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The Scots at War Trust

Veterans' Reminiscences

DONNIE MACKENZIE 1920-2007

Donnie wrote this account in 1982 and the words transcribed here are his own.

In a few places it was thought helpful to add a note on such points as distance from one place to another where this was relevant to the story. Military abbreviations have generally been spelled out in full at the first time of use but other military terms including war-time usage have been left as Donnie wrote them. They add to the colour of the story. Minor amendments have been made to the otherwise high standard of punctuation, to make it easier to read, by inserting paragraphs or reducing the length of particularly long sentences. In two or three instances short passages have been relocated to keep to the natural chronology of the story. Headings have been added at the start of each natural break in the account. Any additions to Donnie’s writing are given in square brackets and consist largely of points of confirmation or clarity with reference to either Melville or Sgroggie – see the bibliography)

A small number of minor alterations and addition have been made covering names of places or people. These include place names which Donnie sometimes gave in Gaelic or in anglicized Gaelic – sometimes swapping between the two. These have been standardized to Gaelic unless the English name is better known. There are variations in the spelling of Italian and Faroe place names and these have been standardized to conform to the gazetteer in the Times Comprehensive World Atlas of the World (2005) . There are also variations in the way Donnie recorded people’s names – particularly in the use of nicknames or places were the individual came from or estates that they might have worked at. These personal names have been amended so that the nickname comes between the first name and surname (e.g Donald Piggie MacDonald) and the place name or occupation immediately after the surname (e.g. John MacIssac Benbecula or Donald MacBean, company clerk).

Donnie from time to time repeated short descriptions and several of these have been deleted. The references (p1, p2 etc) are to the page numbers of the original hand-written manuscript. Otherwise the story is that of Donnie himself, in his own words.

George Hendry, Balnacra 2007

(p1) Earliest childhood – Killilan, Kintail

I was born on the 1st April 1920 in a place called Coire Domhainn about five miles up the river Ling from Killilan. When it was obvious to my mother that I would not be too long in making an entry into the world, she sent my father to fetch the doctor. He had to walk five miles to Killilan where he got a bicycle and cycled the rest of the way to Balmacara [about 11 miles] to the doctor’s house and got the doctor out of his bed. They then cycled back to Killilan and walked up the footpath back to Coire Domhainn; by this time it was well past daylight and I was sleeping in or squawking in the bed. I don’t have any memories or recollections of the next couple of years while we lived there. When I was about three years old we moved up to Duileich which is another glen up from Killilan [Glen Elchaig] and about one mile from the Iron Lodge from where footpaths go to Glen Affric, Monar and Maol Buidhe. There was a keepers house about one mile on either side of us, one at Carnach and one at the Iron Lodge; also a shepherd’s house across the river from Carnach which was occupied by John Cameron, his wife and family, three sons and four daughters. The Carnach house was occupied by a stalker John Findlayson and his wife.

The Lodge was the home of another stalker Alick Ali Dubh MacKenzie, his wife, two sons and two daughters. One of my first memories is of walking along to their house which was about a mile away and seeing one of the ladies using a hand-turned whisk to mix the eggs etc as she was baking. Not having seen one of them being used before, I was greatly taken with the whisk, so much so, that when I left I had in my proud possession an old whisk which she gave me all for myself. On reaching home, accompanied as always by (p2) Queenie, my father’s liver and white spaniel. The first place I went to was the hen house, broke all the eggs in a dusting hole which the hens had made in the dry ground, and whisked them all and Queenie had her fill. Later on when my mother went to collect the eggs, she found none but on seeing the whisk lying by the hole, and all the broken egg shells, she soon realized the score and I was sharply scolded. On another occasion I threw a stone and broke a window frame in the west top bedroom, went in and reported it to my parents who were setting the table about to have their dinner. My father told me to go out and get a switch of wood which he was going to give me stokes across my bum. I went out and looked around, found a fence post which I dragged into the kitchen. When my parents saw it they burst into laughter and best of all I was not spanked!

On the rare occasions my parents left the glen, by horse and trap, to visit my uncle (my father’s brother) in Dornie [14 miles] , or to go to Kyle [20 miles] to the shops, I was left with the Cameron family, across the river from Carnach over the swing bridge. The younger brother Jackie, several years my senior used to go down to the sand at the end of the loch and we played at trains with a metal wire winder found on the fence strainers, This, tied by string and pulled through the sand, left a nice track and we used to spend hours there. Jackie was very adventurous and one day he dragged his mother’s wash tub, which was a wooden barrel cut in half, and dragged it down to the loch. With the aid of a short piece of wood he managed to get our warship afloat. We were floating and spinning around some distance from the shore when there was a yell and his father with his long beard bristling with rage, appeared out of nowhere. Jack promptly baled out and took to the hill for an hour or so. On another occasion when I was with the Camerons, Jack was sent to clean out the byre in which there was a plentiful supply of goat dung, accumulated during the winter months. After some time when the novelty of filling and emptying the barrow wore off, Jackie got a long piece of rope. Slung it over a rafter and made a swing of it. Proudly he had (p3) a couple of swings on it, saw me looking dolefully up at him, and took me on his lap. We were going great guns back and fore and were in really full swing when the rope snapped. We sailed several feet through the air and yes, landed plum centre into the full barrow of dung. On going into the house after taking the most of the muck off our bodies, hair, hands and feet, in the barn, I’m sure Jackie was skelped in another room. I could hear the hand slaps on some fleshy part of his body while I was stripped by the fire and cleaned with hot water, soft soap and a scrubbing brush - gad it was rough! [Donnie has a margin note – ‘Jack on stilts and fell in river’].The final episode I can remember about Jack was when he took me along to the Iron Lodge to the Ali Dubhs one day on the carrier of an old bicycle he had acquired. The road was very rough and gravelly in places and on the way back home, slightly down hill in one place, Jackie put pressure on the pedals and we were going a fair pace, when he skidded in the lose gravel and down we went. I can still almost feel my head sore when I touch the spot where I had a lump as big an as egg!. The Ali boys, Richard and Sandy, John, Jack Cameron and my dad used to hit a shinty ball around the field below the Duileich house as my father was the Kintail goal keeper at that time. A small club was cut from the branch of a tree and shaped for me and I can still see that black and very hard ball flying through th air and lying on the ground. I found it very hard even to move it when in the long grass, far less hit it any distance. One afternoon my younger sister and I were in the peat shed amusing ourselves with a hen that was evading us and eventually took to the rafters out of reach of our hands. When we gave up and were going in the gate at the end of the house, there standing against the gate was a brand new man-sized, shinty club. I grabbed it and ran into the house shouting’ Mammy, Mammy, look what I found at the gate’. My hopes of a new club, and maybe a place in the team at 5-6 years old, were shattered when I saw Kenny Stalker MacKay from Patt sitting at the table having (p4) walked over the footpath from Patt [ about 10 miles] to play for Kintail at Auchtertyre [a further 16 miles] the next day. On one occasion when his future wife walked up from Duleich to Patt and she left her motor bike in my father’s byre, I went to have a look at it and finished up by managing to pull it off it’s stand and on top of me. Luckily my father was at hand. Once again he was at hand and missed me from sight as he was scything hay in the field and I had lain down on a steep bank to get a drink out of a deep pool and promptly slid on my belly into the pool.

There was packman, Jimmy Wylde, who used to come in summer to give a hand at the hay. He slept in the loft above the barn, byre and stable and was if possible not an early riser. On this occasion my father had been down and given Jimmy a shout but when he hadn’t come for his breakfast some time later, I was told by my father ‘go down a see what the hell is keeping Jimmy’. I ran down, stood in front of the granary door and yelled up ‘ your breakfast is ready , what the hell is keeping you?’ at the top of my voice. No sooner were the words out of my young mouth than the granary door was flung open and this thin legged figure in his shirt tails was dancing and waving his arms in the air and shouting down at me not to be using words like that. Needless to say from then on I was his caller and never had to use those words again!.

My mother was a great believer in giving us medicine periodically, we got malt and cod-liver oil in winter, when it was available we got Boots emulsion or Virol: but when we got a spoonful of castor oil or syrup of figs, we got a spoonful of jam, rhubarb or blackcurrant in particular, shoved down our throat, how I hated that and to this day can’t touch the chases of jam I got after the laxative.

My parents always spoke in Gaelic and spoke to me in English. One day when I was due the dreaded dose, my mother cornered me in the bathroom with the castor oil in the spoon she tried to coax me to ‘take it like a man’ but I resisted, so eventually a she gripped my nose and forced the dreaded stuff into my mouth quickly followed by the jam. I a managed to get one Gaelic expression (p5) out ‘nighean an diabail’ which means daughter of the devil. No sooner were these words out than I was upended and soundly thrashed on my bottom.

DONNIE MACKENZIE 1920-2007

Donnie wrote this account in 1982 and the words transcribed here are his own.

In a few places it was thought helpful to add a note on such points as distance from one place to another where this was relevant to the story. Military abbreviations have generally been spelled out in full at the first time of use but other military terms including war-time usage have been left as Donnie wrote them. They add to the colour of the story. Minor amendments have been made to the otherwise high standard of punctuation, to make it easier to read, by inserting paragraphs or reducing the length of particularly long sentences. In two or three instances short passages have been relocated to keep to the natural chronology of the story. Headings have been added at the start of each natural break in the account. Any additions to Donnie’s writing are given in square brackets and consist largely of points of confirmation or clarity with reference to either Melville or Sgroggie – see the bibliography)

A small number of minor alterations and addition have been made covering names of places or people. These include place names which Donnie sometimes gave in Gaelic or in anglicized Gaelic – sometimes swapping between the two. These have been standardized to Gaelic unless the English name is better known. There are variations in the spelling of Italian and Faroe place names and these have been standardized to conform to the gazetteer in the Times Comprehensive World Atlas of the World (2005) . There are also variations in the way Donnie recorded people’s names – particularly in the use of nicknames or places were the individual came from or estates that they might have worked at. These personal names have been amended so that the nickname comes between the first name and surname (e.g Donald Piggie MacDonald) and the place name or occupation immediately after the surname (e.g. John MacIssac Benbecula or Donald MacBean, company clerk).

Donnie from time to time repeated short descriptions and several of these have been deleted. The references (p1, p2 etc) are to the page numbers of the original hand-written manuscript. Otherwise the story is that of Donnie himself, in his own words.

George Hendry, Balnacra 2007

(p1) Earliest childhood – Killilan, Kintail

I was born on the 1st April 1920 in a place called Coire Domhainn about five miles up the river Ling from Killilan. When it was obvious to my mother that I would not be too long in making an entry into the world, she sent my father to fetch the doctor. He had to walk five miles to Killilan where he got a bicycle and cycled the rest of the way to Balmacara [about 11 miles] to the doctor’s house and got the doctor out of his bed. They then cycled back to Killilan and walked up the footpath back to Coire Domhainn; by this time it was well past daylight and I was sleeping in or squawking in the bed. I don’t have any memories or recollections of the next couple of years while we lived there. When I was about three years old we moved up to Duileich which is another glen up from Killilan [Glen Elchaig] and about one mile from the Iron Lodge from where footpaths go to Glen Affric, Monar and Maol Buidhe. There was a keepers house about one mile on either side of us, one at Carnach and one at the Iron Lodge; also a shepherd’s house across the river from Carnach which was occupied by John Cameron, his wife and family, three sons and four daughters. The Carnach house was occupied by a stalker John Findlayson and his wife.

The Lodge was the home of another stalker Alick Ali Dubh MacKenzie, his wife, two sons and two daughters. One of my first memories is of walking along to their house which was about a mile away and seeing one of the ladies using a hand-turned whisk to mix the eggs etc as she was baking. Not having seen one of them being used before, I was greatly taken with the whisk, so much so, that when I left I had in my proud possession an old whisk which she gave me all for myself. On reaching home, accompanied as always by (p2) Queenie, my father’s liver and white spaniel. The first place I went to was the hen house, broke all the eggs in a dusting hole which the hens had made in the dry ground, and whisked them all and Queenie had her fill. Later on when my mother went to collect the eggs, she found none but on seeing the whisk lying by the hole, and all the broken egg shells, she soon realized the score and I was sharply scolded. On another occasion I threw a stone and broke a window frame in the west top bedroom, went in and reported it to my parents who were setting the table about to have their dinner. My father told me to go out and get a switch of wood which he was going to give me stokes across my bum. I went out and looked around, found a fence post which I dragged into the kitchen. When my parents saw it they burst into laughter and best of all I was not spanked!

On the rare occasions my parents left the glen, by horse and trap, to visit my uncle (my father’s brother) in Dornie [14 miles] , or to go to Kyle [20 miles] to the shops, I was left with the Cameron family, across the river from Carnach over the swing bridge. The younger brother Jackie, several years my senior used to go down to the sand at the end of the loch and we played at trains with a metal wire winder found on the fence strainers, This, tied by string and pulled through the sand, left a nice track and we used to spend hours there. Jackie was very adventurous and one day he dragged his mother’s wash tub, which was a wooden barrel cut in half, and dragged it down to the loch. With the aid of a short piece of wood he managed to get our warship afloat. We were floating and spinning around some distance from the shore when there was a yell and his father with his long beard bristling with rage, appeared out of nowhere. Jack promptly baled out and took to the hill for an hour or so. On another occasion when I was with the Camerons, Jack was sent to clean out the byre in which there was a plentiful supply of goat dung, accumulated during the winter months. After some time when the novelty of filling and emptying the barrow wore off, Jackie got a long piece of rope. Slung it over a rafter and made a swing of it. Proudly he had (p3) a couple of swings on it, saw me looking dolefully up at him, and took me on his lap. We were going great guns back and fore and were in really full swing when the rope snapped. We sailed several feet through the air and yes, landed plum centre into the full barrow of dung. On going into the house after taking the most of the muck off our bodies, hair, hands and feet, in the barn, I’m sure Jackie was skelped in another room. I could hear the hand slaps on some fleshy part of his body while I was stripped by the fire and cleaned with hot water, soft soap and a scrubbing brush - gad it was rough! [Donnie has a margin note – ‘Jack on stilts and fell in river’].The final episode I can remember about Jack was when he took me along to the Iron Lodge to the Ali Dubhs one day on the carrier of an old bicycle he had acquired. The road was very rough and gravelly in places and on the way back home, slightly down hill in one place, Jackie put pressure on the pedals and we were going a fair pace, when he skidded in the lose gravel and down we went. I can still almost feel my head sore when I touch the spot where I had a lump as big an as egg!. The Ali boys, Richard and Sandy, John, Jack Cameron and my dad used to hit a shinty ball around the field below the Duileich house as my father was the Kintail goal keeper at that time. A small club was cut from the branch of a tree and shaped for me and I can still see that black and very hard ball flying through th air and lying on the ground. I found it very hard even to move it when in the long grass, far less hit it any distance. One afternoon my younger sister and I were in the peat shed amusing ourselves with a hen that was evading us and eventually took to the rafters out of reach of our hands. When we gave up and were going in the gate at the end of the house, there standing against the gate was a brand new man-sized, shinty club. I grabbed it and ran into the house shouting’ Mammy, Mammy, look what I found at the gate’. My hopes of a new club, and maybe a place in the team at 5-6 years old, were shattered when I saw Kenny Stalker MacKay from Patt sitting at the table having (p4) walked over the footpath from Patt [ about 10 miles] to play for Kintail at Auchtertyre [a further 16 miles] the next day. On one occasion when his future wife walked up from Duleich to Patt and she left her motor bike in my father’s byre, I went to have a look at it and finished up by managing to pull it off it’s stand and on top of me. Luckily my father was at hand. Once again he was at hand and missed me from sight as he was scything hay in the field and I had lain down on a steep bank to get a drink out of a deep pool and promptly slid on my belly into the pool.

There was packman, Jimmy Wylde, who used to come in summer to give a hand at the hay. He slept in the loft above the barn, byre and stable and was if possible not an early riser. On this occasion my father had been down and given Jimmy a shout but when he hadn’t come for his breakfast some time later, I was told by my father ‘go down a see what the hell is keeping Jimmy’. I ran down, stood in front of the granary door and yelled up ‘ your breakfast is ready , what the hell is keeping you?’ at the top of my voice. No sooner were the words out of my young mouth than the granary door was flung open and this thin legged figure in his shirt tails was dancing and waving his arms in the air and shouting down at me not to be using words like that. Needless to say from then on I was his caller and never had to use those words again!.

My mother was a great believer in giving us medicine periodically, we got malt and cod-liver oil in winter, when it was available we got Boots emulsion or Virol: but when we got a spoonful of castor oil or syrup of figs, we got a spoonful of jam, rhubarb or blackcurrant in particular, shoved down our throat, how I hated that and to this day can’t touch the chases of jam I got after the laxative. My parents always spoke in Gaelic and spoke to me in English. One day when I was due the dreaded dose, my mother cornered me in the bathroom with the castor oil in the spoon she tried to coax me to ‘take it like a man’ but I resisted, so eventually a she gripped my nose and forced the dreaded stuff into my mouth quickly followed by the jam. I a managed to get one Gaelic expression (p5) out ‘nighean an diabail’ which means daughter of the devil. No sooner were these words out than I was upended and soundly thrashed on my bottom.

Achnashellach, Strathcarron and Balnacra School As there was no school nearer than Killilan my father decided that we would have to move nearer a school, so on the 28th May 1927, I was 7 years old, we moved to Achnashellach [only 12 miles in a direct line but 32 miles by road]. We flitted by Willie Findlay’s lorry. I felt sad leaving Duileich . One bit of the journey I remember well is when coming down the brae into Braeintra in the cab of the furniture lorry, the cockerel in the box with the hens in the back started to crow as loudly as he could. My sister, mother and I went to Achnashellach from Strome Ferry Station [by train] while the lorry went across on the ferry and thence to Achnashellach.

