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A story of my service career as requested by those who I hope enjoy it.
As Told by George Walker of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders.

Chapter 2

That time when Eva brought Edith, I was walking them down to the centre of Liverpool when the Germans started bombing. As soon as I heard the sirens I pushed them both into an arched ginnel. Edith was very indignant until the bombs started dropping and I told them the biggest danger was shrapnel from the anti aircraft guns. I showed them the sparks they made on the road.
With the bombing that night and that incident Edith said she would never come to Liverpool again.

One weekend I got leave and Eva and I thought it would be a change, but Leeds and Bradford were bombed that night so we still got it.

Twice when we were training in Sefton Park bombs dropped near us. The experience came in handy in Africa.

That weekend I got on leave, I was a bit late back because of the line between Leeds and Bradford had been bombed. When I got back the lads said there was a big parade the next morning. The Battalion was receiving the freedom of the City of Liverpool.
All webbing equipment had to be scrubbed white from khaki. Shows what good mates I had. The lad who had to say behind had cleaned his equipment for me. He knew I wouldn’t be able to do mine, so I wore his on parade.
We made a fine show, with each leg and arms going in time to the pipe band. Not one man was out of step.

After Liverpool it was Hamilton. Eva came up for the Christmas and New Year (40/41). I managed to get a room through the Salvation Army. On one of the Sundays Eva and I were walking through the local park, hooking arms as couples do, when I saw the Colonel of the Battalion at that time, approaching us with his family. Of course Eva was clinging to my saluting arm and it took a lot of persuasion to get her to let it go before I could salute. I saw the Colonel grinning. He had noticed alright. Anyway we had a chat and his best wishes.

Another little incident in Liverpool, at first we slept on the wooden floor of a hut in Mason St, with just our ground sheets and a blanket, all in a row like 10 green bottles. A bomb dropped just over the other side of the wall and when daylight came, there was an empty space at the top of the row and the lad at the bottom was on the bare boards. Each man had bounced one bed down the line.

One Saturday when Eva came, we went across the Mersey by ferry to New Brighton. There was a fair there. We came across some of my mates at a shooting gallery. They teased Eva a little about shooting and persuaded her to have a go.
I told them they would be sorry. Eva used to shoot with her brother Stuart’s air rifle.
It came down to the point that Eva hit the target more than them.
You can’t tell with a woman!

One training session on Loch Fyne, we were supposed to make a landing near Minard, and then do a shooting exercise (real bullets).
A section of men, at a time, were to go up this Glen, and capture a small white cottage at the top. As they went up, targets representing enemy were pulled upright by wire and the men were to shoot at them. Being 1st section in the squad, my section went first. All went well and we got to the cottage, then sat down with backs to the wall to see how the others fared. Next minute we heard bullets going past and taking chunks out of the wall.
Who do you guess reached safety first?
It appears one of my best mates, Bob Dunwell from Sheffield, had misunderstood the orders and was also firing at the cottage with the Bren Gun.
Talk about FRIENDLY FIRE, being shot at by your mate.

Another time, we were trying out new landing craft that let the front down to allow us to disembark without climbing over the sides. Being No1 section Bren gunner I was posted on the right side on top of the right side of the craft, to give ‘covering fire’. So I had a grandstand view of what happened.
The ramp went down, the officer shouted ‘follow me’

And rushed to the end of the ramp the Sergeant following, before they realised the navy had dropped the ramp too far from the shore.
The rest of the men surged forward, then they saw the situation and tried to stop, which left the Officer and the Sergeant teetering on the edge. They were unable to keep their balance and fell in.
We dragged them back onto the boat, and good for them they also saw the funny side.

After one training session at Inverary, instead of going back to Gournock by boat, our company and another landed at Inverary, then started marching back to billets, I think it was Hamilton. We marched with all equipment and weapons, round the top of Loch Fyne over the mountain, past ‘rest and Be Thankful’ to Loch Long. One of the finest sights I can remember is the sunrise between the V of the two mountains at the head of the Loch. We went down the east side to the top of Lock Gare to Helensburgh, there we were put on a train to Glasgow. It was quite a march and some achievement. It certainly put us in mood that any other long ones, and there were many, would not compare.

