hay in the barn and playing around the farm. At the end of the day, they had to walk down the farm lane to get the bus back into Carlisle. Maud would say, 鈥淓e, in鈥檛 our Ethel mean, not even an egg.鈥� 鈥淒on鈥檛 worry, ma,鈥� the boys would say, 鈥淲e鈥檝e got em,鈥� as they produced eggs from every pocket! Between all of Ned and Nancy鈥檚 sons and daughters, there were nineteen children, Douglas鈥� cousins. It had been a happy childhood, rich in family life if not in the trappings of wealth. 鈥淢arker, quick march鈥� barked the drill sergeant and with the command Dougie was snapped back into the reality of war.

He had barely been at Padgate a month when his flight sergeant came in with a telegram. It was from his Dad, Gideon Renwick, a joiner back in Galashiels. It simply read, 鈥淢other dead.鈥� Douglas was stunned. He was confused as to whether it was his father鈥檚 mother, Grandma Agnes West, or his own mother, Laura. 鈥淚t鈥檚 your mother son鈥� said the flight sergeant. Laura鈥檚 family, the Armstrong鈥檚, lived in Carlisle. In February, she had traveled by train from Galashiels to Carlisle to attend the funeral of her brother-in-law, Dick Bulman. He died of meningitis. She was part of a big working class family, one of eight brothers and sisters so there wasn鈥檛 much surplus room at the family home in William Street for the funeral. It was the same at her sister鈥檚 home, a railwayman鈥檚 house at 11 Hassell Street. Laura slept in the room in which Dick had died, in the same bed in fact. After the funeral, she traveled back to Gala. Within ten days, she was dead. The cause was the same deadly virus, meningitis. 鈥淪even days compassionate leave,鈥� said the flight sergeant to Douglas. Shocked and in a daze, it was with a heavy heart that he traveled back to Galashiels or Gala as it was known, by train. Snow was falling. The train couldn鈥檛 go directly due to snowdrifts and the diversion was via Glasgow to Edinburgh and down to Gala. It was late when he got in, about 11 pm, but his Dad was there to meet him. They headed straight for home through the snow. Back in the house, Gideon lit a gas lamp and in the dim light, Douglas could see a coffin supported on two trestles. 鈥淚 thought you鈥檇 like to see your mother,鈥� his Dad said. After the funeral service in the family鈥檚 parish church, Ladhope, Laura was buried by the gate at Eastlands cemetery.

Family duty done and a second Armstrong funeral over Douglas made ready to travel back to Warrington. By this time, trains were running south to Carlisle and Douglas planned to stop to see his mother鈥檚 family. That he did. Hassell Street and William Street were just off Botchergate close to the station. Then he made ready to continue south, back to Warrington and the camp at Padgate. 鈥淪tay put son,鈥� said the voice as the door opened. It was Douglas鈥� Uncle Fred. He was the fireman on the Royal Scot, the giant locomotive that ran from London to Carlisle for the London-Midland-Scottish Railway Company. 鈥淪now鈥檚 blocked line south of Shap.鈥� Uncle Fred knew all about Shap Fell. He had shoveled tons of coal to drive huge locomotives up and over the summit of the notorious mountain adjacent to the Lake District. The Royal Scot had gone on tour to Canada and pulled a train over the Rocky Mountains on its own, a feat that Canadian railwaymen said was impossible as it took two Canadian engines to pull a train over the Rockies. Uncle Fred was a down-to-earth, hard-working, gritty man. He knew about trains and he knew about life. 鈥淵ea,鈥� he said, 鈥渢hem Redcaps are all over Botchergate commandeering anyone in uniform and sending them up line to shovel snow. A snowplough broke through one drift and killed two soldiers so you stay put son. I鈥檒l tell you when it鈥檚 safe.鈥� Uncle Fred was exactly right. Military Police were taking anyone in uniform on the streets of Carlisle and allocating them snow-clearing duties on the main line between Lancaster and Preston. A few days later, the line was open so Douglas bid his family in Carlisle farewell and returned to Warrington.

Dougie no sooner got back to Padgate than he was told to report to the orderly room. 鈥淵ou鈥檙e a Jock, aren鈥檛 you?鈥� he was asked. 鈥淵es鈥� he replied. 鈥淩ight, you鈥檙e being posted to Drem. Know where that is?鈥� 鈥淣o鈥� he replied. 鈥淚t鈥檚 near North Berwick. Know where that is?鈥� 鈥淵es鈥� he replied. 鈥淥kay get ready, you leave first thing tomorrow morning.鈥� What he didn鈥檛 know was that there was an influenza epidemic at Padgate and everyone who didn鈥檛 have a temperature was being shipped out immediately - anywhere and everywhere. He wasn't even in Padgate twenty-four hours.

North Berwick was a sleepy little town on the east coast of southern Scotland. Dougie and half a dozen other RAF lads were billeted in the conservatory of the Elcho Hotel in town and taken up to Drem every day by truck. Drem was a fighter base for Spitfires, Reginald Mitchell鈥檚 famous aircraft that would defeat the Luftwaffe in the Battle of Britain later that year, 1940. Tests were being done to see if the runway could take Blenheim bombers. People back home had been kidding Dougie 鈥淲hat, you鈥檙e in the RAF but you鈥檝e never been up in a plane?鈥� He asked his C.O. if he could get a flight. 鈥淪ure鈥� he said, 鈥淛ust draw a parachute.鈥� On the flight the pilot, a young buck, went up the east coast of Scotland past Aberdeen and out over the North Sea. They flew over Orkney and the home of the British Grand Fleet at Scapa Flow before returning to Drem. It was a magnificent sight. The way back was something else. They flew over the sea. 鈥淲e鈥檙e losing power, going down, but I鈥檒l try to stabilise her lower down,鈥� the pilot said. 鈥淥h no, here we go,鈥� said Dougie, 鈥淲hat on earth...?鈥� They flew back to Drem about fifty feet over the ocean, sometimes skimming the waves, before the pilot pulled up in a beautiful loop to gain height as he prepared to land. 鈥淥nly joking,鈥� he laughed.
Cont.

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