The contrast was great from the treeless and bare Duileich to where the tall trees [at Achnashellach] reached the sky and there were rhododendron bushes everywhere. On exploring the bushes I was thrilled to find rubber and tennis balls everywhere [presumably near the tennis court at Achnashellach Lodge]. Some time was spent exploring, climbing trees and crawling through bushes until I knew every tree and clump of bushes in the proximity of the house. One of the most exciting parts was the fact that the house was only about twenty yards from Achnashellach Station and platform and I was able to see each train as they came in. My mother scolded me as she thought I’d be a nuisance on the platform or fall under a train, so I was banned from going on to the platform. Not to be outdone and miss seeing trains, I soon discovered a route through the bushes, up by the side of a shed between the kennels at the east end of the house and the platform. It was only a matter of seconds from hearing the train when I would be peering over the railings underneath the rail crossing bridge. One day when I bolted to my place a t the railings and as I jumped about four feet onto the foundations of the bridge support I slipped and came down on my head on a nasty sharp stone which put a fair gash in my head. After the train had gone I (p6) came down as I went up and went home with blood pouring down my face. I’m pretty sure when and if I go bald, I’ll have a bit of a scar on my cranium!

In August [1927] I went to school to Balnacra. The first day was a bit strange, but I soon got into the way of things, especially after I cut my way out of a sack into which I was man-handled by the rest of the pupils, all five of them. When they saw the sack being cut open by the screeching little body that had been put into it , they ran of and I was given a fairly wide berth for the rest of that day. Next day all was forgiven and forgotten. I had a two mile walk to and from the school every day. The main road [today the A890] was a gravel road then and there was practically no cars using it, unless owned by the doctor or someone special; therefore there were no lifts to be got. One of the highlights of the year was usually in the first week of May, on the day when the six-day motor cycle rally went from Strathpeffer to Applecross over the very rough, steep and untarred Beallach na Bà. In the morning the first to go by were some of the officials on motor bikes and they always threw books of magazines with each rider’s name, make of bike and rally number to us. We always got out of school in the forenoon while they went west and in the afternoon as they returned.

A couple of years later my sister went to school and later on the three daughters of the station master at Achnashellach. One of the girls from Arinackaig was a real tom-boy and being several years older led us into many escapades and scrapes with our teacher. She took us down to the footbridge which crossed the water between the loch [Loch Dùghail] and the river, sixty to eighty feet wide, and one day the teacher found us all following our leader walking across on the handrail. We got six of the belt for that prank and didn’t venture near the river again.

(p7) There was an old stalker lived next door to our school at Balnacra, Kenneth MacLean, better known as ‘the King’, some people said ‘of the toads’. He lived alone and had a collie dog with a silver eye. About twice a year he yoked up the white horse in the cart and set off for Strathcarron [journey about 7 miles] in the forenoon, followed by the dog. Without fail he usually arrived back as we were coming out of school; and on looking down the road we could see the horse and cart, faithfully followed by the dog. When they came close enough we were able to see that the King hadn’t been left behind – he was asleep on the top of the coals. The horse went up the short piece of road to the cart shed and stood there until the neighbouring bodachs went out and escorted the King to his house and loosened the horse. The school playground was a very small enclosed piece behind the school, full of brambles bushes and stones and nettles, so we liked to play shinty or football on a lovely small green between the school house and the neighbouring house, but as it was on the crofters’ common grazing we had to be very watchful of the King. I had been given a football, size three, real leather panels, and we imagined ourselves as John Thomson of Celtic or Allan MacGrory of Rangers. One day the King came down the road unknown to us, grabbed our ball and put his knife through it. On another occasion he found our home-made shinty clubs in a little tile drain which was at one side of the green and when we came out for our play interval we found them all cut in kindling-size pieces. We all took a deep dislike to the old man for this and especially the time he rose out of the brackens above the green as we played on it (temporary teacher and all). She was newly finished school in Lochcarron and was relieving our teacher who had scarlet fever. (p8) He followed us into the school that day and cursed and swore at us all.

Some months later he was clearing out the old hay in his barn and set it alight by the burn running between his house and then school, (the burn was dry at the time). We were watching him from the clock-room window and when it was burning briskly he walked the few yards and disappeared into his house. Quick as little flashes, we were out with pails and jugs of water and put out his fire. Shortly after he came out and down to see what had happened, watched by us from our sanctuary, gave the hay a kick or two with his foot and lit it again, waited a while and sauntered home. We repeated the dousing and he came out again. This time he used his hands on the hay, felt it wet and gave a long hard look towards the school, lit it and waited until it was burning merrily and went back home. This time we didn’t bother to put it out, instead we gathered some mud and quickly made some mud balls, ran up the bank above his back door and stood in our smoke screen knowing well that he wouldn’t be long in appearing and as he did we let fly our barrage of mud balls which stuck to the wall around him and we bolted back to the safety of the school. At that moment our teacher appeared and saw a very angry King striding up to the school door. Curiosity got the better of us and we came out of the door when we heard the noise they were making and I can still see the gravel jumping up from the heels of the teacher’s feet as she stamped them in rage at the old man. The outcome was that we got three choices of punishment; first was that we all got the belt but the girls didn’t like that; second we’d write one hundred lines of ‘I’ll never play on the King’s green again’ and definitely none of us would do that. We all agreed on the third punishment and so lost our dinner-hour play time for one week.

(p9) In those days, 1920s and 30s, they held a cattle sale at Strathcarron and one year when the King went down with his transport, horse and cart, he unyoked the white horse and tied it to a ring in the wall of the building and went into the bar for a dram. There were two chaps in there from Lochalsh, cousins, Allan MacLennan and Christopher MacKerlich, both great practical jokers. The King had several drams and got talking to the cousins who decided that one of them would keep him occupied having more drams while the other went out, changed the white horse over with the hotel cow that was in the byre. The cow being hand-milked and very tame stood fully harnessed tied to the ring in the wall. When old King decided he had had enough he went out and spent the next five minutes of so trying his hardest to back the harnessed cow into the shafts of the cart, while the two heroes watched from the bushes.

On one occasion at New Year an old gillie friend of my father’s, Jockan from Sallachy, came over and spent the New Year with us at Achnashellach. There was snow on the ground and my father and Jockan went along to Lair to visit the neighbours on New Year afternoon. We came back home before it got dark, having enjoyed listening to Christine and Neil MacPherson playing the fiddle. The road up to our house was quite slippery as it had started to freeze the hard packed snow. Some time later we were sitting at the table having our supper when there was a knock on the door; on opening the door my mother was confronted by this blood stained apparition whom she recognized as the King and asked him to come in. As he entered the living room Jockan looked up and said in Gaelic ‘Who the devil is this? I think myself he is related to the brewer’. The King had slipped on the icy snow coming up the brae and his nose had lost a bit of skin which with the blood gave him a brewery look. After my mother had tidied him up with a wet cloth, he was seated at the table and I can still see him picking up the oatcakes and crumbling them with his hands onto the table. Both he and Jockan were athletes in (p10) their younger days (both were now at least in their mid-seventies) and eventually an argument got up about a race that had been run decades past. Till at last my father had to pull them apart and run the King home in his sidecar. On passing his house sometimes he gave me the odd sweet which he took out of his waist coat pocket and invariably they tasted strongly of black twist tobacco. On one occasion I saw him take a small thing like a piece of old dry heather twig out of the same pocket and put the end of it in his mouth and jabbing his teeth with it. On asking him what he was doing, he said that he had a touch of toothache and this was his cure. It turned out to be an otter’s penis dried and just like a small heather twig. He said it worked.

I heard him tell my father once that he had only once in his life seen a real wild cat and the pure wild cat as he had heard about had one nail at the point of its tail! I’m sure in his days at keepering he had trapped and shot many wild cats but only one real wild cat.

On another occasion at Balnacra he was moving a flock of sheep along the road when a motor-cycle and side-car came along and slowed down his speed, but carried on slowly through the sheep and when he reached the King he up with his walking stick and smashed the Perspex windscreen of the sidecar. Needless to say the man took off and didn’t wait to argue, if so he would have got the stick on the head I’m very sure.

During my time in Balnacra School I read a library book for boys called the Red Lynx, about a Red Indian boy of the at name and the ways in which he tracked and outwitted the white settlers in the mountains of Canada, the Rockies. I actually learned a lot of tracking techniques from that book and lived through it all as if I was a little Indian boy. When the teacher asked me to write a story about it I actually filled a whole jotter relating the story as if I had lived it and relished every moment of it.

(p11) I was in Balnacra School for four years and one incident I will never forget shortly after I went to school there. Our first teachers was Nelly Jackson, very strict disciplinarian who was bothered with a bad leg. Kenny Keg Mackay from Arinackaig, several years my senior and full of beans, gave her a hard time of it, and one day she was chasing him round the classroom, slate in hand and couldn’t catch him, but eventually managed to get close enough to take the slate down on his head and as the slate broke Keg’s head was framed. He’d the frame around his neck and still going until he eventually ran out of the door and as far as I remember he didn’t come back to school.

One afternoon in winter as I was walking home alone, at a little stream about sixty yards west of Allt a’ Mhuilean, I noticed that the banks were about two feet apart and I saw nothing better then to go down with a hand on each bank and started to swing to and fro over the water, about a foot deep in a longish pool. I don’t know what happened with my ploy but next thing I knew I was sitting in the pool with the water up to my tummy. I got up out of the pool, ran across the road into the wood, took of my short trousers and bashed them to a tree to try to dry them. When I had walked a bit after putting them on, my knees began to get sore as it was freezing and my trousers were chaffing my knees, so I took off my breeks and ran all the way home to keep warm. Another afternoon the King gave Duncan McLennan (Coulags) and me a brown paper bag to drown some of his kittens in and, as we had never done it before, we went down to the loch with the kittens in the bag and threw it into the loch and ran back to the school. As the kittens were a fair size, needless to say, they were (p12) back home almost as soon as we were at the school.

One day the school dentist arrived and as he took the first patient (Mary my sister) in, we were all listening outside. Suddenly we heard a scream then a long drawn out scream so we took to the hill above the school and though the teacher whistled and shouted we waited up there in hiding till we saw his car depart. We were scolded that time. Anna Jackson was the teacher then and kinder than her sister Nellie. We often lost caps and various things in the three ventilators in the classroom roof so one day Duncan and I decided we would try and get into the roof by the round closed ventilator at the east end of the school. We got onto the porch roof and then the girls handed us a small ladder which we set up on the porch roof and with Duncan holding the ladder and me trying to knock the ventilator in with a chunk of stone we were caught red handed by Anna our teacher, taken into the class room and given six of the best. I can still see the ball I was after, it had a raised flower pattern on it and Duncan’s two school caps all of which along with many other things must still be up there today half a century later [at least one cap, remains of a rubber ball, pieces of chalk and book covers were there in 2006].

The one thing that I had an awful dread of was dragon flies as in the summer time they used to be very numerous and buzzed around us as we walked to and from school along the lochside. The road was not tarred then and as I walked home I used to hit stones thrown in the air well out into the loch with my home-made shinty club. The clubs didn’t last very long as the stones were very hard on the fresh, sometimes soft wood. However, it made excellent practice for hitting a ball in the air and by the time I went to Lochcarron School I was pretty good all round at shinty.

(p13) At a young age I wanted to go fishing as I had been once out in the boat with my father when we lived up at Duiliech. There is a nice loch about a mile west of there [Loch na Leitreach?]. I was refused permission but eventually I got a switch of hazel or rowan, a piece of sewing thread and a pin which I bent and shaped something like a hook. I dug some worms and went down to a small stream below the [phone] kiosk at Achnashellach and to my surprise I was able to catch some small brown trout tiddlers and salmon parrs it was a perfect spawning burn in those days. It ran along from Lair to the end of Loch Dùghail from forty to sixty yards from the main road and more or less parallel to it. However, in the mid to late 1940s the ‘meadow’ as the flats were called then, was to be planted; so it was all drained down to the big ditch which also ran parallel to the road but from two to three hundred yards further away. When heavy rains came the burns that ran into my fishing stream clogged it up with sand and gravel, which was washed down from the railway which was also drained all the way from a line from the railway station to the bigger burn at Lair and up hill to near the skyline. The result was that the small stream filled up and spilled in to the drains which carried the water down to the big ditch which was full of weeds and not much use for spawning. It is interesting to note that it was Jock Peter MacKay and me that opened these drains as we both worked for the Forestry Commission there after coming home from the 1939-45 war. Long before the stream silted up I found my way sometimes with, and often without, my mother’s permission to other burns and hill lochs and was hooked on fishing at a very early age. As I got older I went further afield to fish and will touch on these episodes later on.

Lochcarron School (p14). Having reached the age of ten plus I had to go to school to Lochcarron and though I’d had only three years in school I was put in the qualifying class among pupils much younger than me but also a fair bit more educated than I was at that time. So one can understand that I felt pretty miserable and let down. I realized at once that a side school (e.g. Balnacra) with a non-qualified teacher was far short of the required standard to pass the ‘qually’. I think that year was the most miserable one of my whole life and our teacher then was not married and we could tell by his dress and walk to the school what mood he was in , and believe me if we made any mistakes on that bad mood day we paid dearly for it, usually by a few of the belt or a slap round the ears. It came to the point some time later that if we’d one spelling wrong we got the strap so you may see that we tried hard, really hard, to do our best, and when qualifying exam day came in the first week of May, the whole class passed. One day while we were having a written spelling lesson, we had to pass our own jotters two to the left to be corrected by someone else. He noticed two of the girls making a correction in some one else’s spelling and called them out to the floor and when he checked what they did , gave each of the two girls two of the best of the belt. We were in the old school at that time, in the senior room ,and beyond the science section of our room was the infants room, separated from the science section by a glass partition from six feet up to the ceiling. One morning after prayers in the infants room and we’d all gone out to our respective class rooms, we heard a real chorus of little voices coming from the infants room. On asking, at the mid-morning break, what all the sudden burst of laughter was for, we were told that one of the girls was clicking her finger and waving at the teacher as if her life depended. (p15) depended on it. ‘Well Jeannie’, said the teacher, ‘what is it?’. Quick as a flash Jeannie replied ‘please Miss, Charlie shit the floor’. ‘Well Jeannie, clean it up!,’ said the teacher.

Shinty was our main game, we played when we reached school in the morning, when we got out at 11 o’clock break it was always Slumbay versus Jeantown, again at lunch break and again in the afternoon and the final score for the day, at the end of the afternoon break, was sometimes into double figures. Slumbay was usually in the lead as we had an abundance of very good players, many of whom were to give sterling service to Lochcarron Shinty Club in the later years. I often wished we had the chance of a game against the adult team of that time which was very good . I’m sure we would have given them a very hard time of it with all our practice. We were like eels and could hit the ball from all angles in the air or on the ground. When I went home to Achnashellach at the weekends, I spent several hours each Saturday hitting a rubber ball against the end of our house just below Achnashellach Station.

The bicycle accident. About this time I was given a small bicycle – 18 inch frame – which my father had bought for me at a sale in Strathcarron. It had belonged to Willie Paris. I was able to cycle a few hours after I got it. On one occasion I was sent along to our croft at Lair to lift some potatoes. When I almost got to where the (phone) kiosk is now I put my sister sitting in a carrier at the rear of the bike just above the rear wheel. I gathered some speed on what was left of the brae and after I had passed the black gate leading in to the meadows, going fairly fast, I got into loose gravel in the middle of the road which was not tarred then, and crashed in a heap. My first worry was my sister and the bike as I felt OK. My sister then said, ‘look at your knee’ and on looking down saw blood pouring from my left knee and a huge flap of skin hanging from my knee cap. There is a very clear burn running below the road close by so I went down the bank and washed my leg injuries. We carried on to Lair and called on John Livingstone and his wife and asked if he would bandage it as the blood ran into my Wellington boot. He got a little bottle of Lysol and poured some into a bowl of hot water with which he washed it, then put a piece of pink lint and a proper white bandage on it. He kindly went and lifted a pail of potatoes for me. The pain was now acute and I could not walk so he sat me on the saddle of my bike and wheeled me all the way home. When we go it home Mam was out at the washing line and when she came in she spotted the bandage and asked what had happened. John Livingston said I had fallen off my bike and he had dressed it and that it would be OK in the morning. All that night I tossed and turned and could not sleep with pain so in the morning my mother sent for the doctor. It was Dr Paterson who was in Lochcarron then. The lint was stuck to the wound and it took a soaking in warm water to get it off, only to reveal a gaping hole and what looked like cooked meat. The Lysol had burnt the whole thing as it had not been diluted enough. I was eight weeks off school. It healed slowly but surely. The nurse had to cut the proud flesh with bluestone and to this day on the inside of my knee the scar of burning by Lysol can be seen – a very painful experience but no after effects.

