tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-204361982024-03-08T07:41:17.453+00:00My Dad's MemoirsI have thought for a long time about posting my Dad's Memoirs on the Web and now I think the time is right to do so. I do hope you enjoy reading them. Iain CameronIain Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397274617360739298noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20436198.post-14106685755366260212020-06-07T19:30:00.029+01:002020-06-07T21:31:35.753+01:00Index<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: center;"><b><u><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">PART I<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2006/01/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1.html" target="_blank">CHAPTER I </a><span> <a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2006/01/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1.html" target="_blank"> </a></span><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2006/01/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">In the<span><span style="color: black;"> </span></span><span></span></span></span><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">b</span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">egi<span><span style="color: black;">n</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ning</span></span></a><span><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2006/01/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1.html" target="_blank"> </a> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1.html" target="_blank">CHAPTER II</a><span> </span><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Mo<span><span style="color: black;">v</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">e<span><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">to<span><span style="color: black;"> </span></span><span></span></span></span><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">1</span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">13</span></span></a><span><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1.html" target="_blank"> </a> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_30.html" target="_blank">CHAPTER
III</a><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_30.html" target="_blank"> </a> <a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_30.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">My Grand<span><span style="color: black;">-</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Parents</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412908845"></a><!--[endif]--> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_29.html" target="_blank">CHAPTER
IV</a><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_29.html" target="_blank"> </a> <a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_29.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Early Childhood <span><span style="color: black;">M</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">emories</span></span></a><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_29.html" target="_blank"> </a> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><a href="https://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_28.html" target="_blank">CHAPTER V</a><a href="https://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_28.html" target="_blank"> </a> <a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_28.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">113 <span><span style="color: black;">H</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">igh Street, Ar<span><span style="color: black;">d</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ersier</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412908948"></a><a name="_Hlt413468661"></a><!--[endif]--> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><a href="https://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_27.html" target="_blank">CHAPTER VI</a><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_28.html" target="_blank"> </a> <a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_27.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Pri<span><span style="color: black;">m</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ary Sc<span><span style="color: black;">h</span></span><span></span></span></span><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">o</span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ol Days</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412908967"></a><a name="_Hlt412909072"></a><a name="_Hlt412909020"></a><!--[endif]--> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><a href="https://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_26.html" target="_blank">CHAPTER
VII</a><a href="https://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_26.html" target="_blank"> </a> <a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_26.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Home
Life: <span><span style="color: black;">C</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">hristian Influences</span></span></a><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_26.html" target="_blank"> </a> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><a href="https://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-_113662906262125655.html" target="_blank">CHAPTER VIII</a> <a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-_113662906262125655.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">The Fis<span><span style="color: black;">h</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ing</span></span> </a> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><a href="https://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_25.html" target="_blank">CHAPTER IX</a> <a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_25.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">I<span><span style="color: black;">n</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">vern<span><span style="color: black;">e</span></span><span></span></span></span><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">s</span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">s Royal Aca<span><span style="color: black;">d</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">emy</span></span></a><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_25.html" target="_blank"> </a> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><a href="https://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_24.html" target="_blank">CHAPTER X</a><span> </span><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_24.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Memories of C<span><span style="color: black;">h</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ildh<span><span style="color: black;">o</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">od in Ardersier</span></span>:-</a><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span> </span>a)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V8-10.DOC#Milk%20from%20Milton%20Farm"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Milk fro<span><span style="color: black;">m</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;"> Mi<span><span style="color: black;">l</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">to<span><span style="color: black;">n</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;"> <span><span style="color: black;">F</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">arm</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412909297"></a><a name="_Hlt412909327"></a><a name="_Hlt413468739"></a><a name="_Hlt413468723"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span> </span>b)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V8-10.DOC#Soldiers'%20Trains"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Soldier<span><span style="color: black;">s</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">' <span><span style="color: black;">T</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">r<span><span style="color: black;">a</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ins</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412909449"></a><a name="_Hlt412909354"></a><a name="_Hlt412909568"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span> </span>c)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V8-10.DOC#c)The%20Jetty"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">The <span><span style="color: black;">J</span></span><span></span></span></span><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">e</span></span></span><span></span><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">t</span></span></span><span></span><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">t</span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">y</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412909658"></a><a name="_Hlt412909550"></a><a name="_Hlt412909500"></a><a name="_Hlt412909755"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span> </span>d)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V8-10.DOC#Boating"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">B<span><span style="color: black;">o</span></span><span></span></span></span><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">a</span></span></span><span></span><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">t</span></span></span><span></span><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">i</span></span></span><span></span><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">n</span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">g</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412909708"></a><a name="_Hlt412909653"></a><a name="_Hlt412909789"></a><a name="_Hlt412909785"></a><a name="_Hlt412909641"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span> </span>e)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V8-10.DOC#Speldings%20and%20Kippers"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Speldings and Ki<span><span style="color: black;">p</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">pers</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412909820"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span> </span><span> </span>f)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V8-10.DOC#Scouting"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Sco<span><span style="color: black;">u</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ti<span><span style="color: black;">n</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">g</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412909859"></a><a name="_Hlt412909854"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span> </span>g)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V8-10.DOC#Summer%20Activities:"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Summer A<span><span style="color: black;">c</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">tivities</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412909894"></a><!--[endif]-->:<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span> </span>i)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V8-10.DOC#Tarry%20Feet"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Tarr<span><span style="color: black;">y</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;"> Feet</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412909974"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span> </span>ii)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V8-10.DOC#Dirkins"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Dir<span><span style="color: black;">k</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ins</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412909935"></a><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span> </span>iii)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V8-10.DOC#iii)The%20Nairn%20Games"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">The Nairn <span><span style="color: black;">g</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">a<span><span style="color: black;">m</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">es</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412909949"></a><a name="_Hlt412909992"></a><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span> </span>iv)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V8-10.DOC#iv)Childhood%20Games"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Childh<span><span style="color: black;">o</span></span><span></span></span></span><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">o</span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">d games</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412910019"></a><a name="_Hlt412910122"></a><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span> </span>v)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V8-10.DOC#Every%20boy%20wanted"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">C<span><span style="color: black;">y</span></span><span></span></span></span><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">c</span></span></span><span></span><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">l</span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">es</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412910088"></a><a name="_Hlt412910150"></a><a name="_Hlt412910038"></a><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span> </span>vi)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V8-10.DOC#Camping%20Out"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Ca<span><span style="color: black;">m</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ping out</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412910206"></a><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span> </span>vii)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V8-10.DOC#(vii)%20%20Walking"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Walk<span><span style="color: black;">i</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ng</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412910229"></a><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span> </span>viii)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V8-10.DOC#(viii)%20Smoking!"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Smo<span><span style="color: black;">k</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ing</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412910267"></a><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span> </span>h)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V8-10.DOC#Winter%20Activities"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Winter Ac<span><span style="color: black;">t</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">iv<span><span style="color: black;">i</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ties</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412910298"></a><a name="_Hlt412910304"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span> </span>i)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V8-10.DOC#Hogmanay"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Hogma<span><span style="color: black;">n</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ay</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412910332"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span> </span>j)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V8-10.DOC#During%20my%20childhood%20and%20youth"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Chris<span><span style="color: black;">t</span></span><span></span></span></span><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">m</span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">as</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412910367"></a><a name="_Hlt412910359"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span> </span>k)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V8-10.DOC#Drama%20and%20Dance"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Drama <span><span style="color: black;">a</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">nd<span><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Dance</span></span></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt412910390"></a><a name="_Hlt413407571"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_23.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">CHAPTER XI</span></a><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> </span><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_23.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;">Law Apprenticeship</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"> in </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;">Inverness</span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">:-</span></a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt -3.3pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">a)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V11.DOC#The%20Office"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">The Off<span><span style="color: black;">i</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ce</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413407467"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">b)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V11.DOC#Marriage%20Lines"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Marriage<span><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Lines</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413407502"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">c)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V11.DOC#Aliment"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Alim<span><span style="color: black;">e</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">nt</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413407523"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">d)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V11.DOC#Wild%20Goose%20Chase"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Wild Goo<span><span style="color: black;">s</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">e Chase</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413407558"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">e)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V11.DOC#Rent%20Collection"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Rent Colle<span><span style="color: black;">c</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">t<span><span style="color: black;">i</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">on</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413468237"></a><a name="_Hlt413468222"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">f)</span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V11.DOC#A%20real%20highland%20funeral" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;">A Real Highl</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;">and Funeral</span></a><a name="_Hlt413468272" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"></a><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">g)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V11.DOC#More%20on%20Banns"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">More on Ba<span><span style="color: black;">n</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ns</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413468297"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">h)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V11.DOC#Small%20Debt%20Actions"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Small Debt Acti<span><span style="color: black;">o</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ns</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413468317"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">i)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V11.DOC#Other%20Actions"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Other Ac<span><span style="color: black;">t</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ions</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413468348"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">j)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V11.DOC#Accountancy%20and%20Income%20Tax"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Accounta<span style="color: black;">ncy
an<span><span style="color: black;">d</span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;"> Income tax</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413468370"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">k)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V11.DOC#Wills"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">W<span><span style="color: black;">i</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">lls</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413468398"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">l)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V11.DOC#Caught%20red-handed"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Caught<span><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Red-handed</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413468421"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">m)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V11.DOC#Groceries%20and%20Tradesmen's%20Accounts"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Groceries
and T<span><span style="color: black;">r</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">adesmen's Accounts</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413468523"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">n)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V11.DOC#Bunting%20and%20Champagne"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Bunting and <span><span style="color: black;">C</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">hampagne</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413468562"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">o)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P1V11.DOC#And%20so%20to%20Edinburgh"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">And so to<span><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">E<span><span style="color: black;">d</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">inburgh</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413468806"></a><a name="_Hlt413468603"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt -3.3pt; text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt -3.3pt; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P2.DOC"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black;">PART<span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black;">II</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><u><a name="_Hlt413468859"></a></u><!--[endif]--><u><o:p></o:p></u></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt -3.3pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt -3.3pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><a href="https://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-2.html" target="_blank">CHAPTER XII</a><span> </span><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-2.html" target="_blank">Edinburgh:-</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt -3.3pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">a)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P2.DOC#Arrival"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Arri<span><span style="color: black;">v</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">al</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413468894"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">b)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P2.DOC#Palmerston%20Place%20Church"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Palmerston Pla<span><span style="color: black;">c</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">e C<span><span style="color: black;">h</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">urch</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413468953"></a><a name="_Hlt413468930"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">c)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P2.DOC#Kinimont%20&%20Maxwell,%20W.S."><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Kinmon<span><span style="color: black;">t</span></span><span></span></span></span><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">and M<span><span style="color: black;">a</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">xwell W. S.</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413469028"></a><a name="_Hlt413468996"></a><a name="_Hlt413468980"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">d)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P2.DOC#Edinburgh%20University%20(Pre%20war)"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Edinburg<span><span style="color: black;">h</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;"> University (pre-war)</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413469032"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">e)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P2.DOC#Leisure%20Activities"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Lei<span><span style="color: black;">s</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ure Activities</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413469064"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">f)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P2.DOC#Peoples'%20Palace"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Th<span><span style="color: black;">e</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;"> Peo<span><span style="color: black;">p</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">les' Palace</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413469099"></a><a name="_Hlt413469109"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">g)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P2.DOC#War%20in%20the%20offing"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">War in t<span><span style="color: black;">h</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">e Offing</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413469143"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt -3.3pt; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt -3.3pt; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P3.DOC"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">PA<span><span style="color: black;">R</span></span><span></span></span></span><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">T</span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;"> III</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413469214"></a><a name="_Hlt413469227"></a><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt -3.3pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt -3.3pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><a href="https://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-2_21.html" target="_blank">CHAPTER XIII</a><span> </span><a href="https://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-2_21.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">And so <span><span style="color: black;">t</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">o War</span></span>:-</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt -3.3pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">a)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P3.DOC#The%20first%20Month"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">The first <span><span style="color: black;">m</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">onth</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413469402"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">b)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P3.DOC#Learning%20to%20be%20an%20Artillery%20Clerk"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Learning to b<span><span style="color: black;">e</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;"> an <span><span style="color: black;">A</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">rtillery Clerk</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413469451"></a><a name="_Hlt413469441"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">c)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P3.DOC#To%20Selkirk%20and%20Piddlehinton"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">To <span><span style="color: black;">S</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">elkirk and Piddlehinton</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413469491"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">d)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P3.DOC#The%20second%20B.E.F."><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">The Se<span><span style="color: black;">c</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">on<span><span style="color: black;">d</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;"> B. <span><span style="color: black;">E</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">. F.</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413469549"></a><a name="_Hlt413469527"></a><a name="_Hlt413469642"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">e)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P3.DOC#R.H.Q.%20was%20stationed"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Eas<span><span style="color: black;">t</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;"> <span><span style="color: black;">A</span></span><span></span></span></span><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">n</span></span></span><span></span><span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">g</span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">l<span><span style="color: black;">i</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">a</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413469607"></a><a name="_Hlt413469634"></a><a name="_Hlt413469574"></a><a name="_Hlt413469672"></a><a name="_Hlt413469594"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">f)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P3.DOC#Back%20to%20Scotland"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Back to S<span><span style="color: black;">c</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">otland</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413469706"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">g)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P3.DOC#Early%20in%20March%201942"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">O.<span style="color: black;"> C. T.<span><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">U.</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413469756"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">h)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P3.DOC#182%20Field%20Regiment%20R.A."><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">182 Field R<span><span style="color: black;">e</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">giment</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413469802"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">i)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P3.DOC#Dundonald%20Camp%20was%20very%20much"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Combin<span><span style="color: black;">e</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">d <span><span style="color: black;">O</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">pera<span><span style="color: black;">t</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ions Bombardment Unit</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413469851"></a><a name="_Hlt413469892"></a><a name="_Hlt413469906"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">j)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P3.DOC#Engagement%20and%20Marriage"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Engage<span><span style="color: black;">m</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ent and <span><span style="color: black;">M</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">arriage</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413469958"></a><a name="_Hlt413469986"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">k)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P3.DOC#Intimation%20arrived%20that"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">H<span><span style="color: black;">o</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">lland</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470029"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">l)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P3.DOC#Dundonald%20Again"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Dund<span><span style="color: black;">o</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">nald<span><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Again</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470072"></a><a name="_Hlt413470120"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">m)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P3.DOC#Eritrea"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Eritrea - E<span><span style="color: black;">g</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ypt - Release from Army</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470106"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt -3.3pt; text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt -3.3pt; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P4.DOC"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">PA<span><span style="color: black;">R</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">T IV</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470205"></a><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt -3.3pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt -3.3pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><a href="https://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-4.html" target="_blank">CHAPTER XIV</a><span> </span><a href="https://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-4.html" target="_blank">'Civvy' Street Once Again:-</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt -3.3pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">a)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P4.DOC#Edinburgh"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Ed<span><span style="color: black;">i</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">nburgh</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470249"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">b)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P4.DOC#Little%20did%20I%20know%20it%20but"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Gla<span><span style="color: black;">s</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">gow</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470310"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt -3.3pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt -3.3pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt -3.3pt; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">PAR<span><span style="color: black;">T</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;"> V</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470347"></a><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt -3.3pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><a href="https://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-5.html" target="_blank">CHAPTER XV</a><a href="https://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-5.html" target="_blank"> </a> <a href="https://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-5.html" target="_blank">A Few Tales:-</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt -3.3pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">a)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#Yachts%20at%20Gourock"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Yacht<span><span style="color: black;">s</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;"> at Gourock</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470382"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">b)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#Substation%20Noise"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Subst<span><span style="color: black;">a</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">tion Noise</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470412"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">c)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#Substation%20Vibration"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Substation <span><span style="color: black;">V</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ibration</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470440"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">d)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#Anti-freeze"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Anti<span style="color: black;">-Fre<span><span style="color: black;">e</span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ze</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470462"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">e)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#No%20Rent%20from%20Socialists"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">No r<span><span style="color: black;">e</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">nt from Socialists</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470491"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">f)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#Seaside%20Cottage"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Seasid<span><span style="color: black;">e</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;"> Cottage</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470517"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">g)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#Very%20first%20'public'%20speech"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Very First "<span><span style="color: black;">P</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ublic" Speech</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470540"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">h)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#Another%20Lump%20Please"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Another Lu<span><span style="color: black;">m</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">p Please</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470569"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">i)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#Law%20Student%20:%20Piper"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Law Student : Pi<span><span style="color: black;">p</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">er</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470610"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">j)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#You're%20white%20all%20over!"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">You're <span><span style="color: black;">w</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">hite all over</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470630"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">k)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#He's%20my%20Uncle"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">He's <span><span style="color: black;">m</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">y Uncle</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470654"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">l)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#Orkney:%20Uranium"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Orkney Uran<span><span style="color: black;">i</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">um</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470674"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">m)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#More%20Uranium"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">More Urani<span><span style="color: black;">u</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">m</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470698"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">n)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#Tail%20Gunner"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Ta<span style="color: black;">il Gun<span><span style="color: black;">n</span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">er</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470716"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">o)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#Slap%20on%20the%20face"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Slap o<span><span style="color: black;">n</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;"> the face</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470740"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">p)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#Whiteside"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Whitesi<span><span style="color: black;">d</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">e</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470763"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">q)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#Shaving"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Shav<span><span style="color: black;">i</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">ng</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470794"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">r)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#'She%20had%20to%20go%20too'"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">She had to g<span><span style="color: black;">o</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;"> too</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470816"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">s)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#Piesporter%20at%20Houston%20House"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Piesporter at Hous<span><span style="color: black;">t</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">on House</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470837"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">t)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#Electricity%20Theft"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Electricity<span><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">theft</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470859"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">u)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#Yes%20Miss,%20I%20paid"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Yes miss<span><span style="color: black;">,</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;"> I paid</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470879"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">v)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#Tinkers%20Curse"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">Tinkers <span><span style="color: black;">c</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">urse</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470899"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">w)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#A%20High%20Flying%20Hat"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">A high<span><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">flying hat</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470921"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">x)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#High%20Finance!"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">High <span><span style="color: black;">f</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">inance!</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470947"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm -3.3pt 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">y)<span> </span><a href="file:///D:/Dropbox/Alex's%20Memiors/Memoirs/P5.DOC#F.P.%20Dinners"><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">F. P. Dinn<span><span style="color: black;">e</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "MS Serif", serif;"><span style="color: black;">rs</span></span></a><!--[if !supportNestedAnchors]--><a name="_Hlt413470972"></a><!--[endif]--><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><br />Iain Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397274617360739298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20436198.post-1136219258597726292007-10-20T16:30:00.006+01:002020-06-07T12:52:34.703+01:00Grand-dad Alex tells his tale<div align="left"><strong><span style="font-size: 130%;">Preface<br />
</span></strong><br />
From time to time since my retirement in 1977 (at the age of 60 years) it has been suggested to me by family and friends that I<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Alex%202.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/Alex%202.jpg" style="float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;" /></a> might commit to paper some of the stories of my life. This I have now decided to do, so that my grandchildren, at least, maybe given an insight into a few of the many interesting experiences which have come my way over the years.<br />
<br />
<br />
I have deliberately refrained from dealing in depth with my professional career with the Electricity Supply Industry in South Scotland and have omitted what one might call 'The story of 50+ years of marriage to a Meldrum quine'!<br />
<br />
My thanks to my daughter Anne and my daughter-in-law Janis for their constant encouragement.<br />
<br />
Thanks also to Iona Jamieson who undertook the unenviable task of transforming my manuscript into a legible form.<br />
<br />
And my warm gratitude to Iain, my son, who was responsible for producing "my tale" in its present form.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 1.35pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 1.35pt 0.0001pt 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Dedication</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 1.35pt 0.0001pt 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 1.35pt 0.0001pt 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">To my Darling
Wilma who has been my principal interest and constant inspiration for over 50
years.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 1.35pt 0.0001pt 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 1.35pt 0.0001pt 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">For my
Grandchildren who give me such pleasure, and perhaps also for theirs.</span></p><br /></div>Iain Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397274617360739298noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20436198.post-1136219901826706402007-10-20T16:28:00.001+01:002016-01-15T16:53:49.365+00:00Memoirs of a Fisherman's Son - Part 1, Chapter 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="justify">
<strong>Chapter I</strong><br />
<strong>In the Beginning</strong><br />
<br />
My arrival into this world took place at 8.45 am on 13th October 1917, in Ardersier.<br />
At that time my father, John Cameron, was an able-bodied seaman serving on mine sweepers on the Dover Patrol. My mother, Margaret Jane Ralph - known affectionately as Maggie Jane - had decided, after the honeymoon at a cousin's home in Aberdeen, to leave 13 Park Street, Nairn where she had been brought up, to 'take a room' in her husband's place of birth, Ardersier. At the date of their marriage in 13 Park Street, 12th January 1917 my Dad was 38 years old and Mum 32 years; so they were by no means 'children'. This 'room' was north-most on the upper floor of 109 High Street Ardersier a few doors along from No. 104 where my mother's sister, Isabella, lived in the home provided by her husband, Alex Davidson, also serving in the Royal Navy. They had been married before the first war - possibly 1911. The owners of my birthplace at this time were Charles Ratcliffe, a retired Seaforth Highlander, who ran a market-garden, and his dear wife whom I came to love and knew as 'Granny Ratcliffe'.<br />
<br />
On 24th November 1917 I was baptised by the Reverend J.C. MacKay, Minister of the Free Church in Ardersier, although Mum was still a member of Rosebank United Presbyterian Church in Nairn. Auntie Bella was a member of the Free Church simply because it was the custom for wives to adopt their husband's religious denomination. My mother, who had professed her faith in Rosebank Church in 1903, and throughout her life was a dedicated Christian, no doubt sought the companionship of her sister at public worship in the Free Church. However she did not maintain this very long! In the Spring of 1918 Mr MacKay found her gathering wild flowers on a Sunday afternoon when out with me for a walk with the pram. He condemned her 'desecration of the Sabbath'! She was never one to suffer in silence and the Minister heard more than he had bargained for from one who always felt free to enjoy the beauties of God's earth and was fully able to counter his allegations with her quotations from the Gospel. To add insult to injury the sermon preached in the Free Kirk that evening contained condemnation of, and no doubt - hell-fire upon, 'sinners who desecrated the Sabbath day, not only by walking with bairns in their prams but gathering flowers from the fields'. No wonder Mum forthwith changed her allegiance to the United Free Church of which the Rev. Alexander Robertson was the much loved pastor for the whole of his ministry. He and his good lady were 'tiny folk' being, like my mother, less that 5 foot tall. They had a fairly large family all but one of whom, were quite well known outwith Ardersier. One son, Rae and his wife Ethel (Bartlett) became world renowned pianists, playing two pianos as one.<br />
<br />
Another son, James, became a Professor in the Divinity Faculty in Aberdeen. Others were in the teaching profession and one a Parish Minister, and in my recollection, all were delightful people.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Alex_Elsie_and%20Mum2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/Alex_Elsie_and%20Mum2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;" /></a>When I was of an age to be taken out on my own, old Charlie used to take me for rides on his horse drawn lorry laden with vegetables from his garden I still have vivid memories of these wonderful journeys simply looking at the horse's tail as we drove along to Fort-George and back. Charlie sold his vegetables in the village and also at the Fort. Unfortunately on one mission the weather turned very cold with breezes off the Moray Firth and I ended up in bed with double pneumonia aggravated by measles which were affecting the village children at this time. Apparently the doctor told my mother at 9 o'clock one evening that there was no hope for me, she would just have to pray. Never one to be without hope - she called Mr Robertson (who lived only 50 yards away) to join her in prayer. This he did until, to use her own words 'the crisis had passed' at 3.00 am. Early that morning the Minister arrived with a bunch of flowers from the Manse garden and he was accompanied by the doctor - Mr Robertson had walked to the north end of the village and asked the doctor to come with him to see 'the Cameron boy'. Following that illness I suffered from asthma for the next 16 years.</div>
</div>
Iain Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397274617360739298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20436198.post-1136220077893669722005-12-31T16:38:00.000+00:002006-01-07T10:50:00.406+00:00Memoirs of a Fisherman's Son - Part 1, Chapter 2<div align="justify"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Chapter II</span><br /><br /></strong><a name="move"></a><strong>Move to 113<br /></strong><br />My Dad and grandfather were demobbed from the Navy in 1919 and very reluctantly my parents moved to the thatched cottage No.113 High Street belonging to grandfather. This was a mistake, never I hope, to be repeated in my family. It is truly said that 'oil and water don't mix'. Neither do the old and the young, especially when the latter have children of their own. For the succeeding twenty years my mother had to suffer the presence of her father-in-law, a man of very different views and temperament.</div>Iain Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397274617360739298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20436198.post-1136220511674671502005-12-30T16:42:00.000+00:002016-01-15T18:42:45.648+00:00Memoirs of a Fisherman's Son - Part 1, Chapter 3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="justify">
<strong><span style="font-size: 130%;">Chapter III</span><br />My Grand-parents<br /></strong><br />
My mother's parents were John Ralph a Fisherman and Elspet Main who were married in Nairn on 20th October, 1876. Granddad died of consumption (tuberculosis) in August 1893 at the age, so far as I can gather, of 42 years. They had four children Isabella, Elspet, John and my mother Margaret Jane, who was born on 5th June 1885. The family home was No. 13 Park Street, Nairn which is still to the fore albeit in a very modernised form.<br />
<br />
Granny Ralph had to make ends meet and bring up her family by selling fish. She had an arrangement (not a common one in Nairn) whereby she was able to buy the whole of the catch (of fish) brought in by one of the boats owned by one Alexander McIntosh. The catch was sold mostly in smoked form: she had her own smoking shed at the front of the house and like so many Nairn ladies produced the mouth-watering Nairn Speldings. (elsewhere known as smoked haddock or finnan haddock).<br />
<br />
The <a href="http://www.nairnmuseum.co.uk/1.html">Fishertown Museum</a> in Nairn has on display a picture of 13 Park Street as it was in the late 19th Century and also of my grandmother and mother. Worth having a look out for them.<br />
<br />
When smoked, this fish, with any fresh fish likely to be required by her customers, were placed in a creel and an arm basket. The creel containing almost one hundred-weight of fish (51kg), was carried on her back and the basket on her right arm. Laden like this she walked to neighbouring villages like Geddes, Auldearn and Cawdor - no small feat - for a lady who was no more than 4 foot 10 ins. tall. It has always astonished me to know that, in addition, she travelled by train once each month to each of Mulben (Banff-shire) and Ballinluig (Perth-shire). One who knew her well told me that she did not have to leave the stations at these destinations; the customers knowing when she would arrive, came to her I understand she had very good customers in the shops and farms, hotels, shooting lodges and the like. Never did she bring any fish back to Nairn. Any that were left over were given away to those in need such as railway porters and farm servants.<br />
<br />
As soon as Auntie Bella and Elsie reached the age of 12 years they left school and joined their mother in the business of smoking and selling fish. Thus was the family maintained with no Parish or state financial support. On leaving school my mother was sent to be a childrens' nurse in one of the 'big houses'. at the north end of Seabank Road. These houses had been built in Nairn by patients of Doctor Grigor (his statue now stands in front of Viewfield House) a doctor having London connections who recommended those of his (private) patients who could afford to do so, to go and live in Nairn in order to benefit from the equable climate. So it was that Nairn came to have such splendid mansion houses as you can see in the West End to this day.<br />
<br />
After my mother had been with the family for two years the lady of the house wanted to take her to Switzerland with the children for a prolonged holiday - But - old Granny would not hear of her youngest daughter going away to such foreign parts! And so my dear mother at the age of 16 years joined her contemporaries at 'the gutting'. In those days as soon as a fisher lassie in Nairn reached the age of sixteen she was expected to join the band of girls from the North East of Scotland who followed the herring fishing fleet and worked as gutters and packers of herring in ports from Northern Ireland round the 'top' of Scotland to Great Yarmouth and Gorleston in Norfolk. All three Ralph girls did that while their brother, my Uncle John, became first, the cook and then fireman, driver and 'engineer' on a herring drifter. This meant that they were all away from home in places like Castlebay, Stornoway, Lerwick, Fraserburgh, Peterhead in the months of April until September and down in England from September until the end of November. A photograph of my mother with her 'crew' is to be found in the Fishertown Museum; they are all dressed in their Sunday best (black and white) sitting outside their 'house' (a shed) above the door of which is the name 'Invernairne'. This board on which this name was printed was carried from one location to another as they moved around with the fleet. At that time the economy of the North East, if not of the whole of Scotland, depended to a large extent on the herring trade with Baltic Countries.<br />
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Although granny Ralph died at the age of 74 in 1922 I have vivid memories of her and of the home in which my mother was brought up. Everything within sparkled, the grate gleamed like silver, the brass fender like gold with its assuring words 'Home Sweet Home', emphasising the welcome bestowed on all Granny's visitors. The matching fire irons, tongs and poker, reflected in their mirror-like surfaces the glow of the coal fire. The walls of the living room were hung with pictures, texts from the bible including one which I still remember; 'Consider the lilies of the field' and 'Watch and Pray'. It was of course customary for fisher folk to decorate their houses with embroidered texts of that kind for they were a god-fearing community; not surprising when one considers the dangers with which fisher men were confronted on stormy seas.<br />
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In a real storm at sea in a tossing boat, as on the battlefield in my own experience, there is only one source from which one can draw peace of mind; the creator of the universe who is the Father of all his creation.<br />