Just before going abroad we were stationed in a school in Crieff. Every morning the battalion used to Muster parade on the road outside. It so happened that there was an Italian POW camp nearby, and every morning during the parade, they came along the road passing us, on the way to work in farms. They travelled in Army lorries. As they passed they shouted and jeered at us, and mocking us. This happened about three mornings. One morning we were put on parade, two companies each side of the road, instead of all down one side. We fixed bayonets.
When the convoy of Italians were passing us making the usual noise and gestures, one company deployed across the road blocking it, another company deployed the rear of the convoy, boxing it in, while the other two companies surrounded the vehicles with arms at the ‘Port’. We just stood there for about 5 minutes. You could have heard a pin drop. We never heard a peep out of them the next times they passed.

One exercise we went on in Argyllshire, the Battalion was given a point near Glendaruel as the objective. On this occasion we wore the kilt, with battledress top. At one point we were to cross a river, but when we came to a bridge, the officer who was ‘Umpire’ said the bridge was blown, so there was nothing for it but to wade across. At first the kilts floated, but gradually got soaked and clung around our legs. As well as the kilts getting wet and heavy, the water was very cold. We spent the rest of the day with the kilts rubbing the backs of our legs red raw. We had a few curses that day.

When we were issued with the kilt, if we went out of billets we had to wear them with full dress order and when we got leave we wore them and took our weapons with us, but only the small pack. As the Bren gunner, I had also been issued with a revolver. So I had only to take that instead of a rifle or the Bren.
The jacket we wore with the kilt was the cutaway ceremonial khaki one with brass buttons, brass A&SH on the shoulder lapel and the collar badges on the collar. I had a lanyard from the revolver handle to the shoulder. On the trains to Leeds I wondered why no one sat at my table on the coach, Reaching Leeds I got off the train, putting my pack on my shoulders, when I noticed two soldiers saluting. I looked round, looking for the officer, didn’t see one, so carried on. Then three more squaddies saluted me. Now, only Officers normally wore revolvers and brass buttons, then it dawned on me they had mistaken me for an officer with the brass A&SH shoulder badges.
Didn’t I make the most of it; it’s not often one gets quick promotion.

One time at Buddon Camp (Carnoustie). My section was on guard duties, with kilt and full dress jacket etc. New men on guard had to attend an inspection before going on, and on being relieved 24hrs next day.
That is about 6pm to 6pm next day, 2hrs on duty 4hrs off, but we were in the guardroom fully dressed all the time for chance we were called out. Usually the last two or three hours we spent cleaning the guard room, and washing, shaving etc and getting ready for the relief parade.

Mid afternoon, the Corporal in charge had been told that a Brigadier-General was expected to call, but did not know what time. At such times the whole guard is called out for inspection and salute by the Brig-General.
The Corporal panicked and no matter how much we cajoled him to let us go one at a time to dress up, he refused.
As time got near to being relieved, he relented but then it meant three or four were trying to wash shave etc at once. Again it was my lucky day, I was on duty last and had got myself spick and span before I went out.
I’d been out a quarter of an hour, who should appear? Yes, the Brigadier-General, three cars with high-ranking officers.
I couldn’t help but follow procedure, called out the Guard, and gave what I hope, was a decent Rifle Salute.
Then the ‘Key Stone Cops’ theme set in.
Instead of just sending out the chaps who were fully dressed, the corporal came out with the lot, including the ones I’d just relieved. We’d have got away with it.
(The Brigadier-General would not have known how many on guard)
Out of the guard room ran the guard, fastening tunic buttons up, rifles under arms, trying to put balmorals on heads, puttees trailing after them and one or two without belts.
There was I, in full service order, nice and span looking very inconspicuous among the others.
The Brig-Gen saluted and the convoy made it’s way into camp. I can’t write what our officer and the C/O said. Army life was never dull, always something happening.