Shinty. The first game I played for the big team was in the Dr Ferguson Cup about 1937-38. I remember I played wing centre against Mr Montgomery, the school teacher at Dornie, and as he was a big heavy chap I gave him quite a run about and I was light and very fit. We beat Kintail that day and I can still remember the meal in the Lochcarron Hotel. We were going to Beauly some time later in the season to play against the Beauly chaps . There were four of us traveling in Donald Tramps MacRae’s car. Almost at the bridge at Glencarron side of Loch Sgamhain the passenger side front wheel took off along the road and then turned off into the moor. Donald managed to keep the car on the road until he stopped it. The wheel had not been tightened properly and had dropped off. Luckily the four nuts were inside the hub cap of the wheel and we were soon on the road again. The four players in the car were John MacKenzie Ardaneaskan, Iain Moochan Finlayson, Alick Inky MacKenzie, both Lochcarron, and myself from Achnashellach. We changed in the Lovat Arms at Beauly. Alick Sant MacRae took me into (p16) the bar and gave me a glass of rum as he always had one before he played, especially if it was a cold day. He said the whisky affected one’s breathing but not the rum. I remember we won but can’t remember the score. [Lochcarron won the Strathdearn Cup in 1937 and 1939, and the Sir William Sutherland Cup in 1939].

First job. After I left school my first job was keeping the stags off the crofters crofts at Arinackaig just by their present-day sheep fank. Twice a day I had to climb the side of Creag an Eilean [about 350m], sometimes with a shot-gun or other times with a dog to scare them away, but they always came back in the morning. My pay was 20 shillings for seven days. On Willie Paris and Flora’s wedding day I can still see the bus passing Balnacra as I was between Meall an Fhithich (Ravens Rock) and Teanga an Da Allt (Tongue of the Two Burns) further east. I got a job as pony boy on Achnashellach in 1936. There was Alick Sant Mackay, rifle man, on the south beat with my father, and I had the pony. With Murdo Big Murdo MacLennan on the north beat there was Jackie MacKenzie Shieldaig, as rifleman, and Duncan, Murdo’s son, as pony man. The fishing gillie was Alick MacKenzie Arinackaig.

First thing every morning Duncan and I had to go down to the meadows and catch the ponies which after a few days became very difficult as they got wise to a hard day in front of them. One day as we caught them and were preparing to jump on their backs to take them up to the stables to be saddled, (my mare was a small white mare called Jessie, very docile and easy to handle and I had already jumped on her back), Duncan tried to jump on his mare, which belonged to his uncle Kenny MacNair Arinackaig. She had longer legs, so after one or two unsuccessful tries, Duncan gave a really big spring on the her back and overshot his target and slid right over her on his belly, up to his elbows in a soft patch of ground in which there was an iron spring. Hence his white shirt sleeves were a bright rusty red! . (p17) The following year Jessie the mare had a similar fate in store for me. As I sat on her back almost at the stable door, a big rat bolted across the road just below her nose . She swung aside in fright and I carried straight on and landed on the hard road. That same week Duncan went into the stall to saddle his mare as she was eating he breakfast of oats. She promptly let fly with her rear hooves and put him reeling out of the stable door with the clear imprint of her hoof on his thigh. He was off work for a couple of days.

Between the stalking seasons we worked together in the Forestry [Commision] at Achnashellach. After leaving school we started work on the same day brashing, thinning and then making fence posts of the thinnings in the plot of Japanese larch just beyond the overhead railway bridge. We then praned the Douglas Fir further along the road and about the Tinkers Bridge and railway bunkhouse right up to the hairpin bend on the Coulin Road. In 1938 Alick Sant MacRae went as full-time stalker to the Glencarron Estate, owned then by Lady Evelyn Cobbold. I became rifleman and Jimmy White MacKenzie was pony man. We usually had a six or seven mile walk before the stalking began at Coire Choinnich and sometimes we went round the world up the Coire Choinnich path to the big stone in Bealach Bhearnais , up to and along the top of Sgur na Feartaig down the one step path into Golden Valley and across the river opposite Lair.

When Neville Chamberlain was meeting Hitler in Munich in 1938, that day we went up the north west ridge of Sgur Na Ceannaichean (Merchants Rock) [915m] and Mr David Wills shot a stag on the edge of the face above the road. The stag rolled out of sight. Another one was got on the flats a mile or so further on. I dragged it down the east end which was green and very easy going. Having got it into the shooting brake, pre-Land Rover days, I sent the pony man home. We went up to collect the stag which had gone (p18) over the edge and found him lying at the bottom of the gorge that comes down the rock face, actually in bits. On impact at the bottom he landed on a sharp stone about the size of a hundred-weight bag of potatoes and his innards and stomach contents were splattered on the surrounding rock walls and over quite a wide area. We just left it where it lay but it went into the count which was 35 stags for the season.

The stags were fed on the flat between the railway and the river beyond the overhead bridge and as Coire a’ Bhàinidh was the sanctuary they didn’t have far to come to feed. They got a mixture of Indian corn (maize) and locust beans which was kept in a large galvanized bin, the food being put out in heaps from a sack. Nearly every year one of the herd would go and feed from the big bin when the feeder was putting out their feed in small heaps. When the chap went back to get more feed or close the bin, the thieving stag would lower his head and threaten the man. Needless to say there were no risks taken and the offender was invariably put down. One day in August 1939 I counted slightly over four hundred stags in Corie a’ Bhàinidh which was not fenced at that time. After the war there was still a large number of stags wintering on the flats and using the shelter of the corrie in bad weather. Gang poaching started up after 1945 and gangs from Strathpeffer and Contin area came up regularly. Sheep were also being taken. On Coronation Day (1952) I was on the flats across the river from Bruach na Piobaire (the Piper’s Bank) and on going through a gap in an old earth wall, on a deer-made track where some whin roots had been exposed by the constant use of deer traffic, I noticed quite a bit of sheep wool was snagged as someone had dragged one or more sheep through the gap towards the river, railway and road.

(p19) Hill loch fishing The station master at Achnashellach prior to 1939 was George Seaton and, as he was a very keen fisher, we soon formed a close friendship and fished most of the lochs and burns from Coulags to Torridon, Coulin, Loch Rosque, Monar and Beinn Dronaig. If George was on early shift he finished in the early afternoon and we’d set off to fish some hill loch having gone as far as Loch an Laoigh (Bearnais) [a four mile walk] , Loch a’ Chlaidheimh [nine mile walk] near Loch Monar and had some great sport On one occasion my father, George and I set off for Bearnais and Loch an Laoigh and got there by mid-afternoon. I let the two older men fish where they chose. The best place in those days was the mouth of the main burn coming in at the north end of the loch [Abhainn Bhearnais]. They kept pulling in two trout at a time fairly regularly. I went to the south east side of the loch where another burn came in [probably All Bheithe] and I was getting quite a number of smallish fish when bang I hooked a bigger fish. He took off leaping high out of the water but each time he did that I dropped the point of the rod to the water. Eventually I landed him and he weighed three-and-a-half pounds, a real beauty , short and very thick. That was the nicest fish I ever caught and the fly he took had green wings, but by the time he took it there was hardly a feather or even body on it, it was almost a bare hook. One one occasion post-war, I caught one hundred and one trout on Loch a’ Chlaidheimh. I didn’t have a bag big enough to hold them so I stuffed my pockets, cut the lining of my jacket at the breast pocket and put them in there. When I got home I weighed them (all 101) and they weighed 36lbs.

Christopher MacPherson, whose brother Duncan was keeper at Beinn Dronnaig, and I walked from Achnashellach to Loch an Laoigh one day pre-war, fished to the bottom end of the loch and then went down to visit (p20) his brother and sister at Beinn Dronaig. After having some food and a dram then a blether for a while Duncan came back up to the loch with us and we fished from the boat as we now had a ghillie! I still remember that walk back up to the loch as the heel came off my one of my very slight dress shoes which I wore that day for lightness. I threw the heel away and bashed the exposed nails in the shoe with a stone until it became comfortable. As I knew the last stalker and his wife who lived in Bearnas along with older members of his family of seven, I was somehow drawn to the place. Old John Enshop MacRae and his wife lived in Balnacra, when I went to school there, and were a very nice old couple compared to their neighbour the King. They must have left Bearnas in 1898 or 99 as their youngest son Roddy is still alive [1982] as is his sister Kate and living in the old home at Balnacra. They were born in Craig when their father moved from Bearnas. Roddie was my fishing partner on occasions pre- and post- war to Loch an Laoigh. Old John MacRae did not have very fluent English and on one occasion when in the hill with a guest he was asked how he got his provisions over to Bearnas. So his reply was ‘up the ceum on the back of the each’ (up the path on the back of the horse). When asked what he had for breakfast his answer was ‘brose’. When asked what that was he replied ‘meal and water skitter scatter in a bowl’. On one occasion I crossed Loch Dùghaill by boat to near the island and walked up Creag an Eilean and on to Loch an Laoigh, fishing the small lochs on the way there After having fished for an hour or so it got very dull and like rain so I decided to make for home, started to run up from the loch side and didn’t stop until I touched the boat at Loch Dùghaill, by that time quite a damp young chap. On another trip there, again minus a coat, I took a sheet of corrugated iron from Bearnas house on my back all the way to the Arinackaig fank. It acted like a sail in the strong wind and I got blown up hill and kept fairly dry.

(p21) Territorial ArmyAs I was in my teens during the Spanish Civil War. I always listened to the news to see and hear how things were going. My father and George Seaton, both Great War veterans renewed their long sessions of war stories after and between evening train times and I stood there in the station office at Achnashellach practically doing everything but dodging bullets and shells for hours, until at last I began to get restless and would have volunteered there and then if I was of age at that time or got the chance. Most of the older chaps in the area were in the territorial army Seaforths. Jackie MacKenzie Shieldaig was in the Lovat Scouts and immediately he suggested I should join them I did. Along with Jock Stewart from Strathconan, one of the stalkers at Glencarron. We went in a 15cwt truck to Shieldaig in May 1939 and signed on in Donnie Sutherland’s one of the Lochcarron Estate’s keeper’s house. The truck was driven by PSI Oxley, a cavalry man, and having picked up Alick MacRae Kishorn and Jock Stewart at Glencarron, Jackie and I, Tommy MacGregor and Dolie MacKintosh at Kishorn we headed for Shieldaig and going too fast round the bend at the stable in Shieldaig Glen went plonk into the side drain and a culvert. After a time we got the truck back on the road and on or way. We had two weeks under canvas in June at Strathpeffer and were on maneuvers with our ponies. I brought my father’s white mare Jessie with me.

Call-up for the War –to Beauly Things were not looking good in the papers and on the radio and eventually on Friday 1st September we were called up. We were out stalking that day and there were two stags got a mile up the glen from the old house at Bearnas. As we only had one pony we left the other stag out overnight intending to go for it next day. As we climbed the path above Bearnas house heading for the one step and home, I kept looking back and wondering when or if I would ever (p22) see the place again. When we got to the larder we were told that all the TA personnel had been called up and were leaving by train on the Saturday 2nd September for Beauly, Head quarters of the Lovat Scouts. The two non-TA chaps went for the other stag that day. We got our uniforms on and joined the train about mid-day and disembarked at Beauly, made our way to the Phipps Hall where we stayed overnight. At 11am on Sunday 3rd September while listening to the radio in the Hall we heard the declaration of war being read out.

The main body had not arrived – not possible so soon from North and south Uist and Skye and other further away places. So my father had come down with his Baby Austin and we got home until the Tuesday – Jackie, Alick, Dolie, Tommy and I. On the Tuesday we joined the troop train and got back to Beauly fairly late in the afternoon and marched up to our billets in the byres and stables and barns at Beaufort Farm. Chaos ruled mainly. We slept in the byre on the concrete floor with three blankets, straw palliasse and pillow and boy was it cold and hard. We had some soup and stew to eat out of tin bowls and plates which when washed were stacked on the trestle tables in the open. When you went for breakfast in the morning they were stuck together by rust having not been dried. A couple of warmer days later we either picked the maggots out of those bowls and tins or did without any food. We had billet guard and picket on horse-lines to do. The ponies were tied six feet apart to a rope stretched between two strainers and heel stops on one rear leg and a pin hammered into the ground to keep them from turning round and kicking each other to bits. Those on guard when off duty slept under the belt for driving the threshing mill and often the rats slid down the belt and jumped off to land on a sleeping body. One chap who had some grease spilt on his puttees (we wore puttees, britches and spurs) had the strap of his puttee eaten clean through by a rat. (p23) We eventually got good at killing them with our bayonets. They were all shapes and sizes of them running about. Our main task for the first period of time was looking after and training the ponies, being kitted out with saddles and fighting equipment. We trained in front of Beaufort Castle on the ponies. They went round in a wide circle and on command we slid off the tail end of our ponies and jogged by the side of the following one for a bit and then sprang off the ground on to the pony’s back and this went on for some time. Included in the scheme was sitting back to front, sideways, on our backs, on our bellies on the back of the ponies, always with the pony trotting in a circle. For the first while we were very stiff and sore all over, especially our posteriors as we spent hours in the saddle or bare-back, but soon we were very competent riders. On one occasion there was a special train of a disbanded English cavalry regiment’s horses arrived at Muir of Ord and were stabled there in a farm. Those horses were called cobs and were a good bit higher than our garrons. There was a dozen of us from B Squadron detailed to fetch a dozen cobs back to Beauly. We were transported along with our bridles and reins in a 15 cwt truck to bring them along. Most of the fetching party were from Uist and Skye along with Iain MacKenzie Aultbea and me. Iain and I were in no hurry to get our horses and by the time we went into the buildings the others had bridled their ponies and were coming out. We bridled ours and as we came out we saw the others careering round a field flat out. We mounted them near the gate entering the field and walked them on. Suddenly right at the gate Iain’s pony in front of mine stopped, kicked up her two heels as high as she could and Iain sailed gracefully through the air and landed on his back. On seeing this mine did exactly the same and I landed exactly as Iain did. As we still had a (p24) grip on the reins the ponies did not run away or get away. After a few runs round the field we started to move along the farm road towards the main road and suddenly it turned into a Derby or Grand National. We went flying along the farm road, the horse in front of me wanted away, jumped the stock fence in to the field and mine followed. Once in the field they really went, then jumped out on to the main road and I’m sure no horses broke that record time to Beauly to this day – not even the morning of the A Squadron stampede.

Our horses were fed every morning at 06.30 and one blustery and windy wet morning when A Squadron’s were being led to watering a gust of wind came and blew the horse blankets of one of the ponies which startled it and others so much that a number of them and eventually most of them bolted. As we were going down to Ferry Park we heard the clatter of hooves coming along the road and we managed to stop some of them but not all. They were rounded up later. Several of the chaps were injured , some so severely that they were unfit for active service. We were billeted in a church up Croyard Road for the winter months. One evening one of our chaps brought his pony fully saddled into the church – I can still hear the clattering of his hooves before rider and pony were shouted out. During our stay there we had a measles epidemic and most of us went down with it. When I felt ill I picked my palliasse and three blankets up and made my way to the end of the church near the vestry door, which was the sick quarters. As I got there this old chap from Skye suggested that I should come alongside him and share our blankets then we would be warmer, five above and one below. I thought it a good idea and we did this. Shortly after he wrapped himself in the blankets and turned away leaving me with practically no covering and shivering as the (p25) weather was awful and bitterly cold [five weeks of snow and frosts down to minus 5 degrees C – Melville]. I rose and grabbed the top three blankets, pulled them off him, grabbed my straw palliasse and straw pillow and left him with a mouth full of swears as I moved a bit away from him. We were eventually moved from the church to our hospital which was a wooden shed with a tin roof, between the church and the main street. There was a small round stove in the middle of the shed and as I lay in bed I could see the stars through the gaps in the planks by my head. As the stove was lit one could not see the others for smoke. Some of the chaps were really ill there, one seriously, and it was a long time before he rejoined us. Dr Ferguson who was in Lochcarron came to see us one evening along with Danny Mòr MacLean, as the doctor’s brother Norman was with us in the hospital by this time. He asked Dolie MacKintosh Kishorn to send a telegram to his doctor brother earlier in the day as Dolie was fetching us drinks and food which we couldn’t really eat, being feeling so rotten. Dolie sent the telegram – ‘come at once sinking fast Norman’ and Dr Fergie came post haste. He must have complained to the authorities as we were moved to better accommodation and were soon OK again.

To Nottingham. Still in Beauly and in the early part of the year [1940], we were one day told to get ready to move, lock, stock and barrel. We did that and got on to a special troop train and set off into the night and the unknown. During the night we stopped at Perth, were shunted to a fro for a bit then stopped for a long period of time. Eventually we started moving again going back the way we had come and landed back in Beauly. Apparently Finland was to be our destination as the Finns were resisting the Russians with devastating effect and we were going to help them. Who ever decided to, or what force worked that out, I reckon we’d never have come back if we’d gone there at that time so ill equipped as we were. (p26). About March we and our ponies were moved by rail down to England, the Nottingham area [Melville gives the names of eight villages used for billeting]. I was one of the advance party who went a week or so before the main body {21st March 1940 – Melville]. We were in civilian digs, John MacDonald, later on in pipe band, from South Uists and I were in digs together. He was killed almost at the end of the war. I still remember stepping across his body as he lay on the ground as if asleep with a small hole in the forehead exactly between his eyes. We had a feather bed in which one sank almost out of sight and was very warm. The food was pretty grim, a piece of toast and one sausage or one egg for breakfast. The man of the house was a small elderly chap who never spoke to us, played darts most of the time so much so that he had almost gone through his dart board at the twenty five and the bull. Our ponies were taken away [Melville says the ponies were removed from 22nd April 1940 following secret orders to prepare the Regiment to move overseas] and we were mechanized and given transport of all descriptions. We still had to do a route march each week and as we still wore our puttees, breeches and spurs and the weather got hotter and worst of all my boots, one pair, were getting too small for me. We suffered and especially me suffering hell. Again some of us went down with measles this time German measles or rubella. Some of us were really ill and delirious with it and as we were billeted by now in a Church of England monastery – cold marble floors – we were carted off by ambulance to a hospital in Sutton.