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My Cameron grand-parents Alexander Cameron and Jessie Ralph his cousin (aged 29 years) were married in Ardersier on 12th November 1875. Jessie died shortly before the Great War and I'm afraid I know nothing of her life and character except that she was born in 1845 and died at the age of 67 years on 27th April 1912. Her mother was Janet Main (nee Ralph) sister of Helen Main who was married to Donald Cameron. Helen and Donald had a family of six boys (two of them twins) and one girl Harriet. My grandfather was the eldest child. According to my dad Granny Cameron was cast in the same mould as my mother.<br />
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My father was born at Stuarton Petty on 13th November 1879 having an older brother Donald born two years earlier.<br />
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Of my paternal Grandfather I know a great deal as he was part of our household until he died in 1939. He was born before compulsory requistration of births was introduced in 1856 and really <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Alexander%20Cameron_Grandfather.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/400/Alexander%20Cameron_Grandfather.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;" /></a>did not know his 'real' age. When the war broke out in August 1914 he proceeded to Invergordon to 'sign on' (enlist) in the Royal Navy. The death of his wife my granny Cameron had been a severe blow to him and he wanted to get-away from Ardersier and to serve his country in the only way he could. When he appeared before the recruiting officer he was able to answer all the questions put to him except that when asked for his age he said 'Oh, I'll be about 60 next birthday' The recruiting officer told him that he was too old, the Navy could not take volunteers unless they were under 40 at the date of enlistment. So! the old rascal went across the road to a well known pub and sat drinking his usual Whisky and porter (a heavy beer) until the watch changed. The Navy as he well knew, having been a seafarer all his life, changed the watch every four hours - they still do! As soon as the new recruiting officer was settled the old boy again entered the office but this time when asked about his age replied 'Forty next birthday, Sir'. Two days later he was taking a pinnace out of Rosyth on a journey which took him and his crew to Dover where they were to assist the Mine-sweeper facilities as a sort of 'message boat' for the next five years.<br />
On discharge from the Navy in 1919 my grandfather's papers showed his age as 45. He maintained he was twenty years older so five years later claimed the old age Pension of 10 shillings (50p) per week. However he could not prove that he was 70, the qualifying age, because as I have mentioned above, his birth had not been 'registered'. The only record of his arrival on this earth was in the Baptismal Roll of Petty Church, but sadly, that Roll had been lost when the vestry of the Church was destroyed by fire! His only hope of ever getting the pension was to find his twin brothers Tom and William who had been born after 1856 but had emigrated to America many years before 1924. None of them could write. They could certainly read the printed word having had as their only text book, the Bible. My father set out to find his Uncles and after twelve years he was successful. With the help of the Y.M.C.A. the Salvation Army the British Legion, the Masons and others they were traced to Masonic Homes in New Jersey and Los Angles. I still remember how thrilling it was for me to hold in my hand an American affidavit complete with wax seal and wide ribbon in one case green in colour, in the other blue.<br />
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In the Affidavits the brothers Tom and Bill certified that they had a brother with the name Alexander Cameron and that he was at least five years older than they were: The Commissioner for Oaths had in each case certified that he had seen the relevant certificates of Birth and included the age of each twin at the date of signing. The Affidavits were submitted to the Pension Authority which immediately intimated to Grandfather that he would have his 10/- per week pension 'as from next Friday'. These were the words used - and not one penny of 'back pay'. For a good many years his sole income had been £10 per annum from Inverness County Council as Harbour master in charge of Ardersier jetty! He was entitled to keep any harbour dues he could collect from visiting boats but they were few and far between. I remember that when I was treasurer of our Scout Troop I had to pay him 5/- when the Chanory ferry boat called to take the troop across to the light-house for our annual camp. This happened, I think, only a few times in my experience!<br />
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During the whole of my childhood and youth the jetty was one of the most important features<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Ardesier%20Pier%201930.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/400/Ardesier%20Pier%201930.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;" /></a> of the village: it had been erected by the County Council about 1880 and was about 100 yards long. Preserved by a bi-annual coating of tar it remained in being until the nineteen fifties when it was demolished because of its unsafe condition. The jetty had two stairways one about 40 yards out from the shore and the other 60 yards farther out near the 'point;' (as we youngsters called it) When the jetty was nearing the end of its life I was able to secure a step which had fallen off and from it to make a garden table, (still in use in 1995).</div>
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Iain Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397274617360739298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20436198.post-1136220998990988542005-12-29T16:52:00.000+00:002006-01-08T11:13:48.276+00:00Memoirs of a Fisherman's Son - Part 1, Chapter 4<div align="justify"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">CHAPTER IV</span><br /><br />Early Childhood Memories<br /><br /></strong>My earliest memory is of my sister's arrival in '113' on 13th December 1919 when I was 2 years and 2 months old. How I resented the intrusion into my way of life of a sister who was to share the love and affection of my parents!<br /><br />I suppose I had become 'spoilt' but that wasn't my fault! Because I had been born in their home Charlie and Mrs Ratcliffe doted on me and treated me like a grandson; indeed they continued to do so until in due course they passed away.<br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Alex%20and%20Sis.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/400/Alex%20and%20Sis.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />From the time I could walk I used to visit my dear 'Granny' Ratcliffe. She pandered to my love of cheese - no doubt encouraged by Charlie - and it was wonderful to be handed a piece of what she called 'chookie' especially if it was gorgonzola or blue stilton along with one of her home made oat cakes smothered in butter! She had several large boxes brought home from India in which she kept blankets: when the lid of one was opened the exciting smell of camphor filled the room. I loved lifting those lids! She also had two wooden vessels shaped like very large egg-cups which were made of quinine wood. Whenever, as a small boy, I appeared to be 'starting' a cold, she used to fill up one of those cups with water and make me drink it! Whether it helped me or not I do not know, but my Mother did not object - so it must have been considered to be beneficial. The taste was quite awful!<br /><br />When my little sister arrived I told Mrs Ratcliffe that her name was to be Elspet Ralph (after my Nairn Granny) but was told 'there are already too many Elsies so you will call her 'Sis', and this I have always done.<br /><br />The Ratcliffes had a son Robin, who had joined the Army as a Private like his father before him. They had good reason to be proud of Robin for he rose through the ranks to be commissioned and at the commencement of the second world war held the rank of Lieutenant - Colonel and soon after became a Brigadier. From the outposts of Empire he brought back to his parents exotic gifts of a kind which, for me as a small boy, were exciting in the extreme e.g. ivory tusks, camel hair brushes, spears, knives, flags, pressed flowers, spices from the Orient, Kukries, flags, drums, wooden chests and others. The house was like a museum! He was often held up to me "as one whose example I should follow".<br /><br />I must have been about three years of age when my old Grandfather brought to the house a<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Family%201922.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/Family%201922.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Alex_Elsie_and%20Mum1.jpg"></a> 'clock and alphabet' board. It measured about 2ft x 1 ft, and was made of thick cardboard. The clock hands were movable. Although he himself could not write, he could read and tell the time so he must have been determined that I should have pre-school training in telling the time and reciting the alphabet. The result was that before I ever went to school at the age of 5 I could tell the time to the exact minute and could recite the alphabet. The first mentioned ability greatly pleased my teacher Miss Percy Gray: for the first two years in school I was sent out every school day soon after 10 am and 2pm to find out the time from the station clock! Fort George station was more or less across the road: I would run there and back to tell the teacher that it was, for example "ten and a half minutes past ten, Miss". But the alphabet was a disaster as I had learnt to say it backwards! Moreover the old boy had taught me the 'adult' sound of each letter but Miss Gray used strange sounds which I was to discover later were called 'phonetic' sounds: a lesson for parents who think they should give school lessons to their children before the children are of school age!<br /><br />As a small child I became very friendly with a boy, David John Main, of my own age: we were devoted to one another and played together almost every day. Sadly at this time in my life I experienced tragedy. One day when David John and I were playing on a swing tied to the branch of a tree he fell off when one of the ropes snapped and lay motionless on the ground. I have forgotten the details but do remember being told that he was 'now in heaven'. This I could not understand and to add to my anguish at the loss of my friend his mother, as was, I gather, the custom in those days, took me to see him in his coffin and made me touch his forehead. This shook me devastatingly! I remember running away to my mother. Later - some years later -she told me how she had reprimanded David's mother.<br /><br />How happy are my memories of journeys to Nairn to see Granny Ralph, Auntie Elsie and her husband Willie Storm and Auntie Anne and Uncle John. In addition my mother would take Sis and myself to see 'just for a few minutes' one or other of her several cousins, second cousins and friends in the fishertown of Nairn. All of them were blessed with the 'gift of the gab' and our only solace was the sure knowledge that we would be given a 'sweetie' at the slightest sign of impatience to be moving on. That knowledge brought rich rewards, sometimes even a penny as well as a 'sweetie'.<br /><br />The train journeys to and from Nairn were always exciting. We joined the train at Fort George Station (beside the school) and proceeded to Gollanfield junction where we had to 'change'. I was taught to 'watch the signal' for when it was 'up' that indicated that the train from Inverness was coming and we must keep well back out of harms way. For a small boy the sight of a great engine pulling into the station with smoke belching from its funnel and steam from all sorts of places was exhilarating. At Nairn station we could have the added thrill of standing on the bridge to watch the train pass right under and to be enveloped in smoke from the engine. I think the last mentioned experience must have come later! At certain times the Fort George - Gollanfield train, affectionately known as the 'puggy', was off, no doubt for maintenance, and when this occurred one had to travel to Gollanfield in a 'Gharry' (the Indian name for a horse drawn passenger carrying vehicle). The gharry, if I remember correctly, carried up to eight passengers. As it was open to the elements one enjoyed a breath of fresh air during the 1 1/2 mile long journey! </div>Iain Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397274617360739298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20436198.post-1136324342023676792005-12-28T21:29:00.001+00:002008-02-26T14:18:17.345+00:00Memoirs of a Fisherman's Son - Part 1, Chapter 5<div align="justify"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Chapter V</span><br /><br />113 High Street, Ardersier<br /></strong><br />The house in which I was brought up was erected soon after the battle of Culloden! </div><div align="justify">.</div><div align="justify">The fisher folk who had their village, Kirkton, on the north side of what is now called the Fort George peninsula were forced to move out because the Hanoverian Military required the land for training purposes. The village lay almost due North of Kirkton cemetery on the shore of the Moray Firth. Even as late as 1946 one could find traces of the old village where roses, brambles and rasps grew in abundance. The inhabitants of Kirkton moved south across the peninsula and built their new homes at Ardersier on land belonging to the Earls of Cawdor and Moray. As late at 1939 one could still see the line of the ditch which formed the boundary between the two estates.<br />.<br />'113' was a typical highland 'but and ben'. The walls were 3 feet thick. From the front and only door one entered the 'lobby' a space about 10 feet x 6 feet. To the left was the living room in front the small bedroom (the roomy) and to the right (or 'ben) the room which served as our grandfather's bed-sitting room.<br />.<br />The living room also served as kitchen, dining room and our parents' bedroom, bathing room and for other purposes as mentioned later. In the 'roomy' my sister and I slept until it was decided that we should be separated ; at this time I was elevated to share the bed in the living room with my father while Mum moved in with Sis.<br />.<br />There was no water<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Alex_s%20mum%201.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/Alex_s%20mum%201.jpg" border="0" /></a>, gas or electricity. Every drop of water required for cooking, washing or bathing had to be carried in pails from the pump located near the gable end of the adjoining house No. 112: and, of course every drop had to be carried out again one way or another. As there was no indoor lavatory one had to use a chamber pot (potty) especially during the night.<br />During the day time we used a 'dry' lavatory which was situated between the smoking shed and the line/net shed attached to the south gable end of 113. However when I was 9 years of age my father, helped by a cousin Alex Cameron, a joiner to trade and 'the old boy', built what came to be known as the 'washing shed'. It had two doors - one gave entry to a narrow compartment at the far end of which was a real lavatory! What excitement there was when this was first brought into use! I remember my Mother (who had been agitating for this facility for years) was given the privilege of being the first user! The other door gave entry to a fairly large compartment in which there was a water tap, a boiler for clothes, a mangle for squeezing the water out of the newly washed bed sheets, blankets and other heavy items, a wringer for the same purpose in respect of other clothing, a wooden tub and in one corner garden tools, a heavy axe for chopping wood for the fire, a lighter axe for chopping wood blocks up into small pieces to be used as fire lighters, a cross cut saw for sawing long lengths of wood into manageable blocks, a hand saw and boxes of wonderful tools required by my Dad in connection with his fishing boat the 'Susan Gardner'. In due course it also housed my bicycle!</div><div align="justify">.<br />My Mother's smoking shed disappeared when, after he retired from the R.A.F. my late brother in law, modernised "113!: the washing shed remains but with two other sheds attached (in 1995).<br />.<br />Our house was thatched with 'bent' or as it is better known, Marram grass. Every three years or so my father and grandfather used to go to the Carse to gather bent and this was transported on a horse drawn cart kindly made available by an old farmer friend of my father. Apart from the weather much damage was done to the thatch by sea-gulls. I remember well watching how my father applied the fresh thatch by pushing handfuls of bent into the existing thatch with a special tool rather like a dibber (or dibble as we called it) with a flat point.<br /><br />There were two fireplaces (and two proper chimneys!) in 113: both were 'open' fires capable of burning wood or coal. The fire was lit in the old boy's room only when the weather became cold but naturally there had to be a fire in the living room every day and very often all night too. The fire places were always kept shining 'like silver' with frequent application of black lead (called by its trade name of "Zebo") and by means of which my mother, like so many others of her day, used to make the fire side an attractive focal point. Around the hearth was a brass fender (also polished frequently) with the words 'Home Sweet Home' as in my Granny's home in Nairn. At each side of the fireplace there was a paraffin lamp attached to the wall; they had green glass bowls in which one could see the paraffin and the wick. The funnel, or 'glass' as we called it, had to be cleaned every day. This was usually done by placing one's hand at one end in order to clean the glass and by breathing into the open end; then a soft duster was inserted and twisted around the inside to remove any soot. The outside was cleaned either by wiping with a wet cloth or by breathing on it and then polishing with a duster. As I grew older it became my job to keep the lamp glasses shining. On the table which occupied the centre of the floor stood the 'big' lamp. It was of brass and having a double wick within the glass gave much more light. In due course my father brought home from the fishing an Aladdin lamp! This was another special event! The new lamp was of a silvery metal (perhaps it was chromium plated) but had a cylindrical wick which was surmounted by a mantle like that used in gas lamps. The light from this lamp was 'dazzling' and in the old boy's words it gave off as much light as the sun itself'. For us that was a truism. Certainly it was the next best thing to electricity which did not arrive in the village until shortly before the War of 1939.<br />Light in the other rooms was provided either by a candle, a small night light which was also made of brass, burned paraffin, and had a white (opaque) glass, or a slightly larger paraffin lamp easily carried by means of its tea-pot type of handle.<br /><br />During all my years of study at school and indeed until I went away to University the above were the only lights available for reading in poor light during the day or in the evening. Yet many a book I read in bed by candle-light until my dear Mum came and blew it out when it was time to go to sleep.<br /><br />Our parent's double bed in the living room occupied, I suppose about one sixth of the total floor area. It was so placed in one corner of the room that in order to spread the blankets 'properly' my Mother had to use a stick, like a walking stick, and when the top bed-spread was 'on' the bed had the appearance of utter cleanliness. Nothing was allowed on top of the bed-spread. The bed stood on legs about two feet high and there was a valance around the two sides to hide the space below; this space was used as a store for all manner of things which where thus out of sight. The principal item under the bed was of course the chamber pot or 'goes under' as it was sometimes called!<br /><br />I should also record that the house, like most of the others in the village was held on a 'kindly tenancy' basis from the Earl of Cawdor. There was a rent book in which the yearly rent of 10/- was recorded by the Estate Factor in Nairn as having been paid and the present owner's name was acknowledged. Following a death the new 'owner' had to prove his or her title either (1) producing a Will in his favour by the deceased owner or 2) by proving that he in the case of a male was the only son or the oldest of a family of girls or the only child. All this I learned when quite young: many years later the late Professor Halliday of Glasgow University Conveyancing Department was intrigued to learn from me that Lochmaben was not, as he then thought, the only village in Scotland where one could find 'kindly tenants'. When a home was sold the old and new owners appeared before the factor who acknowledged the change of ownership in the rent book and, no doubt, in the estate records.<br /><br />The plots of ground at the front and back of the house were used mostly for growing vegetables but my mum did love to grow flowers and the front Garden especially was always ablaze with colour in Spring and Summer. I think her special favourites were Sweet-Williams!<br /><br />On part of the back garden (now the front) was erected my Mother's smoking house where she produced Nairn Speldings and, during the months of December and January when the Kessock Herrings were being caught, succulent kippers: of this more anon!<br /><br />Manure for the garden came from a local farm transported in a farm cart drawn by a horse. What a smell! It was deposited in a heap on the roadway between the house and front garden and barrowed from there into the garden. However sea-weed was also a useful fertiliser readily available on the beach not 100 yards away, and was used to augment the dung. Every seventh year it was the local custom to leave the ground fallow to rest it, but my Dad grew rye grass which is of course an excellent green manure when dug into the soil before it 'seeds'.<br /><br />The ditch marking the boundary between the Cawdor and Moray estates ran along the sea ward side of our back garden. Across the ditch between our house and that of Mrs Falconer a dear friend, who had a small shop there, were three trees. These, I was told early in my life, had been planted by Mrs Falconer's nephew Major Mayne. Like Robin Ratcliffe he had joined the Army, in his case the Seaforth Highlanders, as a drummer boy and had risen to the rank of Major. He was another held up to me as an example of what could be achieved in life if one set one's mind to it! The fact that the stone on his grave showed his surname to be spelt 'Mayne' was to prove very useful to me later in Holland in 1945. (of that later). the 'normal' spelling was Main: You will recall that both my grand mothers had that surname. Granny Cameron (who died before I was born) had been born in Portmahomack of fisher folk while Granny Ralph was born in my beloved Nairn. I have been unable to ascertain whether they were related.<br /><br />It is right in memoirs of this kind to record how waste was disposed of in these days before river and water purification schemes were even considered necessary. The contents of the bucket in the dry Lavatory were emptied on to a 'midden' in a partitioned off corner of the back garden; this heap was cleared away at regular intervals by a gentlemen known as the 'scaffy' (scavenger), who came round the village with a large barrow. Where he disposed of it I do not recall! Kitchen waste was placed on another heap and turned into compost for the garden; this happened also to soft green garden waste but all the other garden rubbish was wheeled on a barrow to the beach and left to the mercy of the sea. The larger houses in the village on the other hand, were connected to public waste and sewerage systems and there was a sewage pipe running out from the beach immediately south of the jetty, and from this raw sewage poured, to be diluted by the sea. (That sewer has been replaced by a new one about 100 yards north and of much greater length).<br /><br />I may say that as a small boy I always felt revulsion at the discharge from the sewer but it did attract many fish especially flat fish, sole, flounders, grey backs, dabs or as we all called them, - 'flookies'. No wonder my Mother always refused to cook my catches for the family - the cat benefited however! It is right to say that as a matter of principle we did not try to catch fish on the sewage pipe side of the jetty but from the 'point' all of 25 yards away!<br /><br />Water for 113 and several houses in the area was available from a cast iron pump at the end of the street: beside the north gable of the house No. 112 High Street. When one turned a handle protruding from one side of the pump head water came out of the 'mouth' and was delivered into a pail or other suitable receptacle From the time when I became able to carry a pail (or half a pail) of water I considered it my privilege if not as my duty to 'go for the water'. I have no idea how often water had to be fetched from the pump but it must have been necessary several times a day. And, naturally, every drop had to be carried out again one way or another! It was deposited in a surface water drain conveniently situated on the south side of the shed.<br />As children Sis and I were bathed every Friday night in Mother's washing tub. Water was heated on the fire and we really did have a good scrub, our dear Mum being very particular about cleanliness from head to foot. It would be unthinkable that either of us had to be rushed into hospital having dirty feet. During the Summer months when we went about bare-footed feet had to be washed thoroughly every night - and hands and face too. For this purpose the feet and legs if covered with tar, as they often were from the road or jetty, had to be coated in butter or margarine which was rubbed in to loosen the offending matter before washing.</div>Iain Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397274617360739298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20436198.post-1136324873294451132005-12-27T21:44:00.000+00:002016-01-15T20:15:55.911+00:00Memoirs of a Fisherman's Son - Part 1, Chapter 6<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<strong><span style="font-size: 130%;">Chapter VI<br /><br /><br />Primary School Days</span></strong><br />
I am one of those folk who really did enjoy my school days! Lessons and homework presented no problem: but I suppose I was lucky in this respect.<br />
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In the first class we all adored Miss Gray and literally would do anything for her. After I had acknowledged that the alphabet started with 'a' and ended with 'z' for school purposes she used to call me out to the front of the class to recite the alphabet 'the proper way Alex'. Sums seemed to come naturally and I was able to demonstrate to my grandfather how to count, add, multiply and subtract 'the proper way'. His way was to use (and that only in relation to adding) what he told me was the method used by the Romans.<br />
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For each unit he made a short vertical line on the paper until he reached '5' when he made a diagonal line through the four verticals. Two such groups made XX (10), three made XXX (15) and so on!<br />
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From earliest days we had to learn poems and practice passages from the bible by heart. But there was also learned the multiplication tables, up to 12 x 12 by heart. Teachers had no radio, televisions, video tapes, recorders or the like to help them. Only radio had been invented at that time in the 1920's and the Highlands of Scotland did not have its own transmitter until 12th October 1936 when the first signals were sent out from the newly erected mast at Burghead. But our teachers had large poster-like sheets which were hung on the blackboard or the school room wall to elucidate for us the lesson/subject being taught. For instance the alphabet and a clock face were on the first two sheets Miss Gray used!<br />
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<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Ardersier%201930.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/Ardersier%201930.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;" /></a>During the first four years at school we used slates and slate pencils for all our written work. Teachers always resented the screeching sound which slate pencils could make on the slates: but this did not deter even the least likely pupils from deliberately scratching his or her slate 'just for fun'. We all had a small sponge attached to our slates by means of a short-length of string and were supposed to clean the slates by dipping the sponge in the water in the inkwell (which was part of each desk) and rubbing out the written material with the wet sponge. However, as children who, mostly, wore jerseys knitted by our mothers we often found it more convenient (especially the boys!) to spit on the slate and rub out whatever was on it with the forearm of our jersey! This was done when the teacher was not looking but if one were caught suitable punishment in the form of the strap (or 'tawse' as some called it) followed.<br />
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For me the use of the strap or belt was much to be deplored: I regarded it, from a very early age as a form of torture greatly to be avoided. Indeed I succeeded during all my school years to avoid being strapped: maybe it was because I was regarded as something of an invalid by reason of the asthma from which I suffered. But I do remember having to 'do lines' as punishment for some misdemeanour. This entailed one in the most tedious business of writing out 50, 100 or even 200 times some such words as 'I must not speak in class' and that during the precious after school Hours.<br />
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From the third year onwards in Ardersier Public School (the official title) in the 20's and 30's when the late Donald McIntosh (affectionately known as 'specky' because he wore gold rimmed spectacles) was Headmaster, every pupil had to learn to spell ten or twelve words every night and be examined on them first thing next day. The teachers read out the words while the pupils wrote them in a jotter or on a slate. When this was completed jotters or slates were exchanged with your neighbour and as the teacher read out the correct spelling, words that were correct were 'ticked' while wrongly spelt words were marked with a cross. All those pupils who had more than three errors were sent to 'Specky' to be strapped! I remember when in his class seeing, every day, about 9.30 am a procession of small children lining up to be belted. It was a frightening sight. Those with most mistakes were given 'six of the best'. The more the strap was applied the higher rose the Headmasters' blood pressure and his temper.<br />
'Twas a sorry business altogether. My father told me once that this barbarous behaviour on the part of Specky arose from the fact that he had been shell shocked in the first war: and that was probably an accurate diagnosis coming from one who was the most gentle of men.<br />
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On one occasion, when in my last year at Primary, a very well built tall country lad in our class refused to be strapped but after much shouting by Specky put out his hand. When the strap arrived in the palm of his hand he closed it and pulled the strap from Specky: thereupon he proceeded to give the Headmaster 'some of his own medicine' by belting him around the ears until the Headmaster fainted. You can imagine the uproar! The teacher from the adjoining class room, a little inoffensive chap, entered and in his quiet voice, asked for silence and an explanation. With that the farmer's son walked out and was never again seen in school. He went on in later life to make a fortune from farming! I should add that there was a change of policy after this and teachers were left to mete out punishment in their own class rooms.<br />
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When in the third year at school I had the privilege every day not only of going to the station to find what the time was but to be party, unwittingly, to a romance! Every afternoon our teacher, Miss Sinclair, called me out to the floor and handed me an envelope with instructions (on the first occasion only) to run with it to Milton of Connage Farm and hand it to Mr Forbes in person. I must not tell anyone where I was going and was to bring back whatever message he gave me. The need for secrecy was emphasised. Milton was less than a mile away: I knew it well as one of my duties at home was to go there every morning 'for the milk'. Of that later. How I was pestered by my fellow pupils to tell them what I was doing! It did not take me long to realise that my daily trips to Milton were all part of a romance which happily resulted in due course in the parties concerned being married.<br />
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Our class room after Primaries I and II were so arranged that the rows of desks were set out in tiers: there were four tiers, the front one being on the room level (the same level as the teachers, the fire place, the backboard etc.) with those behind being each about six inches higher than the one in front. The brightest pupils occupied the highest tier with whoever was top of the class (following the weekly 'exam') being placed at the right hand end of the row when facing the teacher. This was my favourite seat!<br />
Our third teacher was a dear lady, Miss Cowan, who lived in a 'large' house in the village square opposite 'our' church, namely the United Free Church. I remember her mainly because of the enthusiastic way in which she taught arithmetic: every day saw some new layout of figures on the blackboard, put there before we arrived in the class room. I owe a great deal to Miss Cowan for the encouragement she imparted to us (or at least those of us who seemed willing to learn). Mental arithmetic was a daily exercise whether it be adding, subtracting, multiplying or dividing. No calculator in those days!<br />
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After Miss Cowan's class we were given the great privilege of being taught in the vestry of the Free Church for no less than two years by another much loved teacher, Miss Stark. She cycled from her house in Cawdor every day come rain or shine. She also had a wonderful way with children of 9 and 10 and because we were remote from the school (about 200 yards I suppose!) nobody was ever sent up the brae to be strapped! And Miss Stark did not use hers although she often reminded us that it was indeed in her desk. This we found to be true by looking in the desk one day when she was not yet arrived from Cawdor! On sunny days she used to take us out on to the hill behind the church not only to gather wild flowers as part of a nature lesson but for 'ordinary' lessons like reading aloud, reciting poems, mental arithmetic and singing. How we loved lessons in the open air. Sometimes she would tell us to take lemonade and pieces (sandwiches of bread and jam or cheese). On these occasions we would have a 'picnic' on the hillock above the postie's well or away further north on the top of Cromal hill (We all knew it as Cromwell Hill!) where there was a lovely smooth area of green grass (or 'sward' as Miss Stark said it was) surrounded by a grassy bank. Here was located one of the two village water reservoirs but we understood this particular one was there to supply the Fort and that water from it passed through an underground pipe to the water tower outside Fort George. The latter was really a block of flats on three levels with the water tank on top. The flats were occupied by soldiers and their families. This building has been preserved but I understand is no longer used to house families but it does serve as a reservoir for the Fort.<br />
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When on that subject I had better mention that children of soldiers stationed at the Fort attended Ardersier Public School : my recollection is of 20 to 30 children at any one time. Whereas the local village children went home 'for their dinner', ("lunch" not yet having arrived on our scene) Fort children had their dinner brought to them by a soup kitchen - i.e. an Army vehicle (mule drawn) specially designed for cooking in the field. The cookery/woodwork room (a building adjacent to but separate from the main school building) was used as their dining room. On most days of the week their sweet or third course was what every soldier called 'duff'. It was a kind of sponge cake, bright yellow in colour, sometimes containing currants or raisins and always piping hot. How the village children loved it! I well remember hurrying through my dinner at home and running up to school hoping to be given a piece of duff! Quite often I was successful.<br />
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Miss Stark always had a party in her vestry class room at Christmas time. At this songs were sung solo and in chorus and poems were said all before the 'big eats' were partaken. Johnstone the baker whose business and bake house were 'a few doors along on the other side of the street' and Jimmy McPherson the kindly grocer (of whom later) with his shop more or less across the street were both very generous in their donations to Miss Stark's party. We all ate well and were given the left-overs to take home to our mothers.<br />
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Prior to one of Miss Stark's Christmas parties, I had been off school for several weeks but she came and invited me to 'try and come' and if, I felt able, to say a poem. I did go and greatly enjoyed being back among my pals on this last day of school before Christmas: no lessons! All the items to be performed were written up on the blackboard and my name among them with the word 'Poem'. My father had suggested that I do what he had once done when at school! When my turn came I went out to the front of the class floor pointed to a spot on the back wall and said "Do you see that spider on the wall? Boys and Girls that is all". To Miss Stark's astonishment, I returned at once to my seat but to her horror there really was a spider on the wall! It had been put there beforehand by one of my chums who had been encouraged so to do by a penny from my grandfather.<br />
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From Miss Stark we graduated to Specky the headmaster! He was a 'terror' but I have no cause to complain. It would be remiss of me to omit a tribute to his ability as a teacher. He may have had a dreadful temper but he certainly instilled knowledge into those who were capable of assimilating it. In my first year with him I had the honour of being Dux and winning the silver medal - however I told him I did not want a medal to put away in a drawer but would like a watch which I could wear. He was taken aback, to say the least and took some days to consider my request! In due course he told me to go to Mr Finkelstein in the market in Inverness and choose a silver watch but, he said, there would not be sufficient funds to have it engraved. I was duly presented with my Dux watch at the school prize-giving early in July. This watch remained on my wrist for at least 12 years. It was 'wounded' during a battle course I was on when at O.C.T.U. The following year I sat the Inverness County Council examination and was awarded a bursary of £9 per annum to Inverness Royal Academy.<br />
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The £9 covered the cost of a season ticket from Fort George station to Inverness during the Autumn and Winter terms only. In the good weather during the summer term (and the summers were always good in those days!) I would cycle the 10 miles to school.<br />
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All through my school days (until I was 16 years of age) I suffered from bronchial asthma developed, as mentioned earlier, from an attack of measles and double pneumonia at the age of two. Each successive doctor who came to Ardersier had a different remedy, one said I must be dressed in knickerbockers to keep my legs warm and have a pad of thermogene wool on my chest below a flannel shirt and woollen jersey! My poor mother ensured that I did as the doctor ordered. Another, a new, young, Glasgow doctor arrived on the scene a year later and deplored the way my mother was 'padding the boy up with all these clothes'. He got what he deserved! His treatment was to let the boy wear short trousers, cotton vest and pants, a cotton open-neck shirt and pullover! You can imagine, perhaps, what a 'ninny' I had felt going to school in knickerbockers and heavy polo neck jersey (my pals did no know, fortunately, about the thermogene wool!) and how relieved I was to have the winds of heaven blowing about me when I appeared dressed like other boys!<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jkfYGTb0ziE/VplTEgvh94I/AAAAAAAAZSc/YDU3vnB4d5s/s1600/Hinksmans%2BAsthma%2BReliever.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jkfYGTb0ziE/VplTEgvh94I/AAAAAAAAZSc/YDU3vnB4d5s/s200/Hinksmans%2BAsthma%2BReliever.jpg" width="145" /></a>No matter what medicine the doctors gave me - and I have swallowed gallons of everything from Veno's Lightening cough cure to cod liver oil emulsion - the only means whereby I could get relief (in other words freedom to breath easily) was not approved of by the doctors of the day. It was called 'Hinksman's Asthma Reliever' and it did! (it cost 1/6d per tin, and I must have used at least 25 tins each year!) this was a combination of various herbs ground to a fine powder. As soon as I felt an attack coming on or awoke during the night to find myself in the throes of an attack, I would put about a teaspoonful of the mixture in the oval depression on the lid, set a match to it and inhale the smoke which was given off. Relief came within a very short period: less than two minutes. Wherever I went as a boy I had my tin of Hinksman's with me: this continued until I was 16 when the burden was lifted from me as mentioned later.<br />
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Other children in the village also suffered from this dreadful affliction: some like me used Hinksman's, others a similar product called Potters' Asthma Cure or herbal cigarettes. The latter I tried from time to time but found no help in them. However as it gave me a feeling of superiority over my fellows, I used, deliberately to smoke those cigarettes from time to time: to the great envy of my fellow pupils!<br />
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Strangely enough, (Perhaps for psychological reasons?) I was almost always unable to attend school on Mondays because of asthmatic attacks but during the Winter months I would be off, for two or sometimes three months suffering from bronchitis. Successive doctors issued certificates to the effect, that I was unable to attend school 'by reason of bronchial asthma' - They always used these words - and this was delivered to my teacher. However we were such a close knit community that always during periods of prolonged absence my teacher would call on Fridays immediately after school. The purpose of the visit was three-fold : (One) to enquire after my health, (two) to tell me what books to read, what arithmetic to do and what poems to learn etc. (in other words all the work to be done in class the following week) and (three) to correct last week's lessons! Indeed I was always able to keep well ahead of the class although confined to the house and at the end of the school year expected to be first in the class! It was not until my last year in Ardersier school that I had the salutary experience of being in the proxime accesit position - wasn't I deflated! It seems that the Headmaster felt he could not award the Dux (Gold) Medal, that year, to a boy who had been off school more often than he had been present in class and that notwithstanding the examination results. The medal went to a Fort boy who, subsequently, was expelled from the Royal Academy for misbehaviour. However I did have the pleasure that year of winning the Art prize donated by the village doctor and came away from the prize giving with several books including the 'Special Prize' in the shape of 'The Scottish Chiefs' which bears a suitable inscription.<br />
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When I was about 10 years of age there was a total eclipse of the sun at 5.20 am (BST) on Wednesday 29th June 1927. This was such a special event that every school child was told, well in advance, about the eclipse. Certainly we in Miss Stark's class were taught more about the solar system and universe in the month before the actual eclipse than ever before or since! For the great day we all had to find a small piece of glass (usually from a picture frame) and cover it with soot by holding it over a candle for a couple of minutes. It had to be rendered 'opaque' - a word which came into my vocabulary at that time. We were told the eclipse was to commence very early in the morning and all the children over a certain age were expected to appear at the top of the hill above the Free church before 5.00 am. I well remember the vast number of adults and children gathering on the hill, all armed with pieces of smoked glass. We looked through our glasses at the sun rising above the sea horizon at 4.30 am brilliant in all its glory in a cloudless sky. In due course at 5.29 am the black shadow appeared on one side of the sun and we watched, awe-struck, as it crept across and eventually blotted out the light of the ruler of the day. What an eerie feeling all experienced in the total darkness and complete silence and how cold it was: we shivered. This state of complete darkness continued for, I suppose, ten minutes or so and then as the light of the sun appeared from a mere sliver of that heavenly body a great shout of joy, and I am sure, of thankfulness rang out from all the watchers. And then, wonder of wonders, it seemed that every bird in the locality came to life and raised a song of thankfulness.<br />
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Never shall I forget the experience. Our teacher told us that there would not be another total eclipse of the sun in our part of the world until 11th August 1999. I made a mental note at the time that I would have to attain the age of 82 if I was to see it! (Note: I have learned from an Edinburgh Astronomer Doctor Neil M. Pratt that the 1927 eclipse was only 95% but for us all it was 100%, and total darkness, and the next partial eclipse in this area will occur on 11th August 1999 (it will be total in Cornwall).<br />
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A word is necessary regarding the annual school prize giving. This took place in the War Memorial Hall and was attended not only by the School children, who were marched there class by class, but their parents, relations friends and neighbours. As all the working fishermen in early July were 'away at the herring fishing' those who had children at school were absent from this important event. The hall stage was suitably decorated with flowers. Each class 'performed' on the stage in turn, short plays, songs, recitations (of poems) by individuals. Towards my last year at Primary School I took part in a play in which I had to sing (in public for the first and last time!) a ditty which goes "Ha, ha, ha, you and me, little brown joy how we agree!" During this song I had of course to hold aloft a brown beer jug much to the dismay of my dear mother who disapproved of 'drinking'.<br />
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After the concert the Headmaster gave a report on progress during the year now ending and then introduced some local notable like the Minister, the doctor, the wife of the commanding Officer of the 'Seaforth Depot' at Fort George the Director of Education or the oldest person in the village.<br />
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The person concerned handed over the prizes, normally books chosen by the pupils' teachers. As each prize winner's name was called out he or she proceeded to the table at the front, took the book in the left hand and shook hands with the right. After scouting was introduced at Ardersier all Scouts in the happy position of being prize winners always came to attention and saluted before and after the prize was handed over.<br />
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When I was about 9 there was great excitement in the village over a decision by the County Council to build a new school! What in fact was built was an addition (located in our playground) to the old school comprising two larger and one small classrooms and with the toilets outwith the building! To them moved the two 'top' classes, including the Headmaster's. The small room was used for giving a select few an introduction to Latin; German or French. At least it was in that room that I studied these languages as a preliminary to going to the Academy!<br />
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In the two senior classes girls were given tuition in domestic science in the 'Cookery Room' a corrugated iron building situated beside the old school. It was there that boys were instructed by the Headmaster in Woodwork. In addition each boy in the two senior classes had allocated to him a 'plot' in the school garden and there we were taught the elements of gardening. The crops we grew were, so far as I recall, used for the benefit of the school-house! Any knowledge I have of carpentry and gardening started in those classes and I still use my dutch hoe, my spade and my plane in the manner taught by Donald McIntosh.<br />
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During the whole of my time at Ardersier Public School it was customary for pupils to be given homework to do each evening after school. Apart from the inevitable 'spellings' we had to learn the meanings of the words to be spelt, to do 'sums' set by our teacher, to read prescribed passages from a novel, to learn by heart poems or passages from scripture. In our house we had to do our homework as soon as we came home from school. No play was allowed to interfere with homework! When it was completed to our mother's satisfaction then we could feel free to do as we pleased. <strong><span style="color: #009900;"><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_26.html">Chapter 7 >>>>></a></span></strong></div>
