大象传媒

In 1943, to fill in time before joining the Royal Navy, I did a spell at sea in the Small Vessels Pool delivering new ships from the maker to where they were to be used. On one occasion I was told to join a ship by meeting the crew on a platform at Liverpool Street station. Sure enough, on the platform was a group of about eight men of seafaring appearance crouching in a circle, looking intently at some activity in the centre. I approached warily and saw that the liquid in someone's underpants was being squeezed via a funnel into a bottle. The reason: at that time scotch whiskey was almost unobtainable by civilians. However, one of the crew who were all Scottish, , John Campbell, the Chief Engineer, in peacetime had been on the marketing department of a famous distiller and had managed to get hold of a bottle of the precious stuff. Alas, on the journey from Glasgow, the bottle broke and spilt on his underwear. This had to be saved but, unfortunately, evaporation plus natural wastage resulted in only a few drams being recovered.
This was the start of an unforgettable trip from Brightlingsea up the east coast and eventually to Greenock on the Clyde. A bunch of wonderful Scots. We had to stop at Lowestoft and tied up opposite a badly damaged motor torpedo boat the captain of which became a VC and was the son of our first mate. I was an ignorant very young Sassenach and could not understand why they would hardly speak to John Campbell. One day I asked the skipper who, in a very serious manner said: "Bob - if ever there's a quisling in Scotland, you can bet your bottom dollar he'l be a Dirty Campbell."

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