Three Ordinary Servicemen

This is not a tale of great heroism or bullets and shells flying overhead in a theatre of war. It is the knowledge I have of three ordinary men who at some point in their lives served in the armed forces in a world war. Some of the knowledge was told to me directly, other parts I learned at various times from family and friends.

The first person was my father. He served in the First World War and I would assume he was in the Cameronian Scottish Rifles. He never spoke to me directly about his time in the war. From various sources, I know that he served at Ypres, (or as he would say WIPERS). At one point he was gassed and was sent to London to recuperate. There were also some campaign medals which lay at the back of a drawer in the kitchen cupboard. Everyone has a drawer like that. Occasionally as a boy I would play with these. That was my knowledge until one Christmas day.

My father was now 84, and had dementia. Little did I know this was to be his last Christmas. On the way to my mother-in-law’s for Christmas dinner, my wife, son and I visited my father in the hospital. My dad was having a good day, and was bright and cheery. He asked my son what he was doing at school. My son, who was 11 at the time, said he was doing the history of WW1. At this point my father began to tell him about WW1. He did not talk about great strategic battles, or the dangers he faced, gassing or shelling. Instead he told him about life in the trenches, the deprivations, unwashed, wet and cold, but also about the camaraderie between the young men. For those ten minutes or so, I sat back and listened to my dad, and watched the amazed look on my son’s face, for here was his granddad telling him about history that in my son’s eyes had happened centuries ago. My son has never had any inclination to join any of the armed services, and if those 10 minutes had anything to do with that, I will be eternally grateful to my father.

The second person was my eldest brother; he was a navigator in WW2. He flew on Sunderland and Catalina flying boats. These were used for long range reconnaissance, mainly in the Indian and Pacific Oceans. He was a bit more responsive about his experiences, but only about the fun bits. He would tell me about being sent up to the tea plantations for rest and recuperation when stationed in India. There is a story that he sent my mother some caviar from India, I don’t think my mother knew what to do with it.

He told about playing soccer for the RAF against the Army, and for a time one of the Bedser twins (for the cricket enthusiasts) was in the same billet. I don’t know if it was Alec or Eric, both were famous cricketers in the 1950’s.

He flew escort for the Queen’s when they were used as troopships. They had to fly a 90 mile square around the ship, but they flew so slowly, and the Queens were so fast, that the ship was half way up the next square before they had completed theirs. He also told us that he was transferred to the Australian Air force, for a time. The best part, he said, was when he went back to the RAF, they gave him all his back pay. He was rich for a fortnight.

What I found out from other people, when Singapore fell, my brother’s plane made it out with about 2 hours to spare. They landed on some island, I assume part of Borneo. My mother received the black bordered telegram, missing presumed dead; however, he was picked up about 6 weeks later by the Australian Navy. That was how he ended up in their air force. However at his funeral I found out that he had been in 3 air crashes. That was the first time I had ever heard about this. I guess his God looked after him.

The third person was John. He was the guy in the factory who cleaned out the machines, swept the floor, and did any odd jobs that was required. He was always a pleasant polite little man. This part occurred around 1970; I think the 25th anniversary of VE day. There was lots of coverage about it on television, places being liberated, dancing in the streets, etc. A group of us were standing talking one day about how the people must have felt being liberated. At this point John began to tell us of the liberation of Brussels, a city I was to know quite well in later years. He told us of the cheering, the singing and dancing the flags waving, as he rode through Brussels sitting astride a tank. Of a young girl running up to the tank giving him flowers and chocolates, then she hugged and kissed him. As he told us this I looked at him and I could see he was reliving every moment of this event. This was his moment in time. When I remember this I can picture John, astride the tank going down one of the broad streets in Brussels, perhaps the Avenue Toisson D’or. I also hope that at times an old lady in Brussels remembers the day she gave flowers and chocolates to a young British soldier, and then hugged and kissed him. Now isn’t that a pleasant thought to end with.