Iain Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397274617360739298noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20436198.post-1136325497836110262005-12-26T21:49:00.000+00:002006-01-03T21:58:17.843+00:00Memoirs of a Fisherman's Son - Part 1 Chapter 7<div align="justify"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Chapter VII<br /><br /><br />Home Life : Christian Influences<br /></span></strong><br />The one who had the greatest influence on me during all my formative years was my dear mother - Maggie Jane to all her friends, neighbours and relations. She it was who brought me safely through all the trials and tribulations of my young life. Undoubtedly she suffered more than I did because of my bronchial asthma and there was never a time when I was without her loving care and attention. But I needed her and relied on her. If an attack of asthma occurred during the night she was there beside me with a spoonful of cough mixture, cod liver oil emulsion (which I loved!) or the relief giving smoking mixture. At times when the doctor confined me to bed she was always near at hand to attend to my every need. During one prologued spell in bed she taught me how to knit! She herself was an expert with the knitting needles - her fingers moved so swiftly that a sock would be knitted in one evening. She used to receive a large parcel of wool from a friend of hers in Bressay, Shetland, once a year. The lady's name was, I think, Jessie Linklater. From this wool were knitted jumpers, cardigans, skirts even dresses, and shawls. The latter were made for use by very young children usually given as a present to the baby for its baptism - and by very old Ladies who were of particular concern to my mother.<br /><br />Of my own efforts all I can claim is that I managed to make a few scarves (all in plain and purl) of various colours and a pair of mittens which Mum had to finish off. All attempts to make fingers on a glove met with failure so far as I was concerned but the gloves were completed by Mum.</div><div align="justify"><br />From my earliest days I was aware of my Mother's profound Christian faith and she ensured that my sister and I had a sound grounding in that faith. We were taken to morning services each Sunday morning in the United Free Church in the village green. There was always an interesting address for children and if the sermon proper was boring we were kept awake with sweets from our mother and grandfather. I always enjoyed hearing my Mother sing and she did so in a fine sweet treble voice. At home I used to love to hear her sing the old Sankie and Moody hymns which were so popular among fishing folk and were used at all their Missions services when away from Home. Hymns like 'Count your blessings', 'Throw out the life line.... someone is drifting away', 'Hold the fort for I am coming', and many others with good going tunes were all well loved and often sung in our home.<br /><br />Mother's Christianity was not confined to her home and family or to attendances at Church. By no means; it was evident in her care of and for others. If anyone within her ken fell ill then she was to give whatever help was required. Sometimes a person was so ill that constant attention at the bedside was needed. In that case Maggie Jane would be the one who would sit through the night, she seemed to require very little sleep. I have seen her leave the house at 10 o clock, at night saying she was going to sit with a certain person so that the family could get their sleep : and then next morning at 6.30 am she would be back to see to her own household.<br /><br />My dad was of a quiet gentle disposition. Never once did I hear him raise his voice in anger. I understand that before he fell in love with Maggie Jane he had been a 'fairly normal sort of chap' who liked a dram and a smoke. But Maggie Jane changed all that and by the time I became aware of things he was a convinced Christian devoted to his dear Maggie Jane, his children and his church.<br /><br />Undoubtedly he had a very hard life as a fisherman and money was scarce but, we never regarded ourselves as being poor and were never 'in debt'. I have never known my father to smoke or to drink alcohol except perhaps a small sherry at Christmas or New Year.<br /><br />The two of them were obviously devoted to one another and radiated happiness. When dad was away from home at the fishing, they wrote to one another every week. I might add here that this custom continued so far as I was concerned when I had to leave home to become a student and then a soldier! Every week saw a letter from one or other of them with all the news of home. Naturally I responded with my weekly letter. Remember there was no such thing as a phone in 113. But to revert to our Sunday activities : At three o'clock in the afternoon each Sunday we attended Sunday School: as did all the village children. The Superintendent was Mr James MacPherson, a local Grocer (his shop was really a delicatessen) who was much loved by all who knew him, was an elder of the Church and all the years I was at Sunday School he was our leader. For many years too, my teacher was a Mrs Mitchell, a retired school teacher who had taught my father when he was at Torbreck school (near Gollanfield). She was a sweet old lady and used to get me to go to her home in order to learn poems to be recited at the annual soiree. </div><div align="justify"><br />This took place in December of each year at first in the Church itself but later in the War Memorial Hall. It was a really, happy occasion with all sorts of children's games including musical chairs, blind man's buff, pass the parcel and 'A Tisket a tasket I lost my yellow basket' as well as some form of dancing such as the Grand Old Duke of York. There were songs by individuals, classes of children and even adults. Parents were of course present. Then, as far as 'Joe Soap' is concerned, the inevitable poems (recitations they were called). Mrs Mitchell saw to it that I always knew three, one as an introduction and two in case an encore was called for, as it usually was. Even if I had been off school in the preceding weeks, I always seemed to be sufficiently recovered to attend the soiree (pronounced by us as small children as 'soo-a-ree'). This was followed by lemonade, tea, cakes of every kind and a chocolate biscuit. At the close of the evening all the children present were handed a 'baggie' to take home. This contained, sweets, a few cakes of different kinds, an apple and orange : and if Mr MacPherson had a 'good' year we might expect to find a penny in the baggie!<br /><br />At the end of June when the Sunday school closed for the Summer we had a Picnic! Yes, it was one of the most exciting and important events in the Sunday School year. We all foregathered outwith the church on the village green when we would be lined up in ten or twelve farm carts provided by local farmers who were members of the church. The horses were all decorated with ribbons as they are nowadays at Highland Shows while the carts had gaily coloured bunting tied around them. Children, and their parents who attended together with teachers, superintendent and Minister piled aboard the carts. The leading cart had on board a piper who played suitable joyful/stirring music. We were conveyed to a farm at the carse - 3 whole miles away. There the farmer had erected swings, long and short, on which we could play. There were all sorts of out-door games and then 'the races!'. The latter were run by age groups - 'all the 7 year olds etc' I suppose we had to run about 100 yards. There were also sack races, three legged races, egg and spoon races, long jump and high jump.<br /><br />The prizes were always the same 3p for 1st, 2p for 2nd and 1p for 3rd. Might, I add, as an aside, that we had not yet experienced inflation in this country and so, however long one was at Sunday School the prize money remained the same each year.<br /><br />Moreover I do not remember us ever having rain for our picnic. But I do remember one year our picnic was held at Cawdor Castle, beforehand we were told all about Macbeth. Yes, for me Sunday School was just one of the many pleasures of my childhood. Certainly it was there, as well as at my Mother's knee, that my Christian faith was founded.<br /><br />It was customary for adults to attend the evening service at 6pm but in 113 not obligatory on my sister or myself. However there were times when one felt that Mum needed a companion especially during Dad's absence from home and if the 'old boy' decided as he often did to stay at home. Sunday was mainly regarded as a day of rest from work and in some families this was taken to the extreme - i.e. no work of any kind on the Sabbath and 'work' included walking other than to church as well as cooking meals. Gladly my parents were liberally minded! Unlike our Davidson cousins who were under the discipline of their father a Free Church elder, we had freedom to go out for walks after Sunday School or all afternoon during holiday time. On many Sundays, always when the weather was fine, we 'went out for a walk' as a family to Gollanfield station, the Deacon's wood on the road to Nairn, Cromal Hill or even as far as the Crow Woodie down on the Carse below the Parish Church Manse. My father was a keen cyclist and many a happy Saturday or Sunday afternoon we spent together on his bike. I sat on the carrier behind the seat with my feet on the 'back steps'.<br /><br />These were cylindrical steel extensions to the rear wheel nuts, each about 3 ins long. They made excellent rests for one's feet. During these journeys Dad would tell me stories of the days when he was a boy : I was fascinated: I once asked why he had gone to Torbreck school which is on the Gollanfield Road over a mile from the village. Apparently he and his brother, Uncle Donnie, had started off at the village school but their father had a quarrel with the Headmaster and took his two sons away from that school. They had to walk to and from Torbreck every day: but they were only doing what all country children did even in my days at school when cycles were a rarity and motor vehicles owned only by the rich. Dad had been top of his class and the Torbreck Head wanted him to go on to higher education. However money was scarce so at the age of 14 he left and got himself a job on a farm - Budgate, near Cawdor. He was paid £6 in the half year and during his two years on the farm lived in a 'chalmers' when, with other lads, he was fed on a daily diet of porridge or gruel, oat cakes with butter, broth, potatoes and salt herring. Every farmer's wife had a barrel of salt herring one of the staple foods in those days. No wonder he was glad to get away to sea at 16.</div>Iain Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397274617360739298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20436198.post-1136629062621256552005-12-26T10:15:00.000+00:002006-01-08T19:36:48.036+00:00Memoirs of a Fisherman's Son - Part 1, Chapter 8<div align="justify"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Chapter VIII<br /><br />The Fishing<br /></span></strong><br />During the 20's and 30's of this century the stocks of fish in the Moray Firth had been so depleted that fisherman could scarcely make a living. My old Grandfather used to blame 'the foreigners' who used seine nets and trawlers which had ruined the spawning areas in the Moray Firth. This meant that the white fish for inshore fishermen were becoming less and less available and men like my Dad who would in earlier times have made a reasonably good living fishing from Ardersier all the year round had to resort to the herring fishing during the months from April to November. `<br /><br />This meant that they had to find a place abroad a Nairn drifter leaving the Ardersier boats 'tied up' for about 8 months of the year. This could have been a good conservation procedure in relation to fish in the Firth but as I un<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/John%20Camerons%20Drifter.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/John%20Camerons%20Drifter.jpg" border="0" /></a>derstood it, foreigners continued to trawl for fish. There were of course no E.C. regulations!<br /><br />The programme for fishermen like Dad was that having secured a place with a Nairn skipper they would set off with their 'Kists' by train to Nairn. After a few days of getting the boats ready the Nairn Drifters would sail to join the herring fleet which was made up of boats from all over the North East of Scotland and comprised several hundred drifters. They sailed to various ports as far away as Northern Ireland, Isle of Man, Mallaig, Oban, Barra, Stornoway, Lerwick or Wick. Fishing continued from these ports until about July when the fleet moved to Fraserburgh and Peterhead. All the Nairn fisherfolk, girls and men, came home from whatever port they were stationed at for the Nairn Games (the only free games in Scotland as they were known) in the middle of August. September saw the drifters depart for fishing grounds off the coast of Norfolk and Lincolnshire and one heard a great deal about Great Yarmouth and Lowestoft and Gorlestone and sometimes, Grimsby. Fishing in these waters finished after the full moon in November and when the fishermen returned to their homes they brought all sorts of presents with them for wife and children. How I used to look forward to Dad's return from Great Yarmouth or wherever he happened to be for he brought with him the most exciting gifts. I well remember the year he brought me an air gun! I would be about ten. He held it up and showed me how to operate the lever which compressed the spring which, when the trigger was pulled, forced a piston forward; this sent a volume of highly compressed air against a dart or pellet in the chamber and so the gun was fired! Having operated this said lever Dad then pointed the gun at a picture on the living room wall and pulled the trigger. You can imagine his astonishment, my excitement and my Mother's fright when the picture fell to the floor. Dad did not realise there was a pellet in the chamber of the gun and this had severed the picture cord. That was a lesson to me! He had been a crack shot during the war of 1914 - 18 and made sure by example and instruction that his son would become an equally good shot. First lesson was 'Never point a gun at anyone - not even if you know it is not loaded' His instruction was to stand me in good stead when I was at O.C.T.U. in 1942. Of that later.<br /><br />At the herring fishing Dad was a deck - hand and in those days there were no weekly wages. Money earned by the sale of herring was shared with fractions going to the boat , the gear, the owner, the skipper and the crew.<br /><br />Some years my father would come home with nothing because 'the boat was in debt'. But it is fair to say that the crew were usually paid a modest sum each week during the season 'to keep them in tobacco and liquor and to send something home to the wife'.<br /><br />No sooner was the herring fishing over than my father started the white, inshore, fishing. The main fishing ground was in the Moray Firth off Whiteness Head (where the Rig Fabrication Yard now is). Catches consisted of haddock, whiting, cod, saithe, cat fish, flounder, grey backs, crabs (partens as they were called) and sometimes eels and skate.<br /><br />Dad and Grandfather owned a yawl, a fishing boat (about 25 feet long and 10 feet in the beam) equipped with a Kelvin engine which was started using petrol but ran on paraffin. In addition it had a big lug sail which could be used in conjunction with the engine or on its own to save fuel.<br /><br />I still recall when I was sleeping in the 'big' bed in the living room wakening up at 3. am. to see my father eating his breakfast of porridge or gruel, a home made scone with 'lashings' of butter and syrup or treacle on it washed down by a cup of tea all prepared by my mother who was up and seeing to all her John's needs. Before he ever had breakfast his custom was to go around the houses of his crew in order to waken them by knocking on the window. Generally he had three or four of a crew. Before leaving the house he would remove the four engine plugs from the toaster (which formed part of the fire grate) and wrap them in paper and flannel to keep them hot until he got out to the Susan Gardner (INS 268). The boat was called after the wife of a Senior Officer at the Fort who had set up a Mission Hall for the Ardersier fishermen. They even had their own Missionary but who paid him, and how much I do not know.<br /><br />Towards 8.00 am Mum would know if the boats were round the Fort - in other words were in the Inverness Firth and heading for the village. It was very important for the fish to be on the 8.25 am train out of Fort George station if they were to be in the market at Inverness for 9 o clock, when the auctioneer started selling.<br /><br />Because of the nature of the foreshore the Ardersier Yawls had to be anchored at a location some considerable distance from the jetty and the beach and fish were transferred to a rowing boat which the crew of each yawl then rowed ashore. The rowing boats had been left anchored at that location when the yawls departed for the fishing grounds. The fish were hurriedly carried in baskets, in the case of my Dad's boat, to the old mile stone not far from the back of our house. There they were placed in fish boxes, salt was scattered on top, and the lids were nailed down. The boxes were then placed on a barrow which was pushed up the brae to the awaiting train. Fish sent to Inverness were usually sold by Hugh Stewart a Fish Salesman I came to know very well when I became a Law apprentice. Prices ranged from 3/6d to 4/6d a box but flounders (flat fish) generally fetched more. The crew all helped with the boxing and transport of fish to the station.<br /><br />After this all went to their respective homes for a bite to eat before the next stage began. Each member of the crew usually had two long lines which he had to have baited before the next expedition! Each line had thirty two score of hooks (i.e. 640 hooks) and each hook was a yard (almost a metre) from its neighbours so the long line would be approximately 650 yards long. With six or eight lines to each yawl, one can imagine the total length of lines extending along the sea bed from the boat. Yet with anything from 4,000 to 5,000 hooks in the water the number of fish caught was minimal. Sometimes only one box of haddock, occasionally as many as eight.<br />Usually it was the crew member who went to get bait. Sometimes, in certain weather conditions, lug could be dug up using an instrument called, in Ardersier, a Kype, on the sand between the village and the married quarters outside Fort George (no longer there: now the site of a large athletics field). In other conditions it was necessary for the men to go all the way to 'the back beach' - over the Cromal Hill, down past Kirkton Cemetery and over the wasteland (then a military 9 hole golf course as well as a training area!) to the vast expanse of sand available at low tide. The lug they carried home in pails. Meantime those at home had to 'redd the line': this meant removing any debris brought up from the bottom, disentangling the line and generally making it ready for the business of placing a big worm on each hook. In our house old Grandfather did this as his contribution to the business! Sometimes mussels were used as bait (I don't know why!) and when this was the case the mussels would be gathered on the rocky foreshore to the west of the jetty where there were mussel beds. My Mother got the job of opening the mussels and removing the contents which were placed in a basin ready for use. The baiting of a line was a very skilled business as it had to be so placed in the basket hook after baited hook, that it would 'run' out smoothly into the sea behind the moving boat. In order to facilitate this a handful of 'bent' was placed below each row of baited hooks.<br /><br />The hooks were connected to the line by means of a 'tipping'. This was made from hair from a horse's tail! Grandfather was the expert at making tippings. He would buy a horse's tail from a local farmer and hang it up in the shed. When new tippings were required the necessary quantity of hair was removed. A rectangular piece of soft leather was then tied to the leg above the knee. The old boy would lift a small quantity of hair - a matter of judgement by one skilled in such matters - tie a few half hitches around it at one end, then separate it into three equal 'legs' Each of these 'legs' was then rolled up the leather using the palm of the right hand on which he had spat! (My dear Mum objected to this and always provided him with a bowl of water into which to dip his fingers - but as soon as she was away he reverted to the spit). Repeated rollings caused the 'leg' of hair to twist and surprisingly, to me, it remained twisted. When the three 'legs' were completed as above they were then brought together and similarly rolled. On completion of this rolling or spinning process the loose end of the tipping (for that is what the bundle of hair now was) was bound with thread by means of several half hitches. Sometimes the three 'leg's', after being tied together at each end, were then hooked at one end to a heavy lead weight which was spun. This spinning also had the desired effect of twisting the tipping permanently. The hook, which had a smooth bare shank, was then fastened to the end of the tipping again by half hitches, and other knots known only to fishermen! I was never allowed to do anything in connection with the lines!<br /><br />For perhaps six to eight weeks in December and January each winter my father, like all the other Ardersier fishermen, was busily employed in the Kessock herring fishing. At Kessock where the Beauly Firth and the Inverness Firth merge shoals of small herrings and of sprats congregated for the short period mentioned. For this the nets were brought down from the shed loft. They had all been repaired before being stowed away early in the year but had to be 'barked'. This process was designed to add a certain stiffness to the net and to prolong its life.<br /><br />A large drum filled with water was set up on a low three sided wall, made of bricks or large stones. A fire was lit below the drum and 'bark' was placed in the water. 'Bark' was Burmese Kutch. When the desired temperature was reached - I think this must have been 100 C or near it - the net was placed in the water and left for several minutes. When removed it was hung up to dry on ropes slung between poles. Each of Dad's nets were treated thus as were those of his crew for the Kessock herring fishing. This was not always the same crew as accompanied him to the white fishing.<br /><br />It always seemed to me that the 'Kessocks' brought rich rewards and made up for poor summer fishing.<br /><br />During the period of Kessock fishing the boat remained at Inverness 5 days at a time, and the crew lived on board. Each man had with him a small Kist (wooden chest) containing spare clothing, food, tobacco (if he smoked) and toilet items such as razor, soap etc. Most of the food required for the work was supplied by local shops.<br />For the herring fishing each member of a drifter's crew had a large Kist containing all that was needed for the particular trip.<br /><br />I should remind you that no fisherman would ever think of fishing on a Sunday and that, in accordance with Christ's order to his disciples, fishing on Lake Gallie, nets and lines were always cast from the right side (the starboard side) of the boat.<br /><br />When the Kessock fishing was over the fishermen returned to white fish. In Ardersier there were six or seven yawls at that time. When the fishermen were away 'at the herring' the yawls were pulled up on to the beach where they lay all summer. In the case of the Susan Gardner my grandfather took on the job of tarring the boat from stern to stem and the whole deck. The painting, in white of the registration number INS 268 and the name was however left for Dad's return.<br /><br />Perhaps I should include at this stage a reference to my Dad's only brother, Donald. After the Great war, Grandfather and his two sons clubbed their savings together to buy the boat while Mum contributed enough to buy and install a new Kelvin engine. Soon, however, Donald and his father quarrelled (fell out, was the expression used) and Donald sold his share of the boat to my Father and Grandfather. The break must have been a very serious one for Uncle Donald broke away completely from both his father and his brother and they did not speak to one another for many years. This situation always grieved my Mother who continuously tried over the years to bridge the gap. Donald was married to a Nairn lady Margaret Bochel (Margitty Bochel as she was known) and they lived in a house in Stuart Street called 'Sandakan' which had a corrugated iron roof painted dark red. Mum and Auntie Margitty had always a good relationship and when Uncle Donnie was away at the fishing, Elsie and I used to go to the house and be regaled with sweets lemonade and cakes! By the time I was 14 Uncle Donnie had 'thawed out' towards me but still he would not speak to his father or brother. Indeed he did not appear in 113 until his father was on his death bed in September 1939 and then only to visit. After the funeral he again isolated himself but in due course, when he became ill he sent for my Father and there was complete reconciliation. Indeed he literally died in his brother's arms.<br /><br />How often I heard it said at home that all would have been well if my Grandfather and or father had joined the Lodge of Freemasons which Donnie had done. So from an early age I had my mind directed towards the benefits of Masonry!<br /><br />I really have no idea why my father did not join the craft as most of his cousins and friends were of that happy band. Somehow I think it may have been because the local Lodge members had the reputation of being a 'boozy lot' - and if that was correct I can understand Dad's feelings. However, it was he who sought help to have me admitted to Lodge St. Ninian in Nairn in 1939 when I was a student, with the help of dear old 'Uncle Willie Barron', (of 13 Society Street and then the boiler man at Nairn Laundry!) and another fisherman friend my name was submitted; I was accepted for membership. But by the time of the meeting at which I was to be admitted (September 1939) I was embodied in the Territorial Army in Edinburgh. That put a brake on my joining the masons.<br /><br />It is probably right to mention at the end of this Chapter that in my young days there were two principal grocery stores in the village; one owned by Mr James McPherson (our Sunday School Superintendent) and the other by Mr James Davidson. The latter's shop was really also a Ship Chandler's for he sold everything from the proverbial 'needle to an anchor'. Both these gentlemen treated the fisher families extremely well and in times of economic difficulty provided food on 'tick' knowing that they would be paid as soon as catches improved. To my knowledge they never had any bad debts to write off.</div>Iain Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397274617360739298noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20436198.post-1136629432942183692005-12-25T10:19:00.000+00:002016-01-05T14:26:22.284+00:00Memoirs of a Fisherman's Son - Part 1, Chapter 9<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 130%;">Chapter IX<br /></span></strong><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 130%;"><strong>Inverness Royal Academy</strong></span><br />
In 1930 as I was approaching 13 years of age the quiet hopes of my parents and grandfather were realised. As mentioned earlier I had been awarded a bursary of £9 a year to enable me to be educated at the Royal Academy, Inverness. To this school only the brightest two or three pupils from the primary schools in Inverness-shire and the Islands were admitted. In addition the Academy had a number of fee paying pupils and indeed the Primary School was made up entirely of pupils whose parents could afford to pay school fees. In the Secondary department each year's intake was split into 'A', 'B' and 'C' classes as determined by their results in the Bursary competitions or in the case of Academy Primary scholars by their Head Teacher. I was fortunate to find myself one of 30 pupils in the 'A' class. Those of us who had bursaries did not have to pay fees but our parents had to find the money to pay for school books, jotters and such like.<br />
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My bursary covered the cost of a season ticket from the railway station at Ardersier (called Fort George station : the L.M.S. Railway Company had intended to take the line all the way to Fort George where so many hundreds of soldiers were stationed but, my Grandfather told me, could not find a way over Cromal Hill and had to terminate the line at Ardersier) to Inverness. About two dozen teenagers travelled each day; some to the Academy some to Inverness High School. The 'puggy' as the train (an engine with two coaches and a guard's van) was called, conveyed us the 1-1/2 miles to Gollanfield Junction where we joined the Aberdeen to Inverness train arriving at Inverness at 8.50 am. This gave us enough time to get to the top of Stephen's Brae where the Academy stands, in time for Assembly at 9 o clock. Assembly was taken by the Rector, Mr Crampton-Smith or in his absence the Deputy Head (and my Latin Master!) Mr Alexander Duthie. The whole Senior School gathered in the Hall seated on benches and standing on the stairway leading to the balcony rooms. The Rector opened the proceedings with a payer, then followed a passage from the Bible and a hymn (usually sung with great gusto even by those who no longer attended Sunday School or Church) and ended with a call for God's blessing on the school, pupils, teachers and parents.<br />
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After school Pupils from Ardersier had to catch the 'Puggy' which had come in specially to collect us, at 4.20 pm. If one had a class, as we had two or three times a week, from 3.45 pm to 4.30 pm, it was necessary to seek permission from the teacher to leave early. This was invariably granted but if for some reason one had of necessity to remain until then the next train was not until 6 pm. This was the Aberdeen train and necessitated a change at Gollanfield then on to Fort George by our beloved Puggy with a home-coming at 6.30 pm : and homework to be done!<br />
For my 'elevation' to the Academy Mum had bought me the school uniform of a blazer with school badge, grey shirt, school tie and stockings, blue short trousers, new shoes and school cap. In those days boys wore short trousers until they reached, the age of 16 or so. I had not been travelling by train for a week when one of the older boys threw my cap out of the carriage window. This was such a shocking waste of my Mum's hard earned money that with the help of my cousin Alex John Davidson (A.J. to all) a search was made of the likely landing place and the cap was found.<br />
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It became obvious to me that the 4.20 Puggy from Inverness to Fort George was not regarded with much favour by adults few of whom dared to travel on it. I was not surprised for many of the older boys, in my experience, were what would nowadays be called hooligan types. The London train stood at Platform No. I while the Puggy was in No. 2. How superior the great London Train always seemed to me when compared with our little Puggy pulled by a Tank Engine. Passengers of course shared the same Platform and a dear old lady, all the time I was a traveller, wheeled a trolley up and down beside the London train. It was laden with all sorts of sweets, cakes, chocolate, fruit, lemonade, and magazines. As she pushed, the old lady used to shout, every so often, 'chocolate, toffee, bananas and Inverness rock'. I can still hear her cry!<br />
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On one occasion a farmer's son, a good friend of mine, the late James Rose from Milton of Connage Farm, was getting impatient because Puggy was late in arriving. To let off steam he used his height, strength and tackety boots to desecrate a poster designed to attract visitors to 'Nairn, the Brighton of the North'. However, he was seen by the Railway Police and 'booked'. Some days later one of these gentlemen travelled by train to our village station and walked the two miles to Connage to speak to Mr and Mrs Rose. He was seen entering the farm-house, when it was reported locally, he was entertained to a splendid afternoon tea and certainly walked back to the station carrying a large bunch of flowers and in a bag a quantity of fresh farm-house butter and eggs! Needless to say Jim was not prosecuted - nor did he ever again damage railway property!<br />
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On a homeward journey, when we were in the sixth year class, one of my dear friends Arthur Foy from Croy required to use the toilet. Several compartments, but not all, in those old railway carriages had their own toilet facilities 'ensuite' as you would say nowadays. As Arthur was coming out one of the troublemakers kicked the lavatory door with such a blow that three fingers of Arthur's right hand were severely damaged. There was literally 'blood everywhere'. I had gained the First Aid Badge as a Scout and was called upon to apply my knowledge to Arthur's hand. What could I do? All I could do was to tie a handkerchief tightly round his fingers to stop the flow of blood. It certainly helped and Arthur reminded me when he came home from U.S.A. a few years ago (50 years later!) that he had walked home to his Aunt's house at the Streetie beside Loch Flemington, with my hankie soaked in his blood.<br />
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For the first two years at the Academy I used to take sandwiches and a flask of tea with me for lunch. No school meals in those days! With others like me, lunch was eaten in the boys cloakroom sitting on the central heating pipes (Wonderful in winter!). In my class was a boy called Lachlan MacLean, the son of the Parish Minister at Daviot ten miles south of Inverness. He and his brother <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alistair_MacLean">Alistair</a> (who later became world famous for his novels, many made into Films) used to sit with me in the cloakroom at lunch time (or as we called it 'dinner time') and often we shared or exchanged 'pieces' biscuits or fruit etc.<br />
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At 11 am each day we were 'allowed out' for a break and run about in the play ground. When one had a spare penny it was customary to join all the others who were equally lucky and run down Stephen's Brae to a Bakers' shop where the most delicious cream dough nuts were made. I remember 'drooling' as I watched the lengths of dough being placed in a pan of sizzling hot fat (as is still done with chips!) and waited until one by one they were deemed ready to be removed by the baker. He placed them on a wire tray so that any excess fat could fall off. They were lifted by his lady assistant, who knew us all by name, given a dusting of castor sugar, split open with a sharp knife and then filled with wonderful cream or if requested with raspberry jam. I can still feel the taste in my mouth!<br />
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Running down the Brae we used to sing this Ditty:<br />
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There is a happy land not far away<br />
Where Saints in glory stand,<br />
Bright their array,<br />
Oh, how the children yell<br />
When they hear the old school bell,<br />
Oh, how they run pell mell<br />
Down Stephen's brae<br />
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The tune of course was that usually sung to a well known childrens' hymn.<br />
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After I had been at the Academy for about a year Miss Arras -Mather of Delnies Farm arranged for me to be medically examined free of charge by her brother-in-law Doctor MacKay who had his surgery in Bridge Street Inverness. He normally took only the well-to-do as patients, so I felt suitably honoured. His examination I remember to this day (1995), it was very through as one would expect, but when he stuck his fingers in my mouth and reached up beyond the uvula to the adenoid chamber I just about passed out! Having removed his hand he declared that my adenoids were certainly all right! My Mother was instructed to give me Ostomalt and to stop me from using my beloved Hinksmans. The latter we refused to contemplate. In addition I was to have a 'proper' meal at 'dinner time'. So my dear mum had to arrange for me to go to Melvins the Bakers at the foot of the Raining Stairs on Castle Street. About two dozen pupils filled the restaurant each day and enjoyed a three course meal. Wednesday was the shop half holiday and as a result (for reasons unknown to me) we were always offered two helpings of a delicious apple charlotte on Thursdays! On Friday we had to pay the bill for our week's lunches - five shillings! I am sure my parents had to sacrifice something, albeit unknown to me at the time, in order to pay for these meals.<br />
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It was a salutary experience, for one accustomed in Primary school always to be first in the class, to find school mates who could do even better! In my first year at the Academy for instance, my prize 'The Pilgrims Progress' by John Bunyan records that I was 1st in Geography, 3rd (Equal) in Maths and only 7th in Class! Yes, I had to recognise that I was among some brilliant brains: and I did. When the Rector announced my name at the Prize-giving ceremony in one of the local cinemas he greatly embarrassed me by announcing to the assembled company that 'despite thirty days of absence due to asthma during the past session this boy has come seventh in IA and is to be congratulated'. Can you imagine how I felt. It must be confessed that I never cared for old Crampton Smith after that day!<br />
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My subjects were typical for a pupil in an 'A' class. For the first three years we had English, Maths, Science, History, Geography, French, Latin, Art and 'Gym'. In my second year I added German (in a class of 9 girls and myself) and in the third year dropped science at which I was really not very good.<br />
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For English I had at first, a young teacher Mr Coutts or 'Couttie' as we called him. He was a gentle soul and we all worked hard for him. However, for some reason he told us that during the Easter holidays we were to learn Gray's Elegy' (First line - 'The curfew tolls the knell of parting day). The boys, with one exception, decided that this was a punishment exercise and that not one of us would learn the poem. After the holidays Couttie said that he wanted each of us to recite one verse (there are about 30 verses if I remember correctly) starting with the boy at the back on the left and ending with the girl in the front row at the right. He was very precise! Almost immediately he realised that the boys knew nothing of the poem - he was livid when the very first boy told him we were on holiday and there was no time for learning such a long poem! So out came his belt - to our astonishment he said he was to give us all 'six of the best'. Poor Couttie! After he had strained himself strapping the first two boys he fell down in a faint: someone went and told the Rector who, with his Secretary, conducted our dear teacher out of the room. Never again did he take his belt out of his desk. But we did learn the poem! I am sure he never did reveal to the Rector why he had fainted.<br />
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History was taught in our first two years by Miss Daisy MacKenzie (Daft Daisy to all her pupils!) in a room next door to the Rector's Office. Daisy could teach history but she could not control her class when they were in exuberant mood, as they often were! She was a quite delightfully eccentric lady who endeared herself to all who had the pleasure of being taught by her. I remember one day a boy, a doctor's son, who was himself to become a noted consultant in Gynaecology brought his camera to school and without Daisy knowing he took a series of snapshots of the dear soul with a variety of facial expressions and in an assortment of positions. When poor Daisy saw them a few days later she did not know whether to laugh or cry. They were all too dreadful for words but she laughed and, of course, the class laughed. Indeed we laughed so loudly that old Crampton next door decided to investigate the cause of so much hilarity in the history class. As soon as his face appeared round the door there was a deathly silence and to the relief of all, including Daisy, he withdrew. Thus was our teacher spared the embarrassment of showing the snapshots, admitting that she did not know they were being taken and of 'harming the boy'.<br />
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During all my time in the Academy Mr. Alexander Duthie, M.A., was my Latin teacher. I came to know him very well! He used to sit on my desk with his feet resting on the seat beside my left thigh. IF anyone in class made a mistake in reading Latin prose or poetry he had the habit of slapping the left side of my face - gently may I add - and declaring 'You wouldn't make that mistake would you 'Cam Shron'? The Gaelic for 'Crooked nose'! That is what the name Cameron means in the Celtic tongue. Never once did he ask me to read or recite but, no doubt as a consequence of our 'close relationship', I knew my Latin and used to do very well in exams.<br />
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Mr Duthie had edited and published several Latin books, e.g. Readings from Caesar: The Gaelic War Books I - III, Readings from Livy a Primer of Roman History and Early European History to the Fall of Rome. His books were used by many schools, throughout the country and, to use his own words, 'even in the Emerald Isle'. For each book sold he received a royalty of 1½d. He told us! And not once but often.<br />
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It is to his credit that I still remember the opening lines of the Aeneid by Virgil one of the great poets of ancient Rome: -"Arma virumque cano, Troiae qui primus aboris, Italiam fato profugus Lavinaque venit'. But more I do not remember. However these have been sufficient over the years to floor those trying to give the false impression of being classical scholars! If you are interested they translate as follows:<br />
'I sing of arms and the man who first came from the shores of Troy, exiled by Fate, to Italy and its Lavinian shore'.<br />
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And then there are others that one cannot easily forget, such as:<br />
'Omnia vincit Amor, et nos cedamus Amori - Love carries all before it: we too must yield to love'.<br />
For me it is one of life's sadnesses that none of my family have studied or are likely to study a little Latin. But one never knows. We do have an 'Open University' now!<br />
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We had two periods (45 minutes each) of 'gym' each week. Our 'teacher' was an old boy Donald Dallas who was better known for his appearances at the Nairn Games, and no doubt other Highland Gatherings. He used to go round the arena with a large megaphone into which he bawled - Yes - or shouted announcing the various events as they were about to begin and the results when completed. Literally, he had a voice like the proverbial fog-horn. He was athletic in his youth but when I knew him he was a stout old man. We had all the usual P.T., climbing wall bars, swinging Indian clubs, playing net-ball etc. We regarded these periods as relaxation from work: and there was no Higher Leaving Certificate in P.T. to aim for!<br />
<br />
In the German class we had as our teacher, Miss Jeannie Cruickshank from Aberdeen. There were in the class eight girls and myself - the only boy! I enjoyed this class very much because Jeannie was a dear soul and she always gave us every encouragement with personal attention when required. After four years I achieved a Lower German in my Higher Leaving Certificate.<br />
<br />
A story worth telling from this class: - In front of me sat two girls Betty or Barbara Riggs and Kitty MacKenzie - both very athletic types. Kitty became captain of the Hockey team. Each had very long hair done up in ringlets. One afternoon I succumbed to a temptation, which had existed for a long time. I tied together a ringlet from each head of hair and dipped the combined end in the ink - well; of course when the girls rose at the end of the period they were tied together! Jeannie was appalled - and when she found her hands covered in ink on endeavouring to untie the locks of hair, she was dumbfounded. She could not believe that her 'little man' could stoop so low! Did I get a telling off! Indeed I did. The girls wore dark blue gym-slips (school uniform in those days) which did not show any stain mark. They assured me their mothers would never notice and in any event the 'gyms' were washed each week-end.<br />
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In the first year we had a delightful maths teacher, Miss Strath. She certainly made the subject interesting and opened up the mysteries of algebra and geometry. But in the next two years we had to suffer the most incompetent teacher of this subject; he sat on a chair all the time and told whoever of the class he called to the floor what to write on the blackboard. We were all very conscious of the fact that with his teaching methods we would never obtain a pass in Higher Mathematics and that was an essential for University Entrance. However when we were half way through the third year he was appointed Rector, no less, of a school on the West coast. There then arrived an expert Maths teacher in the shape of Leslie Frewan. My word, he brought us up to scratch and for me made algebra , geometry, trigonometry, arithmetic, logarithms came alive. So in the fifth year I secured Higher Maths.<br />
<br />
From the second year onwards I had the privilege and pleasure of being taught English (including History) by Donald John MacDonald M.A. (Hons), later to become Rector of the Academy and since my retirement a very dear friend, until his death at the end of 1993. The impression he made on me in the classroom remains with me still. It was a joy to listen to him speak and to comply with any request he made, for he never ordered a pupil to do this or that; but he did encourage us! And so we learnt by heart screeds of poetry and passages from scripture many of which I can still recite. Somehow we came to realise that 'D.J.' (as we affectionately called him) took it for granted that we knew how to spell every new word we came across in literature and to understand its meaning such that it became part of our vocabulary. Yet he was astonished when, meeting after my many years in the south following my retirement, I told him that he had been in my thoughts all during my career as a solicitor. Yes, when engaged, as I so often was, in writing complicated agreements, contracts, letters etc. I would consider how my old teacher would express a thought on paper if he was confronted with the particular problem facing me at the time.<br />
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D.J. never 'corrected' an essay (and we had to write many) but he did suggest how his red ink amendments would improve it. Little did he know that I was to follow his example both in the Army and as head of the Legal, Estates and Wayleaves department of the South of Scotland Electricity Board! I did not use red ink - but my staff expected me at least to use a pencil!<br />
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One incident in D.J.'s class will certainly never be forgotten by those who were present: We had to sit a term or quarterly exam in history. The books (pink covered) were handed in for correction. A few days later D.J. arrived in the class room his gown flowing behind, his face florid and the 30 or so exam books under his arm. He placed all but one book on his desk and proceeded with that one to his lectern and for the next half hour gave us an address on the subject of honesty. We were 3rd year pupils at that time. I'm sure we all felt alike - that we were each and every one of us the most dishonest person on God's earth until that moment but from then on we would be as honest as George Washington is reported to have been. At the end of his speech D.J. produced from the exam book a large sheet of blotting paper on one side of which was written everything we were supposed to have learnt that term - yes, everything. But not a name was mentioned. There was a deathly hush in the room as he put all the exam books away in his desk and locked it. The class was then dismissed - it was the last period of the day, indeed of the week. On the Monday following one boy was 'missing'. He never returned to school but he did appear in the Inverness Savings Bank the following Monday! It was said that his father had plenty of money in that particular Bank! With D.J. as our teacher passes in Higher English and History were achieved in the fifth year.<br />
<br />
Soon after commencing sixth year studies; with a view to adding to the subjects already included in my Higher Leaving Certificate, the Rector called me to his study and told me that a firm of local solicitors, Davidson Scott & Co. of 42 Union Street were looking for an apprentice. He had taken the liberty of mentioning my name and recommended me to go for an interview. Before doing so however, he asked to see my mother in order to explain to her what would be involved and to obtain her agreement in the absence of Dad who was at Yarmouth at the time. So my dear mum arrived at school and together we saw the Rector. What could she say but that she agreed to my embarking on a career in the legal profession. As mentioned earlier in these memoirs I had been encouraged from my earliest years to aim at a career in a profession but had not yet made up my own mind. One of the advantages of going into law apprenticeship was that during my five years of training I would receive a wage! The practice of requiring law apprentices to pay a premium for the privilege of being trained in a law office had recently ceased. And so I was interviewed by the late Donald Henry MacDonald and John MacBean the sole partners of the firm and was offered an apprenticeship there and then. I had sufficient Highers to allow me to matriculate at Edinburgh University in the Law Faculty. They explained to me that I would serve with them for two or three years and then go to an office in Edinburgh to complete my five years apprenticeship and do three years study at University in order to take the Bachelor of Law Degree. On satisfactory completion I would be admitted to the profession. My starting salary as an apprentice would be five shillings per week from which would have to be deducted 10 pence per week, being my contribution to the Inverness County Benefit Society! This was the forerunner of National Health Insurance introduced after the 1939/46 war.<br />
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I went home and discussed the whole matter with my dear old Mum who told me that this seemed to be God's will for me and that I should accept the firm's offer of an apprenticeship. And so I did. My grandfather was delighted - of course. The next letter from Dad, in Yarmouth, carried his congratulations and blessing.<br />
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In a later chapter you will find a record of some of my experiences with D. S. & Co. </div>
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<b>Click mouse here to go to</b><span style="color: #cc6600;"> </span><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_24.html" style="color: #cc6600;">Chapter 10 >>>>></a></div>
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Iain Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397274617360739298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20436198.post-1136629680921210962005-12-24T10:26:00.000+00:002016-01-05T14:27:23.546+00:00Memoirs of a Fisherman's Son - Part 1, Chapter 10<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><span style="font-size: 130%;">Chapter X<br /><br />Some memories of childhood in Ardersier</span></strong><br />
I hope in the following notes to give an impression of life in the village when I was a boy.<br />
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<strong>(a) Milk from Milton Farm</strong><br />
As there was no milkman delivering milk in Ardersier, until about 1930, when a Mr Watson commenced business as a dairyman, and there was none to be had in the Shops, one had to 'go and get it', from a farm. Boys and girls of school age would undertake to go to, say, Milton Farm immediately to the south of the village and carry home milk to five or six homes every morning. Speaking for myself I used to get the milk for my Mother, three neighbours, Mrs Ratcliffe and the Manse. Pails holding, usually two pints were used. They had tight fitting lids. I would collect the empty pails and proceed to the farm where the owner, Mrs Mackintosh filled them with the required quantity. She did this in her dairy - a room forming part of the farm-house. The milk was taken from a large vessel (which probably held five gallons) by means of a ladle, placed in a pint measure and transferred to the customer's pail. In the dairy she also had a wonderful red machine which separated the cream from the milk. What fun it was to turn the handle! The top compartment was filled with milk; as the handle was turned cream flowed out of a spout lower down into a container while the 'low fat' milk flowed from another spout into a large vessel. In addition there were large stainless steel basins into which milk was poured and allowed to stand over night. Next morning the cream could be skimmed off for sale to customers. It was a great treat to have cream with one's porridge: but only on special occasions.<br />
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When I was unable, for health reasons, to go for the milk, Sis, when old enough, would take my place but more often my late cousin Alex John Davidson or one of his sisters would take over. For this job the going rate was one penny per week but with 6 customers that was sixpence! A lot of money in those days.<br />
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As we grew older A.J and I used to be allowed to play at Milton Farm and many a happy hour we spent during the summer holidays jumping off an outside stone staircase on to a pile of hay or straw.<br />
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<strong>b) Soldiers' Trains</strong><br />
The Seaforth Highlanders Depot was at Fort George and all new recruits to the regiment were trained there. In addition there was a battalion of another regiment e.g. Black Watch, K.O.S.B., H.L.I. Thus was not only the Fort busy but the village and Fort George railway station. Goods for the Fort seemed to arrive at the station every day; they were collected by a wagon drawn by two mules. At times one saw as many as six mule-wagons going to or coming from the station. We were never allowed to ride on these wagons. Each battalion was stationed at the Fort for, I think, four years. When they arrived and again when they departed, there was great excitement at the station for a mighty steam engine, often two of them, puffing out clouds of steam would arrive with a long train of coaches behind full of soldiers - there seemed to be hundreds of them disembarking on to 'our' platform. It was a great thrill to see the soldiers form up in platoons and companies and march away down the 'school brae' through the village and on to the most disliked barracks in Britain - or so we were often told. I can still hear the words of command stirring the normal quiet of the station. As children we always knew from 'Fort' School fellows, the times of arrival and departure of troop trains and made a point of being there on the platform or as close to it as the station master would allow.<br />
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The Army equipment apart from the rifles which the men carried, was loaded on to or as the case might be discharged from railway wagons in the goods yard. We were never allowed in there! Mule transport was as usual the means of conveyance from and to the station.<br />
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<strong>c) The Jetty<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Ardesier%20Pier%201930.0.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/Ardesier%20Pier%201930.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;" /></a></strong><br />
All through my childhood and youth the wooden jetty was perhaps the most important feature of the village and especially during the Summer holidays. Most of the 'fisher boys' had a fishing line - this was generally part of an old line of one's father - about 100 feet long; to it a sinker of lead or heavy nuts was tied at the 'far' end and two, three or four hooks were attached by means of tipping (mentioned earlier). For bait we used lug worms which we dug out of the sandy seabed to the north of the jetty when the tide was out. The lug worms were kept in a syrup tin until required and of course we all knew about the ebbing and flowing of the tide and when the tide would be out long enough for us dig for lug worms. On a summer's day there would be as many as ten or even twelve boys fishing from the end of the Jetty. To secure a 'place' one had to be out early and once established that was recognised as one's place for the day. After the hooks were baited one would shout 'watch out', take hold of the line a foot from the furthest up tipping and swing the sinker around one's head several times in order to cast it as far out from the jetty as possible. Needless to say the inner end of the line already tied to a stick 8 or 10 inches long, was secured to one of the mooring rings or simply held firmly under the left foot. (The rings were provided for the purpose of tying boats alongside the jetty). As soon as a tug was felt one had to judge whether the fish had actually swallowed the baited hook; if it had this was generally very obvious and one pulled the fish in. However we all became experts at knowing whether a fish was just 'nibbling' and when that happened it was best to try a 'rip' - a quick tug of the line which sometimes had the desired effect. We caught haddock, whiting, sole, plaice, grey backs (the latter three were known as flookies'), codling, crabs and in stormy seas, eels. My dear mum never dissuaded me from fishing but all the fish I caught went to the dog or the cat. We usually had one of each! I've seen me at the age of 10 or 12 fishing for 'cuddies' sand eels with small trout books. I used to get up very early in the morning, 6 am or thereabouts, go over to the jetty with a very short line having two trout hooks attached, (no sinker was necessary), a tin of lug and a large sweetie jar. Before breakfast I'd have caught as many as 60 cuddies which were brought home swimming about in the jar filled with sea water! These all went to the cats of the neighbourhood. My favourite fishing place for cuddies was on the piles under the jetty near the 'little' steps. How many happy hours I spent as a boy all on my own at that early time of day when all was peaceful and quiet. My recollection, of course, is of splendid sunny summer days during all my childhood and youth but with shoals of cuddies (as there were in those days) darting through the clear water and the sun warming one's whole being it was perhaps not surprising that I sensed even then that 'God's in His heaven, all's right with the world'.<br />
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<strong>d) Boating</strong><br />
Because of my asthma the doctors (all) ordered that I was not to be allowed to venture into the sea except for paddling. So, I was not allowed to learn to swim. But, my father realising, no doubt that I loved the sea decided when I was ten years old that I should have one of his small boats. Namely, a 12 foot dinghy complete with lug sail. How delighted I was! My grandfather was appointed to teach me to sail 'my' boat when Dad was away at the herring fishing. The old boy was, naturally, an expert and he taught me all I could assimilate about rowing, sculling, and sailing with the lug sail. The old boy was a hard master but he taught me well and when satisfied that I could go out solo he left me to my own devices. But I soon realised that he was ever watchful of his grandson and it was his custom when he saw a squall approaching or any other weather condition which could give rise to danger, to call me ashore. He would come out to the end of the Jetty, if necessary, and shout in a voice, which I often felt could be heard over in Fortrose, 'Come away in you little b.....'. How my dear mum used to admonish him for using strong language. Because of his 'all - seeing eye' I never felt other than safe at sea. It was wonderful to row out towards the Fort or Petty Point over the glassy sea, to stop when one felt like it and to drop a line and ruminate until it was time to go home. I had a half-crown pocket watch (Ingersoll) until I won the silver wrist watch at School. This enabled me to be home in time for dinner or tea. If there was the slightest 'air of wind' - breeze to you! - up would go my lug sail and there seated at the helm I'd race about the Firth enjoying life to the full. Naturally my pals liked to join me for a sail and nothing I liked better than to set two of them at the oars while I sat in the stern steering the boat. Children on holiday from places like Glasgow and Edinburgh were forever 'cadging a sail' in the Summer months and no doubt my ego benefited as 'I showed them how it was done'! On one occasion however a local lad George Fraser embarked with me and took two Glasgow cousins along with him. The sea was dead calm, the sun blazing in the sky, I was rowing, George was in the bows his cousins on the stern seat when suddenly he stood up and endeavoured to walk past me towards the stern. Needless to say he fell in and when I looked over the side I could see his red hair rapidly disappearing. Soon he shot to the surface like a cork and I grabbed his jersey. He was screaming 'blue murder'. I had to order his cousins to resume their seats in the stern and did so in the language my Grandfather would have used! After a dreadful struggle George was back aboard. I rowed to the shingle shore (we were opposite the married quarters), ordered my three passengers ashore and set off back home on my own. That experience was a lesson to all those who hoped to sail in wee Alex's boat - and to the skipper!<br />
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In due course I sat the Scout test for my oarsman's badge. I well remember that day. Our Scoutmaster dear Tom White (of whom more later) and the District Commissioner, no less, arrived to test me. After I had complied with their requests, made from the jetty, to demonstrate straight-forward rowing, sculling and tying up they called me in and came aboard. Neither was a light-weight and we were therefore well down in the water. I had to row them a fairly short distance and that was fine but when they realised what it was like to be in a dinghy being sculled (from the stern) by an energetic scout they decided they'd had enough. I offered to take then out into the Firth under canvas and although that was not part of the test, they enjoyed themselves greatly and before we came ashore I had won my seaman's badge, the only one in the Troop!<br />
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It must be confessed that I have always regretted not having resumed sailing after the war was over but I suppose we were not sufficiently well off! And we were quite some distance from the sea.<br />
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<strong>e) Speldings and Kippers</strong><br />
In order to 'make ends meet' especially during the herring fishing months when Dad was away from home my dear mother made use of the skills she had learnt as a fisher lassie in Nairn : she made and sold speldings or in the Winter when Kessock herring became available, Kippers. For this she used the smoking shed at the rear of the house This was a wooden shed about, I suppose, 10 feet x 10 feet and 8 feet high with a wooden chimney and flat roof. Inside there were one on each side, two very wide ladder like structures made of wood, the treads (called rhinds because lengths of wood were so called in Nairn) were about 6 inches apart. On those rhinds were placed pieces of wood called tenters about 2" x 1" and long enough to be rested on the above mentioned rhinds. I would say they were 5 feet long. Into each of these tenters had been hammered headless nails about 4 inches apart and on each side of the tenter. The gutted fish were impaled by the lugs on the nails and when the tenter had as many fish as could be accommodated on its nails, it was so placed that each end rested on a rhind. There would be, if I remember correctly, five or six tenters on each rhind and six or seven levels of tenters so a goodly quantity of fish could be smoked at any one time. Below the fish were heaped on the smoking house floor a long pile of dry 'dirkens' (these are pine cones) which lit easily; once they were well alight they were covered with closed (green or wet) dirkens and this procedure resulted in a dense but pleasant smelling smoke being given off. Sometimes saw dust was used when closed dirkens were not available.<br />
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After several hours of smoking - quite frankly I do not know how long - the finished product was a much sought after spelding or, as the case might be, kipper. It was necessary all during the smoking process to make sure from time to time that the fire was kept going in the approved manner. As I grew older and was allowed to help Mum by taking a turn at this, I remember having to hold my breath for what seemed ages while placing more dirkens or sawdust on the fire - the smoke was so dense and pungent.<br />
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Many local folk came to the house to buy fish but my Mother used to go out 'to the country', as she would call it, as far as Drumine Farm west of the Gollanfield road junction and, it may surprise you to know, across the Firth to Rosemarkie on the Black Isle. In the summer-time one often accompanied her on her travels. the customers always gave a most warm welcome and I did enjoy these outings. In order to go across to the Black Isle it was necessary to walk (with a load of fish carried in a basket on her back) to the point of Fort George peninsula. There on the gable end of one of the army buildings was a Lyon's tea advertisement - on a large enamelled metal sheet (about 4 feet X 3 feet in size). The reverse side was all white in colour and this was the side which faced towards Chanory lighthouse. From a hole in the top side of the sheet a rope extended upwards through a pulley attached near the apex of the gable end. In order to attract the attention of the ferry-man, who lived across the Channel near the light house, it was necessary to pull the signal (as it was called) up by means of the rope as far as it would go and then fasten this rope to a ring on the gable. When Sandy MacKenzie saw the signal (and this might take anything up to an hour!) he would set out in his rowing boat if the sea was calm or his motor boat in choppy conditions and cross to the landing jetty at the Fort. The journey across was always exciting for we were usually accompanied by porpoises perhaps five or six on either side. I now wonder if they were dolphins - but am sure that neither old Sandy nor my grandfather were mistaken. Sometimes we saw basking sharks or bottle nosed whales and these also aroused interest in the denizens of the ocean.<br />
