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Gordon Montgomery

My WW 2 STORY

The war broke out a few weeks before my 10th birthday. I lived in Granton a suburb of Edinburgh. My Mum, Dad, and sisters, Isobel and Sheila occupied a nice semi detached, three bedroom, living room, kitchen and bathroom ,rented house.

A short walk from home is Granton harbour. There is a beach, a small harbour for pleasure boats and a larger one for commercial ships. Looking to the left, we could see the Forth Bridge, and further on is Rosyth the naval shipyard. Looking to the right we could see Leith docks. My Father explained that these could be targets for enemy bombers

The first thing we saw of war activity was, one Sunday, not long after the war started, we were playing in the front garden. My pals and I heard the sound of planes. This was unusual as planes were few and far between then. Suddenly three planes, flying at roof top height passed overhead, we could see the German cross on the wings. We heard later that they had dropped bombs, aiming at the Forth Bridge. They missed.

In early 1940 an Anderson air raid shelter was delivered. This was a corrugated metal kit and had to be erected in a hole which Dad and I had dug in the back garden. This took some doing as the metal sheets were heavy, and I was quite small. Eventually we had our own shelter covered over with earth, which we then furnished with benches and a bunk bed, Needless to say this soon became our gang hut.

In the school playground brick shelters were erected, and we had evacuation exercises to make sure that we could reach them very quickly. We also had first aid drill. The idea was to rescue any casualties from bombed buildings, treat wounds with bandages. And move them to a place of safety. This was the local church hall. This was good fun and thankfully we never had to use our limited skills on real wounded.

We did have some bombing raids, mainly in the Leith area. Much damage was done and many civilians were killed. We had a few bombs and incendiary bombs in our street, and some houses were flattened, and some people killed. Air raid wardens were appointed, mainly retired men whose job was to make sure that the black out rules were obeyed. This was that all lights were out, or covered with black curtains after dark.

I got a job in the local CO-OP. delivering milk and rolls in the morning a barrow was supplied equipped with a lantern, candle powered .Each morning, Monday to Saturday. I collected my supplies from the back of the shop, this was forty pints and twenty half pints of milk. They were in glass bottles then. Three dozen rolls were also loaded. My delivery area was about one mile around the local streets, and to some fifty customers. The lantern was needed in the dark winter mornings, it was cold then and I managed to eat a few rolls on the way round to keep my strength up.

My Hospital story.

In October 1940 after my birthday I sat the qualifying exam. Having passed I was allocated Broughton as my secondary school. This is an old and respected school in Edinburgh and I was looking forward to attending there for the next three years. This was not to be, however, in March 1941 I developed a sore leg; my left knee was swollen and painful. I was taken to see Dr.Keunsberg at the local surgery. He examined my leg and diagnosed a strained ligament. A crepe bandage was applied and I was sent home. Two days later I developed a high fever, and my Mother sent for the doctor, he took one look, picked me up and into his car. I woke up three days later in the Western General Hospital.

I was in bed; my leg was in plaster and suspended about eighteen inches above the bed, the plaster was from the top of my toes to my hip.There was no pain but I felt woozy but quite comfortable. A nurse came to see me and seemed pleased to see me awake. In the classic way I said ‘where am I? She explained that I was in hospital and that I had undergone an operation and had been asleep for three days, and that the surgeon would be along to see me soon.

Later that day, after a cup of tea and some toast, the surgeon arrived at my bedside, he said hello I am Mr.Band. He sat beside my bed and started to explain what had happened to me.

‘When I saw you, three days ago you were very sick you had septicaemia caused by a disease in your leg. I have operated and removed some bone. The septicaemia is under control and you should feel better. You will have to stay with us for some time, and I will look after you.

My parents came to visit that evening and were relieved to see me sitting up. They had been sitting by my bed for three days and nights and looked exhausted. When they left me they saw Mr Band and got the full story of what he had done and what he would have to do. .I found out late the full story.

When I was admitted to hospital, it was touch and go whether my life could be saved. The septicaemia was widespread and heavy dozes of antibiotic were used to reduce the infection. The condition of my leg was even worse news. The surgeon first thought was that he should amputate the leg to stop any further infection. The disease is called osteomylitis, this caused the septicaemia He decided to open up the leg to expose the bone, then to drill into the bone to release the pressure. He was pleased with the result and decided to leave any decision about amputation to see how things progressed.
The ward that I was in was called D4 and was a surgical ward; there were twenty four beds, twelve down each side. As time went bye I noticed that the average length of a patients stay was three weeks. They came in for an operation, and left after this time or some did not recover and died. Usually I was by far the youngest there, and I was also the longest there. The nurses were very attentive and made sure that I was comfortable, taking my pulse and temperature every four hours. Providing bed pans as required, and giving me endless supplies of pills.