When I came out I was asked if I had ridden a motorbike, which I had once, about a mile, on my uncle’s, with him on the pillion about three years previously. OK, I was told to get on this 500cc BSA and go to Nottingham for one dozen light bulbs and some writing pads and envelopes. I started up the bike , put it into gear, foot change new to me, and made a perfect take off. As I went along the road I wondered and worried what (shop) was I going (p27) to find in Nottingham. As I came into the town I slowed down and there in front of me was an electrical shop and next door a stationery shop. I did my purchases and got back to our billets at Kelham. A couple of days after that our permanent dispatch rider went down with measles and I got his job temporarily, which meant I was running between our companies and Headquarters every day until we moved up to Greenock at the latter part of April [1940].

Greenock. Our transport went by road in convoy, we spent one night in Catterick Camp and next day we arrived in Greenock [1st May 1940 Melville] and we were billeted in a sugar factory in the town, not far from the docks. During our short stay in Greenock, with a couple of mates I went walking down the street one evening fairly late when I was suddenly struck with a fearful tummy pain. I had a quick glance round, no one in sight, jumped a rail surrounding a huge water tank about thirty feet in diameter, dropped my pants and quickly relieved my bowels. The water tank was for air raid precautions and fire control in the event of air raids which they surely got some time later on during the Clydeside blitz. Several times during our service we experienced this nasty belly pain and lo and behold if one was caught short the result was rather messy. We reckon there was some potion put into our food now and then to clean us out. We idled about there in Greenock for several days until the main part of the regiment came and then boarded ship. – the Ulster Prince rumoured to be bound for Norway. As we passed between the outer isles and the mainland we could see the hills of Skye and home. About thirty-six hours later we landed at Tórshavn in the Faroes.

Faroes (p28) We landed on the 25th May 1940. It turned out to be a nice day and as we came into the pier to disembark, there was hundreds of people there to meet us. We took over from a detachment of Royal Marines who were guarding the main installations – radio station, Fort Skance, pier, marine cable telephone station. We were billeted in the main hall and other halls in the town and the regiment was soon dispersed on the major islands throughout the Faroes – of which there are seventeen altogether. As each squadron was moved about the islands in rotation to provide guards on certain strategic points, we were moved by boat. Some times it was on the Suigrill, the regular mail boat which took us especially to the larger islands which was on her regular route. Other times we went by the Poppy, a forty-eight to fifty foot Norwegian fishing boat [formerly the Jalso - Melville] which had come over to Faroe some time earlier to escape the Nazis and was commandeered by the British. The chap in charge of her was John MacIssac from Benbecula – she was crewed by Scouts and was a very sea-worthy craft. I remember on some occasions when being moved about , we had great difficulty keeping our feet on the deck and more difficulty in holding the Bren gun from going over the side as we always had to have a Bren mounted on the tripod in case of aerial attack which was prevalent at that time. We often had visits from the Luftwaffe, some bombing, some strafing and reconnaissance raids . On one occasion when the Loch Garry was tied up at the Tórshavn pier they came over and dropped a few bombs. The one which struck the Loch Garry went straight through the side of the ship several feet above the water line and did not explode. Our padre was wounded by a bullet in the thigh as he was on board (p29) on his way home on leave. Ronald Robertson by name, he was the parish minister in Lochcarron pre-war and was married to a local girl whose father had the store and bakehouse – he was known as The Beauty , John MacKenzie was his proper name.

The Loch Garry ran the gauntlet of bombs, mines and U-boats for a couple of years but eventually came to grief off the Irish coast. It was she who ferried the troops to and from Leith when we got a leave – once only while in the Faroes. She also carried stores and supplies. Once while on unloading fatigues we were unloading cases of beer from the hold and if cases happened to be broken or even broken with a kick, we helped ourselves to all the beer we could consume on the spot. We were usually very merry and towards the end of the fatigue duty everyone was in good spirits.

Leave I came home on the Loch Garry on leave in the summer of 1941 and when we were off the Aberdeen coast en route to Leith, during the night we heard several explosions, one so close that the Garry rocked and keeled over quite a bit. We jumped from our bunks and ran onto the decks to see some of the ships in the convoy had been hit. One tanker about five hundred yards on our port side was ablaze from stem to stern as it was a dark night we could see the figures of the crew silhouetted against the flames as they ran about on the deck. I often wonder how they fared as the convoy could not stop even to pick up survivors. We disembarked at Leith during the following day and made our way to the station to catch the north-bound train. After having been in the station bar for some time and having had a few pints, we made our way along the platform, dragging our kitbags, nearly all with a couple of bottles of duty-free whisky in them. There was a chap JA Beaton Portree who was the (p30) unlucky one who was stopped at the bottom of the gangway and searched. While the customs chap went through his kitbag, JA opened his small pack put the bottle therein to his head and drained it, tossed it into the harbour and said to the customs chap ‘that’s one you won’t get’. He got two others though! When we were about the Forth Bridge on our way north the effects of the beer began to tell on our bladders and as there was no corridor on the train there were no toilets so there was only one thing for it – the windows. As one looked out of the window up and down the train there was a fountain coming out of each one. We all enjoyed our leave and I fished quite a lot and we felt sad when the time came for us to go back. While I was home I caught an eighteen pound salmon fishing from the shore at Pin Bay. My friend Hugh MacKenzie Evanton came up for a couple of days but we had no luck then. The British Honduras contingent of wood cutters were working at Achnashellach, felling the stand o large mature larch trees above the station at Achnnashellach. Hugh and I took a walk up to their saw mill not far from the station one day. The sawyer was having difficulty with a large log on the bench and it kept getting stuck each time he would it on. Eventually he took it back clear of the saw , tried the big saw with his finger as if looking for a wobble in the saw, then he put his finger between the saw and the bench. Quick as a flash the finger got pulled in beside the side of the revolving blade and the slit in the bench . As it was painful when trying to pull it out he leaned over a bit and the teeth of the saw caught his arm and in a fraction of a second the shirt, flesh and muscle was ripped and mangled of his arm from elbow to shoulder. I can still see (p31) the mangled flesh, muscle and shirt hanging out at his elbow. His mates were all screaming and shouting and I’ve never seen an engine being stopped so quickly. One evening during that leave while out fishing on Loch Dùghaill with my father, we heard the drone of airplane engines and on looking up counted over a hundred planes heading due north, probably to fox the enemy radar systems while on their way to bomb the continent. I felt sad and wondered how many of those chaps who passed overhead would return home that night.

Return to the Faroes We returned to the Faroes on the Loch Garry and while waiting for our escort ships in the Pentland Firth encountered the biggest sea swell we’d ever seen in our lives. While our escorts were approaching us, they were two large armed trawlers, the Preston North End and Lincoln City, went down in a trough and us in another and we could not see the tops of each others masts. It was a fantastic feeling to be up in the air one minute and down in the depth the next. We got back to the Faroes without incident. Our morale at that time was pretty low as most of our pals and friends in the 4th Seaforths had been captured at Dunkirk and us being stuck away in mid-ocean miles to the north could do nothing to help. About that time there were volunteers required for commandos and paratroops and glider pilots and I applied in writing for each one as they came up. It was a long time later I learned that my applications, and I presume that those of some others, were put in the waste paper basket by Major Anthony Wills, now Lord Dulverton, who was our sniping officer at that time, was on the panel who chose the volunteers but did not want to lose some of his best shots. That I suppose saved some of our lives, if not all, as most of the chaps who went were lost at Dieppe, Narvik or Arnhem. (p32) While stationed at Tórshavn we had a lot of guard duty to do as it was the capital of the islands and quite a large town, had lots of buildings and installations to be guarded in case of an invasion by the enemy to occupy the islands. If that had come about there would not have been many supply ships reached Britain as they ferried men and stores etc from America and Canada. The Faroes would have been an ideal submarine base.

Fitness Our squadron commanding officer at that time was Major Richard Fleming and he was a fitness fanatic, as they say nowadays. We used to go on long route marches, sometimes in full service marching orders (FSMO) which included our large pack and sometimes in Battle Order which meant as before with the exception of the big pack. One day in Tvøroyri he took us on a seven mile route march round the end of a long fjord and when we had reached our destination we were made to strip off all our clothes and working in pairs made a package of all our clothes, equipment and rifles, all inside our gas capes. The complete thing was about four feet long and fifteen inches wide and a foot deep. When tied securely and done properly it floated. We were then ordered into the sea by this time shivering with cold and apprehension, wondering if our package would really float, leak or sink. He grabbed our package, placed a Bren gun on top and swam a considerable distance to prove it worked. As most of us could not swim at that time, we did not venture out of our depth but got ourselves wet just the same. After a few minutes the Major came ashore and shouted ‘three minutes to dress and line up on the road’. Our biggest difficulty was to dry our bodies, dry enough to get our clothes on in such a short time, but we need not have worried as some of our packs were not too waterproof including the Major’s and anyone with (p33) a torn or frayed gas cape. There is nothing as difficult as trying tom get a wet body into dry clothes or even socks. We were lined up on the road and marched off with the Major in front. When we had marched a couple of hundred yards, we were given the order to double and another couple of hundred yards to march and so it went on as a forced march for seven miles back to the billets. Our sergeant at that time was a chap from Shieldaig. One evening he got in touch with some Faroe fishermen newly back from Aberdeen having been there in their fishing smack selling their cargo of fish, and as they had plenty of whisky on board they had a large evening. In the morning when we arose and looked out of the billet windows, there was a couple of ducks gobbling up someone’s vomit. After a few gobbles at it they’d walk a couple of yards for a drink from a small drain and so it went on until eventually the two ducks were really drunk and staggered about the place.

Floating mines While we were in Tvøroyri we were approached one afternoon by a Faroe man who see had several mines floating in a fjord across a mountain from where we were. Two of us were detailed to go with him and sink or blow up the mines with an anti-tank rifle which fired a bullet about 3/4inch in diameter and 51/2 inches long. He took the rifle which was fairly heavy owing to the thickness and length of the barrel. He wore a type of home-made moccasin made out of pig-skin. He had a gold tooth and one gold earring, first time we had ever seen a man wearing earrings. He had sailed the world in Danish merchant ships. He stuck a plug of tobacco in his mouth and went over that hill like a goat and would not let either of us carry the AT rifle. We reached the sea across the hill and were able to sink two mines and blow one up. This happened if we were able or lucky enough to hit one of the horns or spike shaped thinks in which the detonators were on those mines. (p34) On some occasions when the mines came ashore and came in contact with the rocks they exploded and could cause a great deal of damage. I once saw a British destroyer which had the front piece from bow to the bridge missing as if cut off by a knife and she was still moving under her own steam.

Boxing While still in Tvøroyri we were all very keen on having boxing lessons as we had a PT instructor who was a keen boxer. One evening after our canteen closed, it was run by one of our corporals James Campbell, we could buy cigarettes, chocolates and beer, draught and bottled, but no spirits. This evening we were getting ready for bed when two of our boys had a small difference of opinion. It was suggested that they put on the gloves to sort it out. Neil Campbell from South Uist was well built and a stocky chap though a wee bit slow in his actions. Malcolm ‘Calum Mor’ MacKenzie Aultbea a tall lanky chap with a black moustache and a pretty bad squint. They were practically stripped as we were, some in bed on the floor others getting ready for bed. When the gloves were tied on by the appointed or maybe self-appointed referee, Donald Piggie MacDonald Aultbea. After shaking hands, he got in the centre of the floor and they sparred about like a couple of professionals, then Neil landed one on Calum’s nose and a little blood came. That was enough to make Calum really see red and he began to swing his long arms like flails. One of his punches must have had an eye-watering effect on Neil and immediately what had started out in fun was now in dead earnest. We let it go on for about thirty seconds more and all jumped up and tried to pull them apart which was not easy as anything that came within reach was a target for either of them. Ten minutes later all was forgiven and forgotten. (p35) Any argument that arose at that time was usually settled with the gloves on. We had a chap, Jimmy, from Perth who had come to us from the Black Watch, regular battalion, and had cups and medals for boxing. He was sparring around with me when this English chap from our HQ Signals Section came in to have a go with my sparring partner. It was obvious from the signaler’s actions that he had boxed before and often. After circling round each other and the odd jab going out, Jimmy tried a left hook, his glove traveled about eight inches, caught the English signaler under the jaw, lifted him clear off his feet and he was out cold on his back on the floor, his eyes wide open. The victor put out a challenge and who took it up but The Piggie. He was a southpaw and gave Jimmy quite a lesson in the art of boxing including a black eye. It was strange at that time to see all ranks from private to major going about with black eyes. It helped to break the monotony.

Forced march challenge During our stay in the Faroes our Colonel (Lt Col. Hon. I Leslie Melville) was replaced by a younger man who was a regular from the Seaforths (Lt Col. Adam Fairrie MBE – Camerons). One evening in the officers mess at Tórshavn the new CO spoke up and maintained that the Lovat Scouts were not very fit, whereupon he was challenged by our company commander (of forced and route march fame) that he could get x number of men out of one platoon in B Company that would undertake to do any march, dressed in Battle Order, that the colonel would route for them. (p36) There were about eighteen picked out. We were excused guard duty the night before the march and told we would be excused the following night after we came back as well. We left the billets at Tórshavn after it started to get bright at 7 in the morning and walked about two miles to the end of the B road and after that it was overland, up hill and down dale and through rivers up to our waist still we came to our goal which was Vestmanna where Jackie MacKenzie and his section were on post duty. We had a quick cup of hot tea there and then traced our steps back to Tórshavn . We passed the town clock then at the end of the pier at 8.10 pm which had given us our departure at 7am, having walked 48 miles in a little over 13 hours. No one dropped out and we all marched through Tórshavn singing and whistling till we reached our billets on the pier. We were each given a tot of rum before our meal. It wasn’t much but it made us a bit tipsy, probably due to fatigue. Contrary to promises we were on guard duty the next night.

Guard duties and seven days CB

On one occasion I was on HQ guard. This was close by a small bay practically surrounded by buildings into which there was a small wooden jetty on which there was a large heap of empty food tins. As I walked about I disturbed a black cat who had his head stuck in a tin. When he heard me he ran away and fell off the jetty into the water. He swam out and out into the bay and the tin got lower and lower until eventually it disappeared. There was nothing I could do to save the unfortunate beastie. Shortly after that our platoon was on stand-to duty and when on stand-to could be called out at any time during the night. As it happened we were called out by Sir Simon Campbell Orde at around 5am. As we lay in our beds fully clad except for our boots. When we were awake first thing some of us did was light up a cigarette which we puffed while putting on our boots, steel helmet and grabbing our rifles and made for the door which was left open by the officer when he shouted ‘stand to’. As I was one of the first through that door with a fag in my mouth, I felt a hand on my shoulder and a voice saying ‘MacKenzie, you are on a charge for smoking in the blackout’. There was no word that the electric light was steaming out onto (p37) the square. I was in front of the same officer that afternoon and got seven days CB (confined to barracks) and when given that punishment one was on parade or whatever during daytime and the evening was spent in the cookhouse peeling potatoes, spud bashing, for next days dinner.

We were in the museum billets at Tórshavn at the time and I happened to be assisting the armourer when one day I noticed and elderly man crossing the field behind our billets. He had a milk pail in his hand. He suddenly put his free hand to his chest and pitched forward onto his face on the ground. I immediately ran up to where he lay and found him stone dead. He died of a heart attack.

Luftwaffe downed A German bomber came over one day and dropped a stick of bombs, but luckily they missed their targets, our billets and the armed trawlers at anchor near by. Later, one of the bombers was not so lucky when he tried to bomb some shipping. He was hit by some Bren gun fire and a couple of bullets cut some petrol pipes which forced him to come down in the sea. The four crew members were captured by one of our motor cycle patrols [21st February 1941 - Melville] . We were for several days giving assistance to a local diver who fastened wire ropes round the plane which was lifted from the sea bed by the cranes on the Baranda, the supply ship running between the Faroes and Leith, and which took the Heinkel bomber back to this country or I should say what was left of it when the souvenir hunters had finished. I’ve still got a wire cutter taken from that plane.

Fun and games We were still at museum billets at Christmas 1940 and after Christmas dinner was over, one of our chaps, Alick Macrae Kishorn went into one of the huts next door to find a huge tray of turkey bones in that hut and when he asked if there was any to spare, he was quickly ejected from the hut out (p38) onto the snow- covered square. On hearing the noise going on outside, everyone spilled out of the eight or so huts which faced each other and started the largest scale scrap one ever saw. There were curses and fists flying everywhere till eventually the snow got redder and redder with blood. Eventually the Sergeant Major, Orderly Officer and Orderly Sergeant arrived on the scene and after some time managed to restore peace and to chastise their cook who had brought the tray to his own pals’ billet. Several B Company chaps one night rolled a full 50 gallon barrel of beer from the pier at Tórshavn up the street all the way to those billets, round the back of one of them and in the end door. As those huts were built on a steep bank there was plenty of room for the barrel and having lifted a section of the floor, it was dropped in and scoffed fairly quickly. The barrel would have been discovered years after that when the huts were dismantled to make room for new houses. After New Year, Donnie Trapper Campbell walked up from the pier one night but wasn’t so lucky. He was arrested with a case of whisky on his shoulders by the Red Caps (Military Police), newcomers to the Faroes, and he was sentenced to 56 days in the glasshouse (Army Penitentiary) in this country. Shortly after going to the Faroes, there was an Under-23 years football match arranged between the Regiment and the Faroese, played at Tórshavn. I was one of those capped that day. We got beaten but were not dismayed. There was no grass at all on the pitch, only gravel and God help anyone who fell. Skin came off in large patches from various parts of our bodies. We played one game in another island at a later date - the wind was so cold and strong that it kept blowing the ball up a hill by the side of the pitch and the Faroe men played the day with long johns below their sports clothes, wise chaps. Once we were stationed in Gota, a gale got up during the night, so severe that we had to jump out of our beds and hold the end of our Nissen hut from coming in on us as the hut was wobbling like a jelly and acting like a concertina. Maybe it was a retribution on us as before the gale got too strong we were daring each other to run round the hut in our shirt tails and barefoot. Boy was it draughty but at one time there was a circle round the hut (p40) as everyone therein got up and did the run.