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To reach Rosemarkie one has to walk along the golf course -a fair distance - but Mum was truly hardy and at each of her customer's houses she had a cheery word and of course they reciprocated. I remember there was one lady who always had the tea ready and we had this and scones etc. in her parlour. Her house was full of all sorts of strange ornaments and 'objects d'art', which I used to find fascinating. On one occasion as we were walking back over the golf course a squall of rain came down from the south-west (Inverness direction) and we ran for cover in one of the shelters provided for golfers. Two of them, an elderly gentleman and a young lady, joined us and Mum as was her custom, engaged them in conversation for the twenty minutes or so we had to wait before the rain passed over. As we proceeded on our way towards the lighthouse Mum told us that was Mr Ramsay MacDonald the Prime Minister. He was 'a poor fatherless boy whose mother had to work hard on a farm near Lossiemouth in order to bring him up' and yes, the lady was his daughter. In due course I was to learn that he was indeed an illegitimate child. On arrival back at the lighthouse we were always made most welcome in Sandy the ferryman's house and regaled with more tea or lemonade and biscuits until such time as Sandy saw the signal raised at Fort George or just that he was ready to go. With the strong current which flows through the comparatively narrow channel as the tide ebbs and flows between Chanory Point and the Fort I never felt very happy in Sandy's rowing boat especially if the sea was choppy but I did love the crossing in his motor boat, sometimes assisted by sail.<br />
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Like her mother before her my mother never came home from her fish selling excursions other than with an empty basket (or baskets). She seemed to know exactly what her customers would want to buy and went prepared.<br />
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<strong>f) Scouting</strong><br />
When I was about 9 years of age a retired military <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Alex_Elsie_and%20Mum2.0.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/400/Alex_Elsie_and%20Mum2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;" /></a>man (I think he had been Regimental Quartermaster Sergeant in the Seaforth Highlanders) named Tom White - an inspired leader if ever there was one- set up a Scout Troop with the help and encouragement of the people of Ardersier. About 30 boys joined. Tom had arranged with the help of the Officer commanding the Depot Seaforths to have the Troop headquarters in the Garrison Cinema (sadly later destroyed by fire) at the Fort. This saw the beginning of about a decade of scouting in the village and the most exciting experiences for us boys.<br />
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I remember there was a sale of work in the War Memorial Hall to raise funds in order to get the troop 'off the ground' At this several hundred pounds were raised so we got off to a good start. We did however have to buy our own uniform of shirt; trousers (short), stockings, flashes, neckerchief, toggle, belt and pole. The cost was 12/6d and we were allowed to pay by weekly instalments. I happened to be appointed Treasurer for this and would collect whatever money was offered until the full amount was paid. Each week's collection was handed over to Miss Etta Mackintosh the Draper who had kindly supplied our uniforms on credit.<br />
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Membership of the troop was open to all boys of eligible age in Ardersier and the married quarters at Fort George. We foregathered every Friday evening in the Garrison Cinema and learned all manner of things: the Morse code, semaphore, knot tying, out door cookery (Lighting a fire using only two pieces of wood proved to be an impossibility!), tent erection, digging latrines, football, hockey, cricket, shinty, tennis. Yes our beloved Scout Master Tom was truly an all rounder and he inspired us to do our best at all times in whatever activity we were engaged upon. As you might expect we were taught on the barrack square how to march properly and in good soldiering fashion. Indeed on one famous day the Prince of Wales as he then was) inspected all the Inverness-shire Scout troops lined up on the east side of the River Ness (Bank St) He took the salute as we marched past him and then came along the ranks inspecting the boys. When he reached the Ardersier troop he told Tom that we were the best and smartest troop on parade and congratulated us on our marching. Weren't we proud!<br />
<br />
Summer camp was always a great occasion. The C.O. provided us with an Army cook to supervise our individual efforts and he came complete with half a carcass of beef, tins of 'hard tak' (very hard army biscuits) and bully beef as well as cooking equipment, stoves, bell tents, duck boards, ground sheets for all and the good wishes of the Commanding Officer.<br />
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Several camps were held at Chanonry Point and for these Sandy, the ferryman, arrived at Ardersier Jetty with his Motor Boat to embark those scouts who lived in the village with their packs of clothes etc. Because he knew me, Sandy gave me the privilege of taking the helm for the crossing - much to the envy of my brother scouts! We called at the Fort in order to pick up the Fort Scouts, the cook and all the C.O.'s gifts. Camp was set up on the north side of Chanonry Point among the sand dunes. Although only a mile across the sea from the Fort, Chanonry 'was miles away from home' for us boys. Water was obtained from the light house. Expeditions on foot took us up the Fairy Glen at Rosemarkie and along the shore beneath the cliffs of Easter Ross almost as far as the South Souter. There are several caves in the cliffs and we explored them using electric torches; none was very deep but once inside the cave was dark as night and very 'spooky'. My grandfather told me that in his young days smugglers used the caves in which to hide rum, claret, tobacco and tea from the excisemen. Undoubtedly, these were smuggled into the Country at that time and the souter caves (as we called them) would be ideal for storing goods off-landed from foreign ships, pending their onward journeys to the Distributors. At that time (mid 1800) tea was so dear that only the rich could afford to buy it.<br />
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I vividly recall one evening as we sat around the camp fire singing our scout songs becoming aware that a whole fleet of herring drifters was moving towards us from the open sea. They were on their way to the Caledonian Canal at Inverness on passage to the west coast fishing grounds. All headed for the Chanonry light house but when about half a mile away changed course to follow the Channel into the Inverness Firth. There were, it seemed to us, hundreds of red and green lights heading our way.<br />
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Excitement is not the word for the feelings we had at this wonderful sight; it seemed that all the Nor-East drifters were on the move. But then one of them failed to change course and steamed straight for our camp. Yes, it drove right on to the beach! There we were a group of maybe two dozen young lads with Tom and the Army cook trying to push the drifter back out to sea. It wouldn't budge, of course, despite much thrashing of its propeller in reverse gear. However the tide was out and the crew told us they would try again at high tide in the morning. We were all up at first light and sure enough the drifter was duly launched back into the sea. No doubt our efforts at pushing it helped ----- I have always assumed that to be the case but somehow think the crew deserve the credit. Certainly it left the sandy beach with much thrashing of the water at the stern and a great shout of jubilation as the stem moved out of our reach.<br />
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One summer we went east for our camp. We proceeded to Brodie Castle and set up our bell tents on the lawn in front of the Castle. The Brodie of Brodie took a great interest in scouting and had kindly offered to have us 'under his wing' for a couple of weeks. We arrived on a Saturday - by bus with an Army Truck carrying the gear, tents, duck boards etc. On Sunday forenoon, as was our custom, we paraded to Church in Dyke, a mile or so along the road eastwards from Brodie. During the service the heavens opened. Being army trained and equipped we all had ground-sheets with us; these also served as capes so donning them we marched through the torrential rain only to find on arrival at camp that the ground was under several inches of water. Despite the duck boards in the tents all our bedding (blankets) was saturated! However Brodie phoned Mr Graham, Minister of the Parish Church in Ardersier, whose son Jim was one of us, and asked for a bus to be sent to take us home. This was arranged by Mr Graham and we all returned home complete with bedding etc. I well remember arriving at 113 to find that my Mother and Grandfather were both at Church. I was desperately hungry and on searching the 'press' (cupboard) came across a section of honey. I ate the whole section! Along with some bread of course. When mum arrived home she was astonished not only to find her son - remember there was no telephone - but that he had eaten a whole section of honey. It did me no harm - and I still love honey particularly in the comb!<br />
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Tom was an all round sportsman and in particular a splendid cricketer. He used to spend a great deal of his time coaching us in the game. (Not on Friday evenings which were devoted to scouting) Those of us who were interested would meet with him in the school playground of a summer evening and were instructed in the use of 'the straight bat', fielding, wicket-keeping. We all loved Tom and I don't remember any boy letting him down. Apart from cricket he taught us how to play hockey, football, rugby, tennis and even shinty. At that time there were many scout troops, schools and youth clubs in and around the Inverness District, who played one another at those sports. Indeed the Ardersier Troop once, to my recollection, succeeded in winning through to the final of a football tournament. The game was played in the Caledonian Football ground in Inverness, my Cousin Alex John was centre forward, I played right half, who our opponents were I cannot remember. But I do remember being kicked on the right shin by a full back as I was racing along to pass to my cousin who was in the right position for scoring the winning goal. The foul meant that a penalty was awarded and A.J. rammed the ball into the net to the great joy of us all and particularly old Tom. On one occasion we played the Depot. Officer's at cricket on the pitch in front of the Officers' Mess - a great privilege. We didn't win but Major MacKay the second in command and a 'googly ' underhand bowler was hit all over the ground so much so that he stopped bowling for that game!<br />
<br />
Sometimes in the mid - 1930's the Australian cricket team came north to play a team of North Counties players at Forres. What excitement for us - greater even than one would expect south of the border. The Ardersier scouts team headed by our beloved Tom were in Forres, Grant Park, in good time and took our places up on the grass just beyond the boundary line with our backs to the sun! So seated we saw our Nairn County hero, the late John Gray, open the batting against the famous Don Bradman who was bowling. The outcome of the game was a foregone conclusion but that mattered not. Don Bradman sent one ball high towards the boundary, there was no fielder in the vicinity so, what do you think, I ran out and caught it! If only I had kept that ball!<br />
<br />
For our various badges in the Scouts we had the help of local folk including the District Nurse who taught us First Aid and for signalling we had instruction in Semaphore and Morse from army instructors. How thrilling it was to sit on top of Cromal Hill and communicate, in Morse, using an Aldis lamp with a fellow scout on the ramparts at the Fort. We also had the use of Don Five' telegraphic equipment from the army and on it we used to send Morse messages 'over the wire' from one location to another. Our instructor introduced us to the Heliograph with which one could send messages in Morse but only if the sun was shining. That instrument was much used in India. All useful for one later on in life when on an Army signals course!<br />
<br />
In due course I became Assistant Scout Master and Treasurer of the Troop. Sadly scouting in Ardersier ended with the 1939 war and has not been reinstated.<br />
<br />
<strong>g) Summer Activities:</strong><br />
<strong>i) Tarry Feet</strong><br />
It is said that one remembers only the good times and the sunny days of one's youth. That may be true. Certainly my recollection is of warm sunny days, with the very occasional thunderstorm and rain, during all the school summer holidays. We, children, used to go about in our bare feet from the time the school holidays began until they ended. With so much activity taking place at the jetty or on boats and roads coated with easily melted tar it is not perhaps surprising that our feet and legs were almost daily coated with tar. This was removed by rubbing the affected limbs with butter or margarine and then washing thoroughly with life-buoy soap!<br />
<br />
<strong>ii) Dirkins</strong><br />
I have already mentioned daily fishing and much sailing but we had other ploys! In order to obtain money for our annual excursion to the Nairn Games most of my pals and I gathered 'dirkins' (pine cones) at the Deacon's wood on the Nairn road, or in the woods at the Carse. We all had a family barrow: this was made usually by mounting a fish box on old pram wheels (with axle) and having wooden staves (nailed to the sides) which served as handles. Very often the fish box was deepened by adding (nailing) pieces of wood about six inches wide to the ends and sides. It was always difficult to find staples large enough to fix the pram axles to the bottom of the box and one had to devise other fixers such as bent nails - but these were never very efficient.<br />
<br />
We would set off with our barrows (sometimes as early as 7 am) complete with a bottle of lemonade and some home made scones and pancakes for a picnic in the woods. Alex John and his sister Isy (Isabell) went with their barrow while Sis and I had ours. But very often it was a boys only affair when five or six of us would meet at the rendezvous in the wood.<br />
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If the dirkens were closed, as in damp parts of the wood or after rain, one could obtain as much as 3 shillings for a sackful whereas open dirkins would fetch at the most only ninepence! To one's mother, naturally there was no charge. WE however had a wonderful neighbour, Janet Davidson, who had no children and she was a favourite buyer so far as I was concerned.<br />
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<strong>iii) The Nairn Games</strong><br />
The money so 'earned' was saved up during the holiday period and used at the Nairn Games. The most either of us had was 10/6d but that was a fortune to us. When we were old enough to do so Alex John and I used to cycle to Nairn leave our cycles at the house in Society Street of Libby Thomson my mother's cousin and proceed to the links where our first stop was at the fruit stall at the foot of Cumming Street; we bought melons - sixpence each! We then proceeded to the bank below 'the Toorie', sat down and opened and ate the whole melon! As instructed by our Mothers and also because we were members of the PUGPUP Club (Pick up Glass and Pick up Paper!) the melon seeds were carefully deposited in a brown paper bag and then placed in a waste bin. The Toorie was always the rendezvous on Games Day and we would not think of moving. Our respective Mothers and Fathers (because they would be home from the herring fishing for that week end) always knew where to find us. A reciprocal arrangement applied when 'we' left 'them' to watch the games while we went for a foray into the 'showies'. What wonderfully exciting shows - hobby horse, bearded ladies, chair -o- planes, wall of death, fat ladies and gentlemen, dwarf ladies and gentlemen, boxing booths, and tricksters of every line. One which always intrigued me was a woman's head in a box suspended in mid air. She even ate a banana held up to her mouth by the showman! How it was done still puzzles me! Today's 'showies' seen to be very much nosier, because of the amplifiers now used, but they have not changed all that much.<br />
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As keen cyclists, in our teens, we always returned to the Toorie to see the cycle races from 2.30 pm onwards and took a profound interest in the tug of war, high jump, pole vaulting, tossing the caber and other heavy events as well as the flat races. It was a memorable day when the 100 yards race was announced as having been won by Ian Young of Inverness with the record breaking time, never achieved by anyone before, of less than 10 seconds. I have no knowledge of whether the time was recognised by the official body; but for us it was a world record.<br />
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<strong>iv) Childhood Games</strong>There were many games we played out of doors during the summer holidays, kick the can, catty, relievo, hoist the green flag, rounders and after the tennis and bowling clubs were set up most of the young folk joined and started to play tennis and bowls. Yes, we had much enjoyment from our summer activities in those far off days.<br />
<br />
<strong>v) Cycles</strong>Every boy wanted to have his own bike! Most fathers or grandfathers had one and these were used for learning to cycle. Because of the cross bar on a mans bike it was necessary, for them who did not have access to a lady's bicycle, to commence by placing one's right leg through under the bar and on to the pedal on the right hand side of the bike. By pressing on that pedal, holding the bar with the right hand and the left hand end of the handle bars with the left, and balancing as best one could it was possible after many fruitless attempts to master the art of cycling. That achieved the next stop was to 'get a shot' on the bike of another boy who had a boy's bike! Satisfied that one could really cycle the aim now was to acquire one's own bicycle. For those of us whose parents could not afford a new or even a second hand bicycle the solution lay in building one's own. Our beach was a veritable gold mine as were the blacksmith shop, farm steadings and the sheds of old gentlemen who were no longer able to cycle. It did not take any of the fisher boys long to find all the bits required in order to assemble them into a cycle. All that remained usually was to save up enough pennies to buy tubes, tyres, a bell and a lamp. Looking back I feel it was amazing how much 'old junk' we boys converted into things of beauty - the final step was to apply a good coat of valspar paint!<br />
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We cycled 'everywhere'!<br />
When I reached the age of eleven my dear old mother decided to buy me a 'proper' bike. So I was told to select one from the catalogue of a hire purchase firm (much used by the poor in those days). J.G. Graves Ltd., Sheffield. For me the bike when it duly arrived was all I had ever hoped for. It had a Sturmey Archer 3-speed gears, a rear carrier and bag, bell and lights both front and rear as well as a mileometer. The cost was £5-15/- which was payable by monthly instalments over two years. The very next Summer it was arranged by letter that I would go to Fraserburgh for a week's holiday with my mother's great friend Bella Laird (Mrs Milne) whose husband was a Cooper in Fraserburgh and who had a son Frank and daughter Jenny. I set out at 7.30 am on the appointed morning with a view to arriving at 7.30 pm that evening. My school Atlas had shown the distance (by my measurement with a piece of thread) to be 96 miles going via Elgin, Cullen, Macduff, Pennan and Rosehearty. I was to have my lunch with my Mother's cousin at Cullen. However before I reached Forres a strong south west wind, with rain, got up and I donned my yellow rain cape. I was bowled along and reached Cullen in mid morning, had tea and scones from the lady and proceeded along the shore road, which I had judged to be much shorter than the main road. How wrong I was! As anyone of you who has travelled this road will know the hills are very steep. I had not only to walk up the hills but down hills also because of the gradients. Still, I arrived in Fraserburgh none the worse at 2.30 pm - much to the astonishment of Mrs Milne, Frankie and Jenny. On my return journey I took, the main road out of Fraserburgh (A98) but all the way had to push into a south westerly wind: - how glad I was to have 3 gears!<br />
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On another occasion my pal Jim Graham, son of the Reverend Wm Graham, persuaded me to allow him to accompany me on a round trip to Aberdeen, Fraserburgh and home. Jumbo, as we affectionately called him in the Scouts, had his father's ancient bike and had to give up when we reached Fochabers. There he left his cycle in a garage, took over my gear which included my tent (a 6' x 4' bivvy) and small primus stove (subsequently wounded in Normandy).<br />
This left me with a light bike easily handled. Jim took the bus: he had 'plenty' money: and passed me on the east side of Huntly. So he must have had a long stay at Fochabers - but that would not matter as he could be friends with anyone like his Dad.<br />
<br />
As I approached Bucksburn I spied my tent beside a farm cottage. The crofter's wife told me I would find my pal in the chip shop in Bucksburn - and I did. The crofter asked us in for our supper and we had a most enjoyable evening. Jim amused the family with songs as he played the accordion and his ability with the mouth organ was much appreciated and enjoyed. But when the crofter learned that Jim was a minister's son and aiming to follow in his father's footsteps the poor chap was taken aback. When he learned I was also hoping to enter a profession his whole attitude changed. The pair of us persuaded him that we were 'no better than him' - after all my father was a fisherman -and we managed to restore his ego.<br />
Next morning ( as I thought) I was up bright and early, cooked bacon and eggs and made tea. I had a job wakening my good mate but we enjoyed our breakfast and after cleaning our utensils proceeded to the church. Jim had promised not to miss church just because he was away from home. The gates at the entrance to the church were locked and on asking a local who happened to be passing by we were told 'Oh the next service will not be until next Sunday'! Yes, we had slept all day long and it was the evening sun which had awakened me!<br />
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<strong>(vi) Camping Out</strong><br />
I suppose camping out was one of my special pleasures. For several years running my cousin A.J. and I slept out in our home made tent pitched on a level piece of ground below the school playground and at the top of the large back garden belonging to his Dad. The tent initially was made from old bed sheets donated by our respective mothers, sewn together (according to a pattern in the 'Modern Boy' magazine) and then coated with linseed oil. The latter was used for waterproofing fishermen's 'overalls' and 'sou-westers' so there was usually plenty of it available! The tent floor was covered with pieces of tarpaulin to keep out the damp and old bed covers and blankets. Our sleeping bags were made by folding 3 blankets in the form of a sandwich with large (nappy) safety pints to hold them together. They had to be unfastened every day in order to be shaken and 'aired'. In due course we were able jointly to buy a 'real' tent made of white cotton and having the luxury of a fly sheet. From our tent we made expeditions, sometimes in early morning and often late in the evening, to cycle, fish and on one occasion to raid the manse garden for apples! go for 'dirkens'; there was always something to do! I emphasise that we only once raided the Manse Garden: and for good reason. The apples were not ripe enough for eating but whereas I stuck at one my dear A.J. ate a few. He was very sick afterwards and next day was quite ill. When his mother, my Auntie Bella learned what we had been up to she gave each of us the sort of dressing down we deserved! Never again did we descend to the level of thieves.<br />
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<strong>(vii) Walking</strong><br />
I loved 'going for a walk'. This was inherited from our parents and began when Sis and I were small children. Every Sunday and often on a Saturday afternoon we would set out as a family and walk into the country: up past Torbreck school to Gollanfield and Braickley Cemetery to read the amusing inscriptions on some of the headstones: To the Ardersier Cemetery to attend the family grave; to the Carse wood, the Deacon's wood on the Nairn road, the 'Crow woodie' down in the Carse, the Primrose Hill (to which Mum loved to go on Easter Sunday after Church so that we might roll our hard boiled and beautifully decorated eggs and have a picnic). But this custom was not uncommon. On our walks we would usually meet other families enjoying God's creations in the same way.<br />
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Sadly our cousins were not allowed out on Sunday afternoons their father being an elder in the Free Church. They had to remain indoors and read 'good' books.<br />
<br />
I remember on one of our Sunday Afternoon walks we had gone only as far as Viewhill Farm on the Gollanfield road when Dad decided we must turn back as there was a storm coming. How right he was. The sky became black, thunder rolled, lightening flashed and by the time we reached 113 we were soaked by the heavy rain. I had never seen rain like it! The year was 1924. Dad filled sacks with sandy soil and placed then as a barrier against the rain at the front door. Soon the water was running past the house several inches deep. I could sense the fear of my parents and Granddad. We survived, but next day the signs of erosion were evident<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Ardersier%20High%20Street.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/Ardersier%20High%20Street.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;" /></a> everywhere and remain to this day on the hillside of the hill on which Hillhead Farm is located. Between that hill and Cromal Hill is a farm track on the north side of which was a fine sandy cliff, where sand martins used to breed and raise their young. A large section of the cliff was washed away as it collapsed under the heavy rain storm. I remember being taken down to 'the Terrace' to see the after effects: sand right across the road and the line of the water course down towards the sea clearly marked as the stones had been washed seawards by the torrent.<br />
When we were somewhat older I well remember A.J., Isy, Sis and I setting out to walk to the Culloden Battlefield via Gollanfield and Croy. After our picnic at Culloden we set off homewards via Balloch and Petty, and refused a lift in the Ardersier Doctor's car. The total distance walked must be about 18 or 20 miles! I suppose our ages would have ranged at that time from 10 to 13 years. At Petty wood on the way home I remember having to stop and light up some Hinksmans. We were tired but 'none the worse'. our Mothers told us we were not to repeat the marathon and we never did - on foot.<br />
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<strong>(viii) Smoking!</strong><br />
Apart from my Dad, all the men I knew as a youngster, smoked, cigarettes or tobacco and not a few also chewed tobacco so it was perhaps no wonder that as we boys grew into our teens we thought we would follow their example! My old grandfather smoked at least 20 woodbines a day and had a puff or two at his pipe. So it was easy to acquire a woodbine or two. Some of my pals would even rise to the price of five woodbine - two pennies! During the summer the fishing boats lying up on the beach were splendid hiding places for many of our games, and it was in the hold of the Susan Gardner that A.J. and I with two or three other boys first tasted nicotine. We were all sick after a puff or two and to make matters worse old Granddad had noticed smoke pouring from the boat! He sounded us out and we scattered over the side of the boat and away up to the school playground where we lay hidden in the long grass until we felt safe from his anger. But of course I was severely reprimanded when I arrived home and although my mother said nothing I could see that she was very upset. That was enough for me. It was not until I had been in the Army for several years that I started to smoke. Others of my pals did occasionally have a puff but really none of us had the money to squander on cigarettes and those of us who were Scouts felt, I suppose, that we must not let our Scoutmaster down. He was very much a non-smoker.<br />
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<strong>h) Winter Activities</strong><br />
Up until I was about 12 years of age, there was scarcely a winter in which I did not have a prolonged spell of bronchial asthma. This meant that I had to stay at home most of the time in bed under doctors orders and so I did not have the opportunity of joining in many Winter Activities.<br />
However, I do remember having great pleasure with a sledge which dad had made for me out of wood from a couple of old fish boxes. The main run was down the brae (on the road leading up to Ardersier Mains Farm) past the War Memorial (now sited where the old Cookery Room used to be), over the main Gollanfield/Fort George road, down the brae past the Drill Hall right down to the 'Bridgie' at Dave Cameron's house (a brother of my grandfather) and across the shore road (called Stuart Street) on to the beach!! Another run was diagonally across the field below Hillhead Farm in the direction of Fort George. It was nothing as exciting as the one down past the drill hall but was convenient for those who lived in the village as opposed to the Fishertown and 'the Crook'. The latter was the name given to the group of houses as the southern end of Ardersier (roughly from the line of the jetty southwards).<br />
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While we did not have prolonged periods of snow I do remember some very heavy falls which appeared to 'fill the garden', in other words the snow was as deep as the fence, ('palings' we called them) were high - perhaps 3/4 feet. But it did not remain for very long; the proximity of the sea ensured that the snow soon melted. However as long as it lasted sledging, snowball fights, snowmen all kept the village young people busy. Before our uncle John Ralph emigrated to New Zealand in the mid twenties, he came through from Nairn to say good-bye to some of his old Ardersier cronies. I well remember him demonstrating to me how to throw a snowball down a chimney! He chose his sister's, of course, and his throw was so accurate the snowball landed on the pan of potatoes my mother was boiling for dinner (lunch). She guessed as soon as we entered 113 who the culprit was, and did he get a 'telling off' - indeed he did! After that episode A.J. and I became quite expert at lobbing snowballs down the chimneys! But we were never caught!<br />
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There was one occasion when the sea froze! At least the water edge became ice leaving the most wonderful shapes -like ice caves, curtains, icicles all along the beach after the tide ebbed. I remember only how the beauty of the formation impressed me.<br />
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<strong>i) Hogmanay</strong><br />
Hogmanay was a time when all sorts of pranks were played especially on older folk. Much of this was inspired by my grandfather's generation and no doubt had come down from time immemorial.<br />
One ploy was to climb on to the roof of a house and stuff a pail into the 'lum' (chimney pot) to prevent the smoke from coming out in the morning when the owner lit his or her fire. Another was to tie the front door (most houses had only a front door) handle by means of a rope to the garden paling across the road - this was, and is in the older parts of the village about 8 feet wide. In the morning the owner could not get out until some neighbour or passing friend heard his or her shout for help.<br />
A refinement of this piece of devilment - (and one in which I actually indulged, egged on by my grand father!) - was, after the door was secured with the rope to attach the end of a long piece of string to the house window with a drawing pin. A weight, e.g. a nut from a bicycle, was attached to the string about a foot from the window and carefully and very quietly placed against the window pane, the long length of the string being then carried to a distant point. From there the string was pulled tight and then slackened several times. This caused a tapping on the window which in turn brought the old boy or lady to the door only to find that the door was shut fast!<br />
It was not uncommon to adopt the last mentioned refinement without having first secured the door. In such cases the poor old soul would come out to see who was tapping only to find nobody there.<br />
This ploy would be successful for two or even three tappings but eventually there would be a realisation of what was going on and at that stage the culprit would jerk his string to reclaim the drawing pin and then take to his heels pulling, if possible, his string behind him. Nowadays such antics would no doubt give rise to court appearance, punishment by the law etc. but then all looked upon it as being part of life!<br />
It was not uncommon to find, on New Year's morning, a rowing boat up beside the school or a farm cart down on the beach! I often wondered who had carried out these exploits during the hours of darkness.<br />
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<strong>(j) Christmas</strong>During my childhood and youth, Christmas Day was a normal working day (except when it fell on a Sunday or Saturday). In other words it was not the custom to celebrate Christmas as we do now. Our Mum, however, was always enthusiastic regarding Christmas. We wrote letters to Santa Claus and actually posted them) at the village post office. On going to bed a glass of milk and a biscuit were laid out for Santa - and by morning the empty glass remained as evidence that Santa had indeed been thirsty. Stockings were hung up and on wakening we found them full of good things: in the toe there was always an orange an apple and a real sixpence, chocolate bars, sweets, toffee, a tooter sometimes, a mouth organ once, and novelties of various kinds. And beneath the stocking would be standing a mysterious parcel which had to be unwrapped - this contained the one present Santa had been asked to bring. I must say I once asked for a Hornby Train set - having seen one in the 'Cave' in a large store (now House of Fraser) in Union Street, Inverness. On that Christmas morning there was a note telling me that Santa had run out of Hornbys but if I hung up my stocking at Hogmanay when we were to be with Auntie Elsie in Nairn my train Set might be there. And it was! Disappointment was followed by Great joy! The clockwork engine pulled three passenger coaches and a goods wagon around a rail circuit which must have been all of two feet (66 cm) in diameter. Wasn't I proud!. That train set gave me pleasure for many years and instilled in me the interest in model railways which, in due course, came to fruition when it fell to me to ensure that Santa Claus complied with Iain's request to him for a Hornby Doublo for Christmas. It is well known that Fathers usually derive as much enjoyment from a son's toys as the boy himself does. How true!<br />
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<strong>(k) Drama and Dance</strong><br />
In my mid-teens, I suppose it was, I became interested in amateur dramatics and in learning ball room dancing! Accordingly I joined the village amateur dramatic society and in due course found myself playing the 'Shilling-a-week Man' in the play of that name. That production ran for three nights in the War Memorial Hall and proved to be completely acceptable to the audiences who attended. Full houses each night encouraged the Club members greatly - I do not however remember taking part in any other production.<br />
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Classes in ball room dancing were commenced by an 'old' gentleman from Inverness and those of us who joined were instructed in Fox-trot, Quick step, Waltz, Eight-some reel and Quadrille! I still remember his voice calling out 'slow, slow, quick, quick, slow'! I remained a member of the class for a whole winter.</div>
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<b>Click Mouse here to go to</b><strong style="color: #cc0000;"> <a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-1_23.html">Chapter 11</a></strong><strong style="color: #cc0000;"> >>>>>>></strong></div>
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Iain Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397274617360739298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20436198.post-1136630432074553242005-12-23T10:36:00.000+00:002016-01-05T14:28:15.078+00:00Memoirs of a Fisherman's Son - Part 1, Chapter 11<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><span style="color: #009900; font-size: 130%;">Chapter XI<br /><br />Law Apprenticeship in Inverness</span></strong><br />
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<strong>a) The Office</strong><br />
Towards the end of October 1935 I entered the offices of Davidson Scott & Co. Solicitors, 42 Union Street but was quite unprepared for the transition from sixth-form to 'dog's body' with a legal firm. I had my eyes opened on to 'the real world'.<br />
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There were two partners in the firm: Donald Henry Macdonald, B.L., Solicitor and Notary Public and his junior John MacBean, also Solicitor and Notary Public. 'D.H' as he was affectionately called had succeeded to his father's business and was (I was told by staff members) 'the one with the money'. He dealt mainly with Conveyancing, Estate work, being factor for several estates, Income Tax, Trusts and Executries and he was session clerk for Marriages for the town of Inverness. (of that later). John MacBean was the Court partner although he did of course deal with some other aspects of the work. For the purposes of my training 'D.H' was my 'Master' and a good one he was.<br />
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On arrival I was placed under the immediate supervision of Miss Robertson the Cashier and introduced to the office boy, George Barclay with whom I was to share the public office. That office had a counter separating us from members of the public who called for one reason or another. Many's a time I was glad the counter was there for many of our erstwhile clients arrived in 'high dudgeon' about one thing or another. George and I also had to operate the telephone exchange putting callers through to either partner or cashier or, sometimes, the typing room. In the latter five or six young ladies sat at typewriters thumping out letters, deeds, summonses etc. In those days short-hand was the order of the day and even I realised how valuable it could be so one winter I spent painfully slogging away at Pitmans under the tuition of Miss Wylie in the village : two sessions each week at 1/- per session - but I'm afraid I had to give up as I lost interest.<br />
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<strong>b) Marriage Lines</strong><br />
Because D.H. was Session Clerk for Marriages anyone in Inverness who wished to have his or her Banns called in church had to report to me! A special form giving name in full, address, occupation and status (e.g. single, widow etc.) of each of the parties had to be filled in and signed by at least one of them. The charge was 2/6d of which 1/-(one shilling) went to the Minister of the church where the Banns were to be called and 1/6d went to D.S & Co. The completed form together with another called the 'Certificate of Banns' I had to dispatch to the Minister.<br />
After calling on the Sunday and in cases where the Minister knew neither party personally the succeeding Sunday also, he returned the forms to D.S. & Co. having signed the Certificate of Banns. This was to be available to the persons concerned on and after the next Tuesday. Thereafter the wedding proceeded via George MacBean (John's Cousin) who was Registrar and the Minister who was to conduct the wedding ceremony.<br />
<br />
On one occasion soon after I started work there appeared at the counter two well known Inverness characters - 'rag and bone merchants' - Margaret and John - who had for 40 years lived in a tent up in the Leachkin, near Craig Dunain. George of course knew them as he lived near the hospital there. We both knew them as being husband and wife as did everyone else in Inverness. John was dressed in a beautiful blue serge suit complete with his war medals, white shirt and blue tie, Margaret was dressed as if going to church or wedding. On being asked by me how I could help John announced that they wanted to be married in the Old Parish Church and the Minister (Donald MacLeod, I think) was to cry them next Sunday. 'But', George interjected 'I thought you were already married'. 'No', said John 'but we have been living together for at least 40 years. God has not blessed us with children but we were reading in the old book what he did for Sarah and Abraham when they were old and we have decided that if we got Donald MacLeod to marry us properly the Good Lord may yet bless us in the same way.'<br />
(See Chapters 16 and 21 of the Book of Genesis). At that time they were in their 70's.<br />
<br />
<strong>c) Aliment</strong>The first Friday I was in the office the Cashier sent me to the Post Office to buy 17 postal orders each for 7/6d. On my return she told me to charge them all to the account of one of our clients who happened to be well known to me. I was then to hand the Postal Orders to one of the typists. I discovered that she had 17 letters each addressed to a different lady and that the Postal Order was to cover the aliment due by our client in respect of each of his illegitimate children. I could hardly believe my ears! As it happened that very forenoon Mr MacBean had sent me up to the Sheriff Clerk's office in the Castle with what were called Defences in an action raised by a young lady against our said client for aliment for yet another bastard. By the time I left D.S. & Co. in 1938 no less than 21 postal orders were being sent out each week all to different ladies but all paid for by the same client!<br />
<br />
<strong>d) Wild Goose Chase</strong><br />
As part of my initiation into the law I became the victim of a custom practised on all law apprentices. D.H., bless his dear soul, sent me to the Faculty Library to borrow the book 'Burns on Forest Fires'. I was already aware of a large tome entitled 'Burns on Conveyancing' which was in regular use in the office. So off I went! The library assistant said it had already been borrowed and I should go to MacAndrew and Jenkins and ask them for it. They told me it had been borrowed by another firm so off I sped --- and so I walked from law office to law office seeking this wretched book and being told the same story in each of them. Eventually, after I had walked all round town an old law clerk told to me to go back to my own office and tell my boss that the book was now out of print. On my return D.H. had a good laugh and assured me that now every law office in Inverness would know that D.S & Co. had a new apprentice!<br />
<br />
<strong>e) Rent Collection</strong>D.H. was a comparatively young man being when I first knew him about 35 years of age. Sadly he had been struck by infantile paralysis at the age of 32 years and was much crippled. It was pathetic to see him pull himself up the stairs to the first floor office - but he never wanted any help. I grew to like and admire him greatly and certainly he made sure that I had a good grounding in the work of his office before departing for Edinburgh.<br />
<br />
At term time Whitsunday and Martimus (15th May and 11th November respectively) he would take me to assist with the out of office rent collections. What a thrill it was to travel in a sunbeam Talbot ("the Rolls Royce of small cars, Alex") as he was a very competent driver. One collection took place at the Balintore Arms Hotel and this I use to illustrate the procedure. The time and place of the rent collection having been advertised in advance farmers and tenants called at the hotel from 10 am onwards. I was seated in the lounge with cash box and 'rent roll'. Rents ( and feu duties) ranged from 10/- (ten shillings) per half year to £750 depending on the size of the area of land occupied by the tenant. As each paid his or her rent I receipted the rent book and marked 'paid' on the rent roll. Thereafter the tenant proceeded to join 'D.H' seated at a sideboard from which he dispensed large noggins of whisky - no matter what the level of rent was everybody was treated alike. By lunch time the lounge was a place of much lively chatter and merriment. However at 1 pm the landlord came in and announced that the Factor's dinner was ready. At this all departed and D.H. by this time in very happy mood, and I resorted to the dining room. I, well remember after my first lunch in the Balintore Arms D.H. persuaded me to have an aperitif - a creme de menthe. I did; and for the first time in my life tasted alcohol. Yes, I did like it!<br />
<br />
The afternoon was always less busy and by 3.30 p.m. we were on the road back to Inverness. The rent cash was always checked by Miss Robertson first thing the next morning before entering it in her Cash Book and despatching me to the bank with the money and a pay in slip.<br />
<br />
<strong>f) A real highland funeral</strong><br />
One of our clients the late Colonel Cuthbert of Badcall and Scourie was a fascinating character. Sadly he lost his life by drowning when trying to rescue a sheep which had fallen into a burn up at Badcall in North West Scotland. In his Will he had decreed that on his death a barrel of his whisky was to be taken from the store in Glenmorangie Distillery and set up in the library of Badcall House. All his farmers and tenants were to be invited to the funeral, at which they were to wear their hats, he was to be buried at the bottom of his garden and a large stone already there was to be set up and suitably inscribed. After the burial all were to be invited to resort to the library in order to partake of his hospitality in the shape of good Glenmorangie. Whatever whisky remained was to be bottled and sent to Aberdeen Royal Infirmary, Inverness Royal Infirmary, Golspie Cottage Hospital and Ross Memorial at Dingwall.<br />
<br />
What excitement all this caused in the office but in the end everything was accomplished as Colonel Cuthbert had wished. Never was there a funeral like it!<br />
<br />
The distillery people bottled the whisky that remained and sent it to each of the four hospitals. Each carton contained 12 bottles. From three hospitals we received suitable acknowledgement - but from Aberdeen we received one telling us not only of their pleasure at receiving such an unexpected gift but informing us that their records showed that during the whole of the previous ten years Aberdeen had used only one table-spoon of Whisky for medicinal purposes! The Trustees were to be assured that the gift from Colonel Cuthbert would be put to good use in the immediate future by the medical staff even if not for medicinal purposes! I should perhaps add that Badcall House is now the Edrachallis Hotel (a few miles south of Scourie) and that you can still see the grave stone if you care to call as I did recently! The Hotel Manager knew nothing of the story of the grave in the hotel grounds but was suitably enlightened!.<br />
<br />
<strong>g) More on Banns</strong>Another true story concerning banns may be of interest. A somewhat bedraggled lady and a very pregnant young girl of perhaps 18 years of age appeared at the counter one day. Mother and daughter. The lassie was not allowed to open her mouth. Mother told me they wanted the banns cried in the West Kirk where the Rev. Alexander Boyd was minister. In reply to my question 'and the boy will be a bachelor of course' the Mother said 'Oh no the laddy's only 21'. When I reached the question: 'And your daughter will be a spinster?' Mother assured me that her lassie was no spinster she was a tailoress!!<br />
<br />
<strong>h) Small Debt Actions</strong>The firm were Law Agents for H.M. Postmaster General and as such we had to initiate many summonses in the Small Debt Court against folk who had failed to pay their telephone accounts. Well do I remember the crave by 'The Rt. Hon. Thomas MacKay Cooper K.C., M.P., His Majesty's Lord Advocate, for and on behalf of His Majesty's Postmaster General'. How many Small Debt Summonses I have completed (all in long hand) in that form: such Summonses were used only in action for recovery of sums of £20 or less. But £20 was a lot of money in those days.<br />
<br />
On one occasion we were asked to write to one, who was already a client, informing him that his telephone account for the previous quarter amounted to the incredible sum of £750 and asking whether he could explain this before the actual account was sent out. It transpired that he and his wife had decided a few months before this to employ a maid/baby minder. The young lady's boy friend had emigrated to New York. He had given her the telephone number of the Y.M.C.A. Hostel in which he was staying and told her to phone him every Thursday night (when the employers were away out) at 9 p.m. She complied with this request and had many long telephone conversations with her boy friend without knowing what the cost of a transatlantic call was! In the circumstances the telephone people agreed with D.H. to charge only one half of the true cost. And, gladly, the young lady concerned kept her job but was banned from using the telephone. The telephone exchange operators were advised of the situation so that they could refuse to put through calls to the Y.M.C.A. in New York!<br />
<br />
Other small debt actions were for the recovery of arrears of rent, tradesmen's accounts for work done, aliment for illegitimate babies, groceries supplied 'on tick' by a trusting shop keeper, even window cleaning and so on. In passing I might mention that the office window cleaner was also a client and it was surprising how so many other firms in Inverness delayed paying him until a small debt summons arrived in their office. He told be he had been a navy stoker in World War I, had no other training and when he came out of the Navy decided to try window cleaning. His business prospered and when I knew him he was cleaning most of the office and shops windows in the centre of the town - and he had £30,000 in the Bank!<br />
<br />
<strong>i) Other Actions</strong>There were of course many other court cases arising from contracting activities of clients, boundary disputes, bankruptcies, breach of promise of marriage, indeed an endless variety. John MacBean was forever having to prepare Initial Writs or Defences and I must say I really enjoyed my trips to the Castle with these important documents and it has to be said that in D.S. & Co. I received a sound grounding in every form of Sheriff Court Action before ever I found myself in Edinburgh more concerned with Court of Session actions than the Sheriff Court.<br />
<br />
There were no planning acts as such in those days but the Dean of Guild Court had to approve all new building proposals or major alterations and so I became expert in such cases. However as an apprentice I was not allowed to speak in this Court - a similar rule applied up in the Castle. There came a day when dear John was not available to attend the Dean of Guild Court when a particular case 'called'. D.H. suggested to me I should stand up and say, all that was required, namely 'I move for Decree my Lord'. I did this but the old Dean questioned the Clerk as to my right to appear, and announced that he was not having apprentices in his court. John MacBean would have to appear next month. Sitting beside me was a well know Inverness Solicitor, D.H. MacNeil ( a true Scottish Nationalist who came to write 'The Scottish Constitution' in later years) He rose to his feet and declared in his authoritarian voice that the law of Scotland did not require a Law Agent to move for Decree or conduct a case in the Dean's Court: the petitioner himself or a friend could appear and speak. And so thanks to Mr MacNeill I made the motion and the old Dean muttered 'Granted'.<br />
<br />
<strong>j) Accountancy and Income Tax</strong>In order to be admitted as a Law Agent in those days it was essential that one passed the Trust Account and Income Tax examination, whatever other legal subjects one might do at University. I was advised by D.H. to take the correspondence course in that subject offered by the School of Accountancy in Glasgow and I did. With the practical work arising within the office, of which Miss Robertson made sure I had my fair share, I gained experience in the preparation of Trust and Executory Accounts, Estate accounts, Investment Valuations as well as the operation of the cash book and ledgers. In addition the helpfulness of the Inspector of Taxes and his staff on the floor above D.S. & Co. was invaluable: so much so that I became known as our office expert in Income Tax. Before I ever went to Edinburgh in 1938 I had passed my Book keeping. Trust and Income Tax examinations.<br />
<br />
One of the less well known tax allowances I learnt about 'upstairs' was one which enabled land owners to claim tax relief on remedial expenditure on land and buildings. Even 'the boss' did not know until I told him. He directed my attention to the substantial expenditure being incurred yearly by the owner of the Poolewe estate, Mrs Sawyer. The rule was that an owner could claim on the average expenditure over the preceding seven years but could not take into account any costs incurred prior to the commencement of that period. So the appropriate claims were submitted to my Income Tax friends and the welcome sum of £450 was refunded. Mrs Sawyer was delighted and with the agreement of D.H. she presented me with the equivalent of 20 weeks wages - namely £5. Yes my 'salary 'was 5/-(five shillings) per week!<br />
<br />
<strong>k) Wills</strong><br />
Normally when a client made a will it was placed in the safe and remained there until he or she died. But a few of the clients were forever adding codicils or changing their wills. The partners did not, of course, discourage this for it all brought in fees. One client and his wife could write only letters of the alphabet and when signing any document had to have his or her name spelt out letter by letter! The husband had risen from the collection and sale of rags, bones, bottles etc. to become a horse-dealer and fish salesman. As a result they had acquired a considerable fortune and lived in a splendid house on the west bank of the River Ness looking over the river towards the town.<br />
<br />
<br />
Every month or so one or other of them decided to alter his or her will a job at which I became quite skilled! They would not come to the office for the signing and in due course it was remitted to George Barclay, the office boy, and me to attend upon then in their lavishly furnished home in order to have the necessary signature appended and then witnessed by the two of us. I remember being very much impressed by the ground floor room door knobs. They looked like huge rubies and the lady of the house assured me they were! But I did not believe that!<br />
<br />
<strong>l) Caught red-handed</strong>When elderly clients who had lived alone, died it was customary for the apprentice to be sent to collect all the valuables he could find in the house in order to have them valued for death duty purposes. On one occasion I proceeded to a house in Ardross Street with the office 'weekend case'. Leaving the wooden front door open I closed and locked the inner glass door and placed my small case open on the hall table. Whatever I found in each room, e.g. earrings, pearl necklaces, gold watches, rings, brooches, and such like I took and placed in the case. I may say that on such visits one often came across love letters especially in the homes of single ladies whose sweethearts had been killed in the Great War. Perhaps it is not surprising that a teenager should have a glance or two at such romantic epistles!<br />