There was one officer who was always strictly Regimental, and used to try and catch men out who were on guard. One of the things he stressed was no one could pass the guard unless he could identify himself with documents etc. He used to make nuisance of himself.
One night one of the lads who had pulled the officer up before, then let him through although the officer had no paper, stopped the officer, who started with his ‘friend, you know who I am’ stuff. The lad wouldn’t accept his excuses for not having papers and called the Guard Commander, who was also fed up with the officer’s antics, put him in the cell, then called to his office for an officer to identify him.

The officer who came had a twinkle in his eye, congratulated the Corporal and Guard for doing their duty.
That officer never ‘tried it on’ again, both the officer who had come to identify him and the C/O gave him a rollicking for wasting time and inconveniencing the Duty Officer and Guard.

On the training session on the boats, we landed on the Orkneys near Kirkwall. We were due to land in the Azores and were practising the landing.
We had been told a lot of ‘Red Flannel’ (Generals etc who had red tabs on the collar) would be watching, plus the King and Churchill.
Whatever we did we had to INGORE THEM and NOT stop to salute. The best order in the Army.

During the Mock Battle I was sent as a runner with a message to another company. It was raining heavy all the time, so with head slightly down I set off.
I went round a corner of a building and met and barged through, you’ve guessed it, the ‘Red Flannel Group’. I bet they wondered who the ‘maniac’ was.
I skidded to a halt when I got to the other side of them when I remembered the orders to ignore them, which I did and carried on.
It isn’t often you could knock the King and Churchill about and get away with it. I was obeying orders not to knock them about - but to ignore them.

I didn’t stop long enough to get a medal or be knighted.

A sequel to this story is, among the Officers was our Brigadier, and he recognised my shoulder flashes so knew my unit. Although the King and Churchill said nothing, a junior Officer apparently complained to the Brigadier who said he would look into it. He had seen me stop, think and then carry on, so he knew the score. He told our C/O not to make a fuss but to ‘go through the motions’. The first I heard about it was when my own officer saw me later and said, ‘I see you have been throwing your weight about, Walker, with the High Command’. He was laughing and told me not to worry as I’d only done what I’d been ordered to, to ignore them!

I could have been hung, drawn and quartered.

It’s just occurred to me, why did all the officers who I have been under, keep choosing me for Platoon or Company Runner? It happened not only during training in England, but also when we went abroad. I know I could read maps, and may be a runner in the sense of running and could find my way about, but it was a dangerous job, wasn’t fair.
Maybe they all wanted to get rid of me?

Not long after being billeted at Buddlion Camp, all stores were packed including the tents and kilts etc. All we had was the Battle order equipment, and dressed in Denim Uniform instead of Battledress.
We went by train to Lymington Pier, crossed to the Isle of Wight to Ventnor, where for a week we practised climbing the cliffs, and living under Combat Conditions. We learnt we were to invade the Channel Islands (Alderney), but it was cancelled so a force was made up to raid a Radar Station near Boulogne. Bad weather cancelled that so we went back to Baddon. It had taken us a day and a night to get down, and we knew it would take that to get back. Before we left Buddon, three lads including yours truly had been granted a weeks leave, but the leaves were cancelled until we had got back.
On the way back the train stopped outside York Station. One of the lads could actually see his mother shaking a rug outside the house. She must have wondered why the soldiers were all waving at her. I and the others asked to see the train Adjutant to see if we could leave the train then being near home. No way, we had to go up to Buddon.
On arriving there we had only been half an hour and leave parties were called on parade and we were marched back down to the station. It was mid day, Saturday and we had no time to get cleaned up or dress in the kilt, which were still packed away. I landed in Leeds, about 3am Sunday, nearly 3 day’s beard growth, dressed in working Denims, covered in chalk from the cliffs in Ventnor. If the MP’s had caught me going out of the station they would have had a ‘field day’. I managed to go over the rails and climbed the wall. I walked home and got there about 6am Sunday, knocked Eva up, then when she opened the door, she looked at me and said, ‘You haven’t deserted have you?’
A hero’s welcome, normally it’s ‘When do you go back’ that greets a soldier. Must have been a shock to see this chalk covered, 3 day growth bearded ‘tramp’ on the doorstep at 6am, instead of the smart kilted soldier.

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