大象传媒

George Daily鈥檚 war Part 2

It was the summer of 1940, and we were stationed in the lovely town of Ryde on the Isle of Wight. The locals were terrified when they heard that the Black Watch were coming to their town, they thought that we were all randy ginger haired Scots who wore nothing under our kilts. Well they were half right! However, when we did leave the island quite a few of them were in tears. We did guard duties on the end of Seaview Pier which was a bit rickety during windy weather. Our sergeant told us that German planes were flying back to France, up the Solent, having bombed the ships in Portsmouth Harbour. The idea was that we would take pot shots at them as they flew low over the island. The Luftwaffe pilots flew low over our heads and as we pointed our rifles at them the German pilots would give us a 鈥淰鈥� sign (they also had a sense of the ridiculous). We never hit one of them, it was a waste of time and ammunition and I did actually see a pilot laughing at me. I must just mention Lord Haw Haw! We were on very secret training manoeuvres along the south coast of England. One night in our hut one of the lads switched on the wireless, and we heard this 鈥淕ermany calling...Germany calling...Greetings from Germany to the soldiers of the Black Watch, skulking in the New Forest鈥�. We nearly died on the spot. Some secret! Sadly we left the Isle of Wight [December 1940] and found ourselves in Camberley in Surrey [November 1940 after several months training in the area of Newbury and Stockport], home to the Officers Training College and now the 6th Black Watch. Our platoon managed to find an empty cottage and soon got ourselves sorted.
Church parades were really a fantastic sight with full Battalion of the 6th Black Watch headed by their pipe band, marching through the town to the tune of 鈥淗eilan Laddie鈥�. The locals were delighted and lined the streets each time. It was usual for us to attend the Sandhurst Chapel on Sundays for church parade.
The battalion received a few new recruits while things were fairly quiet, our platoon got two new lads to make up our numbers. One lad was Willie McCartney a fellow Glaswegian, and Johnny Anderson from Dundee who鈥檚 dad ran a pub in that city. Willie was a typical wee Glesca wide guy, always short of money, always scrounging fags, while Johnny and myself formed a friendship which lasted until the end of the war. We used to go dancing to the local dances which were frequented by the lady drivers of a Military Lorry Unit in Camberley. They were a rough bunch (I use the term lady loosely).
The leader of their gang was a huge female called 鈥淭he Hammer Thrower鈥� who only drank pints and grabbed the nearest male to dance with her or else! Woe betide the nearest male.
The next blot on our horizon was the arrival of the first Canadian Division on the outskirts of Camberley, to form the first wave of Canadians to come over to England.
Things went from bad to worse and all our visits to the local pubs had become dangerous, with groups of Canadians waiting outside our billets to duff up some unfortunate squaddie going to the pub for a pint. We had a quiet council of war, and our corporal decided that we must call their bluff. No member of the Black Watch was going to be intimidated by a Canadian. So the corporal lined us up and with his Bren gun over his shoulder, minus magazine, marched us down to the pub for a drink. He told the barman to serve his lads and warned the rebels that he would empty his magazine into them if any of his lads were attacked.
We all enjoyed our break, but the sad part was that these self same Canadians were sent on the commando raid to St.Nazaire in occupied France, where they were mown down like dogs! Very few of them were taken prisoner.
Our stay in Camberley was coming to an end, and with the usual rumours floating around the truth was a move back to Scotland via Catterick Camp in Yorkshire by transport, then a long hard slog on foot all the way to the border region of Southern Scotland. In fact our Divisional Commander had wanted the Black Watch to march all the way from Camberley to Scotland, but there was such an outcry that the men were allowed transport as far as Yorkshire. He reminded his men that they would thank him in later months for toughening them up, for making their feet strong. All the while of course he traveled in a great big staff car.
A few months later [late April 1942] and a few more blisters we crossed the border, to the hoots and yells of the Scots and the groans of the English troops in our brigade, mainly the Royal Fusiliers and the Royal West Kents, both London units. The English lads had the last laugh though, when they were billeted in Hawick and Selkirk and we were stuck in an old World War 1 POW camp.
The place was swarming with rats and worse still, was four miles from the town of Hawick, the town of 鈥淏raw Lassies鈥�.
The local people were very good to us lads. It was nothing, when out training in the hills, for a farmer鈥檚 wife to come out with jugs of milk and new baked scones to feed us up, much to the disgust of our sergeant. 鈥淭his is nae a bluidy picnic鈥� he would say. The farmer鈥檚 wife just ignored him. She probably had kin in the forces.
After a few months at Stobs Camp we said cheerio to the rats and moved into a nice clean nissen hut at nearby Selkirk [February 1943]. We also had a new Platoon Officer, who had just been called up, he wasn鈥檛 very old, about the same age as the rest of us. His first job was to give me a stripe, which I refused, but he threatened to move me away from my mates to another platoon, so I became a lance corporal! Yes lance corporal Daily...unpaid and unwanted! To make matters worse I was put on a charge on the first day of my promotion because one of the lads had not made his bed properly. This came to light during a billet inspection.
We soon got into the swing of our new environment, between training and visits into Selkirk. We went to all the local dances, although it was a bit dicey trying to do a slow foxtrot in army tackity boots. There were quite a few bruised toes amongst the Selkirk lassies, and a few broken hearts when we left.