But back to the hall table: I had placed my last collection of jewellery from the deceased's bedroom when suddenly I became aware of a figure outside the glass door - a police man! Before I could even unlock the door he had blown his whistle and soon was joined by his colleague. 'Caught you red handed boy' said the older bobby 'what do you think you're up to?'. I told them but I ended up being marched between two tall police men one carrying the case of valuables, across the bridge, down Church street, along Union Street and up the stairs to the office. I led them straight into D.H's room! What a surprise he got! However he thanked the police for bringing me and the valuables safely home. After that I always told the police when I was to be on the same ploy: and they were most helpful.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>m) Groceries and Tradesmen's Accounts</strong>One of our unmarried wealthy clients had an overdraft of £30,000 from the North of Scotland Bank, a mistress comfortably seated in a nice house 'across' the river and a half yearly grocery account which was never less than £750 all incurred in one shop, Gillanders the delicatessen shop in Queensgate. I never ceased all the time I was with D.S. & Co. to marvel at the amount of debt so called wealthy clients had outstanding to the Banks or to other lenders. In those days before Mortgages were introduced from England the usual way of obtaining a loan was for the borrower if he owned heritable property to grant a Bond and Disposition in Security. This deed conveyed the property to the lender, specified the amount of the loan, the method of repayment and the interest payable. The latter was usually payable half yearly at the Whitsunday and Martimas term and we had a special type of cash book in which were shown the various lenders, rate of interest, period of loan and amount collected at each term. Some of the loans had ben granted many years before I joined D.S. & Co., indeed some had been in being since before the 1914 war with never a rise or fall in the interest rate. Inflation was unheard of - a tupenny bar of chocolate cost exactly that until World War II and an influx of American dollars via the yanks knocked the Pound Sterling 'for six'.<br />
<br />
Accounts incurred by our property owning clients for work done by Tradesmen such as Slaters, Plumbers, Saddlers, Painters, Joiners, Wood Merchants, Glaziers and other were usually rendered half yearly at the two terms mentioned earlier.<br />
The first November I was with DS. & Co. Miss Robertson handed me a bundle of such accounts along with cheques for the payments due and instructed me to go to all the tradesmen concerned, hand over the cheques and obtain receipts. Some of the cheques were for several hundreds of pounds and this made me feel very important! To my complete astonishment after I had handed over the slater's cheque and he had receipted the account pertaining to each client for whom he had carried out work, he handed me a five pound note with the words 'and that is for you'. I could hardly believe it! This was known as 'discount' and each trader gave me the appropriate discount. When I returned to the cash room I handed all this discount - a fair sum of money - about £50 - to Miss Roberson she gave me £5 to hand to my mother and said the remainder would be used for the benefit of the staff at Christmas time. In due course each of us did, indeed, receive a nice Christmas box in addition to the bonus given by the partners; in my case another £5! Remember that represented 20 weeks salary for me. One could buy a three speed bicycle with that amount of money.<br />
<br />
The apprenticeship privilege of delivering cheques to tradesmen remained with me until I eventually went to Edinburgh in September 1938. So each term time was looked forward to eagerly.<br />
<br />
<strong>n) Bunting and Champagne</strong>In May 1937 George VI who had succeeded to the thrown on the abdication of his brother Edward VIII (better known as the Duke of Windsor) was crowned King in Westminster Abbey. He and his Scottish wife Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon had gained great popularity among ordinary people and celebrations of all kinds were set in motion. So far as D.S. & Co. were concerned we were to have bunting draped from window to window above Union Street - and who had the job of doing it - no not our window cleaner but George Barclay and myself! I think we enjoyed ourselves although neither of us had a head for heights and in order to sling the bunting properly it was necessary for each of us to get out (through a window) on to the ledge some two feet below the window sills! The end result was praised by the two partners and the girls. On the day of the actual coronation 12th May -we were all invited to join D.H. in his room where he had a waiter from the Highland Club in attendance and we were all handed a glass of champagne the first I had ever tasted -and together toasted the new King and Queen. The afternoon was declared a half holiday so off I set towards Ardersier on my bicycle. The effects of the alcohol had, by this time, taken effect and I bowled along with the south west wind behind me and singing at the at the top of my voice! On reaching home my dear Mum wondered what on earth had come over her son. I think I slept for the rest of the day and next morning was told of the dangers of alcohol.<br />
<br />
<strong>o) And so to Edinburgh</strong>In the summer of 1938 D.H. and John MacBean each made contact with firms in Edinburgh with a view to having my apprenticeship transferred so that I could commence study for the Bachelor of Law Degree at Edinburgh University. My application to Inverness County Council had resulted in a bursary of £30 per annum being awarded for a period of three years. John succeeded in securing a transfer for me to Kinmont and Maxwell, W.S. 11 Coats Crescent, Edinburgh the firm where he had 'served his time'. And so all was set for 'wee Alex' to commence with 'K & M' in the third week of September and to matriculate at Edinburgh University the first week of October.<br />
How exciting it was for my mother and Dad too although he was in Yarmouth. The 'old man' too was of course greatly moved at the prospect of his only grand son setting out on a course at University and becoming a solicitor.<br />
<br />
My mother saw to it that I was properly 'kitted out', she took me to the 'Fifty Shilling Taylors' in Inverness High Street but decided that suits at that price were not good enough for her boy and so a three guinea suit was ordered. I was there and then measured for my suit, the cloth was chosen, and I was told there would be three fittings. At the same time a heavy Harris tweed jacket and a pair of Oxford bags (flared trousers) were bought. My mother had been told that in Edinburgh all law apprentices wore bowler hats - so I had to have one. Three fittings of the suit there certainly were before the tailor was satisfied with the fit and I was allowed to take it home.<br />
<br />
The day of my departure from D.S. & Co. Miss Robertson sent me out to say 'Good-bye' to all my tradesmen friends and the special 'discounts' handed to me by each of them were mine to keep. Quite a handsome going away gift! I remember feeling very sad at leaving all those who had been my friends and colleagues for almost three years for I had no idea what awaited me in Edinburgh. And now I can look back over the years and feel only gratitude for the comprehensive training given by D.H and John.<br />
<br />
My departure from Ardersier where I had been born and brought up was not without some sadness as you would expect. Our Minister Reverend Campbell MacQueen Macleroy who had been my guide and mentor for the previous five years and who had admitted me to membership of the church the previous year, was however a source of inspiration and great encouragement. He was widely travelled, and had been a Y.M.C.A. chaplain during World War I, been Minister of the Scots Kirk in Prague for some years and was devoted to the well being of young folk. He gave me an insight into life as an undergraduate and from his talks I gained the confidence to take this big step in my life with courage. From his Young People's Circle of which I was a member I received a going away gift of a Bible suitably inscribed. I still have it after many years of use.<br />
<br />
My dear Scoutmaster, Tom White and my fellow Scouts gave me a farewell party in the garrison theatre at the Fort. By that time I was assistant Scoutmaster and Treasurer of the troop and naturally it was with a heavy heart that I had to leave my comrades. I think Tom's chief worry was that the cricket team was losing its opening bat 'stone waller Alex' as I was known. How many bowlers' hearts I had broken with my straight bat!<br />
<br />
It was easy to leave the amateur dramatic group as they were forever losing players. But they did give me a send off with a pie, sandwiches and cake tea party and a moving speech by our President.<br />
<br />
All my friends in the village knew that one day wee Alex would do as so many Highland boys did 'in order to better themselves' and go south. My mother saw to it that I called at every home where I had a friend and said 'good bye' to all in the house. It was a very moving experience which left its mark on me as the realisation dawned that so many friends in Ardersier really did wish me well.<br />
<br />
Leaving the old home, with all its memories, the knowledge of the love of my parents and sister as well as old Grand dad who had so often called me a wee so and so, my pigeons (reduced by this time from 40 fantails to a pair), our dog and cat and the familiar pattern of life in 113, all gave cause for mild heart rending. But determined I was not to let down the parents - the best in the world - who had scrimped and saved to see their boy better himself.<br />
<br />
Before leaving D.S. & Co. my boss had indicated to me that after graduating and being admitted as a Law Agent he would like me to come back to the firm. So I was to be away, I thought for only three years - the period of the B.L. Course. How little I knew!!<br />
<br />
At Inverness station before the train departed for Edinburgh my dear Mum gave me her blessing and asked me ever 'to trust in God and do the right'. That injunction has carried me through life.</div>
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<b>Click mouse here to go to </b><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-2.html" style="color: #cc6600; font-weight: bold;">Chapter 12</a></div>
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Iain Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397274617360739298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20436198.post-1136630778072249392005-12-22T10:43:00.000+00:002016-01-05T14:29:32.977+00:00Memoirs of a Fisherman's Son - Part 2, Chapter 12<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><strong>Chapter XII</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><strong>Edinburgh</strong></span><br />
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<strong>a) Arrival</strong><br />
On arriving at Princes Street Station in Edinburgh I proceeded with my bowler hat on my head (nowhere else to put it) my suitcase of clothes in my right hand, and sports bag (containing mainly cricket and tennis gear) in the other to climb towards Princes Street and the No. 9 tram which would take me to <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Sis%20at%20Ross%20Fountain%201939.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/Sis%20at%20Ross%20Fountain%201939.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;" /></a>Bruntsfield where my landlady Mrs Jess MacKenzie lived. The wind in the Waverly steps was gusting at least force six and as I was almost at the top the wind took off my bowler hat and carried it over trams, cars and the Woolworth building (2 storey high) out of my sight to an unknown destination. I made no effort to retrieve it - how could I encumbered with two cases and knowing nothing of the geography of Edinburgh?<br />
Having stepped inside the first No. 9 tram that came along I sat downstairs, paid my fair of 1 penny and admired the wonders of Princes Street marvelling at the large numbers of folk who were walking on the pavements and in gardens. What did they all do for a living? The tram turned left at St. John's Church at the west end of Princes Street and proceeded up Lothian Road. The conductor told me where to get off for Bruntsfield Avenue. When I reached No. 10 it was to find that I had to pull a brass knob marked 'Mackenzie' - thereupon the main or front door opened (of its own accord?) and I entered. High above me I heard the welcoming voice of her who was to become my second mother - Jess Mackenzie. To reach her flat one had to climb 78 steps - the highest I had ever been!<br />
<br />
Immediately I was made to feel at home. Her daughter Isobel 14 years old and son Ian 12 were of course known to me as they used to come up to Ardersier to holiday with their grandparents Mrs MacKenzie's father and mother. Because there were two other lodgers in the four bedroom flat the front or sitting room had been allotted to the new lodger. This was the biggest room in the flat with fine furniture including a bed settee for the lodger. Yes. it was very comfortable. The other two lodgers one a Civil Servant (name of Sibbald) and the other a hair dresser (Jean was her name) had chosen to have their meals in their respective rooms but I decided I would dine with the family in the kitchen. And so commenced a year of hard work and great happiness.<br />
<br />
I soon became the chief dish dryer! Mrs MacKenzie was a fine cook and baked scones, cakes, cream sponges to make one's mouth water. Sibbald and Jean had their meals taken in to them on trays. Ian did one, Isabel the other. The bathroom was allocated on a strict time basis: Sibbald at 7.30 am, Jean at 7.45 am and myself at 8.00 am. During the whole year that I lived in that home I never saw once either of the other lodgers. Strange but true. Their names were constantly mentioned, naturally, as they formed part of the menage but they truly 'kept themselves to themselves'. For board and lodging I had to pay £1-5/-(One pound and five shillings) per week and 2/6d (half a crown) for laundry. Apart from my bursary of £30 my salary with the Edinburgh firm was to be 10/- (ten shillings) per week. Most of the bursary money would be taken up with matriculation and class and examination fees in addition to which the prescribed text books, note books and such like would have to be paid for? What faith we had in those days!<br />
<br />
<strong>b) Palmerston Place Church</strong>I had arrived on a Saturday and Mrs Mackenzie invited me to attend her church which was nearby. I did this but found the minister very dull after my beloved Mr Maceleroy. So I was told that the place for me was Palmerston Place Church where the Minister was Rev. William C. MacDonald M.A. and that I should go there that evening. On arrival at this large church in the West End I decided to go up into the balcony. At the top of the winding stair case a red haired tall young man of my own age invited me to help him to hand <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Palmerston%20Place%20Church.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/Palmerston%20Place%20Church.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;" /></a>out the hymn books of which there seemed to be hundreds piled up against the walls. Never had I seen so many people, mostly of student age enter the portals of a church. How they were seated I had no idea but when the number of hymn books had diminished to a dozen or so Bill Peat (by this time I knew his name!) told me we had better go inside and 'pack them in'. I had no idea what I was in for but there as we entered was a sea of faces before me! There was little option but to do as Bill had asked me and by the time we ourselves had to sit down there was room only on the balcony steps. What an uplifting experience that was. As I had thought most of the congregation that evening, and as I was to find out later every Sunday evening, the church was packed with students eager to hear Willie MacDonald preach. The singing 'raised the roof' and during the sermon you could hear the proverbial pin drop. Remember we were living in the age when the German Jack Boot was tramping across Europe, Hitler was shouting his obscenities over the radio, Jewish people were being terrorised and many arrived in Britain telling of the obscenities already being perpetrated by the Nazis. Willie MacDonald had been a student of that great theologian Karl Barth in Switzerland. Barth had held Professorship at Gottigen and Bonn and his influence was such that he changed the whole outlook of Protestant theology on the Continent. He stressed the absolute difference between God and man, man's inherent inability to solve his own problems and his complete dependence on revelation and grace offered to man in the person of Jesus Christ. This was what Willie preached in sermon after sermon and in the most acceptable manner. No wonder young folk came from all over Edinburgh to hear his sermons. Having joined the Church in Ardersier I decided that evening to 'transfer my lines to Palmerston Place and soon was a member there. I also joined the young Men's Guild in which we had 70 or so members - at that time all pacifists! Meetings largely took the form of debates or talks by visiting 'experts' or members themselves. I had the privilege of reading a paper on the subject of Crime and Punishment - reading it some 50 years later I found that my views had changed little although my style of presentation had. Another subject on which I made the motion and therefore spoke at length was the 'Iniquitous Disparity between the income levels of miners and fishermen and the professional classes!' I remember arguing that Miners and Fisherman should have a guaranteed wage of £1,000 per annum! The motion was carried. One of our members was the Rev Stanley Mair the Assistant Minister. He had a voice like a trumpet and it was a joy to listen to him making a point. Some time after this a number of us persuaded him to speak at the Mound when in those days speakers on all manner of subjects from socialism to atheism 'spouted forth' on a Sunday evening. We persuaded the Church of Scotland to let us have their soap box which was agreed on condition that it was returned to St. Cuthbert's Church after use. When we arrived the Minister for that evening seemed to be glad to hand over to Stanley. No wonder - the noise of speakers shouting was horrendous. Standing mounted on the box, he took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, took off his red tie and literally 'bellowed' at the crowds gathered round the other speakers. So loud was his voice and so compelling his words that very soon he was surrounded by folk who had even given up listening to the others at the Mound: Even the Salvation Army Band ceased playing in order to hear this - new voice. From then on Stanley Mair's oratory could be heard at the Mound regularly, indeed he became one of the 'star' speakers on a Sunday evening until the forthcoming conflict saw him like the rest of us away on active service.<br />
<br />
<strong>c) Kinimont & Maxwell, W.S.</strong><br />
On the Monday following my arrival in Edinburgh I reported to my new office at No. 11 Coats Crescent, Edinburgh. Mrs MacKenzie had told me how to get there and as it was quite near Palmerston Place I had a preview on the Sunday evening noting carefully that it would take me 20 minutes to walk along Shandwick Place and up Lothain Road, Earl Grey street and Bruntsfield Road to my lodgings. Downhill would be achieved in less time. So, as the tram fare to the West End was one penny I decided to walk to the office. I was wearing my three guinea suit when I arrived and was led to the office of Robert W. Martin, W.S. the junior partner. He gave me a warm welcome and asked the Managing Clerk a comparatively young man, Duncan Livingstone MacDonald, Solicitor, to come and meet the new apprentice. This he did very warmly and then took me to meet the Cashier, her staff and then the typists. Eventually I was guided into the apprentices' room. There were three others and to my great embarrassment all were wearing tatty old jackets and flannel trousers! You can imagine how I felt all dressed up as I was in my fine new suit. At lunch time I walked home and changed into informal clothes, even so my new tweed jacket and flannels 'stood out a mile' compared to the others with whom I was to work. The Dickensian desk at which we sat on high stools made me wish I was back at my 'proper' desk in Inverness. However one can get accustomed to most things in life and so it was here.<br />
<br />
I was allotted work relating to several Executries and Trusts and was taken aback by the values. In Inverness we had dealt with tens of thousands with the occasional six figure estates but here all I had before me were for six figure sums. The K & M clients must be very wealthy! As indeed most of them were. Two of the other apprentices, Ramsay (he was always addressed by his surname) Hector Ross the son of a Hill Street publican, were in their third year of the B.L. degree while Bob Coutts from Kinross was in his second year. They all proved to be very helpful to me and Bob became a firm friend outwith office hours. The Cashier Miss Hamilton was, to me, an old lady who ruled the cash room and the typists also with the proverbial rod of iron.<br />
<br />
The senior partner of the firm was Francis Celement Nimmo Smith, W.S. who used to arrive in a chauffeur driven Rolls Royce at 10.00 am was then enclosed with Bertie (as he was affectionately called) Martin and sometimes also D.L.M. the Managing Clerk until 11.00 am or 11.30 am going, as I was told, going over the mail. Soon after his arrival the office caretaker Mrs Mackenzie a lady from Lochiver used to ascend from her basement dwelling bearing a silver tray on which she carried a silver tea service and the best china. This she took in to the boss's room. I may say it was from our dear old Mrs Mackenzie that I first tasted china tea!<br />
<br />
Soon after 11.00 am F.C.N.S. (as we called him) departed in his limousine for lunch at a golf club at a place called 'Gillane'. I was soon to discover that what the map told me was 'Gullane', in Edinburgh was pronounced in a more genteel fashion! F.C.N.S. never once in the time I was with K and M appeared in the office except to 'go over the mail' as mentioned above.<br />
<br />
After I had been in Edinburgh almost one month D.L.M. told me that the chief wanted to see me. When I entered his room he welcomed me to the firm and wished me well. He already knew all about me and my back ground and was particularly interested in the fact that I had already joined a cricket club and a tennis club in Edinburgh. He was delighted to hear that not only had I seen the Australians play the Northern Counties in Forres but had 'caught out' Don Bradman. In reply to one question I told him of my bursary and the salary being paid by his firm.<br />
He asked me how I was going to survive in Edinburgh when my outlays so far exceeded my income. I remember telling him that my parents were people of great faith! He knew of course all about the sad economic state of the fishing industry at that time. (I already knew he had shares in two fish processing companies!) 'Now' he said 'you are to tell Miss Hamilton to pay you twenty-five shillings a week in addition to your salary and that will pay for your digs'. I thanked him most humbly and on leaving his room went straight to Miss Hamilton in her glass compartment to tell her my good news. She almost had a heart attack at my effrontery. When I assured her I really was telling the truth she rushed into Nimmo's room but soon returned. She said I was a very lucky young man, I was to tell nobody of the senior partner's generosity, as I was now to be the highest paid of all the employees except the Managing Clerk, D.L.M. And so I had 10 shillings per week from which had to be deducted ten pence as my contribution to the Inverness County Benefit Society ( a sort of fore runner of the N.H.S.) leaving me with nine shillings and two pence from which my laundry bill was paid. In other words my net income for the rest of my pre-war days with K & M was 6/8d (six shillings and eight pence per week). Remember a bar of chocolate cost only tuppence and the tram from Waverley to my digs in Bruntsfield cost one penny.<br />
<br />
With K & M my work load extended to Income Tax in which I found myself being regarded as an expert (all thanks to the Civil servants in the Tax office at 42 Union Street, Inverness and the School of Accountancy), some minor conveyancing for clients buying bungalows for £300 to £500, valuation of investment portfolios for our many wealthy clients and the occasional Court of Session action. Ramsay and Hector were given the job of introducing me to Parliament House and the Court procedures followed there. I do not remember one small debt summons or any other action in the Sheriff Court: our clients were 'above that sort of thing!;.<br />
<br />
<strong>d) Edinburgh University (Pre war)</strong>Early in October 1939 I proceeded to the University -twenty five minutes walk from my digs, across the Meadows to George IV bridge, down Chambers Street and right into 'the Bridges' where the first opening on the right gave access to the beloved 'Old Quad'. I obtained my matriculation card and enrolled for the classes in Civil (otherwise Roman) Law and Jurisprudence ('science of law' no less) each being three term courses and put myself down for the class in Forensic Medicine which would commence in January and last for only two terms. Now I was all set to study law! The office, of course, recognised that Apprentices were also students who required time off to attend classes. Civil Law classes commenced at 9.00 am when an old (very old) Professor Mackintosh sat at a desk and read notes which he had first written when appointed to the Chair forty years previously! We were expected to take notes and if my writing is bad you can blame these classes. The lecture room was laid out with pews and book boards in terrace format the back row being, I'm sure, ten feet above the Professor! Because of my stature I could not hope to lean my note book on the book board provided, it was so high in relation to the seat that I could not possibly write and chose to sit on the steps with note book supported on my knees scribbling away like mad while the Prof. read his notes at a speed of about 250 words per minute. At the end of the first week a number of us asked the old boy if we could have copies of his lectures or even a précis issued to us. The answer was that this had never been done before and he was not going to start now!<br />
<br />
Like most of my fellow students I had been able to purchase, in James Thin's second hand book shop in Chambers Street, copies of <a href="http://www.fordham.edu/halsall/basis/535institutes.html"><strong>Justinian's Institutes</strong> </a>as well as those of <a href="http://www.constitution.org/sps/sps01_2-1.htm"><strong>Gaius</strong></a> at a price of 1/3d each. They were no longer being published yet they were prescribed reading. These books were set out in columnar form with the Latin text on the left and English translation on the right - thank goodness. Accordingly while at exam time one could readily answer questions in English one could also translate passages from Latin into English - assuming always that one had done the necessary work.<br />
Sadly Professor Mackintosh died early in the third term and his place was taken by the Dean of the Faculty, Professor Matthew Fisher. He simply took over his predecessor's notes and read them to us! He also decided that the degree exams would 'in the circumstances', be deferred until September. That was to give us more time for study or so he said!<br />
For jurisprudence the text book was also available in James Thin's at a cost of one shilling. Classes commenced at 1.30 p.m. and continued for no more than 40 minutes - long enough for most of us who regarded the subject as somewhat esoteric or nebulous and of no use whatsoever in the hurly burly of the Sheriff Court or so far as any of us could judge at that stage in our careers, the Court of Session. However it was a required subject for degree purposes. Many a weary evening I spent in the George IV Library trying to assimilate the mysteries of jurisprudence. I remember the professor (I think Guthrie who may have become Lord Guthrie) telling even he was not sure why the subject was mandatory - he had wondered that when a student too-his job was to lecture on it!.<br />
<br />
The classes in Forensic Medicine (when they commenced in January 1939) were held in the medical faculty premises and were attended by hoards of medical students and a fair number of law students. Classes commenced at 4.30 p.m. and usually lasted for one hour. On a number of occasions classes were convened earlier in the day or even on a Saturday morning. These were always 'practical' in the sense that there in the middle of the room on the table lay the body of someone who had very recently been murdered in some devilishly foul manner or poisoned over a long or short period of time.<br />
<br />
I omit the gruesome details of these post mortems. Suffice it to say that while the medical students would crowd around the body to see closely what the pathologist was up to many of the law students either passed out or had to leave the room. Perhaps it was good experience for what many had to experience during the war.<br />
<br />
Professor Sidney Smith had become well known at the time of the notorious <a href="http://heritage.scotsman.com/myths.cfm?id=2418212005"><strong>'Buck Ruxton'</strong> </a>murder trial and he delighted in showing us 'samples' in jars of formalin. At one time he had been in the service of the Egyptian government and had managed to solve some mysterious murders. How he delighted in relating the sordid details!<br />
You will remember that a 20 minute walk took me from my digs to the o<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/mound.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/mound.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;" /></a>ffice, a 25 minute walk took me to the old Quad and surprisingly one could walk from the Old Quad to Coates Crescent in 20 minutes . However it was recognised by all Edniburgh lawyers that their apprentice/students were entitled to drop into Mackies (or any of the other well known Coffee Shop in Edinburgh) for a coffee on the way to work after classes! And very pleasant it was to stroll down the Mound, perhaps through the Gardens and along Princes Street with one or two pals exchanging news and views about our employers and their idiosyncrasies! Very few of us could offer to pay for transport. Every penny had to be watched.<br />
Very soon I came to realise that only Advocates and QC's of the legal profession wore bowler hats.<br />
<br />
<strong>e) Leisure Activities</strong><br />
I was not long in Edinburgh before I joined tennis and cricket clubs, but by that time the playing season was nearly over. I did manage a few games of tennis in the autumn and resumed in the Spring of 1939. However Manor Cricket Club kept me busy and gave me the opportunity not only of playing in the team but of seeing something of the towns and villages outside Edinburgh. Our first away match was against a Linlithgow team whose pitch was in a lovely park beside a loch and in the shadow of the castle. My first 'hit' I remember sent the ball into the loch - that gave us six runs and another ball had to be found.<br />
<br />
During the winter months Ian Mackenzie and I used to watch <a href="http://www.heartsfc.premiumtv.co.uk/page/Home/0,,10289,00.html"><strong>Hearts football team</strong> </a>when playing at home. Ian had a great aunt who lived at the top of a tenement in Gorgie Road and she was pleased to allow us to watch games from her bedroom window - we had in effect a grandstand view without paying! These were the days when <a href="http://www.londonhearts.com/legends/walkertommy/"><strong>Tommy Walker</strong> </a>played for Hearts: he was known as the gentleman footballer and he really was the most popular player of all. He was known to be a practising Christian and this showed on and off the field. In due course (I think after the war sometime) he was to become Manager of Hearts. Local 'football derbies' between Hearts and Hibernian whether played at Gorgie Road or Easter Road were always keenly fought and never any sign of hooliganism. Ian and I used to enjoy them greatly. In passing perhaps I should mention that because of my youthful appearance (and lack of height) I never had any difficulty in gaining admission through the 'Boys' entrance: a money saver which I should say also applied at cinemas and theatres!<br />
There were many cinemas and theatres within easy walking distance of Brunstfield and with Ian and sometimes his sister Isobel I enjoyed seeing many good films and plays. The latter were usually in the <a href="http://www.gnws.co.uk/edinburgh/kings_theatre.htm"><strong>King's Theatre</strong> </a>where we used to queue up for the 'gods' paid the children's entrance fee and sat on concrete steps padded with horse-hair up near the ceiling. I was never happy up there but what could you expect for three pence! <a href="http://special.lib.gla.ac.uk/STA/artists/willis.html"><strong>Dave Willis</strong> </a>starred in his show at the Kings for several weeks that winter and everyone of his audience left singing 'Ma wee gas mask ... an aeroplane an aeroplane away way up a kye .... you'll no get in ma shelter for it's far too wee'.<br />
<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Anderson_Shelter.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/Anderson_Shelter.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;" /></a>The reference to the shelter arose from the fact that in view of the likelihood of war, (despite Mr Chamberlain's 'Peace in our time' bit of paper) the government were encouraging the people to erect an 'Anderson shelter' in their back gardens to provide shelter, if enemy bombers arrived! The shelters were made of corrugated iron pieces which when bolted together looked rather like a 6' x 6' shed. They were best sunk in a hole in the ground but if this was not possible had to be well covered with soil. They held about six folk and interior arrangements for seating, etc. were as varied as the owners!<br />
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<strong>f) Peoples' Palace</strong><br />
One of the first speakers at the Young Men's Guild in Palmerston Place during the 1938/39 session was the Missionary in charge of the People's Palace in the Cowgate of Edinburgh, namely John Lochore. We had our eyes opened that evening as he spoke of his work among the down and outs who frequented that part of Edinburgh, and the <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/People"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/People%27s%20Palace_Edinburgh%201939.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;" /></a>folk who lived in 'single-ends' with as many as twelve in a family, in what was locally called the 'Coogate'. He was supported not by any of the established churches but mainly by individuals who had been moved to used what wealth they had to bring practical Christianity to the poor and the needy. The palace comprised a hall capable of seating up to 400 at one end of which was a stage, a well stocked library, well appointed kitchen and a cafe. Mr Lochore told us of the model lodging houses, the alcoholics, the wife beaters, the poor children being brought up in the most distressing circumstances, the public houses of which four were practically adjacent to his establishment and particularly of his need for volunteers to help with Sunday morning free breakfasts for 400 people, assistance at the various concerts held in the hall on Saturday nights and the cafe where we might expect to serve pie and peas or peas and vinegar. A number of us volunteered for service including my red haired friend Bill Peat, mentioned earlier, who lived out at Morningside. And so began another phase of my education for life.<br />
On Sunday morning Bill Peat, who had already walked about two miles from his home, met me at the end of my street, at about 6.00 am, and from there we walked across the Meadows down to the Cowgate. On arrival we found that altogether Mr Lochore had nineteen volunteers (all recruited as we had been) from various church groups; most were students. Our first job was to prepare 400 'door step' sandwiches of bread and butter and corned beef. The bread was already sliced as was the corned beef.<br />
This had been done the previous day by the several bakeries and grocers who provided the food gratuitously. Sufficient water to provide 400 pint mugs of tea was already heating when we students arrived. At seven 'o'clock, on the dot the front door was opened and as each person entered he or she was given a pint mug (white enamel). The hall was soon full to capacity of men and women of all ages some of the latter with young children. Mr Lochore opened the proceedings with a blessing on 'the food we are about to receive' and invited all present to enjoy their free breakfast. Sandwiches were passed along the rows and mugs were filled from huge tea pots to which sugar and milk had already been added. If anyone wanted a second sandwich or mug of tea this was freely given. What poor souls we saw there: they had come from the nearby model lodging houses and tenements. There was one rule which each person had to recognise and that was that in exchange for a free breakfast one had to wait on for the service conducted by Mr Lochore. I never saw anyone leave prematurely. The hymn singing - good old Sankey and Moody hymns, of course - was enthusiastic enough to raise the roof. You might have been 'as tight as a puggie' the night before: that made no difference to your praise of the Almighty. Mr Lochore's sermons were always of an uplifting nature and listened to with close attention and frequent cries of 'Hallelujah'. Students who felt so inclined were given the opportunity from time to time of addressing the gathering and I had the privilege of doing so on at least one occasion! I will remember my first text (all preachers in those days began with a text! was 'Come unto me all you that labour and are heavy laden'. To my astonishment I was given a resounding cheer as I finished! But, later, others had the same experience.<br />
After breakfast came the tidying up of the hall and the cleaning and drying of utensils and the 400 or so mugs!<br />
The kitchen too was left in ship shape condition - a lady from Camely Bank whose name, sadly, I forget made it her special duty to see that 'Godliness' also meant 'cleanliness'.<br />
By 8.30 am I was back in my digs where Mrs MacKenzie had my 'full Scottish breakfast' as it is now called all ready and waiting the moment I emerged washed and shaved from the bathroom.<br />
There was a duty roster for Saturday nights at the Palace Cafe which ensured that we did not have to attend every Saturday; this gave opportunity for theatre going, dancing etc. Customers were able to buy a pie for tuppence (2d), a pie and peas for thruppence (3d), peas and vinegar on a saucer for one penny and sandwiches of the door-step kind for 3d. Tea cost one penny a cup, cocoa and Ovaltine tuppence and a bowl of soup 3d. Behind the counter we were kept busy I can assure you both in the selling of food and in cleaning up. Keeping the customers happy often had problems, espacially with any who were under the influence of alcohol.<br />
I use that word because most of our customers could not afford whisky or gin, they drank metholated spirits, liquid boot polish or brasso! It was pitiful to see so many lying in the gutter on a Saturday night but we had been told by the police never to touch any of them. Bill Peat and I once tried to stop a fellow who was repeatedly striking a woman with a stick and cursing all the time. But we were soon stopped - the lady concerned turned on us calling us all the so and so's on God's earth and warning us not to interfere between husband and wife. On future occasions we left such couples to do as they pleased!<br />
On my first duty in the cafe an old tramp pestered me to give him the trousers I was wearing but old Mr Lochore came to my rescue and saved the day for me.<br />
All the recently joined helpers were invited to go down to the Cowgate one Sunday afternoon in order to see for ourselves what a 'Model' really looked like from the inside. Again we were unprepared for what we saw. In one large room there were 12 hawser type ropes slung across the room from hooks on either side. Each was about 3 feet high at the middle (i.e. the lowest part) rising to 4 feet 6 inches at the wall. It cost one penny per night to 'sleep' by leaning on a hawser with ones arms hanging on the side away from the torso. For three pence one could sleep on a low bed made of wood with a dirty old blanket and pillow, but, for six pence a spring bed with paliasse plus blanket and pillow or simply a space on the floor similarly equipped was available. I never saw such appalling conditions ever before. Yet even in this so-called enlightened age people are sleeping rough, outside, in cardboard boxes. But the old book says "the poor you have always with you". A senior social worker speaking of his role in the community once said to me "the word 'poor' in that context means 'poor souls'. - undoubtedly he was right.<br />
Many local amateur dramatic groups and choirs used to come to the People's Palace of a Saturday evening to entertain our clientele. One such visit I well remember: the Corstorphine Ladies Choir, well known in the District for their beautiful singing offered their services to Mr Lochore who readily accepted. There were about 40 ladies in the choir so it was necessary to borrow chairs from the Pleasance (where a similar missionary organisation laboured). The chairs were set out on the stage - four rows of ten. The choir all wore beautiful white dresses. With some of my friends I was seated in the front row of the hall and when at the interval the ladies rose from their chairs and turned towards the library where they were to have tea, we were horrified to realise that the chair seats had not been cleaned and indeed must have been in a sooty environment! speak about the 'black bottom' - there were 40 of them. Mr Lochore had plenty to say to the boys who had arranged the chairs without taking steps to clean them!<br />
So, during the period from early October 1938 until June 1939 I was privileged to be associated with the People's Palace Mission. At that time there was a strong feeling among those interested in the glorious work he was doing that John Lochore should be allowed by the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland or any other competent body to use the title 'Reverend'. A good many years were to elapse before this was eventually agreed but I have no recollection of the details.<br />
<br />
<strong>g) War in the offing</strong>Wherever folk met together, even young folk, during the late 30's, their talk eventually turned to discussion about the events in Europe and the frightening demands and activities of the Nazis and their leader <strong><a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/historic_figures/hitler_adolf.shtml">L/Cpl. Adolf Hitler</a></strong>. On the wireless (not yet become 'radio') the Chancellor of Germany could be heard 'bawling and shouting like a madman', as my father said, almost every evening and if he wasn't on the Lord Hawhaw', a traitor if every there was one, delighted in telling us of the benefits of National Socialism, the need for the Germans to have 'Lebensraum, the wickedness of the capitalist nations and the evil influence which the Jews had exerted all over the world and particularly in Europe for centuries.<br />
In Edinburgh the awful facts of the situation in Germany very soon became apparent to those of my age for there was a steady influx of refugees who could tell us from personal experience of the satanic forces being nurtured within Germany and the vile treatme<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Neville%20Chamberlain.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/Neville%20Chamberlain.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;" /></a>nt being meted out to those who were not of Aryan stock. The Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, went out to meet with Hitler and came back brandishing for all the press photographers to see a bit of paper which he said that the agreement he had reached with Hitler meant that there would be <a href="http://www.britannia.com/history/docs/peacetime.html"><strong><span style="color: #990000;">'peace in our time'!</span></strong></a> If ever anyone was 'conned' old Chamberlain certainly was. I think we all knew that the black clouds over Europe would inevitably lead to war. But with my fellows in the Young Men's Guild I was a pacifist! However after many discussions in the office, in coffee shops, in the Old Quad and the Y.M.G. as well, I came to the conclusion that if my own dear Mother was to be in danger from these Nazis. I would have no alternative but to fight. My father and grandfather had been in the R.N.V.R. and I decided to try for a Commission. The University O.C.T. was fully manned: Ramsay and Hector were already members: so an army commission was ruled out. I therefore went to Evening classes in navigation and seamanship at Leith Nautical College: a pass in these subjects in June 1939 would allow me to become a sub-lieutenant. Every Tuesday and Thursday evening saw me on the tram away down to Leith where I enjoyed the classes greatly. My ambitions in this regard were dashed when the government announced that all those of my sort of age group who were not enlisted in one or other of the services by the end of March 1939 would be 'called up' and be required to serve for the whole of six months on a full time basis! This fairly set the cat among the pigeons as far as Law Apprentices were concerned. Bob Coutts and I had a meeting with old Nommo Smith. He advised us to join the Territorial Army which required only one attendance per week - a Friday evening - and two weeks at camp in the summer. Thus would our service as Apprentices be saved. I notified the Nautical College of my problem and then withdrew from the evening classes. Then one evening in March 1939 Bob and I with, it seemed to us, hundreds of other young men, gathered in the T.A. Drill hall at Grindley Street, Edinburgh and swore allegiance to King and Country , on becoming gunners in the <strong><a href="http://www.cabarfeidh.com/78th_highland_regiment.htm">78th Field Regiment R.A. (T.A.).</a></strong> Very soon we were issued with all the paraphernalia of a soldier including 'drawers woollen long, Boots, black, (Army), a housewife (called a Hussif) containing all that was required for sowing on buttons, mending tears, darning etc. a brass button stick (Used to prevent polish soiling the uniform when cleaning the brass buttons) and so on! I still have in 1995 the brush issued to me then for polishing my boots; and it is still in use.<br />
<br />
In June, by which time we had been taught how to march, as the Artillery did in columns of three, basic gun drill on an old 18 pdr., semaphore signalling (which I had learned in scouts) and how to use the 'Don 5' telephone, I was ordered to be ready to go with the advance party to the firing camp at Trawsfynnd, near Blenau Ffestiniog in North Wales. And so it was that at the end of June I donned my uniform walked out of my digs and reported for duty; a soldier proper! Sitting in the passenger seat of a 15 cwt army truck driven by Bob Anderson a scavenger, in Civvy street, who became a close friend, we drove south with six or seven other vehicles through torrential rain for two days. The driver and the passenger had separate wind screens each about 12 inches square; the passenger operated a lever which moved the two wipers across the glass and this was of course my duty. You can imagine how tired I was after only a few miles through heavy rain. There was no roof above our heads and by the time we reached Carlisle and stopped for the night our clothes were saturated. Bob seemed to know how to achieve the impossible - next morning he appeared at my bed with my clothes all nicely dry and warm!<br />
As the advance party we had to 'take over' the camp and all its equipment as listed on an inventory of the Camp Commandants' staff. Now I found why I had been selected for the advance party - my duty was to check the several inventories along with the Regimental Quarter-Master Sergeant. This was not unpleasant as at least it kept me indoors away from the continuous rain. The Commanding Officer (Lt Col. Cross) told me that he had decided to promote me to the rank of Unpaid Acting Lance Bombadier and to place me in the Quarter-Master's office. Apart from the R.Q.M.S. and myself the members of the staff were my friend the truck driver Bob Anderson and Joe Salton who was employed in Younger's Brewery down the Canongate in Edinburgh. They had been in the 'Terris' for many years, were much older than I was, and knew all the tricks of the quarter-master trade! They accepted my promotion to L/Bdr as if they expected it and we became great friends. Being in the Q.M store and office meant that I was spared from the continuous rain with which the Regiment had to contend for the duration of the camp. The main body arrived a week after the advance party and remained for two weeks. We, the advance party, now became the 'Rear Party' which kept us in North Wales for another few days. We were away from Edinburgh for a whole month. So much for old Nimmo's 'fortnight's summer camp'.<br />
During that camp we in the Quarter Master's Stores lived like the proverbial Lords with fillet steak and chips for supper every night and the best of everything else. For those who don't know, all army supplies from guns, rifles, and ammunition to butter, jam, uniforms and blankets were obtained and distributed by the Quarter Master and his staff! One of my principal jobs was to set up a ledger listing the number rank and name of every 'other rank' in the Regiment - there were 550 - and to 'tick off' in the relevant columns every piece of uniform and equipment issued to him. As a result I was soon to come to know every man in the Regiment and most of their numbers. Mine, by the way was 899080. What had been issued in Edinburgh had to be brought back to the R.Q.M.S. in camp for checking and entering up in wee Cameron's Ledger!<br />
<br />
On returning to Edinburgh I was ordered to wear my uniform every day to the office (the University had closed for the Summer vacation by this time) in case of emergency. Bob Coutts returned as a full Sergeant but did not have to wear his uniform until towards the end of August when we were all embodied into His Majesty's Army and became full time soldiers.<br />
<br />
<strong>And so to War....Click here >> <span style="color: #cc0000;"><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-2_21.html">Chapter 13</a></span></strong></div>
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Iain Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397274617360739298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20436198.post-1136631455817342482005-12-21T10:53:00.000+00:002020-06-07T19:55:44.925+01:00Memoirs of a Fisherman's Son - Part 2, Chapter 13<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><span style="font-size: 130%;">Chapter XIII<br /><br />And So To War</span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong>Introduction</strong><br />
<br />
For almost seven years, until my release in May 1946, I served in the Gunners. So much happened during that time that I could not possibly commit all my memories to paper without causing boredom in the reader. What follows will be of a strictly anecdotal nature; namely the highlights of what for me were seven very happy years among comrades of the finest kind. The influence of the camaraderie I found in the Army (and the Navy too as you will hear later) has remained with me to this day and has certainly helped me along life's way.<br />
<br />
Do keep it in mind too, that I did not keep a diary, that war-time restrictions on newspapers were pretty severe and that individual soldiers had a very restricted view of what was going on in the world. There were times when we would not see a newspaper for weeks on end and what was in them was, naturally, censored. In my own case several of the positions I held carried the official Secrets Act requirement of silence.<br />
<br />
<strong>A) The first Month</strong><br />
On Sunday 3rd September 1939, the day war was declared, the 78th Field Regiment R.A. was gathered in the drill hall Grindlay Street, Edinburgh (opposite the Usher Hall) preparing to move out to a secret destination - we, of the lower ranks, knew not where! Wives, sweethearts, mothers, fathers, children and other relations of the soldiers were in attendance outside the Hall to say farewell to their loved ones. I was the only soldier who did not belong to Edinburgh so I could look on at the melee somewhat objectively. Especially was this so when at 11 am after the bells of St. Cuthbert's and St. Johns' Churches had ceased ringing, the air raid sirens screeched their warning of imminent air attack! Now the scene became one of bedlam within and without as civilians and soldiers sought shelter where there was none. I stood calmly in the quarter-masters' office looking out over the hall packed with panicking folk. The Assistant Adjutant, a young Writer to the Signet of a well known west end family, came rushing in telling me that we were all to wear our gas masks. He had no idea how to adjust his own and sought my help. He had obviously not had the practice which U/A/L/Bdr. Cameron had during the recent weeks. How alarmed he was when eventually the gas mask was on his face with all the straps adjusted properly. I had to assure him that he would not suffocate. The 'all clear' sounded on the sirens about 11.5 am and gas masks were removed with thankfulness.<br />
<br />
Later, after a real Army dinner (never called 'lunch') eaten from our mess tins we had all to parade in the Usher Hall for medical inspection - only those found to be Grade A1 would be permitted to continue with a Field Regiment. On entering the hall we were ordered to occupy every second row of seats and to remove all clothing above the belt. The Medical Officer (M.O.) arrived with the Regimental Sergeant Major (R.S.M.). As they reached each row the R.S.M. ordered 'drop trousers and pants and raise the arms above the head'. Thereafter the M.O. walked along the vacant row looked at each poor soul with his arms in the air and feeling more embarrassed than he had ever done before and without exception the medical opinion expressed was 'all A1'. With that the R.S.M. gave the order 'Now get dressed'. You can just imagine how we all felt but that was all the medical we had!<br />
<br />
Our 'secret' destination was Currie and Hermiston scarcely four miles from Grindlay Street: What a let down! The quarter-master's staff formed part of what was known as regimental headquarters and as such we were accommodated in horse stables at Hermiston. Our bedding consisted of three 'blankets - woollen army' which when properly folded (as taught during the first camp) could provide five layers of blanket below and three on top or vice versa depending on the sleeping quarters. On the stable floor of cobble stones the three blankets were totally inadequate. After the first uncomfortable and sleepless night I raised the matter with the R.Q.M.S. but he had no power to give us additional blankets. I therefore 'brass necked it' (to use an army expression) gained admission to the Adjutant by the simple process of knocking at his office door and entering. He was a young Advocate whom I had met in Parliament House on one occasion and he answered my plea by issuing an order to the R.Q.M.S. that all Regimental H.Q. staff were to have an additional half dozen blankets! Wasn't I popular with the plumbers, carpenters, train drivers and others who were my colleagues.<br />
<br />
At 9 am. on the first Saturday as 'real' soldiers the members of Headquarters Troop were required to parade before the R.S.M. He ordered us to remove our caps ('cheese - cutters' as they were called), came along the lines of soldiers examining the many and varied hair styles; in front of each man he ordered 'Hair Cut'. When he came to me and saw the length of my fair locks his command was quite straight forward namely 'get if off!'. That afternoon in a barber shop which I used to pass going down Lothian Road of a morning, but had never used for lack of funds, the barber said you'll need a 'short back and sides'. 'No' I replied. 'Take it all off'. I left the shop with the leather lining of my cap stuffed with folded newspaper to prevent the thing falling down over my eyes! On the Monday morning when the R.S.M. came in to inspect my 'short back and sides' he nearly had a fit and addressed me in words which I will not repeat here! Three years, or more later I was to become his Adjutant!<br />
<br />
About the middle of September I had to proceed with the R.Q.M.S. the Quarter-Master himself (who was a commissioned officer), Bill Irons and said Adjutant to Burntisland to which one of our Batteries had been moved. For what purpose I do not recall: But<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Forth%20Bridge%201939.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/Forth%20Bridge%201939.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;"></a> on the return journey just as we disembarked from the ferry at South Queensferry we witnessed the first attempt by 'jerry' to bomb and destroy the Forth Bridge. The German bombers had little success and were soon chased out of the area by fighters from the R.A.F. base at Turnhouse. As mere sightseers we saw the aerial 'dog fights', heard the anti aircraft guns firing and saw their shells exploding in the sky, but did not see the Forth Bridge tumbling down! For a record of this first German attack the reader will have to look elsewhere.<br />
<br />
On 19th September my Grandfather passed away having been ill, for the first time in his long life, during the preceding four weeks. Leave was granted so that I could attend the funeral in Ardersier which I did and enjoyed the few days with my Mother and Father at home in 113. I was not to see them again until March 1942.<br />
<br />
The news on returning to the Regiment was that our Commanding Officer had committed suicide! A new C.O. Lieutenant Colonel W.A. MacLellan, of the famous Steel Pipe Making company in Glasgow, had been appointed and was already installed.<br />
<br />
The previous C.O. had put my name forward for a Commission and I had been interviewed in Stirling Castle. When Col. MacLellan received the letter informing him that I had been selected he immediately sent for me, told me that he wanted me to stay with the Regiment that he wanted me to take over responsibility for the Regimental office and with this in mind had already arranged a place for me on an Artillery Clerks course in Woolwich the home of the Gunners. So - What could I do? In my lowly position. I had to bow to my superior's wishes. The course was to begin at the beginning of October and would last for six weeks.<br />
<br />
