大象传媒

Our place of refuge was beyond sight of the valley so it was difficult to know what was happening. A friend had given me an old crystal wireless set with a roll of wire. On the second night I picked up a few words of French relating to a large battle. I was not to know we had invaded France at last ! When the sounds of conflict had died down in the valley I went with the eldest son to see whether it was safe for us to return to the house. It seemed untouched but there was a large anti-tank mine in the gateway, and we were very wary of booby traps.We approached a group of British personnel setting up a Field Hospital who kindly gave us tins of food and bread after I explained our predicament. An Officer suspected me of being a German deserter but after questioning he was satisfied and we all relaxed.It was a great relief to see the British vehicles with their familiar markings. Antonio's son joined in the laughter although he could not speak a word of English, as the staff gave me all the latest news. For many months I had not spoken a word of English, and in spite of the kindness shown to me by my Italian friends, my thoughts were always spent in solitude and the risks we faced. Just as we were leaving to return to the family left in then hills, an officer gave me an air letter card to send home the good news. It seemed strange sitting in an armoured car writing a note home. I had been on the run for nine months in enemy occupied territory and a prisoner of war for about thirteen months before that. Indeed, almost nine years had passed since I left home on board the troopship "Neuralia" at sixteen years of age en route for Palestine. Antonio decided to take the family back to the house on the main road some hours later, where we found the mine had been removed and the house undamaged. It was time to leave these kind people who had taken great personal risks to shelter and feed me like one of their own. It was difficult to say goodbye. Here was Antonio - the genial head of the family with always a smile in spite of the danger to his family. And his wife, a typical caring mother to her eight children who, although terrified most of the time, carried on with great courage. The children too, in all their innocence gave me their friendship and never once betrayed me to anyone who came to the house. How could I explain to them what their friendship had meant to me ? I knew I would never see them again. With many hugs and promises to correspond with each other I said my farewells, and repeated it all again as I reached the gate, to see many relatives waiting with several hugs again to see me leave. The memory of seeing all those people gathered there waving and calling best wishes to me will remain with me for ever. I walked towards a British vehicle park where I was to join a convoy going to Naples, and turned at a bend in the road and gave for the last time, a wave of farewell which was a very emotional feeling at the time. At Naples I met two friends from the prison camp with whom I'd made my escape. One of them had been re-captured and on his way by P.O.W. train to Germany. when it was bombed. Several scrambled out of the wreckage but many were lost. In due course this small group boarded the liner "Orontes" lying out in the port among the wrecks of Italian shipping. It was with some trepidation we watched the Italian coastline disappear- on the last lap for home at last. As the escort of cruisers and destroyers exercised their guns I made sure I would stay on the top deck throughout the voyage, just in case fate had a nasty surprise in store for us during the last few hundred miles of endless sea. The journey ended at Gourock in North West Scotland about the end of June 1944. The sight of a bus travelling along the coast against a backdrop of green trees was a welcome reminder of home. A small launch conveying some high ranking naval officers approached the ship, which received a loud cheer when we could see the entire crew were women in the uniform of the WRNS. Their smart boat handling was a delight to watch. Women in uniform were something new to me, but many more surprises were to come. Women had taken on much of the work during the war normally done by men, but as our train passed gangs of women wielding large sledge hammers on the line made me realise that few jobs were beyond the scope of our womenfolk. After six weeks leave I applied successfully for a transfer to the Intelligence Corps near Rotherham. I enjoyed the training some of which was tough, during that hard winter with exercises on the cold and frosty ground, but on such a scheme I collapsed. There followed many weeks of concern until I was diagnosed as having Pneumonia, with a cavity on each lung and Tuberculosis. A condition no doubt due to a poor diet and a period on the run in Italy. A Medical Board decided I should be Medically Discharged from the Service, in spite of my plea for consideration on my recovery. Their decision was final which quashed my aspirations for a post war career, but it was many more months in a sanatorium before I was discharged from the Army. As a civilian I accepted an offer to go to Switzerland for treatment with all expenses paid by the Swiss. I wondered if I would ever obtain employment with this condition, which was highly contagious with a high fatility rate as the modern drugs we have now were not
available. In the small town of Leysin there were several clinics caring for other servicemen and civilians. My treatment consisted of complete rest and regular X-Ray scans but we were allowed out for walks for of a limited period. Our allowance of 50 pence per week did not permit any degree of high living ! On one of our walks I met who I shall call "Maddelena" and her friend speaking Italian, both of whom worked in one of the hotels. She was interested in my experiences in Italy and we became friendly as she told me about her family back home. Although the clinic did not permit any evening outings I arranged with the occupants of the ground floor to leave their window ajar, through which I could climb in after my clandestine meetings with "Maddelena". It was arranged on certain evenings after dark, that I would be admitted at the rear of the hotel and then be taken to "Maddelena's" room. She would disappear for long periods but later return with a tray of food, the like of which I had not seen for years. These moments helped to delay my fears for the future. With my medical history prospects for employment seemed limited if any.My morale was very low. Nowadays we take a more benevolent view of this condition. It was now time to return home, and the parting with "Maddelena" was reminiscent of those experienced in Italy. Feeling refreshed but apprehensive, a life in "civvy street" awaited. The Ministry of Pensions decided I was one hundred per cent disabled which entitled me to a payment of 拢2.50. per week, and apart from an ex gracia payment of 拢32. from the Chelsea Fund, my service in the Army did not qualify for a pension. Following two years of unemployment I obtained a post as a clerk, and later entered Local Government employment as the Pension gradually diminished to nothing as I was considered to be fit. The mystery as why my grandfather enlisted in a Scottish Regiment is still unsolved, but he set the trend for the rest of the male line in his family. My experience in the Army as a young English recruit among the Scots made me very wary. The atmosphere in a large barrack room with all the accents, military jargon, and military routine was very strange at first. The Scots can be a canny lot at times with great pride in their history. An argument about the fighting prowess of either Scots or the English at famous battles of the past such as Flodden or Bannockburn brought some of us to the brink of a fight there and then. Insults to the family name or national pride were never forgotten !! Discipline was maintained at all times, which eventually instilled a sense of pride and self discipline. There was something special about belonging to a Highland Regiment and the comradeship of the Regimental family. The uniform of tartan kilts, white spats, colourful tunics of the pipe and military bands. A strutting Drum Major twirling his mace high in the air leading six hundred soldiers to the sound of the skirl of the pipes - all this gave me a feeling of pride when on the march. This feeling of pride is also embedded in the distinguished service my father, and three uncles had given to the Camerons over many long years. Two of whom were wounded one, - (a Major) severely so, in the Burma campaign leading to a medical discharge, and one who died on active service (a Lieutenant) in East Africa in 1918. My father like his brothers enlisted as a Boy Soldier on January 19th, 1906, and was later wounded at the battle of Loos. He was commissioned into the 6th Battn: and during an attack at Cavalry Farm, at Guenappe near Arras in Northern France, he was awarded the Military Cross for "conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty".
My son John has taken a copy of the War Diary found at the P.R.O. Kew London, recording the events of this attack. In a very fine account of his return to Cavalry Farm on a tour of the battlefields John says " every man who fought in this bloody, nasty little affair showed a form of courage many would find difficult to discover in themselves. My Grandfather would probably tell me that there was nothing special in this. They were Camerons and that's what Camerons do ."
My discharge from the Army after 11 years service was the end of a family era. For a continuous period of almost 82 years from 1864, a representative of my family was serving somewhere in the British Empire. Perhaps, if when I signed my Enlistment Papers, I had read the small print and changed my mind, none of this would have happened !!
This I thought was the end of my story but please read Chapter Six.

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