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One Man’s War

By Catherine Wells

My husband was a territorial and he loved it. He joined out of boredom when unemployed. Then came the war. We had a little girl born on 12 April 1938, and still jobs were hard to find. I was devastated. He was called up. Conditions were primitive. He was first stationed nearby in a disused distillery. It had a concrete floor, with straw for bedding. He was then ordered to Catterick in Yorkshire to go through a crash course to be a signalling sergeant. In the meantime the main units, now part of the famous 51st Highland Division, made up of Seaforths, Camerons, etc, were entrained for Salisbury Plain. He came home once briefly before joining the BEF in France with the rest of his comrades in the Seaforths, mainly from around Dingwall, Ross-shire. For a time in the Phoney War events were static and the brigade was stationed near Metz and the Maginot Line. Then I got a letter saying leave had started and that sometime in May he would be home.

This started me off in a fever of needing something to do. So with a friend I started papering our living room, when out of the blue the telegraph boy arrived. As ours was a tight community half the street accompanied him. Consternation! Will I open it, was the offer of several friends. No! No! I shouted. I’ll do it myself, to see that he had been wounded when Hitler made a sudden strike through Belgium into Northern France, and the 51st and many others were hurriedly moved from their positions in front of the Maginot Line to north-west of Paris to make a stand and halt the German advance. I was stunned. I was just numb.

Later information then stated that he had been moved from hospital as far south as St Nazaire. He was seriously wounded in the head, forehead, left arm and side and taken off on a ship, the Amsterdam, and arrived at a hospital in Cardiff. If I could visit a warrant would be provided for two persons. Because of the blackout I would be better to have someone with me. My mother decided she was the one. We had to have a certificate from the Police Station, i.e. identification, as Ross-shire was a protected area. I simply could not wait until the next day. I had to go then, at once. My sister and nieces took charge of my little girl. She was so familiar with them, I knew she would be well looked after.

We had to change from the Queen Street to the Central Station in Glasgow and duly arrived at a Cardiff station. The voluntary services were marvellous! We were met by officials and taken in a taxi to the hospital. The taxi was powered by a gas bag on the roof. We were taken to the hospital at once and although we were aghast to see Jim all bandaged about the head, he was able to speak to us. After all the questions and answers that we could think of in those traumatic moments, we were taken by the same escorts to the accommodation provided for us. After breakfast, we were again ferried to the hospital where we found Jim sitting up in bed trying to shave himself, when another soldier in uniform came by. Seeing that Jim was struggling and I was too shy to take over, he offered his services. ‘Can I help, Jock?’ In no time it was done and the soldier went away. Jim said afterwards in a letter to me that he never saw him again. Strange! Now I was beginning to think about my daughter, Avril, and home. After seeing a sister as the doctor was not available, we had to think about getting away. So after being fed and taken care of, we were again escorted to the station en route for the highlands and home.

Jim was about two years and eight months in all in hospital having plastic surgery. A piece of bone was removed from his hip to make an eyebrow ridge. Hair from the back of his neck was used to make an eyebrow and his damaged eye was removed. Then, when no more plastic surgery could be done, he was discharged willy nilly as they had no further use for him. This was to remain a sore point with him, as he was convinced he could have served in some capacity in a home regiment.

He was mentioned in dispatches and given a badge for valour and the oak leaf. But the scars remained and also headaches. He had two further hospitalisations as a civilian.

Life had to go on and I was so thankful to have my man alive at my side. Whatever life had to offer in the future we resolved to face it together.

He is gone but I am left here at 90 years old.

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