<strong>B) Learning to be an Artillery Clerk</strong>At Woolwich forty soldiers from Gunners to Sergeants assembled for the course. Accommodation and feeding was of pre war standard: quite comfortable and plain with lots of 'plum duff' every day. The training was given by excellent lecturers, who helped us greatly by issuing copies of their lectures. This pleased me greatly. The administration of a Field Regiment was covered in depth and the law governing the Army as contained in the Manual of Military Law was 'drilled' into us. Only one subject troubled me and that was type writing! We were expected to pass out at the end of the course with the proven ability to type at the speed of 40 words per minute. No instruction was given but for those like me who could not type there was a roomful of Barlock typewriters available for learners and practice every evening after 6pm. At the end of the course we had to type a piece from that day's issue of the Daily Express and somehow or other I passed! The other subjects gave me no difficulty and I arrived back at Hermiston with a 'D' certificate in my pocket 'D' = Distinction.<br />
<br />
Immediately I was promoted to the proud rank of Sergeant (A.C) which gave me three stripes and a gun on each arm and raised my pay from two shillings to 8/9d per day.<br />
<br />
During that time in Woolwich we were free on Saturdays and Sundays and this gave me the opportunity of seeing something of London. The River Thames and much of the City were 'protected' at that time by a great many barrage balloons floating in the sky - a constant reminder that we were at war although the Germans had not yet attacked: nor had we of course during what was known as the 'phoney war'. I first experienced rowing a skiff on the serpentine - a wonderful <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/barageballoon.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/barageballoon.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;"></a>experience after I got accustomed to the moving seat. After a few practices it became clear that this narrow boat could be propelled through the calm waters of a lake at a far higher speed than anything I could achieve in my dear old dinghy. To my horror one day when travelling at high speed I struck another boat broadside on. It capsized, the rower was in the water which gladly was quite shallow so when he stood up he towered above me and really gave me 'what for'!<br />
I deserved it! Fortunately the other boat was not damaged - nor was mine. I left the Park, having had a second 'telling-off' from the boat attendant, feeling very ashamed of myself.<br />
<br />
The Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square with all its pigeons, the National Gallery and its Art treasures, Hyde Park Corner with its speakers of every persuasion. The Mall, the Planetarium and Madame Taussaudes were all visited during my six free weekends, sometimes in the company of another course member. I got to know the London Underground and the London bus routes remarkably well. Yes, it was a thoroughly enjoyable way in which to commence one's army career. Apart from the above mentioned 'sights'. I had the privilege of visiting Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's Cathedral and heard that famous preacher Dick Sheppard in his lovely church of St. Martin's in the Fields. The crypt of the latter was being used as a soldiers' canteen and I benefited from that.<br />
<br />
On being promoted to the rank of Sergeant I had, of course, to transfer myself to the Sergeants' Mess where, happily, I was well received. Whether this was due to the fact that I would daily be in contact with the C.O., Second in Command and Adjutant or to their previous knowledge of me in the Q.M. stores I do not know. I like to think it resulted from a general impression of 'wee Alex' - the wee fella from the Highlands - formed during our happy Friday evening training sessions in the T.A.<br />
<br />
<strong>C) To Selkirk and Piddlehinton</strong>We were not long in Hermiston and Currie before being moved to Selkirk and Galashiels where woollen mills had been requisitioned ('taken over' in ordinary language) for army purposes. Accommodation was of course fairly basic - large barrack - like halls from which the machinery had been removed. The 'other ranks' slept on paliasses (mattresses filled with straw) laid on the floor: Sergeants in smaller units on wooden beds. The large vat in which wool was dyed, when the mill was in operation, was filled with warm water and this provided us with a communal bath capable of accommodating two dozen men at a time in water about 3 feet deep. The C.O. had ordered that all ranks were to have a bath at least once a week so the vat was full every evening; with 550 of an establishment that meant that almost 80 men were washed and bathed every evening all in the same water! No harm came to any of us. The water was changed every day.<br />
<br />
Feeding was of the highest standard as the army pre-war ration allowance still applied so we were fed like fighting cocks.<br />
<br />
Soon after arrival in Selkirk o<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/25%20pound%20gun.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/25%20pound%20gun.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;"></a>ur old 18 pounder guns were withdrawn, and so we were told, we were the first Regiment to be issued with what was to become recognised as the finest field ordnance in the British Army, namely the <a href="http://www.btinternet.com/~ian.a.paterson/equipartillery.htm"><strong>25 pounder</strong></a>. That winter was one of very severe frost in the Borders and the oil in the buffer recuperator systems (the recoil mechanism) of the brand new guns froze solid. The casings were severely cracked, the guns useless! How old Colonel MacLellan fumed, Soon engineers arrived from Woolwich, the guns were removed and almost immediately replaced by new guns in which, we were assured, the oil would not freeze.<br />
<br />
In Selkirk we had our first taste of the warm and generous hospitality which was extended by the local people to soldiers within their midst during the whole of the war. The Churches, <a href="http://www.wrvs.org.uk/aboutus/ourhistory/wartime.htm"><strong>Woman's Voluntary Service</strong></a>, British Legion all went to great lengths to entertain ( and feed! ) the troops.<br />
<br />
No sooner had January 1940 come to a close than we were ordered to move to a place with the extra-ordinary name of Piddlehinton in Dorset. So on its first long distance move the 78th proceeded, at the prescribed speed of 12-1/2 m.p.h. and with a distance of approximately 100 yards between each vehicle in the convoy, towards this mysterious place. There were 150 vehicles in the Regiment of which 24 were gun-towers. After about five days on the road we completed the 450 mile journey: I had enjoyed it very much sitting as a passenger in a comfortable Hunter wireless truck filled not with wireless sets but with office equipment, files, stationery etc.<br />
<br />
Two batteries and Regimental H.Q. were allocated accommodation in halls of various kinds, requisitioned mansion houses and such like in the <a href="http://www.dorset-opc.com/Piddlehinton.htm"><strong>village of Piddlehinton</strong> </a>which we soon discovered was located, yes, on the River Piddle about 5 miles north of Dorchester. The third battery were in Puddletown just a couple of miles down river! The river was in fact no more than a burn.<br />
<br />
In Dorset the local drink was Cider and as the pubs did not sell Scottish beer the boys indulged in the cider, encouraged by the locals. Many had to be carried home at night by their mates as the cider was much stronger than any beer to be found in the howffs of Edinburgh. In an effort to control the drinking the C.O. introduced a 10 PM curfew which did not meet universal approval! I still remember typing the order to be placed on all notice boards.<br />
<br />
Not being a drinker I used to accompany a few of my Sergeant friends to canteens which had been organised by dear old ladies in church and other halls. They were astonished when we first arrived on the scene that we were not wearing kilts. The locals seemed to be under the impression that all Scotsmen wore the kilt and, moreover, had heather growing between their toes. We spent over three months in Dorset preparing for action. The spring weather was lovely, the apple trees blossoming gloriously. We enjoyed our sojourn in that part of England yet always wondering when the fighting was going to begin: and where. It began so far as the British forces were concerned not by Hitler landings in the UK by sea and air as we had anticipated but when he ordered his forces to move west towards the Atlantic over Holland, Belgium, Luxembourg, and France.<br />
<br />
<strong>D) The second B.E.F. (British Expeditionary Force)</strong>Towards the end of May the Regiment was ordered to move to the Aldershot area. There we were issued with all the extra paraphernalia required by a unit going into action: tons and tons of equipment some of which we had never seen before. At that time the British Expeditionary force was evacuating from Dunkirk and at Aldershot we saw truck after truck arrive with survivors of the <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/ww2/A1057312"><strong>B.E.F</strong></a>. some dressed only in their trousers some indeed only in their 'shirts' truly a sorry sight. And here we were fully equipped and 'roaring' to go - but where?<br />
<br />
Churchill answered that question when he announced he was sending the second B.E.F. to France to stop Hitler! And so on 5th June 1940 the Fifty-Second (Lowland) Division of which we were part and the 1st Canadians embarked from Southampton and Plymouth. On 12th June we were able to see on the cinema screen in Southampton all 24 of our 25 pdr. guns being lifted individually by derrick on to a large cargo boat! The Second B.E.F. had to turn and flee - for the record I might say that we lost only one vehicle and the guns did not even reach a French port when the Captain of the ship wisely decided to turn back.<br />
<br />
Soon the Regiment was directed to East Anglia to defend the shores of old England! The Canadians were down in Kent and together these Divisions were the only fully equipped and manned units of the British Army at that time. We in 78th had only 24 rounds per gun, the normal peace-time holding, while the few soldiers carrying rifles, mainly for guard duty on gun and vehicle parks had six rounds each the same as the officers who carried Smith and Wesson .38 pistols.<br />
<br />
<strong>E) East Anglia</strong><br />
R.H.Q. was stationed in the small town of <a href="http://www.poppyland.co.uk/norfolk/fakenham.htm"><strong>Fakenham</strong></a> the people of which took the 'Scottish boys' to their hearts. The three batteries were located in positions, such that one had its guns always 'laid' on Marham aerodrome while the other two were eastwards towards Great Yarmouth and Gorleston those great herring ports.<br />
Accommodation was in bell tents which were erected over a large hole in the ground three feet deep and of the same circumference, or so, as the tent. This was t<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Ely_2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/Ely_2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;"></a>o provide shelter against anything other than a direct hit. There was a good deal of bombing by German aircraft but only against aerodromes. We were told that the spire of <a href="http://cathedral.ely.anglican.org/index.htm"><strong>Ely Cathedral</strong> </a>and its copper roof were being used by the enemy as navigational guides and no doubt that was the case for no attempt was made to bomb Ely.<br />
<br />
At this stage our Divisional Medical Officers were finding more and more men inflicted with venereal disease and this created more worry among the Commanding Officers than a German landing would have done. What was to be done? In the end it was decided to ask the Reverend Roland Selby Wright, Minister of the Canongate Kirk in Edinburgh and Warden of the famous Canongate Boys Club to use his influence with the men of the Division. And so it was that the Cathedral at Kings Lynn saw every officer and other rank of the Division in relays - fill its pews and choir stalls while they listened to R.S.B. preach a sermon on true love. He had a most wonderful way of getting his message home to men: we were reminded of the wives and mothers, sisters, fathers, brothers, grannies and granddads at home in Edinburgh and of the heart-breaking effect news of V.D. in their loved one far from home would have. I don't suppose his appeal for celibacy was answered by all his hearers but the doctors saw an immediate drop in the number of cases and never again did the same problem arise.<br />
<br />
In the Division we also had as Senior Padre the Rev. Joseph Gray M.A.,T.D. (later to marry Wilma and myself) and Rev Leonard Small (of St. Cuthberts). With their support I was able to obtain large quantities of C of S. Huts Notepaper and envelopes from 121 George Street, Edinburgh and to distribute these among the troops as an encouragement to write home regularly. All the officers became involved in my 'scheme' and this certainly helped tremendously in maintaining morale over a number of years.<br />
<br />
On one of the occasions when the Adjutant had me with him down at the Coast several bodies of Germans were washed ashore, probably air crew who had been shot down. This resulted in a rumour that the Germans 'had tried to land and been beaten back' as one paper had it.<br />
<br />
However the C.O. had news from the War office that the Germans were mustering barges and similar craft in Holland and invasion was to be expected soon. Guards at all posts were doubled and we all lived in great expectation.<br />
<br />
However, there nearly was a mutiny in the Division! We had been issued for several weeks with nothing but tinned fish, herring, pilchards, salmon and tuna, for breakfast, dinner and tea! What a blessing the local ladies had set up their canteens and that we had access to 'good food' like sausage and mash, beans on toast, pork pies and so on. So bad was the situation that each Regiment was visited by no less a person that the King accompanied by our G.O.C. General Ritchie. The latter told each parade that the government apologised for the daily offerings of tinned fish but, he said, food intended for the United Kingdom from Canada and U.S.A. was being lost at sea every day. What we were receiving had come from government reserves. This did nothing to assuage the hunger of the young men who had until recently been fed nothing but the best.<br />
<br />
Soon after this we were moved again this time to Scotland!<br />
<br />
<strong>F) Back to Scotland</strong><br />
Our move back to Scotland included a firing camp at Otterburn in the Borders which lasted almost two weeks. This really allowed the boys on the guns to let off steam and the rest of us to see them in action firing live ammunition. It was a pleasant break in good weather. Our destination was Falkirk where we were accommodated in halls of all sorts . R.H.Q. was in an office right in the centre of Falkirk. One of those whose livelihood had been taken away from him was a Mr Jimmy Turpie a dancing instructor who told me, he had been a stoker in the Navy in World War I. He kept coming to see me about the possibility of allowing him to resume dancing classes in one or more of the halls which he had previously rented. There was nothing I could do about that but I was able to help him sort out his Income Tax affairs which were in a shocking state. In return he and his good lady, Mary extended kind hospitality to me and Jimmy even taught me how to do the quick-step, fox-trot, waltz and tango! I was never very good at these but Jimmy must have had an ulterior motive - or maybe it was Mary. Their daughter Jean was engaged to a Falkirk lad who played for the local football team but Jimmy entered me as her partner for a competition dance at the local ice-rink. To my utter astonishment we won first place in the quick step and slow fox-trot! Great rejoicing in the Turpie family and much leg-pulling in the Sergeants Mess! When I heard soon after this that the engagement was to be broken off I had to be quite firm and told Mother and Daughter that I was not in the slightest bit interested. So the engagement ran the usual course and Jean and her fiancee married. (He became an Electrical Engineer and worked in the Electricity Supply Industry as I was to do).<br />
<br />
Actually the people of Falkirk were most kind to the troops providing all sorts of entertainment. At the ice rink one quarter of the skating area had been boarded over and fenced off from the skaters. The local W.V.S. were as always, quite wonderful. During this period I acquired a pair of skating boots and had instruction from some of my colleagues who could already skate. But I never did become an expert!<br />
<br />
We were in Falkirk for only three months when the Regiment was moved to Dunblane and Auchterarder. From here it was easy to gain access to the firing ranges on Shefiffmuir. I have no recollection of anything exciting happening in Dunblane except perhaps that we were selected to participate in a service broadcast from St. Blanes Church at which Ronald Selby Wright preached an inspiring sermon and I was introduced to a prominent person in the B.B.C (whose name I've forgotten) who suggested I join his organisation as a news reader on the Empire service when war was ended. (We still had an Empire at that time!) He would personally recommend me because of my Inverness accent. But I did not take up that offer.<br />
<br />
The next move was to Haddington in East Lothian where I became friendly with the late Rev. Robin Mitchell minister of the church beside the Regimental office. He was a great outdoor man and an expert on the flora and fauna of the area,. It was with him while we were fishing on the River Tyne one evening that I saw, for the only time, the death dance of the flies. Literally millions of flies gathered along the still waters of the river in the shape of a cone towering perhaps twenty or thirty foot high. The noise of humming as they rose into the air was awesome: the vertical climb lasted for about five minutes and then all at once the whole cone collapsed and fell into the Tyne. A truly moving experience which I have never forgotten. Robin and his wife were most kind to me all the time I was in Haddington. One of my clerks was the son of a Minister who loved to play the organ so he was appointed organist for all church parades -although he claimed to be an atheist. Jimmy Milne was his name and before the war he had become famous by marrying while still under the age of 25 contrary to the regulations governing employees of the Commercial Bank for which he worked. He was dismissed but appealed to the Court of Session on the grounds that the regulations were 'Contra libertatem matrimonii' The law of Scotland regarded as illegal any restraints put on marriage - it probably still does; I hope so anyway. I used to give him permission on a Saturday evening to leave his quarters above the office in order to practice 'for tomorrow'. Little did he know that five or six of us including the Adjutant and Second-in-Command crept into the back seat of the church while Jimmy sat in candlelight at the organ playing beautiful pieces of music from the classics, Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Handel among them. For an hour we would sit enchanted by the wonderful music and then creep silently out into the night. If the organist had known he would have risen and left. Then one night the noise of aircraft filled the skies: enemy bombers on their way to Clydebank and Gourock but we did not know that. The anti-aircraft guns in the district were 'pooping off' all around Haddington while searchlights pierced <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/50kg%20bomb.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/50kg%20bomb.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;"></a>the darkness. One bomber was hit and crash landed in a field outside the town but not before it had dropped five bombs all of which hit Military targets - his good luck and not good judgement. The quarter-masters store in a tenement in the centre of Haddington had a direct hit and was set ablaze. My friends Joe and Bob managed to escape by 'shinning' down a drain pipe. Across the street an unexploded bomb fell through the roof of a tenement and landed at the foot of the stairwell. In that tenement another of my boys - the most gentle of souls - had rented a room and kitchen for himself and his bride of a few days. He picked up the 50 kg bomb and carried it out the back door, across the back green and dropped it over the boundary wall - all in order that his lovely wife should not be killed. The three other bombs landed in the main car park and the gun park and although they exploded no damage was done.<br />
<br />
When the C.O. heard what Gunner Bartlett had done with the unexploded bomb he nearly had a fit! But while he contemplated a court martial decided in the end simply to reprimand Bartlett. After the C.O. had explained how dangerous and therefore wrong it was to handle an unexploded bomb I remember Bartlett saying in his quiet way "and what would you have done, Sir, if your wife had been similarly placed?" The reprimand was merely a warning 'not to do the same again'!<br />
<br />
Our C.O. Colonel MacLellan was moved and replaced by one who had been a Gunnery Officer at Larkhill, near Salisbury - the school of gunnery. He was a real fire brand! No sooner had he arrived than he was out inspecting every troop, every battery and, almost, every gun. It was evident that a disciplinarian had arrived as I typed order after order about every conceivable activity to go out to Battery Commanders. One of the first was that every member of the Regiment regardless of rank would parade on the nearest gun park at 6. am for physical 'jerks' under a P.T. instructor and whatever the weather. A foretaste of Monty's regime! You can probably imagine how clerks and cooks unaccustomed as they were to daily drills or parades reacted. But in the Army orders are orders. The P.T. Instructor for Regimental H.Q. was no less a person than the C.O. dressed in shorts and singlet. He had us hard at it for 30 minutes each morning before we were allowed to wash and shower at the out door toilet arrangements - cold water was freely available from a tap set above a metal wash hand basin.<br />
<br />
Before the end of the first week he asked me to come in and bring my personal file. I knew not what was in store. After reading through it he demanded to know why I had not gone for the officer's training course offered in 1939 as I was just wasting my talents in this present job! My explanation was, of course accepted but he told me that he personally was going to arrange for me to go O.C.T.U. (Office Cadet Training Unit) as soon as possible. Meantime I was to go out to 181 Battery as a gun sergeant, learn all I could about the 25 pdr and ballistics and generally become a 'real gunner' to justify, as he put it the wearing of a gun on my arms! So off I went and did as the C.O. had told me to do. The gun itself and every part of it had to be mastered as also the trailer, in which 24 rounds of ammunition were carried, and the GUY gun-towing vehicle which not only pulled the trailer and gun but carried the gun crew of six including myself. Up until now the army had not let me loose among things mechanical and I revelled in this new found interest. There were handbooks to study, gun drill books to read and absorb and a detailed maintenance manual in relation to the Guy. I determined that before ever going to O.C.T.U. I would be a 'real gunner' as the C.O. had ordered and with the co-operation of my crew of five men and my fellow sergeants I like to think I was. We had several opportunities of firing live ammunition at Otterburn and Sheriffmuir. It was at the latter that my hearing was damaged. There was mist on the target area in the hills, the range was 10,000 yards and to reach this the layer (known as No. 3 on the gun) elevated the barrel to the required angle, I realised it was now fowling the camouflage net and proceeded to unlace the net to allow free movement of the barrel when the gun fired, the order to fire came as a shout from the Command Post and my layer without waiting for me to return to the No.1's position at the trail of the gun and then shout 'Fire', pulled the trigger. My head was about six inches from the barrel as the shell roared away into the sky. The blast knocked me out and when I came to I was at the Command Post, being cared for by a First Aider, with blood coming from each ear. Soon I was in Stirling Infirmary but was discharged that evening. For several months I suffered pains in my ears but when the call came for me to proceed to O.C.T.U. the doctor declared me A1 and off I went.<br />
<br />
<strong>G) O.C.T.U.</strong> (Officer Cadet Training Unit)</div>
<div align="justify">
Early in March 1942 I arrived at the railway station at Catterick in York-shire along with a number of other Sergeants, Bombadiers and Lance/Bombadiers all destined for six months at 121 O.C.T.U. One of the Sunday newspapers had given it the name of the 'Hi-di-Ho, Ho-di-ho' O.C.T.U. where 'they made you or broke you'. Certainly it turned out to be the toughest six months I have ever known.<br />
<br />
On arrival at the barracks - a real army barracks not unlike Fort George - our uniform was taken from us and were issued with new battle dress uniform (with No badges of rank) and a white cotton band to be worn round our 'forage' caps - this was the distinguishing badge of an officer cadet.<br />
<br />
Of the 49 Cadets in the 'intake' 24 were from Oxford and Cambridge Universities, and 25 who had already been soldiers. Sleeping accommodation was in rooms for six or eight men with two tier bunk beds and polished wooden floors. For the first four weeks we had infantry training and in the gym the P. T. instructors endeavoured to make us gymnasts. Reveille was at 6.30 am with half and hour for ablutions in the barracks before 'falling in' on the parade ground for P.T. We were certainly ready for breakfast at 8 am! Before going out again for our first parade at 9 am we had to ensure that all our kit and blankets were made up in the approved regular army fashion. Before leaving the room we had to polish the floor so that it shone like a mirror with never the mark of an army boot on it. This was achieved with a heavy polisher on which, in our room I, as the smallest occupant, used to sit while one of my comrades pushed the polisher up and down over the floor retreating all the time towards the entrance. This procedure ensured that when the Sergeant Major inspected our room he found the place spotless. If he did not then the punishment was that all the occupants of the room concerned had to endure half an hour of drill on the parade ground after supper.<br />
<br />
The office in charge of our squad of 45 Cadets was one Captain Garron-Williams (whose father we were told was a Brigadier on Monty's staff). He was known to all as 'Garbage Bill'. He was a real snob disliked not only by the Cadets who had been in uniform before 121 but the student cadets from 'Oxbridge' who themselves were regarded by others as being rather 'toffee nosed'. Perhaps because I was the smallest in the squad Garbage Bill took a special dislike to me. Because I was so small, because I was only a fisherman's son, (his words) because my father had been only a deck-hand in the Great War he assured me, one day, that I hadn't a hope of being commissioned. Of course I had no means of responding for to have done so would no doubt have seen me on a charge for 'speaking back' to an officer.<br />
<br />
Ah well, we marched and counter marched, slow march and quick march, we ran for miles over the Yorkshire dales, crossed rivers by means of hand-hold ropes, fired rifles, bren guns and .38 pistols, endured a battle course in which we ran for miles, marched for miles, climbed trees, slid down ropes, vaulted over fences and ended up at the firing range: here we had to loose off six rounds at the distant target with arms and hands that were anything but steady. And all to prove that we could be gunner officers.<br />
<br />
Towards the end of the fourth week we were on the 30 yard range one day when 'Garbage Bill' challenged anyone in the squad to 'take him on'. A fellow Scot, Shug MacGowan a Sergeant in the 79th Field Regiment of Greenock, spoke up! 'Cadet Cameron will take you on, Sir'. I was horrified for Shug was a good friend of mine. However I agreed. G.B. offered a choice of firearms but brought out a beautifu<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/mauser.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/mauser.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;"></a>l leather bound, velvet lined case containing two German Mausers and said he would prefer to use them. I had never seen anything like those pearl-handled pistols except in the museum in Edinburgh but as soon as I held one in my right hand I knew it was perfect for me. After all my Dad, who was a crackshot in World War I, had taught me to shoot. G.B. set up two targets the size of Swan Vestas' match boxes - at 30 yards they looked like bulls eyes and then tossed a penny to decide who should go first. I won the toss but when G.B said 'Oh well, that means you go first Cameron'. I replied that as in a game of cricket it was my privilege to let him 'bat' first. He did and put 5 bullets in the target. The good Lord was with me that day steadying my hand - yes, all six went through the target. G.B. was overcome - he was the crack shot of his unit - and this diminutive Scot had beaten him. The applause from the squad was heart warming but so also was the congratulations bestowed on me by G.B. He drove me to the Officer's Mess where the C.O. and second-in-Command were having tea, introduced me, told them what had happened and invited me to have tea with him. After that I never looked back!<br />
<br />
At the end of the week 25 Cadets were rejected leaving only 24 to continue into gunnery training. How many hearts were broken by the Hi-di-hi, hi-di-ho OCTU! No wonder the Sunday newspapers were so critical.<br />
<br />
Being already a 'real' gunner I loved the remaining five months of training hard work as it was. I passed my driving test on a 3 ton truck laden with 3 tons of ammunition. These were the days of square cut gear boxes. One commenced the test at the foot of the steepest hill in Richmond and was required to stop and take off (without moving back even one inch!) four times. Anyone who failed here was not allowed to proceed further. Gladly I managed all the other manoeuvres and received my driving license.<br />
<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Notice%201943.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/Notice%201943.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;"></a><br />
By the end of the fifth month 20 of the squad were informed that they would be commissioned and could now proceed to order uniform and camp gear etc. In Richmond, not surprisingly, there were two well known services tailors. It was a thrilling experience for us cadets to be measured for officers' uniforms, to select shoes, Sam Browne belt and cap. We all had three fittings and paid over our £32 allowance (granted by the government) - this covered only the service dress so we had to pay for the rest. In addition I elected to have the allowance of £18 for my camp bed, valise (which held the issue of three blankets) and some other items rather than the Army issue, the bed of which was far too cumbersome. My safari camp bed is still in occasional use (by grand children) after 53 years!<br />
<br />
On the final day at Catterick we had to dress as officers in our new uniform for inspection by the Commanding Officer who naturally addressed us in <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Alex%20with%20his%20Mum%201944.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/400/Alex%20with%20his%20Mum%201944.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;"></a>suitably glowing terms. Thereafter the Adjutant read out the extract from the London Gazette in which our names appeared and came round handing out rail passes and instructions regarding routes to the Regiments in which we were now to serve. What I did not know was that my old C.O. had requested that I be posted back to the 78th Field: this was unheard of in the army but here I was detailed to proceed to Old Meldrum. Fortunately we were all given seven days leave so I was able to go North to see my dear Mum an Dad and friends in the old village. Little did I realise how much pleasure my commission would give to my parents: I suppose it was something they may have hoped for their son. Our Minister Rvd. Campbell Macleroy and his good lady had me visit the Manse for tea and presented me with the 'Little Bible' which is still in use: a complete bible without all the irrelevancies!<br />
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As a commissioning present my Mum and Dad presented me with a pair of leather gloves and a leather covered swagger cane. A magnificent present it was and I was so proud of it. Sadly two years later I lost both gloves and cane by leaving them behind after crossing London in a taxi from one station to another. To this day I regret that loss.<br />
<br />
<strong>H) 182 Field Regiment R.A.</strong>From Fort George station at Ardersier I travelled by train to Inverurie where an Army truck was waiting to transport me the five miles to Old Meldrum. To my surprise I learned that the 78th Field Regiment had been <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/ID%20card.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/ID%20card.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;"></a>broken up and was now on its way to the Middle East. One half of the Regiment had joined one half of the 79th Field and together were known as the 78th. The remaining half of my 'old' unit had been augmented by an intake of gunners from various other units and the combination was known as the 182 Field Regiment R.A. Happily the old C.O. and the Adjutant who had both wanted me back were still there and I was welcomed like the proverbial long lost brother. The R.S.M. who had drilled me at Murrayfield had also been 'left behind' when the 78th had left. The split had come a few weeks only before I left OCTU, but was so secret that my posting had been shown as being to the 78th. However all was soon cleared up and I was glad to be among so many well kent faces. To begin with the relationship between the former Sergeant and those who knew him as 'wee Alex' was somewhat delicate but not for long.<br />
<br />
The second week in Old Meldrum saw me as Orderly Office for the Battery of which I was a member; the other ranks had all, or nearly all, been in the 78th The orderly officer's job required him to inspect daily the sleeping quarters to ensure tidiness and cleanliness, cook house, latrines, gun park, vehicle park and generally to ensure that everything was in good order and would be ready for the Adjutant's inspection on Saturday forenoon.<br />
<br />
A very important function was to collect from a local Bank and h<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Bank%201944.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/Bank%201944.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;"></a>and over to each man his soldier's pay. Banks were advised in advance of the total amount required on Friday and the estimated number of the various denominations of coins and bank notes to make up that total. And so I proceeded to the North of Scotland Bank to collect the soldiers pay - little did I know that this was to be the most important day in my life! No sooner had I handed over to the teller the Requisition for Cash (as it was called) than I realised there was a fair young lady in the back-ground working at what was obviously a ledger. We could not of course engage in conversation but eye to eye contact is more important in matters of the heart. Yes, I left the Bank carrying the money bags but with joy in my heart. I must meet this lovely little blond who had made such an impression on me but, the question was, how?<br />
<br />
Sitting at a table in the Battery Office with one of my fellow officers, Duncan Purdie, (who had also been at 121 OCTU and had accompanied me to the Bank) We handed over to each soldier in turn his pay for the week as detailed on a sheet provided by the Pay Clerk. It was easy therefor for me to make it obvious to all that 'wee Alex' had not changed even if he now had a pip on his shoulder and they were required to salute. In return of course officers had to respond to every salute and in practice officers saluted far more often than individual other ranks!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/meldrum%20hs2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/meldrum%20hs2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;"></a>The Officers' Mess was in Meldrum House outside the town about one mile and set in wooded grounds with rather a nice lake at the side of the driveway leading up to the house. Believe me it was a cold draughty place during the winter of 1942/43 but the room in which officers foregathered before dinner at night (known as the ante room) for refreshments and a leisurely smoke was always well heated. We dined in the hall which was cold and unattractive with no means of being heated. The food was excellent.<br />
<br />
The folk of Old Meldrum looked upon the soldiers as sons and went to great lengths of provide entertainment, dances in the Town Hall and food in a splendid canteen set up by local ladies in the cattle market. The canteen was open every night but the respective groups of ladies on duty went under different names e.g. Medical, Flappers, Elite and Old Ladies. The arrangements had been established long before the gunners arrived in the town, indeed I believe as far back as 1940 when Survivors of the first B.E.F. arrived. The local distillery had been requisitioned and the troops slept on the floors previously used for malting barley. The smell was enough to make one intoxicated!<br />
<br />
There was dancing, open to all, in the Town Hall every Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday the music being provided by 'Tipper' Stewart and his band - no amplification required.<br />
<br />
Soon after my arrival the Sergeants invited the Officers to a dance in the T.A. Hall and a number of us accepted. Who should be there but the little blond from the Bank! Certainly we danced but stupidly I accompanied home after the dance one of her friends who lived miles outside Meldrum. I thought we'd never arrive at her house and then of course I had to find my way home to Meldrum House - the shortest route was across fields, ditches, hedges, fences and dry stane dyke. That was the first and last time I saw that lassie home! The next day my batman wondered where on earth my good service dress had been as it was covered in mud and my dress shoes were soaking wet!<br />
<br />
At the next dance I persuaded the wee blond, whose name I discovered was Wilma, to sit beside me, after a fox-trot or something, on the men's side of the hall. In those days and in those circumstances the men sat on one side of the hall and the ladies on the other! Apparently there was consternation in the opposite camp as 'Wilma Wiseman chatted to her officer'. And that was the way our lifelong romance began.<br />
<br />
Soon after this I called at her home address during the day time and asked Wilma's Mother if I could take her daughter to Aberdeen the following Saturday. She agreed but said that she would have to let her husband know: he was Frank Grant, Wilma's step father. Mrs Grant assured me I need not come, as I had offered, to seek his permission too!<br />
<br />
On the Saturday I was at the head of the bus queue for Aberdeen awaiting Wilma's release from the Bank. There was a lengthy queue by the time she arrived but that did not worry me; little did I realise how tongues were wagging in Meldrum town!<br />
<br />
As we waited a gentleman walked along the opposite side of the street - unknown to me- for the purpose of inspecting the young officer his step daughter was accompanying to Aberdeen. Apparently he approved and Wilma was told that she could have her 'officer mannie' to the house for a meal the following Saturday. This commenced a friendship which grew and blossomed over the years to our mutual pleasure and benefit. Yes, Frank was a wonderful person in ever respect.<br />
<br />
The 52nd (Lowland) Division of which we were part was ordered to stand by for the invasion of Norway. In November every man and officer was issued with wind proof overalls which looked like pyjamas. They were of a a very light colour to afford camouflage in the snow but we all felt like 'Sissies' wearing them. Then the whole Division was sent on an exercise code named: Goliath. We were to be out in the open, in December, for three weeks forbidden to seek shelter of any kind at night and our rations consisted of pemmican hard tack (biscuits) and one ascorbic tablet every day. We set off early in December in heavy rain, cold winds and our Arctic suits. The latter were maybe wind proof but utterly useless in rain and any soldier who was not in a truck under cover was soon soaked to the skin. Fortunately we were gunners and travelled in vehicles so that we didn't suffer until going to action stations. The gun sites, usually fields or moss-covered hill sides were soon seas of mud especially when a vehicle or gun became bogged down and had to be winched out.<br />
<br />
Our journey took us to the Carbrach, Craigillachie, Grantown-on-Spey, Cawdor and Errogie. From there I took a motor bike and went down to Ardersier to spend the night with my parents: my dear old Mum spent the whole night, while I slept comfortably in a warm bed, drying my wet battle dress and Arctic suit. In the morning the wretched motor cycle refused to start until my Dad and a neighbour had pushed me at least a hundred yards along the 'back' street: when it did, the noise of my revving wakened everyone in the neighbourhood! Fortunately my arrival back at the Battery position coincided with the pull out order. We proceeded to Fort Agustus, Spean Bridge and there turned North-east towards Newtonmore. By this time the 'enemy' were judged to be 'dug-in, in that area and in <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Indian%20Gun.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/Indian%20Gun.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;"></a>order to take them by surprise an out-flanking manoeuvre was put in motion. A battalion of infantry supported by <a href="http://www.king-emperor.com/article1.htm"><strong>Indian Army Mountain Gunners</strong></a> and a 25 pdr. observation Party were to cross from the head of Loch Laggan by night, proceed to Dalwhinnie and attack from that direction. I was appointed to lead the 25 pdr party comprising six other ranks and two horses to carry our wireless equipment and personal belongings! Fortunately the Indians could see in the dark : we followed closely behind them while the infantry just disappeared into the night. And what a night it was. We were following a track beside the Pattack burn - more of less - and by morning had reached a point near Ben Alder Lodge beside Loch Ericht. My orders had been to proceed along the side of Meale Cruaidh above Loch Ericht forest. <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/loch_ericht.0.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/loch_ericht.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;"></a>So cold, exhausted and miserable as we all were there was nothing else for it but to obey orders. On the hill side there were many burns in full flood all in deep channels eroded over the years. After only a few crossings the horses refused to risk their limbs and lives on the steep slopes of such channels. We had received no training in horsemanship and my patience being exhausted I detailed two of my party to take the horses down to the loch side road and wait for me at Dalwhinnie. That night at mid-night the radio operator who was listening out for a message from the Regiment received one to the effect that operation Goliath was to end at 3.00 am. We fairly raced down that hillsid<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/loch_ericht.jpg"></a>e and marched towards Dalwhinnie. On arrival it was to find that every available roof was providing shelter for troops even the signal box and booking office at the station. My horses and two men were taking cover from the elements in the school play ground shelter. I walked to the Hotel only to find bodies everywhere - the infantry had taken over and all I could obtain from the proprietor was a bottle of rum. As we were sitting in the shelter drinking the rum a train was heard approaching from the south, whistles were being blown by infantry officers all over Dalwhinnie and literally hundreds of men boarded that train. The School was emptied so in we went, finished off the rum and I lit my little primus stove to boil water One of the lads went to the school - house asking for some tea sugar and milk - the time was 3.00 am!. The school master's wife was most kind but her husband when he saw the glo<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/primus%20stove.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/primus%20stove.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;"></a>w from the primus stove stormed in and ordered me to put it out as there was no blackout on the school windows. Some hope he had! Here we were miles from civilisation, desperately in need of a hot drink at the end of an endurance test which had lasted for three weeks. He was told quite politely that he should relax and go back to bed. My party and I slept on the desk tops but at first light a 3 ton truck appeared on the scene in search of 'wee Alex's party' The boys fed and watered the horses and we left them tied up in the shelter while we proceeded in the truck to Newtonmore where I knew there was a baker's shop. We entered the bake-house and obtained one loaf each straight from the oven - piping hot. In the truck there was a supply of butter and tins of jam. Need I say more? Before leaving Newtonmore I got a wireless message back to headquarters asking them to tell the Indian Unit where the two horses were and received permission to go straight to Meldrum. As we were approaching the town the boys were singing <a href="http://www.spatty.demon.co.uk/lyrics/holy.htm"><strong>'Jerusalem, Jerusalem, lift up your gates and sing'!</strong></a><br />
<br />
Soon after this I was sent on a wireless course lasting two months at the Royal Signals depot at Catterick. There I became friendly with a Canadian officer whose father was an apple farmer in the Oakanagen Valley in Vancouver: his name was Bill Garrish and he invited me to come when the war was over, and become an apple farmer along with him. What would life have been like if I had accepted his invitation?<br />
<br />
We each passed out with a 'D' certificate - the only two awarded on that course ('D' stands for Distinguished). Congratulations from Divisional H.Q. and the Regiment included a telegram from my Battery Commander Major Hunter Thorburn saying simply 'Bloody good show, Cameron'. The latter arrived at 113 in Ardersier where I was on leave with Wilma : my dear parents were, not surprisingly, shocked at such language addressed to their son.<br />
<br />
I was no sooner back on duty than I had instructions to proceed to Rhyl for an M.T. (Motor Transport) Course lasting six weeks. There I learned to ride a motor cycle properly, and to drive everything from a 15 cwt truck to an army tank. In addition we had to learn all there was to know about these mechanical wonders. Again a 'D' which led me to an Adjutants' course at Larkhill which lasted only ten days. By this time the Regiment had moved to Alnwick in Northumberland where I was appointed Adjutant. All the courses I had been on - Artillery Clerk in 1939 and the recent ones gave me all the requisite qualifications but what a responsibility! I felt greatly honoured. The Adjutant is the C.O's right hand man responsible for the administration of the unit, for discipline, court martials, and in the field for co-ordinating the fire of all 24 guns. Perhaps, not surprisingly every other officer is in awe of the Adjutant for he has the ear of the C.O. One of my first tasks was to persuade the R.S.M. that while on parade we had to recognise the army conventions regarding the officer/other rank relationship, when off parade we could be as we were when in the same Sergeants Mess. There were no problems and we worked well together.<br />
<br />
The Regiment made several moves in England a few months here and a few months there with no sign of a move to a war theatre or of the expected Second Front. After Alnwick we spent a short time in Kent and from there moved to Buckingham-shire. All our training exercises with and without live ammunition being fired were clearly aimed at preparing the Regiment for the Second Front. But then one day when phoning the War Office I learned, from the officer dealing with what query I had, that 182 Field were to be used as a feeder only. When I told the Colonel he was furious and not without good cause<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Dundonald.jpg"></a>. He phoned one of his pals at Whitehall and my information was confirmed 'but to be kept secret'! That very day I saw an intimation in the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_London_Gazette" target="_blank"><strong>London Gazette</strong> </a>that the Combined Operations Bombardment unit (of which I had never before heard) were looking for volunteers. I offered my services, was interviewed in London and with the C.O.'s good wishes ringing in my ears and my fellow officers green with envy I presented myself at Dundonald Camp, near Troon.<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>I) Combined Operations Bombardment Unit</strong><br />
<br />
Dundonald Camp was very much a naval station but as we were there to learn something of naval gunnery that was to be expected.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Cpt%20Alex%20Cameron.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/400/Cpt%20Alex%20Cameron.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;"></a>There were 24 of us, all Captains, with 25 pdr experience. Twelve were selected for duty on board naval ships and trained accordingly. The rest of us were told that our job would be to direct naval gunfire on to shore targets from observation posts up with the infantry and for this were had to learn a new fire drill. For me it was not new as we had been taught at the school of signals how to operate what was called 'the clock code'. Practice on an indoor miniature range at Dundonald was followed by a gruelling two weeks of commando training at Inverary, Argyll and ten days at the school of naval gunnery on Whale Island, Portsmouth. All fascinating stuff! On Whale Island everyone from the C.O. down had to 'double' (run) when proceeding from one place to another. We had sleeping quarters on the<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/royalyacht.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/royalyacht.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;"></a> Royal Yacht 'Victoria and Albert' to which one gained access by means of a floating pontoon: several of our 'squad' had the salutary experience, after imbibing too liberally in the officers' mess, of 'falling' into the drink, while making their way home to bed.<br />
<br />
Back at Dundonald each of the F.O.Bs, (Forward Observer Bombardment - what a name to give any self respecting officer!) was introduced to his 'shore party'. Mine consisted of a Bombardier and three naval telephonists all Englishmen. Within a few days two telephonists dressed in their No. 1's (best naval uniform) asked to have a meeting with me. They were Leading Seaman <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Dundonald.0.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/Dundonald.0.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;"></a>Jamieson and A/B Seaman Telephonist James Scott. They wanted to come to France (or wherever we were to land) with me and asked me to arrange a 'swop' with their officer Captain Peter Cullen. This I did and then had as my communications with ships at sea the finest telephonists in the Navy. Jim Scott has been my friend ever since.<br />
<br />
After a few landing practices on the beac<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/COBU.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/COBU.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;"></a>hes at Dundonald in which I usually ended up soaked to the skin our telegraphists were withdrawn for some top secret purpose - they were involved in 'Operation Fortitude' a ploy of General Montgomery's to hoodwink the Germans into thinking that the invasion would be aimed at the Pas de Calais. By the use of dummy landing craft, vehicles and signals networks the impression on the other side of the channel was that the British and Americans had a vast Army preparing to land immediately across the Channel from Kent.<br />
<br />
During our stay at Dundonald the twelve FOBs were housed in Barassie Golf Club house and were made honorary members with the free use of clubs. So as our military activities usually finished at mid-day we enjoyed playing, or as in my own case, trying to play golf; it was a splendid way in which to practice for warfare! That spring and Summer of 1944 saw the sun shine every day - or so I remember it.<br />
<br />
In the middle of May 1944 the twelve officers who were to be aboard ships during the invasion disappeared to their respective ships while the rest of us were transported to the confines of Southwick House near Portsmouth and found ourselves virtually behind barbed wire. This was General Eisenhower's -headquarters. There was tented and hutted accommodation for officers and other ranks, the food was of the best, the occupants were of 'every race and creed' and at times it felt as if one were in the tower of Babel so diverse were the languages heard. Strict censorship was imposed on all letters. The FOB's were issued with brand new Jeeps modified to enable them to be driven through deep water (i.e. the engine had been made water-proof and the air intake and exhaust pipes were extended to a height of three feet above the top of the engine). In addition we had brand new wireless sets (transmitter/receivers) which could be operated on a selected fixed frequency using Morse. Each FOB. had a number of frequencies allocated to him, all different and to be kept secret! The desired frequency was obtained by plugging the appropriate crystal into the set. There was also something new to us in the form of food, namely, a '14-man pack- which was common in the American Army. The 'pack' (made of wood) contained enough food for fourteen men for one day or one man for fourteen days. Yes - everything from toilet paper and cigarettes to baked beans and bacon and eggs! The foods which required to be cooked were in tins with a 'scratch here' marked at one end: when it was scratched the tin heated up as if by magic. Actually there was a tube within containing some material which burned quickly and as it did so heated up the contents. The bacon and eggs were very special as were pork and beans and creamy rice pudding!<br />
<br />
I should of course also mention that being a 'Naval Party' I had on board a gallon jar of good naval rum (to be used only in emergency!).<br />
<br />
When my telegraphists arrived they had with them all the accoutrements of a sailor, including kit bag (about 4 feet tall when packed with his gear), hammock, a rifle, box of ammunition and to crown all that the Navy had given them a 4 burner paraffin stove! As there was no room for all this in the jeep I told them to 'ditch' everything except a spare pair of under pants, spare socks and shaving tackle! This was achieved by sending the Kit bags and hammocks to their respective bases e.g. Chatham and Plymouth. I may say that Jamieson's went missing and to avoid him being court martialled some time later I had to provide evidence of despatch!<br />
<br />
There was the inevitable briefing meeting for all officers in the camp, not to tell us where we were going but to allocate duties. <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Courseulles2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/Courseulles2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;"></a>I was to support the North Nova Scotia Battalion, but they would not land until two or three days after the initial landings. One had to accept the inevitable. In any case we sailed on a small landing craft housing six jeeps and their crews. and the sea was anything but calm. On reaching the French shore the landing craft went aground on a 'runnel' (bank of sand) a fair distance from the beach, the door was lowered and Peter Cullen in his jeep led the way. Poor Peter, the water was so deep on the shoreward side of the bank, that he and his jeep disappeared into the cold drink. The jeep had to be abandoned but Peter and his men came aboard while the skipper of the craft did a splendid job, notwithstanding the efforts of jerry gunners, of going hard astern and finding a more suitable landing place. When ashore we had to <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/courseulles.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/courseulles.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;"></a>find our 'H.Q.' which was in farm buildings near the village of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Courseulles-sur-Mer"><strong>Courseulles-sur-mer</strong></a>. There we learned that three of our Colleagues had been killed on <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/worldwars/wwtwo/dday_beachhead_01.shtml" target="_blank"><b>D. Day</b></a> on the Lebiseux Ridge just of North of Caen. There were no replacements ashore and the whole advance had been held up. If the naval guns which these three FoB's would have used to support the infantry (no other guns being yet ashore) how different might the outcome have been. As it was the plan to take Caen on D. Day had failed.<br />
<br />
I and my boys moved to join the Canadians. The Colonel gave me a great welcome and immediately took me out of his barn to point out a Church Tower 400 yards away which he wanted me to demolish as it was a German observation post. I had to tell him that when firing 14 inch shells, which I knew were the armament of the ship to which I was 'attached', our orders were to keep at least 1000 yards away. You can imagine what he said - I took on the target, never having before heard a 14 inch shell in the air, after the C.O. agreed to tell all his men to keep their heads down. In those days when the shell was five seconds away from its landing point the ship sent by Morse the signal 'SSS' (Splash, Splash, Splash) this gave the observer time to get his field glasses up to his eyes to observe the shell burst and make any corrections to ensure if possible that the next round hit the target. In this particular case no correction was required, the navy, had proved their undoubted ability, the church tower came tumbling down!<br />