Next morning we had to vacate the area as so did the natives as there was a large magnetic mine on the beach not far from our hut. If it had exploded we’d have probably been badly hurt. I know our hut wouldn’t stand the blast. One dark night almost at lights out, 21.59h, two chaps were coming to the pier billets from Tórshavn, on their left hand was a sheer wall of rock thirty feet high and on their right hand the sea. When they were about one hundred yards from the billets they saw the lights of a car leave the town heading in their direction . They panicked as there was no where to go so they both fell into the sea thinking it was the orderly officer doing his rounds. Luckily there was a ship tied to the pier and one of the stern ropes sagged into the water. John Monk and D J Maclellan managed to grab the rope in the dark and hang on until help came in the shape of a rowing boat from nearby.

We spent Christmas 1941 in Pier Billets. There was a couple of armed trawlers tied to the pier. When we went for and were having our breakfast Jock Buchanan who was on sentry duty walked into the dining room, rifle slung on his shoulder, tin hat on the side of his head and shouted to all and sundry ‘a merry syphilis and a clappy New Year’. Luckily for him the orderly officer wasn’t about at the time so Jock was put to his bed and was replaced by a non-guard chap who stood in for him and less than a couple of hours later he was also carried to his bed and yet another replacement put in his place. There was a comradeship arose between us all that was fantastic and one would never let his mates down.

Motor cycle patrols (p39) Motor cycle patrols were started some time after we came to the Faroes. They were much more interesting than the never-ending guard duties we had to do. On one occasion Alick MacRae and I were detailed to go to an isolated house at Kirkjubøur where there was a small detachment of Navy chaps on watch. We were told to leave before it got dark round about 9pm. Alick and I went to the NAAFI and had a couple of pints before we set out. I went off in front and had not gone very far when I met an idiot of a Faroe man in a car and we passed on the wrong side of each other on the narrow twisting road. Shortly after that I passed a chap on horseback near a bend in the road just by a stone bridge. Alick had been coming along behind me. Some time after I passed the horseman I stopped as there was no sign of Alick. On going back to where I had passed the horse, I found Alick with the motor cycle firmly lodged in a peat bog and Alick groping in the bog for several tins of bully beef which he had inside his jacket. We eventually found them all and continued on our way. Apparently, as Alick was almost at the horseman, his horse shied across the road and Alick had to take evasive action and head for the ditch. I had the mail for the Navy chaps in my great coat pocket and when we had delivered our tins and letters we had a cup of tea and headed back to Tórshavn and our bed.

Comradeship (p41) We were at a small village named Fuglafjørður, a section of us with Lieutenant MacDonald Tote in charge, and we had to have a billet guard to protect our equipment. I was a member of the three-man guard and was on middle shift 8pm to 10pm. I was mounted at my post as the Army saying goes. There was a dance in the village hall about one hundred yards from where I stood on guard. When I was not relieved at 10pm I wondered where my mates had gone but by the time of 11.30pm I was wondering more than ever what was going on, so I sauntered along towards the hall hoping to see someone to relieve me. On looking into the hall door I saw my relief dancing in the packed hall and a Faroeman dancing about with my relief’s Balmoral on his head. I could not catch Allen’s eye but I did see the orderly officer come into view and he spotted me, came to the door and said come this way, marched me back to the billets and shouted on Corporal Fergusson who luckily for himself had returned while I was away. Lieutenant MacDonald asked Ferguson what was happening so Ferguson said to me ‘Didn’t I post you at 10 o’clock?’. To protect Corporal Ferguson I said yes, knowing that Allan had been seen and was too far gone to be on duty anyhow. I was put under open arrest and next day went with an escort by mail boat to appear in front of the Commanding Officer at Tórshavn who sentenced me to fourteen days detention. I was put into a concrete shed with a corrugated roof and sides. The door was a division of corrugated iron as well. I was given two low trestles, three planks, three blankets and a pail to do the necessary in. The weather was bitterly cold. I could see the stars shining at night through the small cracks at the top of the door. I was charged with deserting my post while on guard. I took the full rap to save the corporal his stripes . I knew Fergie well and I have (p42) never once regretted what I did to shield him.

There was a chap under the same roof as me, but there was a hole in the dividing sheet of tin large enough to pass a cigarette or matches through though we were not supposed to have any after being searched – but I did and passed one to him now and then. I can’t remember what he was in for but as he had been striped of sergeant rank and jailed as well I reckon he committed a worse crime than I did. He had practically served his sentence when I came in and was soon out. His place was then taken by Allan, my relief of a few days previous, who had done something similar but got caught out this time. The Provost Sergeant Slope Hips MacLeod was very good to me and I got to sit at the warm guardroom fire quite often, going back to the freezing cold bare tin cell at night which was, I can assure anyone, not funny. The fourteen days passed and I went to join my section at the pier huts in Tórshavn as they had come back during my absence. I went up to the NAAFI with the boys that evening and had so many pints given to me that I’m sure I could swim in it because for sure I couldn’t drink it.

Sniper Training We spent quite a bit of time at target practice with our rifles, Short Magazine Lee Enfields (SMLE); they were capable of four inch groups at 100 yards. The one I had was an exception. I could knock a cormorant’s head off at 100 yards almost every time and that rifle was in great demand when on the range. When we were issued with sniper’s rifles a chap MacIssac from North Uist got my rifle , exchanging his own for it at the store and shortly after that it broke up one day but no one was hurt. (p43) We had our company shoot before I parted with my SMLE and Donnie Cameron (Glenurquhart and Letterewe) and I tied for first place so shortly after we moved to Toftir, he and I were taken up above the village to the range for a shot out. It was to be short and sharp, ten rounds at a five inch bull at three hundred yards in thirty seconds – with our gas masks on! We loaded up, put on anti-dim on our gas mask eye pieces. I could see that Donnie was shaking quite a bit as we went about preparing to shoot. As I put on my gas mask I shoved the empty bullet clips under the mask on the left side of my chin to ensure that mine would not steam up. We got the order to fire and they left our end pretty quickly and I won as I had nine bulls and an inner. Shortly after that we had a week’s sniping course at Toftir . Duncie Fraser, John Geat MacDonald, Johnnie MacLeod, Jock MacPherson, Johnnie MacPherson Kinlochleven, DJ MacKinnon, DJ MacIssac and Sergeant Jimmy Sutherland. Anthony Wills was in charge of us. Our ammo pouches had pieces of hardboard or plywood in them to keep them nice and square-looking for guard duties. This day we were told to get ready for a route march and to carry fifty rounds of ammunition. Jimmy Sutherland lined us up on the road outside the house we occupied. Tony came along the line from my left and asked Jock MacPherson by my left side if he had his ammunition. Jock got a bit flustered and eventually stuttered out ‘no, sir’. ‘Sergeant Sutherland, put that man on a charge’ said Tony and passed on to me casting a beady eye on my ammo pouches which looked misshapen as my plywood had come apart. ‘Ammo, MacKenzie?’. Quick as a flash I clapped my left pouch with my left hand and said ‘yes, sir’ and the pieces of wood clattered as I struck the pouch. Tony passed to the end of the line eventually. We got the order ‘right turn, quick march’ followed shortly by ‘march at ease’.

(p44) A little way up the road I called Jock a damn fool as I had no ammo either! Poor Jock was speechless’

Second sight One night as we slept in our billet there in Toftir, I woke during the night but fell asleep again and shortly before we woke at 6.30 I had a vivid and clear dream. As Jock and I walked together to the house which our cook used and fed us in, I told Jock about the dream – I had dreamed that a German bomber crossed overhead en route to Tórshavn, which we could not quite see from where we were. The plane had circled above Tórshavn twice from the left to right, then came back in our direction flying at about 2500 feet, dropping two bombs that straddled but did not hit a large ship that lay at anchor in the fjord about a mile out from where we were talking. The ship’s ack-ack had opened up on the plane and the tail gunner had machine gunned the ship after they passed overhead. I even dreamed of the intermittent tracer bullets. We went in and had our breakfast, came out and as we were walking back to our billet everything down to the last detail happened, as I dreamed and had told Jock about on our way to breakfast!

The Trawlermen While we were in Klagsvig, Aberdeen and Hull trawlers used to call on their way to the fishing ground, especially in bad weather. We used to be on pier guard and were often asked down in the evening for a tot of rum. As we had a small canteen for beer and cigarettes of our own in our billets in the gymnasium, they sometimes came up for a pint. One night Neil Campbell, the ex-boxer, was on pier guard and somehow his rifle fell over the side of the jetty to which the trawlers were tied up. It was fished out a few days later by hooks and line. One evening as I was on guard an elderly fisherman came off one trawler and was making his way towards his own boat and in the execution of a sailor’s hornpipe fell (p45) off the jetty into the sea. He could swim and was promptly pulled out. The whole crew of a Hull trawler came up to our canteen one afternoon, had a couple of pints of our beer and left, went straight out to sea and a couple of hours later their accompanying boat returned to say that they had struck a mine, only a flash and nothing left. The ones who turned back were very distressed as they all lived near each other in Hull. The fjord at Klagsvig is long and less than a half mile wide. One night three of our chaps had a few pints and walked quite a bit down to the village. They could see the houses across the water so close and decided it was too far to walk back round the head of the fjord so got into a small boat, cast the rope off, sat down and started to row. After quite some time they didn’t seem to be getting any nearer the lights on the other side. One of them shook himself and had a look and found that the boat was still tied to the jetty!

Near Mutiny On another occasion there was a section of us based in Fuglafjørður for ten days. We were patrolling the hills in that area. There was a corporal, in charge of us who used to parade us for inspection most mornings., especially if he had been drinking with some locals the previous night. One day as we lined up for inspection and he walked along the rank, all eight of us, he put one of the chaps on a punishment for not having shaved that morning. The punishment was one hour’s pack drill , at the double, every evening for a week . On the night before our departure as we lay sleeping on the floor of our billet, a small hall, the corporal came in drunk at 1.30am, kicked us all out of bed and made us roll our blankets in bundles of ten on which we had to sit until 7am at which time we departed by boat to Tórshavn. (p46) Some time later our company was back in Suðuroy for a spell of duty. This evening some of our chaps had just come back from leave and we had all gone to our beds, or most of us had, in the loft of a fish store shed when up the stairs came the same corporal with the pass book in his hand. He cursed and swore at us and said ‘you’re only a shower of bastards – the Faroe men are far better than you are’. I can still see a small Glasgow chap who had just come off leave that day, sit up in bed and say in tears, ‘did you hear what he said about us?’ A chap, Allan Campbell, jumped out of bed in his shirt tails and smacked our favourite corporal a beauty on the nose. He had the pass book in his hand and within seconds it was red with blood from the belted nose. Quite a noise arose and he was threatened to be thrown down the stairs. When the short , straight, wiry hair of Sergeant Martin appeared followed by the figure of Lieutenenat Wooton, the Orderly Officer, they shouted for order and asked what was up. They got no hearing, whatsoever, to their enquiries but were told to get down the blanckety blank stairs or they would be thrown down. They took the corporal and his useless pass book with them and went.

Fieldcraft and stalking For a time one winter we had night patrol exercises. Two men were positioned guarding a lit hurricane lamp across a valley and in pairs we had to try to capture the lit lamp without being seen. It was very difficult as once you got near you were very easily spotted in the light. When my turn came I got quite close by crawling the last bit and throwing a couple of stones in the other direction which distracted the guards; then I ran in and as I grabbed the lantern I could see this big fellow running for me. But as soon as I griped the lamp I smashed it against a rock and escaped with it in the darkness. (p47) Major Anthony Wills took our platoon up the B- road behind Tórshavn one afternoon for some observation and field craft exercises. We all sat on a knoll looking back down to the town. He had, or had almost, hidden various items of equipment in front of us blended into the bushes and local landscape. We soon picked out all the objects, especially those of us who were snipers in the platoon as we had telescopes. He then sent Alick MacRae Kishorn and me walking down the road for about 1 1/4 miles to the outskirts of the town. The object was to see how close we could get to the boys on the knoll without being seen or spotted. Once we got to our destination, we disappeared behind a wall and started on our stalk. Luckily for us there was a hollow or two up which we could make good headway. In one place we had to go below a bridge on the B-road. The bridge was fairly low and as I stooped to get under it, I belted my head just at my cap badge against the arch of the stone bridge. The dent is in my badge to this day. We got right up close to where they sat or stood looking for signs of us. We then skirted round the knoll to the right, came up behind them and it gave me the greatest feeling of satisfaction I ever had when I saw the expression on Tony’s face as he turned round when I put my hand on his shoulder.

Faroe peoples The Faroe people treated us with the greatest kindness. We always got on well with them and had a smattering of the language. Some of our chaps married Faroe girls while we were there and others after the war. In fact two ex-Scouts live there with their families today. I became friendly with a girl in Tórshavn while we were there and used to go walking with her in the town in the evenings. On one occasion she turned up, or so I thought, at the appointed place and time but when I said, ‘hello, where shall we go this evening?, she replied, ‘nowhere. I came to tell you that my sister can’t come tonight as she’s in bed with the mumps’. This was her identical twin!. I’ve never seen two people so alike. The fact that we were there when Dunkirk took place and that we felt so isolated not knowing if we were ever going to have ago at the enemy, seemed to make us unsettled. However, it was an experience that no ex-Lovat Scout will ever forget. A few years ago a party of ex-Scouts and some wives went out to visit the Faroes for a week. We could not have been made more welcome anywhere. We were treated really honourably, made welcome in all their homes and toured most of the islands during our short stay. The chap Bjarni and Asla Husgard in whose house my wife and I stayed were the essence of hospitality, joy and love as was their family Maria, Johanna and Trosdein. During the war Bjarni as a boy of seven years used to march for a bit with the Scouts when they went on exercise at Strendur where he then lived. When we arrived at Tórshavn we were met at the pier by crowds of people and the evening we left, as we marched from the bookshop to the ship we were followed and cheered away by hundreds. It made us very proud to be so highly thought of by such lovely people.

(P49) We left the Faroes in May 1942on the Loch Garry. Though we moaned and complained during our stay it was with heavy hearts that we boarded ship.

Nairn

Next day we landed at Invergordon and boarded a train which took us to Nairn [12th June 1942 - Melville]. Our billet was the Golf Links Hotel. Again fitness got priority and each morning we were up at 6.30 and taken for a run on the sand and then into the sea. We hated this but after a few days got hardened to it. We got disembarkation leave, home for a couple of weeks which was great. The leave soon passed and we went back to Nairn and our training with emphasis on fitness. One evening there were four of us sitting on a bench near by the music-stand close to the swimming pool watching some planes flying out from Tain Drome and spinning about over the sea. They were climbing up and diving down again in mock battle. Suddenly as one of them dived and we were all watching it and could not or did not get a chance to speak. It went straight into the sea sending up a fountain of water up in the air.

Halkirk, Caithness After a few weeks there we were taken by train up to Halkirk in Caithness [late July 1942-Melville]. We were billeted near Braal Castle in Nissen huts. Again we were given plenty of exercise by route marches and cross-country runs. I got very keen on running and used to pace a Glasgow chap named Ken Milligan who was a very good distance runner who had trained with Sydney Wooderson pre-war [Sydney Wooderson MBE English middle distance athlete- held world record for the mile at 4m 6.4s in London 1938 - Whitaker]. We used to run in shorts and our singlets. One forenoon when I came in from a punishing cross-country I wrung my singlet on the billet floor. During one of our runs Milligan dropped a stone on his foot and was unable to run for some time after that. During his lay-off, on our sports day I got second for the 100 yards, first in the 220, 440 and 880 yards and the mile. We used to go for a (p50) pint to the bar in Halkirk and there was a local character who was always playing his fiddle. We had cross country runs against the HLI, Seaforths and Black Watch who were all stationed in the North, I suppose because of its invulnerability. We nearly always beat them. We used to have our shooting practice at Dorrery which was away to the west, miles out on the moors. I had at that time a .303 P14 rifle to which I had a telescopic sight fitted, (bought pre-war in an Edinburgh pawn-shop for 30 shillings). On our course I had only dropped two points from 100 to 500m yards. The cross-wind was so that at 500 yards I put the pointer of the scope on the edge of the six foot target and got five bulls!