Doctors and surgeons would come round often, have a chat with me and looked at my plastered leg. One day there was a lot of running about by nurses, tidying beds and lockers, they explained that Matron was due a visit. I did not know what Matron meant.
Eventually she appeared, a tall woman, straight backed, dressed in a dark blue uniform, and wearing a large hat with what looked like wings sticking out. She examined everything as she marched round the ward meekly followed by doctors, and nurses. She spoke to me and asked how was I doing, I answered fine. I was a bit scared as she was a very imposing figure.

The sounds and smells in the ward ranged from moans to chatter, and the smell of disinfectant was strong. After a few weeks they went unnoticed.
I could write for weeks about my time in hospital, but I will highlight only some of the events.

My stay was to last for a whole year, all this time I remained in bed. I had many operations. Once a month I was taken to the operating theatre, my plaster was removed, under anaesthetic, my leg cleaned and redressed, and back to ward D4. I was now the longest resident in the hospital. After all this time I was allowed to sit in a wheel chair, with a plank of wood fitted to keep my leg off the floor. I could then visit other places such as the kitchen. I could visit other patients in the ward, and go into the garden. This was a new world to me, and I loved this new freedom.

The only contact I had with the war was as follows. The ward above mine, which was unknown territory, was evacuated, the patients were moved out to different places, and a group of new patients moved in. I was told that they were wounded soldiers. I asked if I was allowed to visit them. This was fine and I made my way to their ward. The first shock that I got was that they were Polish men; a few could speak some English. I was greeted as a fellow sufferer. The second was to see how badly wounded some were. A few had lost both legs, some with arm and legs missing, a lot were badly burned.
We exchanged stories. They were in fact airmen; they had been flying with the RAF, and had been wounded in action.

I soon learned a few words of Polish. The best bits of my visits were that they had chocolate a treat for me, and they had a cine camera. I enjoyed watching Polish films. They were a great bunch of men, some only about eight years older that I was
The time came when they were to be moved to other hospitals, we had a farewell party, and I tasted my first alcoholic drink, this was a national liqueur, it had a liquorish taste and I felt quite dizzy, or perhaps it was the first cigarette I ever had that did it? We said our tearful farewells.

My magical cure

One day my Father asked to see Mr. Band my surgeon. He had read in the Readers Digest of the amazing drug Penicillin that was being used to save the limbs, and lives of wounded soldiers.
He asked if this would help my chronic condition.
Mr. Band said that he knew of the drug and of how effective it was, and he would be prepared to try it on me, if only he could get some. He explained that it was only available for the use of doctors treating wounded men, and not civilians.

A few weeks later Mr Band came to see me, he seemed quite excited. He had obtained some Penicillin and wanted to start my treatment the following day, he said that I was probably the first patient in Edinburgh to be treated for my condition, and he was unsure how it would work..
The treatment was three injections a day for five weeks.

A nurse approached me with a syringe the size of a milk bottle, and a needle like a spear.
‘This might hurt a bit’ she said, the injection in my buttock took about a minute to administer.
Of all the things that had been done to me, this was by far the most painful.
After week three, my backside was like a pincushion, and I dreaded the next two weeks of this treatment

As one wag said, ‘all good things must come to an end’. My treatment was finished.
Mr Band was astonished at how my leg had responded .After a number of blood tests he said
‘I think that the infection has gone;’
My time in hospital was coming to an end. I had got out of bed to stand for the first time in fourteen months. This was a most peculiar feeling, to be upright and standing on two feet.
It took some weeks to get used to the feeling of moving around on my own, I was very week
But determined to get home, which I eventually did but on crutches

To finish this story, my leg did heal, and soon I was walking without any aids, and amazingly with no limp.
I did not return to school, the leaving age at this time was fourteen and I was almost there. I resumed my education at night school, and obtained many good certificates.

I am now aged seventy four, long retired after a successful business career. I still have two legs, which work well. I still remember my war years and all the brave people that I met, and all the medical staff who, by their skill and dedication helped me to survive.

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