<br />
I do not propose to bore you with other details of our activities in Normandy except to mention the following which may be of interest.<br />
<br />
The afternoon from 1400 to 2050 hrs. of the day before the final advance into Caen I was authorised to fire off 'up to 200 14 inch shells' in order to make life a little easier for the infantry as they moved forward. The C.O. of the North Novas was overwhelmed and he, his officers and others from Brigade met to agree what targets they wanted the wee Scotsman to demolish. As the C.O.'s target disappeared he ordered his batman to give me a present of 1000 Limey cigarettes. (British cigarettes which the Canadians hated!) Everyone who pointed out a target followed the C.O.'s example, and we ended up with 30,000 cigarettes all in tins of 100 each. Capstan, Woodbine, Senior Service etc. I was to learn later back in the Isle of Wight that the story of this shoot and cigarettes had been told in the Sunday newspapers.<br />
<br />
We had to stop firing at 2050 hrs without fail: soon the reason was apparent. The sound of approaching aircraft became louder and louder: the first 'blanket' bombing of the enemy by thousands of bombers was about to take place. The leading aircraft dropped flares all along the front just 400 yards from our position at Villons les Buissons. A truly impressive sight. But as jerry still had Ack-ack guns in large numbers around Caen the initial waves of bombers were being 'massacred' many being shot out of the sky, parachutes appearing everywhere: we could do nothing to help: many a tear was shed by hardened solders as they saw in the summer evening sky the extent of 'man's inhumanity to man'.<br />
<br />
Soon however the A.A. guns were quiet and subsequent waves proceeded harmlessly to drop their bombs.<br />
<br />
That night Jamieson, Scotty and I decided to bed down under the stone staircase in a farm house. I had selected it as the gable end was pointing towards the German lines, the staircase was at the 'far end' and it seemed a safe place. I knew that the infantry were moving south at 0300 hrs. At about 0200 hrs we were awakened by a terrific shell burst which blew in the window opposite our sleeping quarters. The smell of Cordite pervaded our quarters. Then there was a clip clop, clip clop noise from the stone stairs above our beds. Suddenly a very heavy and hairy object was heaved on to me in my valise by Scotty who was on the front-side of the bed area. From somewhere he produced a torch and shone it on the hairy object - none other that a goat! -which was lying on top of me. Soon it was removed and chased out of the house. The poor creature must have been seeking a safe haven on the upper floor of the house and when the shell burst it had come down to seek shelter with the humans. Scotty announced in a happy voice 'It's my birthday, skipper, I'm 21 today'! And so it was: the 8th day of July.<br />
<br />
When we went outside to get some gin from our recently acquired airborne trailer it was to find that food, drink, trailer, loot and one radio had been blown to bits! The jeep remained quite unharmed.<br />
<br />
On another occasion a dear old French Farmer, who had remained behind despite warnings to get out of the area, came to the Canadian H.Q. Complaining that the soldiers were no longer shooting the animals but cutting steaks off the live beasts and then putting 'belly bandages' on them! The C.O. explained that what his men had done was to bandage up wounds caused to his cattle by shrapnel! Little did the C.O. know where his succulent rare steaks were coming from!. The Canadian cooks provided barbecued steak for supper every evening I was attached to them.<br />
<br />
Following behind the troops advancing to Caen my two telegraphists and I were stopped at one farm by a French peasant to ask help in burying his family who had all been killed during the bombardment. As soon as I saw the hole left in of his farm yard I knew it had been created by one of our 14 inch shells. (These shells weighed 2000 lbs and cost £2,000 to make). My new Testament came in handy for the peasant wanted a Christian burial for his seven loved ones and although I was reading in English and repeated the Pater Noster also in English he appreciated what was being done 'pour moi'. Tears rolled down his cheeks but after a rude wooden cross had been erected he ran to an out house and carried from it a small barrel (a firkin) of Calvados brandy as a present for our assistance.<br />
<br />
Over on the east side of the River Orne one of my FOB colleagues had been assisting the Commando and Air-borne troops but sadly had landed a few of 'his' shells behind his O.P. and among our troops. This was criminal. He was withdrawn and I was ordered to take his place for a few days until a replacement could be found. Oh the way we passed through the lines of the Cameron Highlanders where on enquiry I discovered that Willie Macgregor of Inverness - now a Major and Company Commander - was stationed. Willie had been the Law Apprentice whose place I had taken with Davidson Scott and Co. His C.O. and the second-in-Command joined us (each was given a present of a bottle of gin - compliments of the Navy!) and we all had a noggin of 'raw' gin. On my return journey about a week later I was very distressed to learn that Willie had been killed while on patrol the night after my call.<br />
<br />
Over the Orne Scotty and I used a church tower for spotting until it was knocked down by an anti-tank gun one night. The only other useful OP. was the chimney of a brickworks which had wooden hand holds all the way to the top - inside. From it one really could see for a fair distance over the trees - the whole country is too flat and had too many trees for easy spotting. That chimney helped in the destruction of tank garages, individual tanks and other likely places of enemy habitation but it too was brought down - fortunately at night - by jerry.<br />
<br />
I was pleased to be relieved by another FOB. The country here was much too heavily wooded for accurate observation, and perhaps not surprisingly the airborne troops and commandos had retained a suspicion as to the accuracy of Naval guns! At least back <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Saint_Pierre.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/Saint_Pierre.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;"></a>with the Canadians (and fillet steak for supper!) there was a fairly open view towards Caen and Capriquet aerodrome which we had shelled a few times. However the advance into Caen where I saw for myself the devastation caused by our guns and aircraft meant that we were now unable to use naval gun fire to help the infantry. The maximum range was 17 miles for the Monitors and Battleships. Recently I saw while sitting in the dentist's waiting room, an article on Caen in a <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/HMS_Nelson.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/HMS_Nelson.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;"></a>magazine with a picture of L'eglise de Ste Pierre completely restored to its former glory: the narrative told how the spire had been demolished by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HMS_Nelson_(1927)"><strong>H.M.S. Nelson</strong></a> but did not mention who had been directing the gun-fire!<br />
<br />
At the start of our sojourn in Normandy I had to get rid of my Bombardier because he refused to light my little primus stove. The only fuel available was, of course, petrol and this was too dangerous for him so off he went - where I have no idea! That stove had been given to me by my dear Mother when I was in the Scouts and keen on going away for camping expeditions before the war. Sadly it was wounded on Scotty's birthday but after the war a German welder, who had been a Prisoner of War in Old Meldrum, repaired it for me. He had a good laugh when I took it to him and saw how a German shell had torn a great jagged hole in the brass body. He wondered if it had been awarded a War Pension!<br />
<br />
We also had another telegraphist for a short time but he went bomb happy and had to go back to the beach.<br />
<br />
I must confess to having acquired - looted is the War Office term <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/LCT2012.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/LCT2012.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;"></a>- a beautiful dinner service each plate of which depicted a different type of fowl in glorious colour, and a tea set the plates and saucers of which each showed a French cartoon. Sadly, (or you may say, deservedly!) when we eventually hit the beach at Cowes, Isle of Wight, the Landing Craft came down with such a wallop that all my looted china was smashed except for two tea plate cartoons presently having in the hall of our house in Nairn.<br />
<br />
We returned to the U.K. as soon as it became obvious to higher command that they could not use Naval bombardment in support of the infantry advance for the Battle of Falaise. 'Fox Nine' - (my code name/sign) - was instructed to report to the <a href="http://www.ean.co.uk/Data/Bygones/History/Article/Radio_and_Television/html/ww2.htm"><strong>Pye factory</strong> </a>near Staines and to endeavour to develop along with an Italian Professor a very high frequency radio which would enable FOBs to speak to the ship at sea! My telegraphists had proved their excellence as compared with others in Normandy and for that reason we were selected for this job. The Professor very soon produced a set to operate on a frequency of 1 metre but the aerial was a dia-pole about 6 feet tall! I told him how it might be necessary to climb a tree, or a church tower or even a factory chimney and that while the set was very small indeed just right for strapping on to one's chest, the aerial was impossible. Next morning he came to me with the radio having attached to it a cable 1 metre long - this was the aerial. Scotty Jamieson and I had great fun trying out this new (and as yet secret) device all along the Hogs Back and the vicinity of Hindhead: it worked perfectly and was still in use when I visited an Armed Forces Exhibition in the Kelvin Hall, Glasgow many years later!<br />
<br />
We FOB's were told we would not see further action until a proposed landing at Heligoland planned for March 1945. Meantime we would go on a jungle warfare course 'in the near future'.<br />
<br />
In Cowes where our headquar<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/cowes.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/cowes.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;"></a>ters were in H.M.S. Vectis (a requisitioned Hotel on the sea front) I discovered that the remnants of my old regiment were in Newport so off I went bearing six boxes of very ripe Camembert cheese and a bottle of the Navy gin to meet and have dinner with my old Colonel John F. Cartwright. What a welcome the Mess gave me and Colonel Cartwright was overjoyed with the Camembert ('just right for eating, Alex!') and glad to have the gin to which he was able to add 'pink'. From his wallet he drew a cutting from a Sunday newspaper bearing the headlines 'Wee Scots officer shoots for cigarettes' plus a silhouette picture of said officer and Scotty beside the field wall (400 yards north of Buron at a place called Villez les Buissons (I think)) behind which we had crouched where shelling the German positions. How the story reached the papers I have no idea but Colonel Cartwright said -'there's no name mentioned, Alex, but I felt sure this must be you'!<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>J) Engagement and Marriage</strong><br />
Almost immediately after our arrival back in U.K. we were granted seven days leave. Off I went to Old Meldrum to see the girl of my dreams. One day we were with my sister Elsie and her recently acquired husband Willie MacLennan (Flight Lieutenant later D.F.C.) We visited Aberdeen probably to go to the cinema or dancing (I don't remember but Wilma will). As we were walking down Union Street we stopped and looked at the window of Hendersons the Jewellers. There were two engagement rings on display. I asked my companion if she would like a ring and, although I had never even proposed marriage, she looked at me with that lovely smile in her eye and said 'Yes'. In we went to find that these were the only two engagement rings in the shop - remember this was late July 1944 - Wilma tried one on but it was too big, the other fitted so I paid for it and we left the shop engaged to be married - at least she was wearing my ring - and that is the ring she still wears. It cost £27.<br />
<br />
Needless to say Elsie and Willie when sitting in a bus for Old Meldrum, while we were still in the queue, saw the ring and showed their pleasure. Arriving home before us they kept our secret from Wilma's Mother and Frank her step father. In due course we arrived and when the news was told there was surprise delight and thankfully, congratulations. I had broken all the rules by not seeking Wilma's hand in marriage but that did not seem to matter.<br />
<br />
That night Wilma's mother's cousin Annie and her husband Frank Bruce, a licensed grocer who were to become great friends, joined us to celebrate the engagement of my 19 year old fiancee - on gin of course!<br />
<br />
We went to Ardersier to see my parents who were delighted with their son's choice and greatly approved of her. Then it was back to business and jungle warfare. Training in the New Forest of all places. Wilma's mother expected the wedding to be deferred until after the war was over, but in those days one had no idea when the war might end. In correspondence we agreed to marry 'as soon as possible' The date was fixed for 4th October and it was to be a 'big wedding'. Wilma's mother insisted on a 'proper' reception in the town hall following the marriage ceremony in the Church. Willie MacLennan was my best ma<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Wedding.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/Wedding.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;"></a>n although I had met him only once, at his wedding in March 1944. Remember there was a scarcity of available men in those days but Willie was entitled, as I was, to 'compassionate' leave for an occasion such as this. My sister was Matron of Honour and Marwin Bruce was her Bridesmaid. The late Richard Greig, a second cousin, was train bearer.<br />
<br />
The Reverend Joseph Gray, B.D.,, T.D., who had been senior chaplain with the 42nd (L) Division and well known to me as such officiated at the wedding. He was a delightful person well loved by all the boys in the Division and was now the much loved Minister of the parish of Meldrum and Bourtrie.<br />
<br />
All I remember of the wedding reception is that to my great surprise and pleasure my uncle Donald had accepted the invitation to attend and that the head waitress in her excitement spilt tomato soup over my service dress tunic and trousers! However my bride soon sorted that out!<br />
<br />
We had a glorious week in the Cowal Hotel in Dunoon in wonderful weather. The hotel had been recommended to me by my former A<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/cowal.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/cowal.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;"></a>ssistant Adjutant, a Glasgow man who could never understand how, wherever he went 'people know I'm from Glasgow! The proprietor had his own small holding and the food was of pre-war standard. There I discovered on our first morning in the hotel that my darling Wilma did not appreciate having porridge for breakfast (after my having ordered it too as an officer and gentleman should!) - she still refuses to touch porridge! We had spent our first night in the Central Station Hotel in Glasgow (very grand!) my poor wee wife had to accept that the only drink available was gin with no orange, lemon or any other mix to be had. And in the morning for breakfast we had to eat 'scrambled' dried egg and sausage - horrible! But in Dunoon we feasted on the very best. The other residents were all elderly, retired teachers, bankers and such like from Edinburgh and Glasgow who referred to us as 'the children'. At the beginning of our stay the proprietor who had been given our ration cards said that if we were to stay on he would require proof of marriage. So a phone call to Frank Bruce ensured that a copy of our marriage certificate arrived post haste.<br />
<br />
On our return journey we met, as previously arranged, my dear telegraphist Jim Scott and had a meal with him in the Ca'doro Restaurant in Union Street, Glasgow. When he met Wilma he turned to me and said 'she's a wee stunner, Skipper, I approve'. And he has approved ever since.<br />
Having accompanied my wife back to Old Meldrum I returned to Cowes and more preparation for the proposed landing on the German coast in March 1945 and the possibility of further action against the Japanese in Burma.<br />
<br />
With the C.O.'s agreement I asked Wilma to join me in Cowes where she would be for 'at least five months'. The Bank required a month's notice but then having secured 48 hours leave I went North and we travelled south together Wilma weighed town with goodies no longer available to civilian households on the ration card. A colleague, Capt. Lee-Smith, had secured 2 room and kitchen accommodation for us when I was over in the New Forest. It was above a public house the owner of which, Mrs Castaneda (Married to a Spaniard) and her daughter, also lived above the pub!<br />
<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/gasworks.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/gasworks.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;"></a><br />
We had a large capon (hen to you!) to eat so two of my pals Tony Hawes and Dougie Dawes (yes, those were their names!) were invited to have lunch with us at 1230 for one. Sadly neither of us knew that the Isle of Wight gasworks had been bombed and the folk had to rely on temporary measures which afforded gas at very low pressures! Imagine my dear Wilma's embarrassment at 1.00 pm when she realised that the fowl was not nearly cooked. However, her husband and his pals were very tolerant and understanding: we sat down to a splendid cooked meal at 6.00 pm.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/holliers.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/holliers.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;"></a>Wilma had reached the Island early in December and soon thereafter I was told to stand-by for action in the Dutch Islands - <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_the_bulge"><strong>the battle for the Ardennes</strong> </a>had started and the left flank of the British Forces required heavy artillery support! All my fellow FOB's volunteered for the task but the C.O. decreed that Fox Nine must go! Wilma and I had 48 hours leave in<strong> </strong><a href="http://www.holliers-hotel.com/"><strong>Shanklin: Holliers Hotel</strong></a><strong> </strong>with frequent visits to the old world Crab Inn much loved by stage and film people and owned by Tibby and Tabby! Back in Cowes we attended a Naval Officers Mess dance where <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/TheCrabInn.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/TheCrabInn.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;"></a>Wilma was invited to dance by our C.O. Not knowing who he was she gave him a 'piece of her mind' regarding the Colonel and his selection of her husband to go into action so soon after she had arrived. How embarrassed she was when I told her who her partner had been!<br />
<br />
<strong>K) Holland</strong><br />
<br />
Intimation arrived that 'F9' was to depart from Cowes by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Motor_torpedo_boat"><strong>Motor Torpedo Boat</strong></a> at 0600 hrs on Chris<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/MTBoat%203.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/MTBoat%203.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;"></a>tmas morning 1944. Scotty came up to the flat to collect my valise, left us to say our farewells (with many tears) and when I reached the truck Scotty went back up to reassure Wilma that whatever happened he would 'see that the Skipper came back safely' And he did. I propose not to elaborate on our stay in Holland but to confine myself to the following tales (true of course!).<br />
<br />
The Naval H.Q. to which we were attached was in a place called Bergen op Zoom in Holland. Their field generator which supplied electricity for the local hospital and field dressing station could not be run because of the very severe frost and lack of anti-freeze.<br />
<br />
Having some free time I suggested to the Naval Captain that I might see if I could get some anti-freeze from the Army. He agreed and I proceeded to Antwerp to the Ordnance Dump but after calling at several offices I was almost convinced that all the anti-freeze in the British Army was being reserved for the battle of the Ardennes. As I was on the point of leaving one of these offices however, I noticed the name Captain J. Mayne on a door. This spelling of the name I had seen only once before and that was on a headstone in the cemetery at Ardersier marking the grave of one Major Mayne, a local boy who had joined the army as a bugle boy and had risen to this exalted rank early this century. Taking a chance on it I therefore knocked on Captain Mayne's door to find him seated behind his army table. When I asked whether he could supply the Navy with any anti-freeze he assured me that there was none available as it was all being reserved for the tanks and other vehicles engaged in battle further south. Little did he know of the little battles we were waging all the time in the Dutch islands or of the need for hospitals in places such as Bergen op Zoom. As is not uncommon with me 'I brassed necked it' and asked him whether he was in any way related to the late Major Mayne of Ardersier. You can imagine my delight when he said that he was a nephew and that he still had an Aunt, Mrs Falconer, alive in the old village. Mrs Falconer had been our neighbour ever since I was born and many a time I had 'cawed' the handle of the ice-cream making tub in her sweetie shop, payment for which was an ice-cream cone. Needless to say our conversation after lunch in his Mess extended over a period of some hours. We left with ten five gallon drums of anti-freeze in our 3 ton truck. Wasn't I the 'hero of the hour' on our return to Bergen op Zoom and the Naval Mess.<br />
<br />
While in Holland and for reasons associated with the extreme cold weather and salt water I found myself in bed in the 'How de Lieuw' (Golden Lion) Hotel (our H.Q) with a very high temperature attended by a Glasgow trained doctor - Bill Macintyre. With the aid of 'M & B' tablets he overcame the pneumonia which had laid me low. In return I taught him how to drive. Bill introduced me to a young Dutch boy about 18 years of age who wanted to learn English. During my convalescence we spent many hours together and he made rapid progress having already had a good grounding from listening to the radio. His father had been shot in the town square and his two older brothers were incarcerated by the Germans. His name was Lo Broeckman and he lived with his mother above the ladies dress shop which they owned but at that time of course was empty. It was my privilege to receive hospitality from Mrs Broeckman on many occasions; while she did not speak very good English we got along with Lo's English and his mother's French! I used to take them cigarettes which were worth a fortune, she told me, on the black market as well as corned (bully) beef and other provisions readily obtained from the Navy Cooks.<br />
<br />
On one occasion the boys and I were using a Dutch windmill as an OP. to bombard an island called Schouen (I think that's the spelling) It was not long before jerry, in the shape of the mad youngsters Hitler had manning his right flank, realised that he should demolish the windmill. We were happily ensconced on the top floor - beautifully clean and comfortable - when suddenly there were a series of blasts which shook the mill. The four 'legs' had been blown apart by a raiding party but the great wooden structure just settled down in an upright position. After that I preferred to keep away from windmills at night time.<br />
<br />
We were allowed to return to U.K. in March 1945 as the German offensive had by that time been repulsed.<br />
<br />
Wilma had remained in Cowes for a couple of months being joined by my sister for part of the time but decided to go home when there appeared to be no likelihood of her husband returning 'soon'.<br />
<br />
Having reported back to Cowes I was able to get leave so hastened up to Old Meldrum. On the way I dropped off in London with a pal to attend the wedding of Peter Cullen who was marrying a Wren O.R. - much to the disgust of the Navy as she had been a waitress in the Mess.<br />
<br />
I remember that her father was a Postman. He and his wife gave us a great welcome. They were married in a huge church with about a dozen guests present. Peter's mother (who with her husband did not approve of the marriage!) sat alone at the back of the church.<br />
<br />
With the other guests we attended the reception in a restaurant with all the other diners around making the right sort of happy comments.<br />
<br />
<strong>L) Dundonald Again</strong><br />
My next posting was to Dundonald camp. Wilma joined me and we stayed in a flat above the very nice family who owned the house. The other flat of the upper floor was occupied by an R.S.M. in the Catering Corps - he had been Chef in a famous London Hotel when called up. Many a happy party we had in that home. Because her shoes were hurting her after a dance in Troon one evening, my dear wife had to walk all the way home in her stockinged feet probably two miles.<br />
<br />
We celebrated the end of the war after the mysterious 'atom bomb' had been dropped on Japan by the Yanks in July 1945.<br />
<br />
<strong>M) </strong><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eritrea"><strong>Eritrea</strong></a><strong><br /></strong>For reasons best know to those in Whitehall I now found myself sen<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/AthloneCastle.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/AthloneCastle.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;"></a>t out to the Middle East! By train we travelled down through France to Tolouse where the liner Athlone Castle was berthed awaiting passengers. We lived in luxury for five days calling at Malta for a day and arrived in Port Said where we disembarked and were transported by train to Cairo. I found myself helping a staff Colonel at G.H.Q. but he had no work - after all the war was over. I now made use of a secret telephone number given to me by Mr Robert (Bob) Lawrence whom I had met in Frank Bruce's shop on some leave. He was tailor to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/King_Farouk"><strong>King Farouk</strong></a>. Bob asked me to visit him in the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abdin_Palaceh"><strong>Abdin palace</strong> </a>for a chat. On arrival the guards refused to allow me to pass. Bob was called and escorted me to his quarters - in the harem (pronounced, if you will, 'hareem'). The Queen and her ladies had all been shut up by Farouk in some other palace. As we were drinking tea an Egyptian major barged in to the room and there ensued a slanging match with Bob - all in Arabic! I understood not one syllable. When he had left Bob told me the Major was furious because I was in the harem where no man may enter unless with the King's consent. Bob assured him I did have the King's consent for had I not brought out from U.K. several bolts of special cloths to be made into suits for the King! This was of course news to me but the ploy worked.<br />
<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/oldmobile1.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/oldmobile1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;"></a><br />
Following this I was granted two weeks leave to spend a holiday with the King's tailor in his flat in Heather House, Alexandria. We travelled in his huge Oldsmobile which he requested me to drive after we left Cairo and for the first time in my life I drove that car at 150 Km per hour on the tarmac road through the desert down to Alex.<br />
<br />
We lived a life of sheer luxury for two weeks mainly sailing Bob's yacht and dining and wining in his various Clubs. Because he had 'the ear of the King' everybody with whom we came in contact treated him like the proverbial Lord.<br />
<br />
After that holiday I departed for '19 Area' in <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/africa/country_profiles/1070813.stm"><strong>Eritrea</strong></a>. Flying out<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/asmara1.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/asmara1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;"></a> of Cairo early one morning it was awe inspiring to see the sunshine racing across the land below and the river bordered by narrow bands of cultivated land on either side. We stopped off in Khartoum, where the temperature was 102 'F and then flew up to Asmara the capital of Eritrea. This splendid city had been built on a plateau 8000 feet above sea level by the Italians after they took over Abyssinia and Eritrea. It had a perfect climate for Europeans`.<br />
<br />
My appointment w<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Asmarra_alex.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/Asmarra_alex.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;"></a>as Staff Captain (A) which made me responsible for all admin, personnel and legal matters arising in the District. A fellow FOB, Jim Rainford, (later to be an optician in Bolton) was Staff Captain (Q) responsible for supplies. Each of us had his own bungalow but we dined in the Mess nearby. Life was very easy for us. The office was open from 8 am to 12 noon and from 4 pm to 6 pm when we were expected to work and we did in our respective spheres. The afternoons were spent playing tennis, or cricket, sunbathing or motoring off the plateau on which we lived to see the countryside 'over the edge'. The three main roads out of Asmara led to Masawa on the Red Sea, Kassala on the Sudanese/Eritrea Border and Addis Abba in Ethiopia; each built by Italian engineers who knew how to take a route down from 8000 feet to sea level by numerous hair pin bends on the precipitous sides of 'our' plateau.<br />
<br />
Each trip was an adventur<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Eritrea%20map.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/Eritrea%20map.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;"></a>e. Soon after my arrival a report reached my desk to the effect that a truck carrying 30 Sudanese soldiers had left the road and fallen 200 feet with only two twisted ankles! An Italian Chauffeur drove me to KM 22 and there I saw for myself that the truck was indeed 200 feet or more below us on the high vertical slope of the mountain - a write off! The soldiers all Moslems had survived, I was told, by their faith in Allah: they could all relax completely in the event of an accident and leave all to their Maker. If only we had such faith! Anyone who has motored over the Bealach na Ba from Loch Carron to Shieldaig, or on the La Colobra road in Mallorca or the Gross Glockner Pass in Austria will know what to expect if you ever happen to be motoring from Asmara to Massawa on the Red Sea.<br />
<br />
In Asmara we had several hundred Jews behind wire (all without trial!) and also several thousand Italians (civil and military) most of whose wives were 'living it up' with our troops as substitute husbands. Even our Brigadier got himself involved with one very wealthy lady and gave me the job of 'disentangling' them. This I succeeded in doing but only after she had shed many tears and shouted at me in loud Italian. As a reward the Brigadier gave me a weeks holiday (leave) down at Massawa where I spent the time sunbathing on the hotel's terrazzo.<br />
<br />
The most important court case we had was a follow on to a 'punch up' between Sudanese truck drivers and the locals (call the 'habash') in Addis Abba. The trucks had been sent south with food and medicines. Sadly three habash were killed and three Sudanese arrested and charged with murder. The Brigadier agreed that I should obtain the services of a Q.C. or Barrister from London to defend our troops. This was agreed by the War Office. After all I was only a Law Apprentice. A real problem arose during the trial when one of the principal defence witnesses refused to take the oath on the Bible or Koran. He would tell the truth only when holding the tribal spear. A young officer and sergeant of the Sudanese were despatched to Juba land to fetch the spear. The chief of the tribe insisted that his eldest son should carry the spear to Addis Abba. He did and after a delay of several days the trial continued: the said witness held the spear aloft in his right hand and in a loud voice swore that he would tell the truth. The three judges found our drivers to be 'not guilty'.<br />
<br />
In March 1946 I was informed by the War Office that I would be released in May and should now take all necessary steps to return to the U.K.<br />
<br />
From Asmara I travelled by truck down to Kassala when I joined the train for Khartoum a journey which took 5 days. The engine had been built at Springburn in Glasgow. A fellow passenger turned out to be a Mr Mackenzie from Ross-shire who was chief administrator for the Northern Sudan province - he had left Scotland as a youth serving as a deck hand on a freighter. In course of time he found himself in Port Sudan, liked the place and left the ship. He joined the Civil Service and in due course ended up with the highest post open to him. We spent many happy hours on the slow moving train: 30 mph was the maximum permitted speed over the sand of the desert. Each morning the coach attendant opened the sleeping compartment door and offered tea or coffee with cakes. He asked what one wanted to eat for lunch and dinner and stated his price. This being handed over one could be assured of a well cooked and presented meal served with true Victorian/Empire dignity in the dining car at the appointed time. The train took us down south to Juba land in a wide swathe and back up to Khartoum. A fascinating journey.<br />
<br />
In Khartoum I met a British officer, Jock Adam of Ayr, who had served in the Sudanese Army for four years and spoke fluent Arabic. He accompanied me to Omdurman, the only wholly black city in Africa at that time. Here we sought presents to take home. I liked a snake skin hand bag for which the shop keeper wanted £30. Jock refused to pay; three times we were back with Jock 'haggling' away: at last the Arab invited us to take coffee with him in his 'back shop'. This we did - sitting tailor fashion on his beautiful Persian rugs The coffee was very strong and very sweet but was washed down with cold water after each sip, as is the custom. We also had sweet meats of a kind I have seen only there. I came away with the hand bag for which the old Arab accepted £10 and with his blessings, in Arabic, ringing in my ears. That day I also bought 12 ivory napkin rings cut for me from one tusk by a street trader using a pedal operated saw while he squatted on the ground.<br />
<br />
A dozen leather coasters (gazelle skin, I think) were also among my purchases. Several are still 'to the fore' in our home after 50 years, the others having been given away as souvenirs.<br />
<br />
I might mention that the Blue Nile which rises in the mountains of Abbyssinia (Ethiopia) indeed looks blue as it joins the waters of the White Nile which originates far to the south, I think, in Lake Victoria. Is that not what Grant of the Nile, that famous Nairn explorer, discovered. To stand on the bridge at the point where the two rivers meet somewhere between Omdurman and Khartoum is a never to be forgotten experience. For me it was a most exciting moment. As the waters merge the colour becomes distinctly greyish and so much less attractive.<br />
<br />
Soon Jock and I were aboard the train heading north to its terminus at Wadi Halfa where we joined a paddle<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Rameses%20II.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/Rameses%20II.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;"></a> steamer to sail down river towards the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aswan_Dam"><strong>Aswan Dam</strong> </a>(built, of course, by that famous Highlander and Liberal M.P. Sir Murdoch MacDonald!) On the way we stopped at the famous <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rameses_II"><strong>temple to Rameses II</strong> </a>to visit this wonder of the ancient Egyptian world. At the end of the nave behind the rock altar sat the effigies of Rameses with two wives on either side. <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/rameses2altar.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/rameses2altar.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;"></a>On mid-summer's day at dawn and at that time only the rising sun lit up the King's face - a feat of skilled engineering, for the altar stood a fair distance in from the entrance door. But you can read all about that in appropriate literature. So important was the temple regarded that when Egypt decided after the 1939/45 war to flood the Nile basin in order to provide additional energy for the country the temple was actually cut out of the solid rock piece by piece and rebuilt at a higher level - but no longer is the King's face lit by the sun at dawn on mid-summer's day!<br />
<br />
The steamer was full of whites (including in that category well-to-do Egyptians) but it towed another vessel, like a two storey barge, and that was crammed full of Egyptian peasants and negros. Jock and I enjoyed our sail immensely and lived like true imperialists for the three day trip. At Aswan we had to walk about a mile to the train which would take us to Cario and I was astonished to see my cabin trunk (it had cost £3 when my batman had bought it for me in the Isle of Wight) being carried shoulder high by one of a string of native porters. It had left Eritrea two weeks before I did and arrived back home the day after I was released from the Army.<br />
<br />
In Cairo there was daily anti-British rioting of the most frightening kind with large crowds of Egyptians marching through the streets shouting all sorts of anti-British slogans. Bob Lawrence when I phoned him invited me to go up to Alexandria away from the mobs. We spent a few days in Heather House where his lounge walls were adorned with pictures of the prominent people for whom he had made clothes and uniforms before King Farouk bought him out. One photo was of the Duke of Windsor wearing breeches and bearing the inscription 'To Bob Lawrence the best breeches maker in the world' with his signature.<br />
<br />
The King was envious of the cut of his staff officers' breeches, demanded to know who had made them and then summoned Bob to the Kingly presence. The outcome was that Bob was given a very large sum of money to stop tailoring in the private sector and offered a large salary by the King along with accommodation and servants in each of three royal palaces. Wealthy Greeks and Egyptians still wanted Bob to tailor for them and, I know, he did so in exchange for what would normally be regarded as extortionate prices. But the label sewn inside the jacket bearing the 'royal appointment symbol' was worth every penny.<br />
<br />
Bob always wore a fez (cap) and spoke fluent Arabic. He never gave more than a shilling for a tip ("They're always hoping for more next time I call, Alex") in a restaurant and the Palace paid for all the petrol he used. He had served his apprenticeship as a tailor in Peterhead, Old Meldrum and Glasgow.<br />
<br />
In Alexandria one afternoon we stood on the balcony of the flat while several thousand shouting scoundrels filled the square. We actually saw, to our horror, the bodies of three British soldiers being carried along; they had been brutally murdered by the mob. Not one word of this reached the British press; at least the folk at home knew nothing of what was happening in Egypt.<br />
<br />
Glad we were to be leaving. In order to avoid violence all we British troops were quartered behind wire in a huge transit camp. As ships became available in Alexandria harbour we were carried by night to embark. (All our arms had previously been handed in otherwise the soldiers would have made short work of the fellaheen! Jock and I travelled on a Liberty boat equipped with three tier bunks in its hold. A most unpleasant 'cruise' to Toulon where we transferred to the 'Medlock' train and had to sit on wooden seats all the way north to Dieppe. A horrible journey: we were like cattle!<br />
<br />
In Dieppe we met up with four other Scots officers and had a whale of a time, buying gifts for wives, fiancees, and mothers. In one shop we were given a 'demonstration' of ladies underwear. At dinner in the officers' Club we discovered that one of our number, a Lieut.-Colonel in the Argylls had attained the age of 40 that day so we celebrated with champagne. I may say they even persuaded the writer to stand on the table and sing that well known army song <a href="http://www.diamondgeezers.org.uk/sounds/lyrics/theballofkerrymuir.html"><strong>'The Ball of Kirriemuir'</strong></a> -all twenty verses of it! I must have drunk too much!!<br />
<br />
We left Dieppe at 2 am the following morning having had no sleep and the crossing was the worst I have ever experienced at sea. I think I spent, as did most of my fellow officers, the whole of the time on board in the gents toilet being ill. To my utter shame.<br />
<br />
From Dover a train took us to Aldershot where we were issued with civilian clothes 'off the peg' including a tribly hat, overcoat, suit, socks, shoes, shirt and tie and given a rail pass to any station of our choosing: mine was for Fort George via Aberdeen. My official 'Release day' was 16th May 1946. By releasing rather than de-mobbing us the War Officer retained the right to recall us for duty up to the age of 40 years.<br />
<br />
And so came to an end my Army career: almost seven years of true comradeship: I enjoyed them all.</div>
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<b>Click mouse here to go to >>><span style="color: #cc0000;"> </span></b><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-4.html" style="color: #cc0000; font-weight: bold;">Chapter 14 >>>>>></a></div>
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Iain Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397274617360739298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20436198.post-1136632193607247332005-12-20T11:07:00.000+00:002016-01-05T14:31:30.127+00:00Memoirs of a Fisherman's Son - Part 4, Chapter 14<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><span style="font-size: 130%;">Chapter 14</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />'Civvy' Street Once Again'</span></strong><br />
<strong>A) Edinburgh</strong><br />
After practically seven years in uniform, the transition to life as a student/Apprentice was one which I viewed with some apprehension for I knew it meant that my whole way of life was going to be utterly different. I think if I had not been married to Wilma I would have gone out to join Bill Garrish in Okenaga Valley in Vancouver and become an apple farmer. But Wilma was my saviour: we could now get to know one another in ways not possible while I was in uniform, do things together, plan for the future and more than anything find out if we really were 'made for one another' as we had so often whispered during our all too short times together after marriage.<br />
<br />
My pre-war landlady 'Granny Kenzie' found us a room in Bruntsfield - £2.10/- a week rent for a bed/sitter with use of the kitchen until 6.00 p.m. in the evening. Housing accommodation at that time was at a premium with young couples like us swarming in to Edinburgh. So we were lucky. Granny Kenzie gave us a kettle in which to boil water. Our ration allowance had risen only to a saucepan. Soon after we were installed Wilma developed what th<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/arthursseat.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/200/arthursseat.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px;" /></a>e doctor diagnosed as 'flu'. When she recovered I took her for a walk across the Meadows over to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arthur"><strong>Arthur's seat</strong> </a>which we were to climb 'straight up' on the north west side - the steepest. For me that was a 'mere bagatelle' and I must admit I gave no thought to the fact that my young wife had none of the training which had made my body 'as hard as nails' (and a deep brown all over after all the Middle East sunshine). Not only was (perhaps, still is) the face almost perpendicular but sandy too so it was with considerable difficulty and sheer determination that we reached the top.<br />
<br />
A few days later Wilma was diagnosed as having appendicitis and rushed in to the Royal Infirmary for the necessary operation. On the Saturday following I saw an advertisement in the Evening Express inviting applications from young couples the wife to act as housekeeper to a retired Minister and the husband to have the use of the library if so required. I applied and gave as our referee the name of Revd. Willie MacDonald of Palmerston Place Church, our Minister. On Monday dear Willie was visiting Wilma in hospital (husbands not allowed on Mondays!) and congratulated her on being selected to be housekeeper for the Revd. Doctor John Campbell formerly of the Tollbooth St. John's Church, Lawnmarket. Apparently Doctor Campbell who had found himself with dozens of applications on the Monday morning, liked the one by the fellow who named his minister as referee, phoned Willie and was told that if he could get Wilma Cameron to come as housekeeper he would be the best fed Minister in Edinburgh. Wilma knew nothing of my letter of course and when I arrived at visiting time on the Tuesday evening had to make due apology. How could she possibly cope with looking after a large manse - she was only 21 - and cook for a Doctor of Divinity!<br />
<br />
It was not long though before we moved in to No. 9 Chalmers Street, a twenty minute walk to office and University. Wilma was actually to be paid ten shillings each week and we had no rent to pay. We thought ourselves immensely fortunate.<br />
<br />
My pre-war employers Kinmont & Maxzwell had joined, following dear old Nimmo's death, with another firm and I found myself an apprentice with Simpson, Kinimont & Maxwell W.S. in 11 Albyn Place, Edinburgh. Mr R.W. (Bertie) Martin was a partner and I was to work for or with him. I shared a room with Bertie's nephew, Rodney Webster, a first year apprentice who was to be my side-kick! My salary was, as in 1939, ten shillings per week!<br />
<br />
On reporting to the Old Quad (University) in late March 1946 I was asked to attend a meeting wit the Dean of the Law Facility Professor Matthew Fisher Q.C., early in April when he would meet and address ex-servicemen like me who wanted to continue their studies. There were over 70 of us at that meeting - all ranks from Private to Brigadier. The Dean's main message was that the University did not have the staff to cope - so many had been killed or were yet to be released. His advice to those of us who were married was to go for the Solicitors Professional Examinations. He could arrange for us to have 'crammed ' courses in subjects we had not covered before the war in the B.L. curriculum; this could be achieved by June 1947. At the same time we were advised to do the School of Accountancy correspondence course in the required subjects (at our own expense!). This is what most of us decided to do as, being married men with wives to support, we could not afford to wait to graduate in July 1948. In those days it was not the done thing for the wives of Solicitors to work! For the next fifteen months I had to work at the office, attend law classes twice or sometimes three times in the day and work for a large part of the night. Doctor Campbell's library was a tremendous help: I would resort to its silence with my books and packet of 20 cigarettes and work 'like stink' until exhausted. Meantime Wilma attended 'make-do-and-mend' and cookery classes which have stood her in good stead over the years.<br />
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At weekends we spent most of our time doing things together, cinema, theatre, walking, exploring Edinburgh and its environs and generally enjoying life to the full.<br />
<br />
The government gave us a grant of £102 (they might have made it £2 a week!) which greatly helped to keep us solvent. Wilma's cousin Mary Wiseman worked as Cook in a University residence nearby and she used to join us for outings. We took her to a Gaelic society which met monthly in Leith and there she met with the man she was subsequently to marry, the late Donnie MacMillan. Jim Scott used to come through from Glasgow on his motor bike and Bill MacIntyre (the doctor who had nursed me in Bergen-op-Zoom) came from Coatbridge. One night when Doctor Campbell was in Aberdeen-shire visiting his two sons (both ministers) we had, with his agreement, a wonderful party to which all our friends were invited. A few days before the party one of my Army drivers spotted me in the street, stopped his truck (he worked for the Canongate brewery) and on hearing of the proposed party offered to help with 'some beer'. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Firkin"><strong>A firkin</strong> </a>of beer was delivered to the Manse and old Jim Salton came and 'spieled' it - in other words he set it up on its side in a walk-in cupboard off the drawing room, drove a wooden tap in at the bottom end and made an air hole in the bung on what was now the 'top' side. A firkin holds nine gallons: by next morning the barrel was empty and none of us were really beer drinkers! But we had a night to remember.<br />
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Once a year Doctor Campbell entertained all the Ministers on the General Assembly Library Committee ( he was over 80 but still very fit and able for that task) and Wilma had to act as baker, cook and hostess to a great company of divines.<br />
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Mrs MacKenzie used to enjoy his Company and often after a Saturday evening meal we would all sit down to play Monopoly. Inevitably Doctor Campbell won even if it meant playing after the Sabbath had begun: in other words midnight. He just loved having loads of money and all the properties. Mrs MacKenzie was never very sure if it was right to play on Sunday! She was always assured that the Almighty would not hold it against her!<br />
<br />
In Edinburgh Wilma and I attended Palmerston Place Church without becoming involved in any activities. We did help out when we could at the People's Palace in the Cowgate. Conditions there seemed to have improved greatly as compared with pre-war days but the Warden Mr Lochore by this time authorised to use the 'Rev' before his name, and his good lady were still at the helm helping the down and outs most wonderfully. The man was truly a saint!<br />
<br />
My Inverness 'Master' D.H. MacDonald had met me on several occasions during the war when he was in London to see a Harley Street specialist and had told me he wanted me back as Junior Partner in Davidson Scott & Co. when I qualified after the war. Later on he met Wilma and myself in Inverness and took us to see a house he owned at the Kenneth Street end of Greig Street and on the North Side. This house was to be ours : it was an easy walk across the Greig Street Bridge to 42 Union Street. How we looked forward to that. In those days this was a gift beyond one's dreams.<br />
<br />
But <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/To_a_Mouse"><strong>'the best laid schemes o' mice and men'</strong> </a>as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Burns"><strong>Rabbie Burns</strong> </a>said 'gang aft agley'. In April 1947 D.H. passed away after a short illness. His partner John McBean had of necessity to acquire another partner at once. He did, and so I was one of the many who did not have a relation, father, uncle, cousin etc. in a law firm. There was only one thing to do and that was to convince some employer, any employer, of one's worth. For Wilma and myself D.H.'s death was a grievous blow, yet somehow we knew the good Lord would come to our aid.<br />
<br />
I passed all the necessary exams with the proverbial 'flying colours' but no degree as that had been dropped. You can imagine how pleased by dear Wilma was when I came home one day in July 1947 and told her she was now a Solicitor's wife. Her folk and mine had to be told at once: naturally they were delighted.<br />
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Bertie Martin told me my salary would now go up to £200 a year - less than £4 her week. I applied for and obtained a post at £400 p.a. as a Conveyancer with Edinburgh Town Council with whom our pre-war Managing Clerk, Duncan McDonald, was now employed. I hated that job: - the head of the department was far too pernickety for words. The Depute Town Clerk, William Hutton, was appointed (in March 1948) Deputy Chairman of the South West Scotland Electricity Board in Glasgow. Very soon D.L.M. and a Committee Clerk, Alfie Gordon, disappeared on joining the said S.W.S.E.B. When an advert appeared in the paper for a Legal Assistant with said Board I applied. An interview in July passed off with no reaction: This was followed by a request for my presence for a second interview in late September. Seven of us were called but because I was the only one who admitted to having studied the Town and County (Scotland) Act 1947 while it was going through Parliament the Secretary, John Meek said the job was mine. We moved to Glasgow towards the end of November 1948 with seven cases and one cat's cage! Doctor Campbell was distraught but understood my position very clearly. Our 2-1/2 year stay with him had been, and remains in our memories, a most happy period in our lives together. I have always been indebted to Wilma (even if I haven't said so before, Darling) for her understanding and forebearance during that time of hard study, when I first opened 'The introduction to the law of Scotland' by Gloag and Henderson in 1947. I could understand not one sentence of the opening chapter! I had to read the whole book twenty times in order to assimilate the knowledge it contained. After all my mind had been concentrating for seven years on 'matters ballistic'.<br />
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<br />
<strong>B) Glasgow</strong>Little did I know it but by moving to the S.W.S.E.B. I was moving from one pernickety situation to an even more hair splitting nit-picking environment. It had never occurred to me who had always been one for accuracy that there were people in the profession who could be over precise - if you can get my meaning. Seems to me this attribute stemmed from the Chairman whose previous post had been that of Engineer to Dumfries County Council : he himself was a Yorkshireman.<br />
<br />
All I will say is that I tholed it and worked hard - too hard indeed. Five years were to pass before I was allowed to have an assistant. The Manager of one of the Board's Areas needed an Area Secretary in 1951 and wanted me to move over to his organisation in Hamilton. On hearing this the Secretary, John Meek, (whom I later came to respect and indeed love) asked me to stay at Board H.Q. where I would always have a higher salary than any Area Secretary. And so I stayed.<br />
<br />
When the industry in Scotland was reorganised in 1954 the Board realised they required one large office to house their Head Office staff in place of the several offices occupied throughout the City of Glasgow.<br />
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Several abortive attempts were made to secure suitable property and then a colleague who lived in Netherlee came in with the news that the Dexter Raincoat factory was up for sale. After some tentative viewing by the Chief Officers 'wee Alex' was instructed to 'try and buy it'. I was to do this as secretly as possible! What I did was to ask the District Valuer to join me for lunch in some Glasgow cafe. (I would have to pay out of my own pocket in those days!) We did not employ the D.V. but as he always acted on behalf of local authorities we knew one another. When I broached the subject of the Dexter Raincoat factory he revealed (1) that Weirs of Cathcart were after it and had offered £275,000 and (2) the Corporation of Glasgow wanted it and he had valued it at £250,000. After this I proceeded to Cathcart, saw Mr Forsyth, drank tea with him and 'tentatively' suggested £350,000. He was very agreeable, asked me to go away and bring back proof of my authority and if possible an offer. Never had I seen matters move so quickly, in S.W.S.E.B. By next day the missives had been concluded. It took months to modify and adapt the factory for office purposes and to lay out car parking to meet the needs of about 500 staff, most of them engineers.<br />
Now I was, I suppose, being recognised! A letter from the Personnel Officer reached my desk informing me that I was now -wait for it - Principal Assistant Secretary (Legal, Estates and Wayleaves); my salary would be equivalent of a Principal Assistant Secretary in the Civil Service and my room in Cathcart House as it was now to be called would be number 8 on the first floor!<br />
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That post I held until I retired in 1977 but during my final year I acted as Secretary of the Board and received the appropriate Salary for that appointment. The last seven years of my service in the Supply industry were the happiest of all my 30 years and I revelled in the authority and freedom which made life so pleasant.<br />
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I do not intend to deal at length with my 'job' during all those years in Glasgow but have endeavoured in Part V hereof to tell some of the tales which have been enjoyed by so many friends and groups of ladies and of gentlemen since I retired to Nairn. Hopefully those who read these memoirs will also find enjoyment in doing so.</div>
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<b>Click here to go to >>> </b><a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/memoirs-of-fishermans-son-part-5.html" style="color: #cc0000; font-weight: bold;">Chapter 15 >>>>></a></div>