Helmsdale, Sutherland There was a battle school for officers and sergeants started up at Salscraggie Lodge, three miles up the glen from Helmsdale. I was one of the eight chosen from the Battalion to represent the Lovat Scout section in the demonstration platoon. It was good fun but pretty tough going. For a while we lived in the empty lodge, sleeping on the floor but eventually we, the demonstration platoon, were billeted in bell tents by the Lodge. The weather was mainly very good summer weather with the result that the adders were very numerous and we would lift up the floor boards of our tents every evening to kill the adders that came under our tents in order to get in the cool shade. Sometimes as we stood on parade on the road we were able to kill them with the butt of our rifles as they slithered across the road. As the day got shorter and the weather worsened we were moved down to a church by the glen road, near the Bridge Hotel. Those on the course were subjected to pretty tough training under battle conditions. We fired Bren guns on fixed lines over them as they crawled up a shallow trench 100 yards away and many of them had (p51) holes in their packs and mess-tins by not keeping their bellies low on the ground. At night they would be sent out to attack the Lodge and we were lying in pairs armed with toggle ropes waiting for them. We could see them coming, silhouetted against the sky as we lay in the heather . We’d stretch the rope between us and when they struck it we pulled them off their feet and then jumped on them to keep them quiet. We never harmed them otherwise but some were dead scared, in fact struck dumb. We paraded one morning knowing that we were going on a four-day scheme and as we were preparing to leave we enquired about haversack rations. We were told to report to the cook-house where we each received about two pounds of oatmeal and one pound of sugar. When we enquired about bread etc we were told that was it – get lost. We had run-ins and varied brush-ins with our course party during the four days as we were on the go most of the time, getting the odd snatch of sleep under our gas capes, usually in a ditch if there was not too much water in it. At the end of the fourth day I can’t remember exactly where we were but we were many miles from base and we had to walk back. It finished up that the Scout section were carrying the Bren guns of the Seaforths and Black Watch sections as well as their own and also some of their equipment as well. Two of our section, Danny Campbell and Jimmy MacLean had a brush with two local hard men one night in one of the bars. It came to blows and one of the locals got a broken nose, the other a broken jaw. Danny died a few years after hostilities ceased and Jimmy was killed in Italy. One of the Seaforth (5th Battalion) sergeants while crossing the river Helmsdale on an exercise one day, while the river was in spate, happened to put his foot on top of a thunderflash which was thrown in along with dozens of others a (p52) a short distance up-stream from where they were crossing. It exploded under water and shattered his foot. On land they were practically harmless when they exploded and nobody hardly got injured by them. He was taken to hospital at Golspie where he had to undergo an operation on his foot. He never came out of the anaesthetic and a post mortem showed how he died - he had water in his lungs when he fell into the river as his foot got damaged. He belonged to Thurso and was a brother of Magnus Sutherland who, when my father retired from Achnashellach, took over the house we had lived in since 1927.

Thurso, Caithness While we were at Helmsdale the battalion moved up from Halkirk to Castleton just outside Thurso and some weeks later we joined up with them there. Shortly after that they formed D Company by taking so many men from A, B and C companies. D company also included a fair number of new chaps who had joined us from other regiments. I was one of those drafted from B to D company. We had several route marches and schemes from there and also two weeks leave. On one of the schemes in which I took part and finished when we were not far from Castleton, one of our Bren gunners laid his gun in a 15cwt truck which accompanied us with stores. He was at once spotted by Major Campbell-Orde (who had me for smoking in the black-out in Faroe) and our Bren gunner got charged and confined to barracks. One evening as we walked from Thurso back across the river to Castleton we saw a returning bomber come down in Thurso bay. The four crew members clambered out on to the wings and were quickly picked up by a fairly fast rescue launch. On several Sundays we were sent out on fatigue parties to dig a telephone cable (p53) up at John O’Groats and were paid 3 shillings a day. We worked alongside the contractors men who got 3 shillings an hour and we worked as well as they did!

Glen Clunie, Braemar Our next move was down to Glen Clunie near Braemar where we were encamped by the river for a few weeks. The food was pretty bad at that stage and we used to have rabbits to help keep the wolf from the door. Jimmy Sutherland ex-C company, Rod Matheson North Uist ex-B Company and I went off up towards the famous Devil’s Elbow area at the head of the glen where we spied some stag in late July. I used my P14 and we took home the heaviest hindquarter I ever had a shot at carrying on my shoulders. It didn’t get time to even cool properly before we had a feed of it and soon after that we were running at both ends! During my short stay there I was detailed to go to Invercauld one day as ghillie to carry the rifle of Cpl Dahl MacLennan Cannich who was to be the gentleman that day. The pony man was Hugh Falconer from Sutherland. We all had experience of the work involved before. We went up Glen Muick close by Lochnagar and eventually the bearded old stalker on whose beat we were got close enough for Dahl to have a shot. He killed a small stag of about ten stones weight – quite a feat as I am sure there were fifteen to eighteen hundred deer in the herd. We loaded the stag on the old chap’s pony, his name was Donald. When Hugh Falconer went to move off with the loaded pony, it jibbed and began to dance and crowding the ghillies’ heels and feet until, at last Hugh lost his grip on the very short piece of rope by which Donald was held. He ran down hill for a couple of hundred yards flat out and then ran round in a wide circle on a flat piece of ground bucking and kicking eventually (p54) to partially dislodge the stag. Then we saw him disappear over a lower ridge going flat out with the stag flapping about. The old stalker was running around with his cap in his hand shouting ‘Donald, Donald’ as loud as he could. When we ran down to where Donald had disappeared from our sight, we saw him three hundred yards further on, up to his neck in a peat bog and when we got up to him he was blowing like an old bellows. We loosed the stag and dragged it to hard ground. There was hardly a whole bone in it’s body. Even the antlers were smashed. No way would the old stalker allow us to put the stag back on Donald as we wanted to do so I don’t expect Donald ever carried another one off the hill. It was during our stay in Glen Clunie that Sunday church parades became voluntary and we had just got a new Regimental Sergeant Major with a voice like a fog horn. He came round to all our tents and when he saw that many weren’t getting ready for church parade, he more or less kicked everyone to parade on the road. We fell in, in ranks of three, and he started to march the whole column up and down the road. Each time we got the order to about turn he let us go further to either side of him. Eventually it was suggested by one of the chaps in the middle of the parade of about 200 to 300 men, that from him forward when the next order came they should play deaf and carry on. The order came and it was really funny to see the nearer half about turn and the front half keep on marching and swinging their arms. The RSM I’m sure almost had a fit. He was certainly about fit to be tied and I think sent a chap on a bicycle to turn (p55) the boys back.

North Wales - Llanberis, and Bangor Major Tony Wills went down to Llanberis in North Wales and shortly after that there was about a dozen of us sent down to help in starting the Army Sniping School [early October - Melville]. There were Sergeants Alex Ross, Willie MacDonald, Archie Martin and JA MacLeod, Lance Corporal Johnnie MacLeod (later killed), Dunkie Fraser, Oxo MacKay, Willie Corrie MacKay, John Geats MacDonald (later killed) and myself. We really enjoyed our stay there as we loved that type of work and as we were all good shots and got great fun out of trying to beat each other. When we got the range constructed and working we were moved back to our battalion in Bangor. Each Sunday while in Llanberis we walked up the mountain railway to the top of Snowdon and back in time for lunch. There was a tiny box-type café by the side of the rail track and one Sunday as we came down it happened to be open. We each had a cup of tea and one slice of Swiss roll which cost us 2/6 [12 1/2p], pretty expensive as our pay was only 30/- [£1.50] a week. Occasionally, we would go into Caernarvon on a Saturday afternoon and go to the pictures or have a walk about the town. It was full of Yanks at that time. We did not mix with them as they were rather loud and had lots more money than we had. Close by the range at Llanberis, there was a small pub where we would go at lunch time for a pint to wash down our pretty dry piece. The owner had a liver and white spaniel dog, Bougo, who took a shine to us and followed us about most of the time. Oxo used to give the dog the first go at his pint and when Bougo’s nose couldn’t get further into the glass, he would down it himself and repeat the performance. I’m sure that dog was alcoholic before we left there. On moving to Bangor to our Battalion, we had several weeks of rock climbing in the Snowdon mountain area. Our instructors were experienced rock climbers (from the Commando School of Mountain Warfare). There was a Major Peacock and a Dr Brown among the instructors. We remembered Peacock because we thought he was mad. He and his wife and Dr Brown were killed in that area while climbing after the war. We underwent a very strict medical examination while there and had to be A1+ to pass. Several, in fact quite a number, of our chaps didn’t make the plus test and so sadly we said goodbye to them as they were drafted to other regiments. At the same time they were replaced by younger and fit chaps who volunteered to join the Lovat Scouts.

To New York We got our embarkation leave in mid-December 1943 and on the 28th [26th Scroggie] we sailed for New York in the Mauretania. There was a number of Canadian and American service men going home plus the whole contingent of British Honduras Forestry Corps who had been over in Britain felling timber and had been replaced by Newfoundland timber workers who were more accustomed to the inclement Scottish weather. As we had no escort ship accompanying us, we felt a bit apprehensive as the German U-boats were taking a heavy toll of our merchant fleet at that time. The Honduras chaps were born gamblers and a lot of the time there would be several schools of Crown and Anchor going on, on deck When the Master-at-Arms appeared all the boards and dice would disappear as if by magic. When we reached New York practically all those who were gambling did not have one penny to their name. They had lost the lot. Our voyage was pretty uneventful and the food was excellent. It was then that I tasted coffee for the first time and found that I didn’t like it. I prowled around until I found a large wash-house and chucked the coffee into a wash tub , turned on the water tap, took a big gulp of water only to find it was sea water – almost as horrible as the coffee!. About 24 hours out of New York at 5am, the ship gave a jolt and shuddered for a couple of [p57] seconds, but kept going at the same speed. We gave a sigh of relief and wandered up on deck but couldn’t see any signs of damage as everything was pitch dark, black-out rules. The Honduras chaps who were in the bowels of the ship came running up on deck screeching and shouting but were pacified and told to keep quiet and go back to their quarters. When day-light came the only damage we could see was one of the life-boats had been damaged probably by a freak wave. We could have struck some submerged object a glancing blow, as I’m sure with the U-boats patrolling the Atlantic there would be the odd ship floating just under the surface of the water though hundreds sank like a stone. Whatever happened gave the ship a fair jolt, but we never did hear what it was. We arrived in New York on the morning of 6th January 1944. I can still see the Statue of Liberty lit up as we sailed up the river in the dark and at that time, 4 to 5am, we could see the lights of hundreds of cars on the streets. The Honduras boys called it the city that never sleeps. As we had come from a blacked-out Britain our breath was taken away momentarily with all the neon lights flashing everywhere, and the skyscrapers towering up with lights on in their thousands. When we disembarked, we were taken down to Broadway by bus by our drivers so we could get a close up of the lights. We had never seen and never will see anything like it. As we walked down the steps into Grand Central Station I can still see the Stars and Stripes flying in an artificial breeze high up against a wall. While waiting to board our train we were given tea or coffee, cakes, chocolates, sweets by members of a Woman’s Voluntary Service and it was there that we had our first taste of Coke, which was unheard of in Britain at that time.

Canada [p58] We were then to travel 2,500 miles by Canadian Pacific Railway in two special trains to our destination at Jasper National Park, Alberta in the heart of the Rockie Mountains. It took us three days continuous travelling to get there, having gone through a lot of flat monotonous land, nearly all snow-covered prairie land, some of it clothed with scrub. We passed through countless small stations, one I can remember was Glengarry though there were several other Scottish names which elude me. We had several stops when we got out and exercised on the platform. I especially remember getting out at Winnipeg because of the intense cold, the likes of which we had never felt before, even in the Faroes. We arrived at Jasper station and had to march for three miles to our billets, which were wooden chalets with central heating and were nice and warm [sited round Lac Beauvert – Sgroggie]. On later trips when in small groups we went to Jasper itself which was a small town about the size Dingwall was then. We took the short cut and walked across frozen Lake Jasper about a mile from our billets. We were formed into a mountaineer regiment with squadrons and troops instead of companies and platoons. Each private was called a mountaineer. We were issued with American Army arctic kit with super mountain and ski equipment. For a week or so we learned about the essentials of skiing near and about Jasper. Our first instructor was a French Canadian. He took us out by our billets on the first morning of our training. He said there was nothing to skiing and that he was sure we had slid on ice or snow before as kids. He showed us how to put on our skis and fasten them. Then when we were ready with our ski poles etcetera, he said ‘follow me’. He slid down a gentle bank towards the lake and suddenly disappeared. We followed bravely on only to find our instructor standing on his skis on the frozen lake and really enjoying himself laughing at us as he hadn’t shown us how to turn or stop, and each one of us took a header and (p59) landed on our back-sides on the snow-covered ice on the lake. We soon got accustomed to the skis and in a very short time we were really getting them under control, so we were sent out to various Squadron areas. We in D Squadron were in Snowbowl after having had to ski the last part of the journey across frozen rivers and all through forests which looked very pretty with the sun glinting on the frozen snow hanging on the trees. We could see the prints of various types of wild animals in the snow, wolves, coyotes, moose and big horn sheep.

We dug a circle out of the snow which was about seven feet deep, then covered the circle with branches , then shovelled the snow on top and crawled in to our den, lit a fire at the entrance and were fairly warm while the fire lasted. Our toilet was a trench dug in the snow with a tree at each end of the trench cut about eighteen inches above the ground and a suitable snedded tree for us to sit on. There was a chap named Butterworth, a supposed hard man, with us. One day when he wasn’t coming back from the toilet one of our boys went to look for him and found him with his pants down lying in the shit in the trench . No he wasn’t covered in shit – it was frozen rock hard and one would more likely get cut by it!. The cold had got at him and he just flaked out. Good job he was got in time as he could have died very quickly in the extreme cold. We slept with all our clothes on, except for our boots which we always used for a pillow, otherwise they would have be so hard frozen that we would be unable to put them on our feet in the mornings. We seldom washed while out there. The first time we did wash we got a large two-handed galvanised bath and broke the ice in the lake to get the water, put the bath on some built-up stones between which we had lit a fire and waited for the water to get warm. We took it in turn to get a cat’s wash in the bath. I always wet my hair when I wash, as I did the first time at (p60) Snowbowl. The water was warm but by the time I got my comb to my head my hair was frozen, not solid, but I could not get it combed. Another lesson learned! We had excellent food, double rations. When we got our meat cooked, the first thing that we ate was the fat. We would eat the butter by the spoonful – our bodies craved for butter or fat as one does for a drink of cold water on a hot or warm day. We learned to ski very quickly and before long we were on patrols of sixty or more miles, living in snow holes or igloos, sometimes at an altitude of 10,000 feet. With our weapons and large pack we carried over 60lbs (25k) weight. Light aircraft were used to drop supplies to us at times. One on occasion we went from the foot of the Columbia Glacier for 60 miles journeying which was as follows: each Weasel tractor had two long ropes tied to it and up to twenty men got a hold of each rope and hung on. It was great fun until one of the chaps near the front of the rope fell, then all the rest fell on top of him. After a few falls we all got ‘used to the ropes’ and when a chap fell those behind let go the rope and turned outwards and stopped. It saved the fallen being smothered by bodies and being tramped on by skis. Having completed our sixty miles to Peto Glacier in good time we set off up the glacier and a couple of days later we emerged out of the mountains at a place called Field where transport awaited us to take us to Banff. This is surely the most beautiful part of Canada, at least what we saw of it. The mountains rise steeply up from the narrow valley and when you look at the top of the surrounding mountains, you have to crane your neck backwards to do so. We stayed a couple of days in the waiting room at Banff station and visited the Indian museum, fish hatcheries and ponds and drug store. In the drug store behind the door there was a huge stuffed polar bear standing about 8 feet high (p61) with his paws above his head as if ready to pounce. Our hearts almost stopped when we turned to close the door and spotted this monster. On the counter in a glass cage was a very strange animal-fish. The front part to the waist had a face like a monkey, long grey hair on the head, arms like a human’s, hands like a dog’s paw, and from the waist down the body was a fish with a tail fin. It had been found in the Gulf of Aden in the 1800s. If that as a mermaid I would not like to see it crossing the road on a dark night – it was positively ugly! One of our chaps had got himself a Crown and Anchor board and prior to our excursion to Field had accumulated quite a few dollars at the expense of a lot of his mates. One evening while in the bar or saloon in Banff, Jack got himself in tow with a blond dame on whom he had designs. As he was pretty tipsy and I was in his company I got him to the lavatory and when advice was to no avail I eventually got round him to give me his wallet with all the money in it. When Jock arrived at our billet next morning which was the station waiting room at Banff, he came straight over to me, his face as white as a sheet and said ‘I’ve lost my wallet’. I sympathised with him and reminded him that I had advised him what could happen. After he had looked in all his pockets and possessions for about an hour I took the wallet out of my inner breast pocket and held it up to him. I can still see his face light up. He walked over and gave me a friendly thump on the back and said, ‘you’re a pal’. Within a minute I was fifty dollars richer and in those days that was a fair bit of money. He didn’t wander far away from me that evening. Next morning we boarded a train which took us back to Jasper via Calgary and Edmonton. The country was nice but was all covered in deep snow. We went from Jasper overland to the foot of the Columbian (p62) Icefield where we were billeted in large marquees. We used a wooden hotel for eating in. On one occasion we went out on the glacier and turned to our left for a couple of mile. We went off the actual glacier and were going round the side of a mountain after we had climbed an ice face. Our leader, a mountaineer of some repute [Sgroggie mentions several], kept on and on and we could see our camp away down below us. We realised that he was going to take us down direct to the camp once he went further round. Some of the chaps, including our NCOs, started to query the wisdom of what he was doing so eventually the column of men stopped and turned about, went back the way we had had come up for a bit then cut down the hill when we thought it was safe and reached our camp with our leader a long way behind.