Part of our training involved crossing Loch Fyne in landing craft to get ready for our next tour of duty. We were surprised to find the Yanks at Inverary, all dressed in old Celtic Helmets and Breast Plates, sitting at the side of the loch with buckets of beer, and having a riotous time. They called to us (all dressed in full gear) to come and join them for a drink. Unfortunately the Black Watch had to cross to the other side of the loch again and march down the opposite shore back to the borders. The rumours were flying again, guesses were Dunoon or Rothesay on the Clyde, or the Isle of Man. The truth was... NORTH AFRICA! We were to join the 1st Army under General Anderson, and after a long rail journey and even longer sea voyage, we landed at Algiers [23rd March 1943]. We were confined to the dock area until the next day, when we embarked on a naval destroyer to be ferried up the coast to Tunisia, and nearer to the front line. After a long march we reached our destination and settled into a position next to an American Artillery Battery, where a big black soldier was shoving shells into the breech of a gun and yelling... 鈥淗itler ..Count your men鈥�.
We could only be amazed at the Yanks鈥� high class catering. Hot dogs and ice cream making machines followed them everywhere, while we had to make do with 鈥渂ully beef鈥� and hard biscuits. No wonder that they say an army marches on its stomach.
The enemy troops in North Africa were mostly Italians with Germans of The Afrika Korps to back them up.
A few weeks to get acclimatised and it was down to business 鈥� a night attack on a German position. They were dug into a hill feature called Sidi-Mediene, and were the crack troops of the Hermann Goering Division. Four companies of the 6th Black Watch, each with a piper leading them, advanced under cover of darkness [25th April 1943]. Now with the pipers playing 鈥淗eilan Laddie鈥�, our own tune, it gave us great confidence to go forward. It also must have frightened the hell out of the enemy, as they thought that they were being attacked by the whole of the 51st Highland Division. They beat a hasty retreat, much to our surprise and relief. The power of the pipes!
The day after the battle, my friend Andy and me were doing a bit of mopping up and found two dead German soldiers in a slit trench, sitting propped up at either end. They both had binoculars round their necks, but such is the callousness of war, and as they had no further use for them, Andy and I purloined them as spoils of war! We then had a fairly quiet spell, we had a visit from the forces concert party, called Stars In Battledress. My favourite was a lad who called himself 鈥淗etty the Haybag from Tunis鈥�. He did a very good female impersonation and had the lads in stitches with his dirty jokes. At this point I must pay tribute to the postal services, which were first class. Our air mail letters from home very speedily arrived and Maisie (bless her) kept me in touch with all the news from home, also sent her love, which bucked me up no end. I wrote a few lines to her every night, but it wasn鈥檛 possible to post letters when you were in the line. As a result Maisie sometimes received a bunch of letters, sometimes 14 in one post. The local postman delivered them to the Logan house at 13 Claremont Road with the words 鈥淗e鈥檚 OK鈥�.
My luck ran out when I caught a dose of malaria and spent the next two weeks in a field hospital in the coastal town of Lausse (it is now a holiday resort). I was discharged just in time for the 鈥淟ast big push鈥� which ended the war in North Africa [13th May 1943].
Rommel and the Afrika Korps were on the run, leaving us with thousands of German and Italian prisoners of war to look after.
We were in charge of many Italian prisoners, and our duties entailed taking them in groups of about thirty men at a time, loading them into trucks, driving them to the beach to allow them to splash around in the sea. We were not being kind, it was just a very efficient way to delouse them and get them clean.
The prisoners were so glad to be out of the fighting 鈥� the Italians hated the Germans. Mind you I think that the feeling was mutual. While we watched the Italians playing in the surf; enjoying the cool water, there was I in full Black Watch uniform, Balmoral, the lot, feeling very sorry for myself. An Italian offered to hold my rifle and uniform so that I could also swim in the sea. I soon told him where to get off, but you know I think that he meant well. I learned to like the Italians, they just wanted to go home, like the rest of us.
The next stage was Egypt where we moved into a tented camp in the desert [Christmas 1943]. Stationed next to us was a Tank Regiment and as a joke I asked one of the tank crew if he knew Hector Shaw from Glasgow. I only asked as a joke, however I nearly passed out when the chap went in search of, and found Hector, who came to visit me.
Hector was my brother-in-law, married to my older sister Nellie, and oh what a boozy reunion we had in Cairo! For years afterwards it always came up. Our Cairo reunion party, getting sloshed, staggering back to the tented camp and tripping over every guy rope of every tent. We caused uproar in the camp, with lots of good natured laughter and some abuse. Imagine 鈥� out in the desert, thousands of miles from home, and I meet Hector Shaw.
We were informed that our regiment was to take part in Combined Operations [training] on The Bitter Lakes, however before then we did manage a few more trips into Cairo. I never did get to see the Pyramids, nor a camel for that matter. I did manage to buy Maisie a handbag and make a box to send it in, the box was covered with Egyptian figures. She still has it (1 think).
Then I was sent on a two week course to the School of Engineers near Cairo. I was to be trained in explosives and mine clearing, which came in very handy later on.

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