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Iain Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397274617360739298noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20436198.post-1136632489642553212005-12-19T11:11:00.001+00:002020-06-07T20:09:57.479+01:00Memoirs of a Fisherman's Son - Part 5, Chapter 15<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><span style="font-size: 130%;">Chapter XV<br /><br />A Few Tales:</span></strong><br />
This part of my 'memoirs' contain some of the tales (all true, I assure you) that have interested and indeed amused various organisations in Nairn since I retired in 1977. They are not set out in chronological or any other sequential order. Some are to be found earlier in these memoirs. I hope they show that life is not without occasions of amusement: what is better than to have a sense of humour? Moreover a smile is something that does an immense amount of good not only to the receiver but to the giver also! It costs nothing to give away a smile.<br />
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<strong>1. Yachts at Gourock: </strong><br />
Soon after arriving in Glasgow in 1948 I began to realise that 'they' (the good Glasgow folk) had, and frequently used, many expressions unknown to me who had been educated in Inverness Royal Academy e.g. one could now say 'I'll no can get golfing tomorrow, Jimmy' and everyone around would know what was meant. Reading an Evening Times on the tram home from Waterloo Street to Cardonald one evening I saw a <strong><a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/scotland/arts/bud_neill_creator_of_lobey_dosser.shtml" target="_blank">Bud Neill</a></strong> cartoon depicting two (obviously) Glasgow ladies on holiday at Gourock : there were lots of boats in the background. One was saying to the other 'Yaffa yat?' The other replied 'I' to which her neighbour added the next question 'Fat yat yaffa'? The response read 'Yonyinther'. I asked my fellow passenger, who was a stevedore and he told me, what these words meant. His immediate and forthright answer was simply : That one says 'yaffa yat' and then the other says 'Fatyatyaffa' etc. But I said 'What do the words mean'? He laughed and observed that I must be new to Glasgow - as I was. After a struggle it dawned on me that one was asking the other if she had sailed down the Clyde to Gourock in a yacht (yat!) and the other's reply confirmed this; indeed the latter was pointing out what was no doubt her husband's yacht!<br />
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<strong>2. Substation Noise</strong><br />
Early in 1949 the Chief Engineer of S.W.E.B, the late beloved John Henderson, was the recipient of weekly letters from a lady and her daughter in Queensborough Gardens, Glasgow. Each letter complained bitterly about the loud piercing noise created by a substation in the back - green and threatening all sorts of dire consequences because they could not sleep at night. John's letters, which I had to 'vet' were all to the effect that the substation was shut down at 10.00 p.m. every evening. The ladies did not believe him. It was arranged that the Chief Engineer accompanied by a Senior Engineer a Professor of Electrical Engineering (at a College later to become Strathclyde University) and 'wee Alex' would attend upon the ladies at the witching hour of midnight to hear for themselves the distressing noise which was depriving the mother and daughter of their sleep.<br />
<br />
Actually, by special request, we arrived at 11 p.m. to be regaled not with angry words but cups of tea and cakes. Conversation was about everything except noise until 12 o'clock struck on the mantelpiece clock. Thereupon each shouted 'There it is: just listen'! We all did. No one spoke for five minutes and then the mother said 'you'll know now why we cannot sleep, that substation noise is unbearable'.<br />
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John said, very quietly and simply 'Mrs ----- that substation has been out of operation for the past two days' The Professor confirmed this and invited our two ladies to come down to the back green and inspect the substation. They did. No one suggested that the noise was in their imagination and there were no further complaints.<br />
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<strong>3. Substation Vibration:</strong><br />
With the consent of the local planning authority (and no objections from any of the adjoining proprietors) the S.S.E.B. built a 400KV substation beside a Church of Scotland Eventide Home at Giffnock, Glasgow.<br />
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I may say the Church had been 'glad of the money'. Soon after it was commissioned a letter arrived on my desk claiming that neither the writer nor her husband could sleep at night because, since that huge monstrosity' across the road from our house has been operating, the vibration is terrible especially at night'. An elderly engineer ( a real character) and I visited the couple in their lovely villa. After a full narrative of their experience, in the most polite fashion I should add, my colleague Archie asked if we could see their bedroom. The double bed was pushed into one corner where, Archie was assured, it always sat. 'Now' he said 'tell me Mrs -- on which side of the bed do you sleep'. 'Oh the inside, beside the wall there'. was the reply.<br />
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'Well' said Archie, 'I would suggest you change places, let your husband sleep at the inside while you occupy the outer side of the bed'. They agreed to take Archie's advice and strange as it may seem, there were no further complaints of sleepless nights!<br />
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In all fairness I should add that the engineers, nevertheless, placed rubber bushes below the transformer feet - just in case!<br />
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<strong>4. Anti-freeze</strong><br />
When I was a small boy in Ardersier I knew all about a poor fisher lad Jimmy Main who had joined the Seaforth Highlanders at the tender age of 14 as a bugle boy some time before the Boer War and had risen to the rank of Major in his Regiment. I knew because he had planted 3 trees on the march ditch between his sister's plot and ours - the ditch separated the Cawdor Estate from Moray Estate and ran right through the village with bridges every so often. His sister Mrs Falconer a very old lady, had a sweetie shop and was a good friend of mine; often did I 'caw' the handle of her ice cream making bucket - that took about an hour and was rewarded with ice-cream with a cone. In the cemetery outside the village the headstone marking the Major's grave indicated that his name was spelt MAYNE whereas all the other Mains in the village used the traditional spelling; used also in places like Nairn - to me therefore he was someone special. In early 1945 I was out in the Ditch Islands bringing naval bombardment down on the right flank of the German Army. The temperature used to go so low, - 25 on the Fahrenheit scale -that life was anything but pleasant. The generator brought over by the Navy to supply a Field Hospital in the small coastal town of Bergen-op-Zoom could not be used for want of anti-freeze. There was no light except candles and hurricane lamps but the medical staff trained in far away places like Edinburgh and Glasgow were desperate for electric light. The naval Captain in charge of the base could get no help from the Navy so he asked if I could use whatever influence I had with the army. Off I went to Antwerp accompanied by my two sailors Jim Scott, and Jameison travelling in a 3 ton truck. I called at three Ordinance dumps but when I told them in charge what I wanted they just laughed at me - anti-freeze was for our tanks in the Ardennes and not for any so and so naval generator in some outlandish Dutch village. As I was about to leave the last office in the third dump I noticed a sign outside the door. It read 'Capt. J. Mayne, R.A.' I could scarcely believe my eyes. In I went and demanded of the officer behind his comfortable desk not if he had any anti-freeze to give away but if he had any relations in Ardersier! Now nobody had ever heard of the place until the Americans came to Whiteness Head a few years ago and adopted the name of the Parish, namely Ardersier but he did. He was the nephew of the late Major, and had been brought up in South America, had an aunt who had a sweetie shop, and had come home to join the British army when war broke out. We went to the Mess for lunch and a 'noggin'. I told him of my problem and of all the poor wounded sailors and soldiers further up the coast in an unlit hospital. Need I say more? I came away with, no not 3 tons of the stuff, but 50 gallons That night in the naval mess to which I was attached we drank to the memory of the late Major Mayne.<br />
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<strong>5. No Rent from Socialists:</strong><br />
After the reorganisation of the industry in the south of Scotland in 1954. The Chief Wayleave Officer came to me saying that a farmer in Ayrshire had refused, ever since nationalisation in 1948 to accept any rent for the transmission towers on his land. The amount due to him was now £750 and the finance wizards were getting 'irked' about cheques being returned.<br />
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I arranged to visit the farmer. As always on meeting a farmer one was welcomed with a dram and a cup of tea. I was dressed, deliberately, in a blue suit, white shirt with blue tie and blue socks. I thought this might be helpful!<br />
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In due course I broached the subject of rent for the transmission line towers 'Oh', he said 'I'll never accept payment from a socialist organisation like yours'. I knew, of course that he was a prominent Conservative so, flaunting my blue socks (in case he hadn't noticed them) I said I felt sure he had been at the Tory conference in Perth where Sir Winston Churchill had declared that 'we will give Scotland its own electricity'. From him therefore had come the merging of the generation and transmission functions in south Scotland with the former South East and West Electricity Boards. Thus we were a creation of the Conservative Party. 'I never realised that' he said 'but in the circumstances I'll accept the money'. From my pocket I drew out and handed to him a cheque for £750 and he regaled me with another 'wee one ' for the road.<br />
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In later years when I was personally responsible for purchasing land for Power Stations. I always got my wayleaves staff to ascertain in advance the political persuasion of the particular proprietor I was about to visit. If I was in blue they assumed I was a Conservative, if in red I was a member of the Labour Party; but if I did not know what political party was supported I wore one red sock and one blue and a yellowish tie. This ploy paid dividends and all 13 Power station sites for which I negotiated were acquired without compulsory purchase. One of our Chairmen Frank (Later Lord) Tombs once asked me the reason for my success as compared with other utilities: he laughed when he heard of my colour schemes, but I added that in every case whether dealing with a crofter or an Earl I regarded them, as my mother had taught me, as fellow human beings who bled if they cut a finger, sniffed if they had a head cold and sometimes worried about the amount of rent or tax they had to pay.<br />
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<strong>6. Seaside Cottage:</strong><br />
I was once in a beautiful seaside cottage on the east coast of Southern Scotland with the owner, a lady who was reputed to have seen away two wealthy husbands and was now married to a wealthy farmer. The Board wanted this cottage with its 30 acres of sandy and rocky beach including the site of the Canongate Boys Club camp which had been there since the early twenties. We were to incorporate it in the site of a Nuclear Power Station. On a table at the window of one of the front rooms I had my map and was demonstrating by reference to it how much we'd require and what would been seen from the house if perchance she refused to sell. A gruesome tale! Using my right hand I pointed out the main features on the land. My left hand was resting on the map, most of the time. Dropping my right hand to the table during a pause in my narrative you can perhaps imagine my concern when I saw her left hand descend upon it and remain there - I counted the diamond rings, there were six and sundry others. But what should I do? What would you? Well, I suppose what I did was to say a brief prayer 'Good Lord keep me from temptation. I want this property not this woman'. After what seemed like an hour during which I demonstrated with my left hand I heard a rustling of car tyres on gravel. The back door opened and a voice called "Are you there Darling?" The Good Lord had given me a quick answer for here was her husband and to my astonishment he turned out to be a former C.O. He greeted me like a long lost brother. And I may say his wife placed no difficulty in my way in acquiring her delightful little cove and cottage. I must confess the price did include an element intended to reflect just a little of the romance of the place, if not the beauty of the owner.<br />
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<strong>7. Very first 'public' speech:</strong><br />
When I was in my second year at the Royal academy our English Master the late beloved D.J. MacDonald, told us one Friday that he wanted each of us to get used to speaking to groups of people commencing, of course with our own class. He was to appoint two members of the class to speak, each for five minutes, at our Monday afternoon class. That first Monday I was one of those chosen to speak and that on the subject of 'An Orange'. I was almost panic stricken going home in the 'puggy' that day for I knew nothing about oranges except as one who enjoyed eating them. However when I arrived home the old boy (grandfather) told me that there was 'just the thing for you in last weeks' John Bull ( a weekly magazine). He looked it out and there I read all about oranges and how they were grown in Spain, and all the processes through which they had to go before reaching our shops. It even gave the recipe for marmalade making.<br />
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I read that article all weekend until I knew all about oranges. On Monday I proceeded with great confidence to tell my class mates all I (now) knew about an orange. For my talk D.J. gave me nine marks out of ten and afterwards asked me how I had gained such knowledge. I confessed that it had all come from 'John Bull' and to my surprise he congratulated me on my efforts.<br />
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<strong>8. Another Lump Please:</strong><br />
Four of us (all students from the Highlands) who helped in the People's Palace were invited by an elderly couple, the late Doctor and Mrs Stewart to come for afternoon tea each Sunday afternoon unless we were otherwise engaged. Each of us arrived at their lovely home in Polworth Terrace at or about ten minutes to three as afternoon tea was invariably served at 3.00 p.m.. We were greeted warmly by our host and hostess who had been Medical Missionaries in China and Labrador and indeed were two charming people. Among other things they asked us all to feel able to visit them not only on Sunday afternoon but at any other suitable time when free.<br />
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At three o'clock the maid (dressed in black and white as was usual in those days) entered the drawing room with the tea trolley on which were a beautiful silver tea service and china as well as scones, pancakes and cakes all home baked. The trolley was placed beside Mrs Stewart's chair. She asked how many lumps of sugar we each took and being modest types each of us asked for two. As the cups were filled the maid took them to the guests in turn and then offered a scone or pancake in the usual manner. Mrs Stewart asked, after all were served, if everything was to our liking. It was, but one student, Hector from Easter Ross asked if he might have another lump of sugar, please. Mrs Stewart told the maid to oblige and Hector expressed his thanks.<br />
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The next Sunday, Hector again asked for 'another lump please'. And the next Sunday and indeed we all came to expect the same request from our sweet-toothed friend.<br />
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One Sunday, on leaving the house, I heard our hostess say to her husband. "I am going to sort that young man's bundle". She was clearly referring to Hector.<br />
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The next Sunday, sure enough, Hector asked for his usual extra lump. When the maid lifted one from the silver bowl and dropped it in the cup which Hector, so politely, was holding out for her: the sugar lump remained on the surface!! It did not sink! Mrs Stewart had 'sorted his bundle' right enough. The cup had been filled with sugar to such an extent beforehand that there was scarcely any liquid in the cup!<br />
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Just imagine Hector's embarrassment. His apologies were profuse and Mrs Stewart was assured he would never do the same again. Surprisingly he continued to attend these Sunday afternoon tea parties, but as from Sunday following he took no sugar in his tea!<br />
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<strong>9. Law Student : Piper:</strong><br />
One of my fellow students at the time was a lad from Portree. His parents had been sufficiently well off to afford a small flat in Bruntsfield where Donald lived all on his own. After a few weeks his mother came down to Edinburgh to see for herself how her son was getting on. He assured her that he was doing fine, he had made several friends among the law students, his attempts at cooking were successful and she had no need to worry about him. She asked how he got on with the neighbours in the close and Donald said the folk in his stair were all very nice people but he did not see them very often. He had only one problem -the fellow through the wall in the adjoining tenement was forever knocking on the wall in the evenings as if he were chipping off all the plaster. "And what have you done about that nuisance?" asked his mum. "Oh", said Donald "I just keep on playing my bag-pipes".<br />
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<strong>10. You're white all over!:</strong><br />
On arrival in Asmara, the Capital of Eritrea as it then was, I was <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/1600/Dad%20in%20Asmara.5.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1440/1877/320/Dad%20in%20Asmara.3.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt;" /></a>allocated a bungalow all to myself and a <a href="http://igcdadsmemoirs.blogspot.com/2005/12/dad-with-his-batman-in-asmara.html"><strong>coloured batman</strong> </a>whose name, he told me was, Longa: no doubt because he was over six feet tall (almost 2 metres). He told me that before dinner in the officers mess nearby, each evening he would prepare my bath. I discovered that the water was heated by setting fire to combustible materials like sticks, twigs and so on, packed in to a cylinder which stood six feet high in a corner of the bathroom. From this there extended a funnel which passed through the roof and vented like any other chimney to the open air. When a match was applied to the fuel at the foot of the cylinder there was a roar as the flames reached upwards. Inside the cylinder there was a coil of copper piping extending from top to bottom. This coil held the water which of course was rapidly heated by the fuel burning. It was drawn off to the bath and before long one had a bath-full of piping hot water. I looked on in amazement at the performance. Longa told me he would call me when my bath was ready - namely when the water had been cooled down to a suitable temperature.<br />
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In due course he entered my sitting room and said 'Ready bath, Sir'. I proceeded to the bathroom where lovely white towels had been laid out and I found a brand new loofah (back scrubber), soap and sponge awaiting me. Longa stood within the door. As he made no effort to leave I stripped off and got into the bath. When free of all dirt and sweaty smells I stood up, Longa said in an astonished voice 'Sir, you are white all over'! I assured him I was. Poor Longa, although he had been a servant with the Italian Army and batman to several British Officers he had never before seen, or been allowed to see, a white officer in his birthday suit! He told me he had always thought that white people had only face, hands and knees which were white and that the rest of the body was black like his own which he then proceeded to display for my benefit. Secretly I was glad I had been trained in judo and unarmed combat. But Longa, bless him was a quite delightful person. He was not permitted to take more than the standard pay of ten shillings per week but I did persuade him that the extra ten shillings I always gave him was for his wife and three children.<br />
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He cried the day I left Asmara on my homeward journey.<br />
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<strong>11. He's my Uncle</strong><br />
Coincidences have often helped me in my own private affairs and I'm sure some of you must have benefited from them as I have done.<br />
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This (true) tale illustrates what I mean:<br />
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After a very good Law Society dinner in Edinburgh I was proceeding west towards my home. As soon as I came to the Mayberry Hotel on the outskirts of Corstorphine I put my foot down and pushed my speed up to about 70. Imagine my consternation when someone in a Rover started to pass me - in those days I did not enjoy being passed on the road! However I stuck to my 70. As the other car was alongside me I saw an arm stuck out on the passenger's side signalling me to stop. Yes, the Police. I stopped. They stopped about 50 yards ahead of me. They got out and I did too. They walked towards me. The opening question was something like this "Where do you think you are going?" My reply was truthful - "home". I asked why they had stopped me and got a long explanation about speed restrictions from the older of the two bobbies. I excused myself by explaining that the de-limiting sign was back at the Mayberry Hotel only to be told that it was, in fact, alongside my car - and there it was right above me! "Oh well' I said "it used to be back there". "Yes", said my friend, "it was, but it was moved 20 years ago". I didn't dare say that I had not been in Edinburgh for the last 20 years so I simply said "Are you from Clachnaharry"? The Bobby was taken aback at this question as I knew he would be. He told me he had been brought up in Clachnaharry. But how did I know? I explained that one of my best friends at the Royal Academy was from that airt and that his name was Willie --<br />
"Oh" said the bobby "he's my uncle". That co-incidence saved my licence for at the time I was 'loaded' with two endorsements for exceeding the speed limit. That was before the days of breathalysers!<br />
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<strong>12. Orkney: Uranium</strong><br />
Some four years before I retired I was in Orkney on Board business and helped by my splendid wayleave staff, we succeeded in persuading 49 farmers in the course of one week to grant the Board the right to explore for uranium over a period of seven years. Later this was to gain me the reputation in no less a place than the European Parliament in Strasbourg of being the 'con' man who was so nice to them that the Orcadians could not say No! How was it done? Well, I am no 'con' man But judge for yourselves.<br />
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In one farmhouse I was meeting with nothing but opposition from an oldish farmer with a youngish wife and two teenage children. He gave me all the best reasons for saying No. Then his wife asked me where I came from. I said I was up from Glasgow. "What I mean", she said "is where do you belong to?" I told her of the little place near Inverness where I had been schooled. "Oh, yes", she replied, "I have a cousin in Inverness who speaks just like you". Now it was my turn. "But you are not an Orcadian, Mrs Linklater, are you by any chance from Aberdeen-shire?" "Yes, I come from Fintray but you'll not know it". I was able to explain that I knew it well for my wife hails from Oldmeldrum not three miles away. Perhaps they knew one another as girls. At this the old boy turned on me "Do you know Donald Kilpatrick?" "Yes, I did. For over 30 years". With that the farmer's face lit up. He took me to the window of the room we were in and pointed to the cottage where Donald, his childhood friend, had been brought up and then the school to which as boys they had walked barefooted together. He was delighted to hear all about his old chum. As I recounted the ups and downs which Donald had been experiencing in recent years he went to the press in one wall of the room and filled two glasses with Highland Park - one had to be able to cope with any such contingencies in my job! He then proposed a toast to the success of the proposed uranium venture in Orkney and after we had a few sips said 'Now where to I sign this paper?' And for that I was described as a con-man!<br />
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<strong>13. More Uranium:</strong><br />
In Aberdeen-shire we wanted uranium exploration rights over about 3000 acres of which 2000 are in the ownership of the Forestry Commission. So off I went to Edinburgh to the Commission's Head Office to meet one George a member of the Commission. It was not long after I sat down in his office that I recalled a mannerism which made me almost sure I knew this chap. In our conversation he indicated a keen interest in skiing ever since the days, long ago, when the Army had tried to teach him mountain warfare. That was it! I knew him. 'Yes' I said 'you joined the 78th Field Regiment as a Second Lieutenant in Haddington in June 1941'. He also remembered me introducing him to the C.O. and showing him his billet. Needless to say I got what I had come for without more ado. ''Tis often said' "It's not what you know but who that matters!"<br />
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<strong>14. Tail Gunner:</strong><br />
In 1940 when stationed near Fakenham in Norfolk the local Vicar's wife invited three young men from the Regiment (78th Field R.A.) to have Christmas dinner in the Vicarage. The C.O. suggested I go and take two of my own choosing with me. We three arrived to find that three R.A.F.' types' had also been invited, one of them a Flight Lieutenant the others Sergeants. My two army colleagues were a Bombadier (2 stripes) and a Lance Bombadier (1 stripe) while at that time I was a Sergeant (A.C.) (The letters A.C. stood not for my name, I may say, but for the words Artillery Clerk').<br />
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We were all warmly received and given glasses of sherry. During the pre-prandial chatter the Vicar's wife came and asked each one of us what our job was in the service. We soldiers told her and also agreed that we liked turkey. The Flight Lieutenant said that he was a Pilot to which the Vicar's wife replied that he would in that case have a bit of wing; the R.A.F. Sergeant, with a propeller on his arm, told that he was one of the ground staff and, yes, he would be quite happy with a leg, of the turkey. When the second R.A.F. Sergeant was asked what he did his reply was quite forthright: 'I'm a tail gunner and I don't like turkey'!<br />
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<strong>15. Slap on the face:</strong><br />
In my early fifties I became the victim of certain wartime activities and found myself in the Victoria Infirmary, Glasgow. After being examined by all sorts of specialists a Neurologist hobbled to my bedside. On questioning him I learned that he had been wounded when serving as Medical Officer to an Artillery Unit in Normandy. He wanted to know what was wrong with me and when I told him of my experience on Sheriffmuir and other wartime experiences he diagnosed what was causing my black outs. He would cure me but for a year there was to be no driving (this meant Wilma had a new Mini all to herself!) no smoking, no drinking, no extra-mural activities for a whole year. Moreover I was to see him every month. Actually I saw him after the twelve months were completed (£10 a time as a private patient) once every year after that and we became good pals.<br />
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On my return to work I had to attend a Planning Committee meeting about the 400KV Substation in Giffnock (mentioned earlier). There were four Engineers with me including the Chief Engineer (Transmission Construction), Alex Erskine. After the successful conclusion of the meeting we resorted to the MacDonald Hotel where my colleagues ordered their usual drinks. Knowing that I would have to pay I stood with my wallet at the ready looking at the hundred and more bottles of malt whisky which adorned the bar shelves. "And what would you like?" said the blond barmaid who, it so happened, was wearing one of her most low cut white blouses. I replied "I'm sorry, my Dear I can't have what I would like" With that she reached over with her right hand and belted me across the left cheek! Was I surprised, taken aback, astonished? Yes all three while my colleagues stood by and laughed. However Alex Erskine came to the rescue and told Effy, the barmaid, that what I meant was that I could not have even one of the malts which I specially liked and that on doctor's orders. Without a word of apology Effy said "In that case you'll have a ginger and lime". That was my drink for the whole of my 'prohibition year'.<br />
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Two years later in the same bar late one night after a farewell dinner and awaiting transport home two of my colleagues and I heard the barman answer a question put to him by one of the three other customers, as to what had happened to Effy the beautiful blond who used to be a barmaid. He said she was now modelling full time: they all agreed that she had just the right figure for that sort of job. The barman then told them 'about the time Effy had belted one of our customers'. The tale was as you might expect a very much embellished version of the truth. Indeed if I had done what 'our customer' had done to poor curvaceous Effy the punishment was well deserved.<br />
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My two colleagues, who knew the truth of the matter, and I kept dumb until the end of the story. I then sidled along the bar with my glass of malt and said "Gentlemen, my son has a record called 'The deck of cards' and it ends like this --- 'And I was that Soldier' ". You should have seen the poor barman's face as recognition dawned!<br />
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We, customers and barman, all had a good laugh.<br />
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<strong>16. Whiteside:</strong><br />
In the early 70's I was negotiating for land required by my employers for five Power Station sites one to be used in the immediate future and the others to be kept for future use. Happily all were bought without having recourse to Compulsory Purchase: negotiations were helped in one case by my ability to make sweet omelettes, several by sheer unadulterated flattery and all by a judicious use of my red / blue sock technique described earlier.<br />
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The proposed site for the Torness Power Station south of Dunbar included a small area which I saw from the map was occupied by the Canongate Boys Club of which the Rt. Rev Doctor R. Selby Wright T.D., C.V.O., was Warden. He had set up the Club when still an assistant at St. Giles. I told our Chairman that if Selby Wright agreed to move I would go ahead and acquire but if not the engineers would just have to select another site! On my phoning Doctor Selby Wright (RSB) he invited me to have morning tea with him in the Canongate Manse at 10.30 the next morning.<br />
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The Manse had not been decorated in all the 40 years of his Ministry and that was obvious. His batman brought us two old enamel army mugs much chipped and filled with real sergeant-major's tea. He was obviously impressed when I told him of reading his book 'Asking them questions' away back in 1933, of my high regard of him as one of the 52nd Division Padres and as Radio Padre and that the Rev. Joe Grey (his senior in the Division) married my wife and myself in Old Meldrum.<br />
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When told of my problem and its effects on his Club Camp site he said that we must move with the times. I offered to seek for and acquire another site for him but he claimed to be on friendly terms with such landowners as the Earl of Elgin, Duke of Buccleuch, Earl of Cadogan and Lord Lothian and he was sure one of them would help him. Why should I be bothered! So it was that a week later I was summoned to the Canongate and after 'morning tea' proceeded to a Hotel in Peebles for lunch. We smoked our Pipes and drank a half pint of lager each beforehand: at his suggestion. What a wonderful man he was: conversation with him was a joy.<br />
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Afterwards we proceeded to the cottage, Whiteside, which the Duke of Buccleuch had said he could have with as much surrounding ground as he wanted for games (rugby, football, cricket, hockey were all mentioned) and all free of charge. The cottage was at the end of a narrow track on the hillside overlooking Peebles. It was a long disused shepherd's cottage of rubble walls and gables with no roof. R.S.B. was so enthusiastic that I readily offered to have it rebuilt and furbished to meet his requirements. Our Architect would design the details with him. Our Chairman, Frank Tombs was delighted with the arrangements made. In due course I had a phone call from R.S.B. saying that as Whiteside was almost ready he wanted to visit it with me and to allow a special visitor to inspect what had been achieved in such a short space of time: Next day we proceeded to the usual Hotel at Peebles and after lunch to the cottage. While R.S.B. had been down several times with our Architect I had not seen it. The transformation was unbelievable, I was entranced with the appearance outside and the layout of the accommodation inside. This was now a hostel capable of housing about 30 young folk in comfort.<br />
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When a Range Rover arrived who should the visitor prove to be but the Duke of Edinburgh, accompanied by his A.D.C. R.S.B. showed him every room, cupboard, the Warden's quarters (6-1/2 foot by 4-1/2 feet in size) and then the toilets. The facilities in the latter were all of stainless steel: the urinals covered the lower half of one entire wall shining like silver. On the opposite wall were five lavatory pans in stainless steel, even the seats - "for hygienic reasons" said R.S.B. With that the Duke proceeded to the middle one turned to look at his audience of three, dropped his trousers and sat down! He didn't seem a bit perturbed by the cold steel! Imagine our feelings! "Now", he said "I shall be able to tell the Queen that in this our silver jubilee year I have sat on a silver throne, which is more that she has ever done!"<br />
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To conclude, the cost to the electricity consumer of providing the hostel was a mere £12,000; the Power Station project was to cost many millions.<br />
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<br />
<strong>17. Shaving:</strong><br />
A retired Minister (one of Doctor Campbell's friends) was not sleeping too well so his housekeeper advised him to see the doctor. this he reluctantly did. After examining the old boy the doctor could find nothing wrong with him so advised him to have a toddy at night time before going to bed. The Minister explained that this would not be possible as his housekeeper, Margaret, was a stalwart teetotaller and would not allow spirits in the house. However the doctor told him all he had to do was to go into the Co-op on the way home, buy a bottle, conceal it in the inside pocket of his raincoat and hide it in his bedroom.<br />
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Some weeks later Margaret met the Doctor in Lothian Road and on being asked how her employer was keeping said that it wasn't the sleeping that was wrong with him as the doctor had been told. "No", she said "it's his heid doctor; after visiting you he started shaving at night in his bedroom. Now I have to boil a kettle of water five or even six times a day and take it up to him in his bedroom. He has taken to shaving six of maybe even seven times a day."<br />
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The doctor agreed with Margaret that maybe he was in his dotage!<br />
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<strong>18. 'She had to go too'</strong><br />
When paying our monthly newspaper bill in Nairn some years ago I was accompanied by one of my Grandsons. (No names, no pack drill!). At the shop counter he started to step from one foot to the other, as small boys do when nature calls! I asked if he needed the toilet 'Yes, grandad, I'm bursting', was his reply. I asked if the lady assistant (well known in Nairn) if she could possibly take this grandson of mine to the staff toilets. Off they went to the back shop the young man holding her hand and talking all the time, as was his custom. On their return I asked if he had thanked the kind lady for taking him to the toilet - because mummy had taught him when to say 'Please' and 'thank you' His reply was very straightforward; "no, grandad, I didn't need to. The lady had to go too"!<br />
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(The said lady was so embarrassed that for a long time after that incident she used to disappear behind the scenes as soon as she saw me approaching the counter.)<br />
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<strong>19. Piesporter at Houston House:</strong><br />
My employers wanted to acquire a Power Station site at Bo'ness and during their preliminary investigations the Engineers had informal talks with County and Planning Officials. The latter saw no objection as the station would be erected on the sand flats to the east of the Town. However word of our intention reached the ears of the Provost of the Burgh and without more ado he announced through the local press his violent objection (they were always 'monstrosities' but became welcome neighbours when the money began to flow into the tills of local shopkeepers and public houses).<br />
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I phoned the Town Clerk and invited him and the Provost to join me for lunch at the prestigious Houston House Hotel. The Town Clerk found it strange when I asked what kind of wine the Provost preferred but told me his favourite was Piesporter. When the booking was made by my Secretary she told the Manager to have two bottles of Piesporter ready: they were sure to be ordered.<br />
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And so it came about that when the Piesporter was brought to the table and I gave the Provost the privilege of tasting he responded by saying "this is my favourite wine, I am so glad you ordered it".<br />
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So glad was he indeed that by the time we had finished off the two bottles he had become a keen admirers of S.S.E.B and fully supported the proposed Power Station to the east of Bo'ness!<br />
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<strong>20. Electricity Theft</strong><br />
It never ceases to amaze me to learn of the many devious ways in which consumers succeed in stealing electrical power especially for domestic purposes in the poorer parts of Glasgow and Lanark-shire. The following are two which the reader may find interesting:<br />
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A prepayment meter in a Gorbals flat showed clearly that electricity had been used since the meter reader had last called but there was no money in the coin Box. Two engineers were accordingly sent to check the meter. It was operating efficiently but why was there no money in the box. They lady of the house assured the engineers that her husband regularly put coins in the box but she assured them that he never once broke open the box. (as could be done if one needed a few bob for the dugs!) There was indeed no sign of interference with the lock. So back to the office to report the mystery. Two older engineers now went out 'to see what was wrong'. One of them withdrew the coin box from the meter and noticed that the bottom was rusty. Now in a situation like that the only substance which could cause rust was water. The older of the two, well versed in the ways of certain of his fellow citizens asked the lady if she had a shilling on her to operate the meter. "Oh yes" she replied "my husband keeps the meter money in the fridge" With that she withdrew from the freezer compartment a beautifully made metal mould in which were six crisp ice shillings. They were the exact shape and weight of a shilling and when pushed into the coin slot operated the meter mechanism. Ingenious! Now we knew how the rust came to be at the bottom of the coin box.<br />
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The maximum penalty for this offence was a £5 fine so we decided the best plan was to remove the prepayment meter and install a credit meter but the man of the house did pay a £20 deposit as security.<br />
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A consumer in Lanark-shire had been so much in debt that he was 'cut off' i.e. the meter was removed and the cable end covered with insulating material for reasons of safety. The Board's employees concerned with this meter noticed that despite the cut off the house was lit at night-time and the television was on. With a policeman two engineers sought entry to the premises but noted that as soon as they knocked on the door the lights went out and the noise of the television ceased. Several knocks were required but eventually the owner came to the door and asked if he could help his callers (in suitable language, of course). The engineers and the policeman were ushered into a living room lit by a candle: it was explained to them that the so and so electricity board had cut off the supply and the gentleman and his family had to sit in the gloom. When asked by one engineer why the back of the T.V. set came to be hot it was claimed that the heat from the fire was no doubt responsible; as he could see, they had, at least, got a good fire in the grate. The engineers were mystified but after a thorough investigation discovered that this consumer had driven a steel knitting needle into the main cable; and had connected it to the "live" terminal of a 13 amp plug. When the latter was inserted into a wall socket the whole "ring main" became alive and thus every socket in the flat became available to supply electricity This dangerous ploy could well have cost that consumer his life.<br />
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<strong>21. Yes Miss, I paid</strong><br />
This story, which specially appeals to my sense of humour, was told us by our daughter Anne (forgive me please, sweetheart, for including it).<br />
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Anne was training to be a Nursery Nurse in Glasgow and at the time in question was having practical experience in a Nursery school in the Bridgeton area. One day among her duties was the collection of the milk money, sixpence from each child. One, called (like so many of his fellow Glaswegians) Jimmy was a particularly energetic child and romped about a lot. When Anne caught up with him she asked "Jimmy have you paid?" "Oh, yes Miss" said Jimmy. "I paid, in the pail before I cam oot".<br />
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<strong>22. Tinkers Curse</strong><br />
The South of Scotland Board were once accused by an elderly couple of damaging their small cottage somewhere near Kinross. The Board had certainly been erecting towers in the area and there had been a certain amount of blasting but nothing sufficient to damage the cottage. The cracks which had appeared between the main building and the recently added kitchen and toilet annexe had clearly been the result of faulty workmanship by a local builder. The old couple, however, insisted that the Board were to blame and in an effort to pacify them, I offered them about £100 which the civil engineers thought would be enough to fill in the cracks. They adamantly refused over a very long period, insisting that the Board should buy them another house in Kinross.<br />
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In due course they wrote saying that they were proceeding to London to see their MP Sir Alex Douglas-Hume as he then was, and on the way were to call at Cathcart House to see the Chairman of the Board. In fact they saw Jack Burns my Chief Wayleave Officer, and myself. The lady, Mrs MacGregor, refused to speak to me but did communicate through Mr Burns. Even when I asked if they would like a cup of tea and biscuit (previously laid on), Mr Burns was assured they would love a cup of tea. As they were obviously making no progress with us the dear lady pronounced a Highland curse on me in Gaelic. However, from my childhood days I recognised it and asked Mr Burns to tell her that when I was a very small child I had been blessed by the Queen of the Tinkers, Granny Macaffee. The poor old dear turned white because, like me, she knew that a curse placed on one who had been blessed in this way turned back upon the maker. She left the office in tears with her old husband and it is a matter of very much regret to me that the old couple suffered nothing but ill health and misfortune thereafter. I suppose she really believed the old Highland Superstition.<br />
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<strong>23. A High Flying Hat</strong><br />
Having completed the first two years of my law apprenticeship with Davidson Scott and Co. in Inverness it became necessary for me to serve the next three years in one of the University towns so that I might work and take the appropriate law classes at the same time. This was the normal procedure in those far off days. As my two Inverness 'masters' had studied law in Edinburgh they naturally expected me to do likewise - in the capital city one had what was not available in any of the other towns or cities of Scotland, namely direct access to the highest courts in the land, the Court of Session and the Justiciary Court, and also to the Register House, that great Scottish archive, within which were to be found records of all land titles and all manner of other deeds.<br />
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And so it was that my dear Mother set about acquiring all the new clothes that her son would require. The faith which she had in the loving Heavenly Father and about which I tell something elsewhere stood her in good stead at this time. I myself wondered how on earth she could ever find the money to dress me as she wanted but she did by hard work and diligent saving. I am sure that as soon as I started in law she started to prepare for the inevitable departure of her son to Edinburgh. I remember being taken to Inverness to the '50/- Tailors' for a new suit -not however one costing only 50/- but a three guinea suit which of course was of infinitely superior quality; and it was 'made to measure'. A new pair of black shoes were purchased, not locally, but from Gamages in far off London - that firm had done a good job of advertising in the Northern Newspapers their all-leather shoes. I may say here that I was still able to wear the shoes for a number of years after the war was over. But the most important, for my dear Mum, of all that she bought for me was a bowler hat. Someone had told her that all law apprentices and their bosses in Edinburgh wore bowlers, and so it was unthinkable that I should proceed to the seat of law minus a bowler hat. I had of course had experience wearing a hat in the Scouts, but that was different. However I agreed to have a hat.<br />
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I left Inverness late in September 1938 having my belongings in a suitcase and a grip. The former held all my clothes; the latter all the sports gear I possessed for tennis, cricket and football. The hat could not be packed and so it was carried on to the train. As Dad was away at the fishing at the time, my Mother and sister saw me off. I well remember the sadness which swept through my heart moments before the train departed, for here I was leaving her who had cared for me over the first two decades of my life and whose childlike faith had been my strength through many days of illness and had given me hope for the future. Her blessing as I left was very simple : 'God be with you Alex, always'.<br />
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When at long last the train arrived at Waverley Station Edinburgh I had the problem of what to do with this wretched hat - there was only one thing I could do and that was to wear it on my head and so I did. To my surprise no one laughed at me as I proceeded towards the famous Waverley steps with the suitcase in one hand, the grip in the other and the hat on my head. But the higher I climbed the stronger became the wind - westerly blowing along Princes Street Gardens/into the Waverley station and up the steps as if these were a chimney flue - and the inevitable happened : yes when I stepped on to the pavement on the south side of Princes Street my hat was forcibly removed from my head and spiralled 'up and up so high that I though it would reach the sky' (to paraphrase and old nursery rhyme). It was last seen disappearing over the top of Woolworths - a two storey building on the opposite side of the street. An inspection of the area the following day suggested to me that it might well have found a home on the roof of the famous Register House to which I had sent many a conveyance. That was the end of the hat so far as I was concerned.<br />
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On the Monday I reported to my new office all dressed up in my 3 guinea suit but hatless. Imagine my astonishment when I saw that none of the other apprentices - there were three of them - was wearing anything better than an old tweed sports jacket and flannel 'bags'. And not one of them had a hat or even a bonnet!<br />
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<strong>24. High Finance!</strong><br />
Perhaps not surprisingly when I was directing my mind towards my sojourn in Edinburgh finance became a major problem - it was all very well for Mum to say that the Lord would provide. But she was right! Inverness County Council answered my plea for help by awarding me a bursary of £30 per annum for the three years of studying at Edinburgh University This was the maximum that could be awarded to law students who by the nature of things were also in receipt of a 'salary' from the firm who employed them. Not so many years previously the custom was that the apprentice paid for the privilege of being taught the law but this practice was dying out by 1938.<br />
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The Edinburgh firm of Kinmont & Maxwell W.S. to whom my indenture of apprenticeship was being transferred had written saying that my salary would be 10/- per week for my first year with them; from this there fell to be deducted the princely sum of 1/2d being my contribution to the Inverness County Benefit Society the body which would meet any medical expenses incurred by reason of ill-health. Remember this was before the days of the National Health Service. My Mother had arranged with an Ardersier lady who lived in Edinburgh that she would have me as a boarder; for my board and lodgings the weekly charge would be 25/- with an additional payment of 2/6d for laundry. Mrs. MacKenzie was a widow with two children, Isobel and Ian. I arrived to live with them 'en famille' and it was just that. My landlady had two other boarders one a hair-dresser and the other a civil servant who had all their meals in their own rooms while I dined with the family. A whole year passed before I saw the hair-dresser and that was only because I came out of my bedroom a moment earlier than I should have done - there was only one bathroom and Mrs MacKenzie had allotted the bathroom to me for ten minutes between 8.05 am and 8.15 am each morning (Sunday excepted for reasons which you will appreciate later). I never did see the civil servant although he slept 'through the wall' from me: anyone who has lived in high rise accommodation will know exactly what I mean although the tenement in Edinburgh was only four stories high and the other boarders to whom I refer were in the same flat and eating the same food (admittedly from a different table) as I was. Mrs MacKenzie (Jess to all her many friends) became very soon like a second Mother to me and to this day I remember with much gratitude and love her many kindnesses to an innocent from the Highlands and later to me and my wife after the war; she it was who took pity on us when she realised that we had only a pan in which to boil water in our post-war digs and spent her own precious coupons and money on the purchase of a proper kettle.<br />
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A month after my arrival in Edinburgh the senior partner of the firm sent for me! Up until now I knew him only as the elderly gentleman who arrived every morning about 10.30 am in a chauffeur driven Rolls Royce. A moment or two after he arrived Mrs. MacKenzie, who was the caretaker, ascended from the basement where she lived (in quite a degree of comfort, I may say) bearing a silver tray on which were a silver tea-pot, milk jug and sugar bowl along with beautiful china cup, saucer and plate and a silver box containing biscuits brought from McVitties along the road. The tea pot contained 'real china tea': I know because she told me when she first let me sample this unfamiliar brew. I did not care for it. Mrs MacKenzie was from Lochinver and so she and I had certain affinities.<br />
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After a month in the office I realised that the 'boss' of the firm was a man of considerable wealth and on entering his room my knees were not exactly steady. However he put me at my ease and offered a cup of china tea. He seemed to know all about me and my forebears, but of course he would, for even in those days we had telephones and one of my Inverness bosses would have given him all the information he wanted. He even knew of my interest in cricket and how I had on one occasion at a Northern Counties select against Australia match, in Forres been able to 'catch out' <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bradman" style="font-weight: bold;">Don Bradman</a> the world famous cricketer.<span style="font-style: italic;"> (In 1934 the Aussies played Scotland and ended the tour with a match against the North of Scotland at Forres on September 14: Bradman (who was about to go into hospital for what turned out to be a life-threatening appendix operation) made 7 as his side won by an innings.)</span> Actually what happened was that Bradman 'skyed' a ball into the spectator area: I happened to be there and could not resist the opportunity. I often wish I had held on to that ball but for me as a keen member of the Scout team inspired by our beloved Scoutmaster Tom White it would not have 'been cricket' to have done such a thing. What interested me most however was that Nimmo Smith seemed to be wearing such old clothing; his shirt collar was worn away, the cuffs which protruded well below his jacket sleeves were threadbare while the edges of his jacket itself, collar, sleeves and everything else were in what my dear Mum would have described as a disgraceful condition. Maybe my impression of his wealth was mistaken! And then he asked me how much the firm were paying me; I added that of course I had a bursary to help pay my University fees. 'But', he told me, 'the fishing is not so good as it might be, is it? I could only agree. I did not feel able to tell him of my Mother's faith. Mr. Nimmo-Smith then set before me the situation in which I found myself, with more outlays than income, and told me that I was to go now and tell the cashier, Dear Miss Hamilton, that I was to be paid another 25/- per week which added to my apprentice's pay would give a total of £1.15/- per week. An incredible sum in those days! Thanking him in as profuse terms as came to mind in my excitement I proceeded to Miss Hamilton in her little glass 'doocot'. She refused to believe me saying that if I were to have that salary (never 'wages' in a law office.') I would have more than anyone else in the whole office. I was told to stay where I was while she saw the boss herself. In a few moments she returned her face scarlet, telling me that I was not to say a word about my rise to anyone else in the office. Naturally the very next letter home bore the good news and in her reply my dear old Mum reminded me that she had told me on more than one occasion that faith worked wonders.<br />
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<strong>25. F.P. Dinners:</strong><br />
After I retired in 1977 my old English Master, D.J., and Jimmy Johnstone who was Deputy Rector of the Academy invited me to join in the Former Pupils Association. This I did, although strangely enough there was no entrance fee, and Wilma and I started attending the F.P dinners held usually in November each year. On arrival at the first function I could see that all those attending were of my own vintage. Beside me at the table sat a boy of my own year and although not in the same class we remembered one another. Both of us in those days were fond of a drop of red Burgundy and very soon we had enjoyed a bottle or two and all was well with the world. "Now, Alex", he said, "tell me this: was it you or your brother who was killed in the war?" (I might add that I had no brothers but my sister has one).<br />
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Iain Cameronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397274617360739298noreply@blogger.com4