On one occasion while climbing a glacier there were many crevasses and we had four men to a rope. Our instructor Russ Allen was in front, Cpl Ferguson (Skye) was next, I was third and Stubbs was the fourth man. We walked in such a way that all our ropes were taut between us. We were never allowed to have any rolled or slack rope in our hands. We were getting along nicely when suddenly Ferguson in front of me disappeared from sight. Stubbs braced himself as he held his rope and I went slowly forward and crawled on my belly to the edge of the hole only to see the soles of Fergies boots uppermost and waving about and him cursing like a trooper. Russ Allen came back and fixed his rope to his ice axe which was driven into the hard-packed snow. We got Fergie the right way up but as he was revolving he dropped his ice axe and we could hear it clattering as it kept hitting the sides of the crevasse as it went down. To what depth we did not know. We got Fergie out in a matter of minutes and went on our way. (p63) On another occasion we went up the Columbia Glacier and on to the ice field above. Here we dug into a huge bank of packed snow and in pairs made a snow room for ourselves. Cpl Ferguson and I were together and we made an entrance tunnel of about three feet and then dug out a room of about ten feet long, five feet wide and five or six feet high. We even made a ledge wide enough for us to lie on. We had short-handled shovels of aluminium about fifteen inches square as they were easy to handle and the snow was packed. It took a very short time to dig our burrow. We brewed up some tea from melted snow and had some pemmican and a bar of chocolate. We spread our ropes on our ledge, put our rucksacks in the entrance hole, poked a ski stick gently through our roof for ventilation and crawled into our sleeping bags, fully clad, except for boots and slept like logs till morning. Our near neighbours were not so successful. Their roof collapsed as they didn’t dig low enough into the snow bank so they crawled into their sleeping bags, covered themselves with their ground sheets and the drifting snow did the rest. They were lucky that there was not much wind or they would have suffocated in their sleep. As the snow was so dry and powdery at that altitude, it drifted when practically calm. They were very cold when day break came, so we got them into our cramped space and warmed them up with tea and pemmican. It was during this exercise that we made our first winter ascent of Mount Columbia, 12,294 feet (3747m) [climb by D Squadron took three days – Sgroggie]. I’ve still got a piece of rock of Mount Athabaska, 11, 453 (3491m) which I put in my pocket when passing by. About the end of April we put all our kitbags and heavy gear into a huge store by Jasper Station. A couple of nights before we were due to leave by train, the store and all our equipment went up in flames [fire started by Primus Stove on which Lovat Scout storemen were brewing tea –Sgroggie]. Most of the men in the regiment lost some property in the fire. I lost all the presents I had bought to bring home, also the box for my sniper rifle which contained a four-draw Ross telescope and lots of pairs of (p64) socks which my mother kept sending to me. We marched from our billets at Jasper chalets to the station for our departure. Three of our chaps were missing and just before the train moved off they arrived pretty drunk and insolent. Jimmy Sutherland asked one of them to get aboard the train but he turned nasty and threatened the sergeant with a knife. Quick as a flash Sgt Sutherland laid him out cold with a tap on the head with his Sten gun and ordered the other two to lift him into the train, which they did but just as the train was leaving they jumped out of the other side and were left behind. Two chaps were detailed to come off the train at Winnipeg and to wait until they were brought along next day by Canadian Mounties and then to follow us on to the transit camp at Winchester, Nova Scotia, where they were locked up and remained so until we landed at Liverpool on the 9th June 1944. we never saw them again.[Regiment was put into quarantine for four weeks at Windsor Nova Scotia due to an outbreak of scarlet fever - Melville].

Return to Liverpool, Aberdeen and Naples

The voyage back to Liverpool in the Andes took seven days and there were 10,000 men aboard. We had one meal a day. Were sleeping on floors, tables and hammocks. We were in mid-Atlantic when we heard on the ship’s radio speaker system that D-Day had come and the Allies had landed at Normandy. We went to Haydon camp in Aberdeen and were given embarkation leave from there, half the regiment at a time. About the 18th July we sailed down the Clyde from Glasgow on board the Queen of Bermuda bound for Italy. The heat got worse the further south we sailed and on the 29th July when we landed at Naples the heat was insufferable. we longed to swim in the sea but there was dirt and condoms floating past. We unloaded our equipment and then had to march nine miles to Afragola Staging Camp where some of the chaps got malaria as the place was infested with mosquitoes. During our march through Naples we saw old women sitting outside their houses with kids between their knees whose hair they were going through and killing the lice between their thumb nails. We spent four days at Afragola and then we entrucked and began our journey by three ton trucks to the front line. On our journey that day we met a convoy of Gordon Highlanders coming down for a rest and as we stopped to talk with each other I found that John Dulick MacRae was in the truck that stopped opposite the one I was in. We had a few moments talking before we were on our respective ways, us up and them down.

The Italian Front near Arezzo - Gothic Line

We were in the 10th Indian Division, British X Corps, Eighth Army [from 7th August 1944, at Casi di Montaunto and La Cesta, near Arezzo – Melville]. We moved up into a long valley in the mountains. The road was being shelled periodically but we were lucky on that journey and nothing came over. When we debussed, we started o climb the mountain on our right. As we went up the valley and after an hour or so we came up to near the ridge which we took over from a battalion of Ghurkas. As the Ghurkas were small men, particularly this battalion, we had to enlarge their slit trenches as quickly as we could for our own protection. One or two of the slit trenches had some human ears lying on the parapet, trophies of Ghurka raids. One even had a German head. As the weather was hot we had to dispose of them rather quickly. We had not been digging very long and as dusk fell we could hear a Schmeisser sub-maching gun firing occasional short sharp bursts over the ridge from where we were busy enlarging our slit trenches. I was called upon and told to go out and see what was going on. A young chap named Alick Proctor was detailed to go along with me. I was 24 years old and he would have been about 20. He was one of our new chaps who came as reinforcements prior to us going to Canada. We crept up the slope and down the other side for about 100 yards where we lay by a bush where we could see some scattered bushes below us. The burst of firing came nearer and as we lay there waiting and almost hearing our heart beats (p66) for about five minutes, I spotted a figure crossing a gap in the bushes about thirty yards in front and below us. I nudged my mate and as I did a second figure appeared in the gap. I whispered to Alick that I was going to have a shot at the next one if one came, which he did. I fired. There was a grunt and some odd noises coming from the direction and then some thrashing about in the bush in the direction I had fired. As we lay there listening and scarcely daring to breathe, Alick got nervous and fidgety and wanted to go back to our lines. I calmed him and told him we’d wait some short time more. About ten minutes after I shot, and it seemed like eternity, I rose to a stooping position and we quietly made our way uphill towards our own chaps and what we thought was safety. After we started on our downhill walk to our own lines, Alick started to jog. I did likewise about six feet away and then three or four feet behind. Suddenly three shots rang out. Alick shouted that he was hit as he fell on his face. I side stepped and dropped behind him and yelled out to our boys ‘for Christ’s sake don’t shoot, it is us’. Only the three shots were fired and one of them got Alick above the knee as his leg was up while he in his jog. It hit the bone shattering it and followed the bone up into his bowels or groin. Most of our boys didn’t know we were out there and when they saw us coming in they fired, thinking we were the enemy. One of those bullets was within a very short distance, inches, from my head. The crack was the sharpest one I’ve ever heard since and I’ve had a few passing around me and overhead. When I yelled ‘stop firing’ they did instantly and one or two came up twenty yards or so and gave me a hand to take Alick in. He was sorely wounded and I was keen that he’d be taken to the first aid post which was further down the hill to our right. Even though there was a jeep standing idle by the rough track or footpath, our office-in-command would not allow him to be moved. After a couple of hours or so he became delirious and died just as dawn was breaking. The hours I spent with him trying to comfort and help him were the longest hours I ever felt passing. I felt helpless and so alone as we lay there on the bare Italian mountain. I felt bitter for the lack of support in getting him to the Aid post, though I felt thankful that I had been spared from stopping one of those three British .303s. I spoke to Alick and said be would be OK and that we would get him down to safety and help when daylight came. I prayed for him, for myself and for all of us and wondered how long we, or I, or the war would last. When daylight came and as the hot sun came up so did the creepy crawlies including huge black beetles which felt the smell of fresh blood. We then put Alick’s body into his sleeping bag and after digging a shallow grave, buried him by the side of the footpath, leaving the steel helmet on his bayonet to mark the grave so that the Graves Commission chaps would be able to find the spot and have him buried in a proper war cemetery. The story went that I had been told to go out and try to see what was going on, only; but when I saw that our positions were being stalked by some enemy patrol there was no way I was going to let them get close enough to lob grenades and machine-gun my mates, so I took the initiative and shot one of them as his loaded and cocked rifle was found by Hugh MacKenzie after daylight came. So I reckon that was the first kill to B Company, within an hour of going into the line. (p68) After being in the Poppi area [Poppi – about 30 miles east of Florence] for some time doing mainly recce patrols, we were given a break out of the line and taken back to Arezzo for a few days. [this would be at the end of October 1944 – Melville. Melville refers to Donnie at this point as Cpl D MacKenzie]. We had by this time in B Company, a Lieut. Tingulstad, a Norwegian, who kept a shooting competition and the prizes were the bits of loot that he took from German prisoners. One occasion, as we were moving positions we came to a river which was in full flood. We were accompanied by Indian muleteers and their mules. Some of the chaps with the mules made the other bank but as Lieut. Tingulstad was almost across with the water over waist height, he lost his footing and was bobbing down the river, kept afloat by his rucksack which looked like a large buoy on his back. As he was bobbing rapidly down stream a bright muleteer ran to the bank and grabbed him in the passing and pulled him ashore. We could not make it so went back to the nearest farm and on looking around , three of us found a small low hatch in the wall of the farm building into which we crept. There was a lot of straw next door so we spread some in our pen and made lumps for our pillows, had some iron rations and went to sleep. When we woke some hours later all the straw was gone and there were about a dozen contented sheep chewing their cud also in our pen and we never felt a thing. We crossed the river in the morning and after trekking through mud to our ankles for miles, eventually came to our rendezvous and our transport, 3-ton lorries, got in to the back of them, lay on the floor and slept like logs as the lorries slithered and bumped along the shell-scarred road. There were houses, buildings, livestock, army machinery and weapons in pieces all over the place. The Jerries fought stubbornly in the hills and took everything from the peasants who were very poor indeed. Some managed to hide a cow or two and they slept on loose maize on the floor of their house and fed the cattle and themselves with it. One evening as we came on a deserted farm house and buildings where we (p69) stayed for the night. Donald Piggy MacKenzie went prowling through the farm buildings and came across a huge wine vat holding several thousand gallons of red wine. He filled a pail and brought it to where the rest of us were resting and all tried the stuff which tasted a wee bit sour. Later on I went for a prowl and came across the vat, made of wood with a wooden tap about a foot from the bottom. There was a ladder leaning against the vat which I climbed to find no lid on the thing and I’m sure a couple of inches at least of dead flies floating on top of the wine. Some other chaps had a similar experience later on in our travels, only that time it was a dead body that floated in the vat!. On one occasion I was with a chap MacLeod form Skye and Jones from Wales and as we were getting near our final destination we heard the sound of marching feet. As we were going through a wooded area at the time and the light was poor, we lay down by the roadside and when the German patrol passed us we could have touched their boots. They out-numbered us about four-fold. We got to the edge of the wood in the direction from which they came, got ourselves hidden and observed their lines all day and got back to our base next night. A similar incident happened one night when I was on patrol with Lieut Sgroggie and some of his men in the Poppi area. We lay in the brush by the roadside and let them go by as we were greatly out-numbered and it was not advisable to take on too large a force.

Artillery Observation Post

One needed extreme patience at times. They say that everything comes to he who waits so we always waited if things got too uncertain. As we could see things very clearly through our telescopes and were able to size up the situation, we worked our plans out accordingly and they always worked. We, I did anyhow, and I think most of our chaps, got a great deal of satisfaction out of the fact that we had been brought up in the country way of life and were able (p70) to see things in a clear way to which town dwellers were sometimes pretty blind. In one part of the line in which we were operating, I was on observation for a Mountain Artillery Regiment. I had to crawl along a ditch to get to my position before it got light and to stay there all day. Anything I saw or any movement, I got in direct touch with the Battery to which my field telephone was connected. After it got dark I crawled back to our own lines as had I stood up I would have been in full view of the enemy from 300 yards to a mile away or more. I had a log book in which I wrote down any movements or anything suspicious. Some times I made a drawing or diagram of things. There was one place fairly close to one of the Observation Posts (OP) I occupied for some time where there were several small branches lying on the ground which seemed to be moved during darkness and the soil seemed to be disturbed. I gave the map reference to the artillery and after a direct hit the branches never moved during my visit to that OP. It turned out to be an occupied German OP. During the summer and autumn the heat, flies and mosquitoes were pretty grim as were all the various kinds of ants, beetles and creepy crawlies which swarmed all over the place. Thank goodness for DDT. The coldest job I ever had was in an OP when we had a heavy fall of snow. I went into a small slit trench pre-dawn and stayed there till after dark, where I had some iron rations and a tin to pee in. The trench was covered carefully by a white sheet in which I had a small peep hole through which I watched for any enemy movement or activity. One sunny day while I was in an OP under a large bushy tree by an empty farm house, I could hear what seemed to be waspy-like sounds buzzing in the leaves above me and connected this to the sound of machine gun shots in the distance. With the aid of my telescope I was able to pinpoint the place from which the firing came and gave the map reference of a small group of trees to the Artillery behind us and on the second shot they got on target and laid on another couple of shells . That put an end to the machine gun chatter.

Modigliana

I was on a fighting patrol on the 11th November 1944 led by Lieut Tingulstad, our Norwegian officer. He led the patrol and I took up the rear. We were in fairly mountainous country near Modigliano. As we were going down the edge of a large gully, I spotted a chap coming out of the door of a house which was on the other side of the gully and about three hundred yards lower down the slope. I recognized that it was a German by the colour of his clothes and square tin hat. Immediately he saw us he bolted indoors thinking that we did not see him as we didn’t stop walking. No sooner was he in the door than we ran down the gully and up the other side and when we got in view of the back of the house from where (p71) we stood, we got the order to fix bayonets and get in an extended line and in this manner approach the house. We were fully expecting to get sprayed by machine gun but instead of that when we were within sixty yards from the house the Germans bolted out of the front door and ran away through a field of maize. We got into the farm yard and I was called over by Cpl George Rose and told to get down and shoot the one who carried the radio on his back, which I promptly did. Then we all picked some of them off, but one or two got away. Suddenly mortar shells started to rain out of the sky. We lay where we were until that stopped, then we made our way back to our own lines. Lieut Tingulstad had dropped his binoculars and the next day there was a patrol from another troop of B Squadron going to the same area and Tingulstad volunteered to lead them so as to get his binoculars back. When they got out to the place, he stopped the men in the farm yard and on his hands and knees crawled out to where he had left his binoculars. Just as he was almost at them he was riddled with machine gun fire and died instantly. The section then got a rain of mortar shells among them and a chap Murray from Stornoway and Walker from Aberdeenshire got wounded. Walker had many inches of shrapnel in him from ankle to neck. Murray was wounded less seriously and was saved by the spare machine gun magazines he had in his pouches on his waist. Tingulstad lay there and it was some time before his body was brought in as it had been booby-trapped and required the Royal Engineers to defuse the bomb. We were now without an officer in our platoon but as CSM Iain MacLean Dunvegan was a spare CSM in the Battalion, he was to be our officer until the end of hostilities. We did get an artillery chap out from Blighty but Iain MacLean was always at hand and counselled our new man and gave sound advice to men and officers alike. One night CSM Maclean, the new officer and I were sent up to (p72) investigate a farm near the top of the hill. As we got within three hundred yards of the buildings the stacks in the farmyard went up in flames and lit up all the surrounding hillside. MacLean and I knew exactly what was going on as usually when the Germans evacuated a farm they set the place on fire before leaving. Suddenly the officer ordered me to go forward and see what was going on. MacLean rounded on him and said not to be a damn fool as the minute I, or anyone else, stepped into the glaring light of the burning stack, they would be ideal targets for snipers or machine gun fire. Next day we found the place empty but from the bits of equipment that we found it had been occupied for some time by the enemy. We christened our new officer Trippy Tam as every time he went on patrol he usually fell flat on his face, several times. Our morale was pretty high as we could sense by the movements of the enemy that they were on the retreat but would stop and resist after they had gone further on. During the summer and autumn, we felt the heat pretty much and we sometimes had thunderstorms which would flood the ground in minutes and dry up as quickly as that. Mosquitoes were a constant menace and we had to take Mepochrin tablets to prevent malaria. When it rained heavily everywhere turned very muddy, especially where vehicles or tanks had been. The Indian muleteers had an unenviable job keeping the animals from getting bogged down in the mud. One day there were some mules going up a fairly steep mountain along with us. They were carrying small mountain artillery guns belonging to the 7th Mountain Battery and as one of them negotiated a very steep track round a corner of the hill, it slipped and rolled several times before it reached the bottom, got up , shook itself and waited till it’s driver came down for it. Then it went up the mountain as if nothing had happened. The mules and the drivers did a very good job bringing food and all supplies (p73) up to the troops in the mountainous regions. We were for a while in the proximity of the Senio River and one evening after dark we moved into a house on the actual bank of the river which ran through a very small village. John Bocan MacDonald from the Roy Bridge area came with us as he was to guide his own platoon into the area the following night. During the night the Germans began to lob shells at us and then opened up with Nebel werfers, a mortar type of gun which sent seven wailing shells over at a time. They kept firing intermittently most of the night and as we lay on the floor shell splinters came screaming in through the shattered door and window. And if none of those present never prayed before they sure did that night. The shrapnel buzzed around the room walls and if a piece landed on a bare part of your skin or hand it was red hot. No one got a scratch, a miracle, so perhaps our prayers were answered. Peter Lamond from Skye and I were sent down to the doorway of the sixth house from where we spent the night, just before daybreak. We were not there long when the shelling began again and Peter said to me as the shells screamed and fell ‘A Chriosdaidh, sàol am feachd mi an Dhilean gu bràth’ [this spelling needs checking – could it be - A Chriosdaidh, sàbhail am feachd mi bhon dhìleann gu bràth – though that does not make sense grammatically– is it a prayer? GH], so I assured him that we would see the Island again and so we did. No. 2 platoon, while out on patrol, came on an enemy post which they promptly attacked and killed several of the enemy. As the boys ran through the post one of the enemy faking dead lifted his rifle and was just aiming it at the back of one of our chaps when Big MacLean who was a bit behind saw this. He grabbed his own rifle by the barrel and cracked the Jerry’s head like an egg and just kept running on. On another occasion, I along with Dodds, MacLeod and Scotland, went on recce patrol along with Capt Mike Leslie Melville. After we had got through the enemy lines, MacLeod was detailed to go back and report that we had got through safely. Scotland was also sent back as he was feeling sick. Melville, Dodds and I carried on and came to a small village in a valley. We risked knocking at a house door in the dark, having taken precautions, and we were welcomed with open arm, hugged and kissed by the occupants from teenagers to old folk. We were told that the enemy had not long left the village and a volunteer guided us to a monastery on higher ground. As he went to the door we dispersed in the bushes but he was not long speaking to the priest when he came scurrying out for us and took us in. The Jerries had not long left , we could smell their smoke and body odour in the building. After some time questioning the priest through our guide who had a fair bit of English, we went back down to the house we first called at and went in along with our guide. We were pretty tired and when we were offered a bed to sleep in we did just that and slept like logs. Melville and I shared a large kind of four poster bed with a rather thick heavy mattress. Dodds slept on a couch. When we awoke in the morning, fully clad except for our boots, Melville and I began scratching like mad and on looking at ourselves found we were covered in flea bites and had quite a hirsel of fleas running all over us! We thanked our hosts, got kissed again and we moved out before daybreak, made our way to some higher ground beyond the monastery . In this position we could look down the length of the valley for miles. We stayed there during the daylight hours observing the movements of the German troops as they were pulling out of the area. Their equipment was being taken away by even carts which were being (p75) pulled by oxen. At one point we could see some troops queuing up for their food, about a mile away from us. There was a lot of activity in that area and it turned out that it was to be shortly to be completely evacuated by the Jerries. Some from a previous patrol to ours had been taken prisoner so we were on the look out for news or signs of them but had no luck. As we made our way back we saw a couple of the enemy between us and our own lines so we headed so as to intercept them but they seemed to have vanished by an abandoned house on a bank close to a wood. As we lay watching the house I noticed a movement now and again in an upstairs window. The face kept coming close to the window and having a quick look fairly regularly but after a quick shot it didn’t appear again. We headed for our own lines and got back safely

We had another short break from the line and so many at a time were given two days in Florence, a beautiful city. Our digs were paid for by the Army and it was great to sleep inn abed again. Completely shattered, one would sleep most of the time. The first night the party I was in was in Florence, one of our chaps went out for a walk and when we awoke in the morning his bed was empty and hadn’t been slept in. we thought ah ha! But later on when some of us went for a stroll we met poor Bob and his first words were ‘Gosh, I’m glad to see you. I walked the streets all night and I couldn’t find the digs!’. He had forgotten the address!. He went to his bed and slept for his two days. We went back into the line and were away on patrol every other night.

The minefield

Towards the last weeks of the campaign our platoon was to take a ridge named Gesso from the enemy [11th/12th April 1945 – Melville]. We went up a hill-path before it got bright. As we came near the top we could smell the strong odour of German cigarettes and thought that this was to be another scrap, but as we crept forward we were pleasantly surprised to find that the ridge was (p77) empty of enemy. We were ordered to dig in once more. As Donald Campbell Inverness and I were digging in together we heard a loud bang and then shouts for stretcher bearers. As Donald, who was a drummer in the pipe band, was a stretcher bearer he dropped his entrenching tool and ran off in the direction of the explosion. Shortly after there were two loud explosions and a long piercing scream and that was the end of Donald. The first man to stand on a mine was Colin MacRae whose foot was blown off. The next was Donald standing on one and as he fell landing on another. The rest of us tried to help the wounded but were told to watch where we put our feet as we were in a minefield I stepped over the body of Piper John McDonald, a good friend of mine from South Uist. The only mark on him was a small round hole in his forehead exactly between his eyes. Another mate of mine was killed, Hugh MacKenzie from Kyle who was a signaler. All were killed by mines going off at different levels. Those lower down got the shrapnel in the head Cpl DH Robertson and two men were about three hundred yards away and above us. They were ordered to stay there till the REs [Royal Engineer sappers] came up with mine detectors and they found many mines around the area and also on the path up which we had come. [Mine casualties were four Scouts killed and twenty-two wounded - Melville]. Our platoon officer, CSM Iain MacLeod, lay on the ground with a huge piece of his thigh between his knee and hip shattered with pieces of bone sticking out. The dead and wounded were taken down when the Royal Engineers had cleared the mines. From our section there were only three of us who were not killed or wounded. No. 1 Platoon, B Coy was from Skye and Wester Ross. The remaining three platoons were from the Uists. One day, pre-action days, the Lt i/c 4 Platoon remarked to the RSM Norman MacSween South Uist about all the good shots that were in No 1 Platoon. ‘Well’, said the RSM, ‘most of them were stalkers, keepers or ghillies before they joined up and they were more or less born with rifles in their hands’. Lt SF MacDonald replied, ‘that must have been most uncomfortable for their mothers! ’. Most of the time we wore woolen hand-knitted Tam O’Shanters or rolled up Balaclavas. One night two chaps from North and South Uist were on watch in a forward slit trench. They were stalked by a couple of Germans, one of whom had a shot and cut the bobble on the South Uist chaps tammy. Cpl Fraser MacDonald from Spey Bay was lying on his belly facing the enemy as they were being attacked. A bullet went in his cheek between his top and lower teeth, followed the skin of his neck and came out before it hit the should blade. Lt Budge had a bullet in one cheek and out the other without touching his jawbone or his tongue. Bill Dunbar from Dallas had a similar escape. A Glasgow chap had a burst of Spandau fire through his oxter without touching his chest or arm bone with only a flesh wound!. Some of those on patrols were not so fortunate when they encountered the enemy. Some were captured and some were killed, mainly by snipers. As we had many good, even excellent, shots we usually came off best in most of our various encounters with the men in the grey-green uniforms, even though they had fought for Rommel in the desert campaign. We learned very quickly to be very sharp and observant if we wished to stay alive, also with experience, to keep cool and not panic, not to take risks unless they were calculated for doing most damage to the enemy and least to oneself. All of the rigorous, hard and sometimes almost cruel training we had gone through gave us fitness, patience and a spirit of comradeship that was hard to surpass. Again I must say that country folk, especially out-door workers, stalkers, keepers and shepherds had the wiles of foxes, patience of owl, eyesight of eagles, stealth of cats, courage of badgers which, combined with hard training, made us a formidable force to deal with. Having trained as cavalry, infantry, mechanized infantry, ski troops, mountaineers in Wales and the Rockies, there was not much that we could not tackle. When we advanced from one position to another, we walked part of the way, where possible, in the type of terrain in which we were. Other times we were moved by three-ton lorries.

Monte Grande

South of Bologna we took over from the Americans on a mountain named Monte Grande. It had been the scene of much bloody fighting from October 1944 and we took over in March 1945. There were hordes of American ration: blankets, ammunition, rifles, grenades, machine guns, tins of all (p79) types of food, cigarettes, cigars, chewing and smoking tobacco. We had never seen anything like it!. The dugouts were all lined with lovely soft woolen khaki blankets and the day we left we were all laden down with those blankets which we flogged, bartered or sold, to the Italians civies. We had several patrols from there and a good deal of OP work, working with the 7th Mountain Artillery. Each evening, about the same time, the enemy sent over a couple of very large shells which exploded in the valley behind us, hoping to hit transport and to disrupt the traffic up to where we were. We could actually hear those shells as they flew overhead. They made a noise resembling the Bologna express train going fast. DJ MacKinnon and I were on OP for most of the time we were there from mid- March until 6th May. We had to crawl out to our OP before dawn and come back in the dark. DJ MacKinnon and I had the same birthday, the first of April. He was 32 years and I was 25. The farm house we were in was right on the top of the hill and was more or less a heap of rubble. We celebrate dour birthday by drinking a couple of bottles of beer. One night while on look-out in a badly smashed up room upstairs with no roof in it, I went on the first shift and MacAulay Benbecula lay down under three or four planks with some sandbags laid on the planks. All was quiet and when my spell or shift was over MacAulay took over from me. I lay down under the sandbags and immediately went out like a light in five seconds flat. I wasn’t sleeping five minutes when there was a loud bang, then some more explosions of mortar shells, followed by MacAulay jumping on top of me and grabbing me by the throat in a vice grip. He could have been asleep when he took over and reacted like this with shock. He was even more shocked by my swearing and calling him everything. If there had been enemy within half a mile they could have heard me! (p80) When we were off-duty we slept under the rubble of the house where we were quite safe. One fine morning after MacKinnon and I came off duty, we crawled into what had been a concrete shed like a pigsty, about six feet by four feet. The door had been blown of since long. There was no room for our rucksacks so we left them outside the narrow door. Sometime during the forenoon there was a hell of a bang which hardly woke us up but when we did awake late in the afternoon we found our rucksacks riddled by shrapnel, most of the contents in shreds and our water bottles holed. The mortar bomb must have been about six feet from where we slept. Another day I was in the OP where I had been rudely awakened by MacAulay, sitting on a box, field telephone by my side and my camouflage net all that hid my head from the Germans across the valley from us. Suddenly there was a hell of a bang, the blast knocking my steel helmet off my head and the phone clattered to the floor. My head was ringing and I felt elated and felt I could sing and it was as if I was half drunk for about ten minutes though I didn’t get a scratch. The Germans knew there was an OP there as it was right on top of a hill and they put the odd shell on to it at various times. Our officer, while we were there, was fresh out from Britain and was an ex-Artillery chap. He was christened Trippy Tam as he tripped over everything. To us he was a scream and hadn’t a clue. One day some of us got a piece of rone pipe and propped it up by stones from the rubble, pointed it in the direction of the enemy with about a dozen empty beer bottles neatly laid by its side, representing mortar bombs and made out a placard ‘Trippy Tams Bullshit Gun’ on it. (p81) Across a gully to our right there was a ridge about 450 yards away and we knew that the top of this ridge was held by Rough Riders, some English troops. While on OP duty one day, at a certain time, I noticed a whiff of cigarette smoke rising from lower down than the Rough Riders. A few minutes later a German stepped up from his OP and stood facing up and had a pee. Next day at exactly the same time he repeated the whole performance, so on the third day I got DJ MacKinnon by my side as my OP area was looking across at this German. Sure enough, he repeated the performance again but this time his pee was cut short as, one-two-three bang, as we had rehearsed several times with rifles empty and two bullets went as one in his direction and he fell down backwards. Minutes later we saw two chaps with white pullovers with large red crosses on them running up hill towards where he fell. They reached the spot, bent down fro a few seconds then got up and walked down hill and out of our sight. Presumably they were not needed. The stench on that hill was grim as by now the weather was fine and the sun getting hotter everyday. In a house close by the ruined farmhouse there was a man and woman dead in bed and in the byre there were three dead cows all lying on the same side as the blast of the shell had laid them. They were there from October to May as were bloated mules we could see with their legs in the air. With the telescope we could see the dead bodies lying about. One German in the door of an outhouse was actually still in a standing position leaning slightly on the door post with his hand clutching his slung rifle strap. His ears were shriveled black, bones through his knuckles and his eyes had gone. Across the road from him there was an American, only recognizable by his uniform so the body had melted into the grass, like a jelly. (p82) As by now the Germans were on the retreat and we had the vantage point, we could see as far as Bologna across the plain. We moved about carefully for a start but as we could see the German transport columns going back we got bolder. The place was full of shell holes and in one of them there was mud and water and a thing that looked like tow for cleaning guns and a collar. My mate pulled what turned out to be a coat collar to disclose the neck and nape of neck and blond hair of a German lying face down in the hole with his neck above the mud actually moving with maggots. His heels were visible on the other side of the shell hole. There was a broken down American tank close by and I managed to get the T-sight from it. Rifles, kukris and box upon box of ammo. A lot of the American rifles were broken but we gathered several and managed to dismantle and assemble them and got them firing. Angie MacDougal from Onich gave us the order to fire at stones about 200 hundred yards away across a gully and those rifles which we made up and put together were very accurate. Many times as we were being shelled, I flopped down, as we were taught in training, but on many occasions I got an urgent feeling to get up and run in a certain direction and drop again. No sooner would I be flat in my new position than a shell would burst in the exact spot I had vacated. This happened to me so often that I have no doubt whatsoever, but that a superior power was looking after me. At times I discussed it among ourselves and several lads had the same experience. Anyone who would say that he never prayed when in a tight corner and his life very much a t stake, I don’t think would be telling the truth. (p83) As a kid my mother taught us to pray before we went to bed. We said our prayers each day in school and I kept it up as did many of the rest of the chaps when we went to war and I’m most sure that our prayers were answered and that the power of prayer saved our lives. Many of my mates said the same thing. While in action, we found that each day was a bonus. We’d think of home, parents, friends, loved ones and wonder if we would ever see them again or even see another day break or whether we would be shelled, mortared or shot at that day or perhaps step on a mine which could be a sudden death or a maiming for life and we’d pray once more. At the last round up, as the cowboy song goes, we were able to watch freely from the top of Monte Grande, the Germans being shelled by our artillery who were by this time actually stretched in a straight line across the front. It was wonderful to see all the gun flashes at the same instant as they got the order to fire. While sitting in the sunshine relaxing up there one day when all was quiet, we noticed some of the families coming back to their houses , or what was left of them. I can still see one tall man come across in our direction until he came to a filed of stooks of maize which had, at least some had, weathered fairly well. He stooped down and dug for a bit underneath where one of the stooks was; he picked up a bottle and came across to where we were sitting, spoke perfect English, thanked us profoundly for having sent the Germans off in the direction of their homeland and gave us who were there a good dram of whisky out of a Haig bottle! Shortly after that we were ordered off the mountain. As we left we took the American blankets off the dugouts that they were lining and each of us had our large mountaineering pack full of blankets which we (p84) flogged to the Italians for some lire with which we were able to buy watches or cigarettes in our canteens with which we bartered for everything or anything.

The end of the war – to Taranto

We were taken down to Brisighella where we heard rumours that the war was nearly, if not already, over. We were in bivouacs by a river when we got word that the war had ended in Europe. The officers made a punch of wine and beer and after a few mugfuls of that stuff we were all in the river trying to swim and having a bath at the same time. As very few of us could swim at that time it was a wonder that no one drowned as it was a very deep slow running stream. There were hundreds of rounds of ammunition fired up into the sky. Major Alastair Fraser, Big Sandy to us, was calling me Donnie and I spoke to him as Sandy as we had a long blether about how great it was to be alive while Major SF MacDonald sat by a log fire singing bawdy songs as loud as he could in order to be heard above the noise that went on. When the war ended our squadron was detailed to escort prisoners down to Taranto at the heel of Italy. When we got to [name missing but Melville gives Faenza] there appeared to be thousands of captured Germans enclosed in a large, very large, enclosure. Each platoon was detailed to escort a trainload of prisoners. Most of them were as glad as we were that the war was over and were reconciled to the fact that they had lost the war. The only exception was a contingent of U-boat submariners and to whom, when they got stroppy, we rammed a round up the spout and fixed our bayonets which eventually quietened them down with no harm done. In this way the whole area was cleared of prisoners and they were all deposited at Taranto where again they were put behind wire and we never saw them again.

(p85 ) Our journey south took us two days with frequent stops for the prisoners to get washed and fed. Each time we slid open a truck door we got the familiar smell of body odour and tobacco smoke as we often got in their slit trenches and dugouts. We were living very rough on an Italian aerodrome in small concrete huts, a section to each hut. As it was about the middle of May one can guess that it was pretty hot in southern Italy at that time. One evening during our short stay at Taranto, all those in my hut, except myself, went out to the town. As the evening went by, they started to drift back until only three were missing. I went out for a breath of fresh air and I could hear loud shouting coming from the town-end of the aerodrome. Eventually I could see three figures coming towards us about a mile away. They appeared to be arm-in-arm and were making an awful racket. Eventually they arrived and the noise was solved. The chap in the middle required the toilet so as there was none handy he took down his KD trousers and squatted. His two mates, half shot, didn’t wait too long so grabbed his arms and continues for home. What they didn’t realize was that they hadn’t given him time to lift his trousers up and by the time they reached the hut the legs of his trousers were completely separated except for the waistband. No sooner was he in the hut than he felt sick so I grabbed his steel helmet for him to vomit into, which he manfully did. His two mates fell sound asleep on entering the hut. Soon after that the shits struck him again and, with the heat, the stink was pretty grim. Luckily there was a two-gallon tin of DDT powder in one corner so I rolled him on his belly and poured (p86) a few pints of powder on the offending odour.

To Austria and Greece

A couple of days later we were marched down to the dock at Taranto and put aboard a ship which took us up to Ancona, where we entrucked and were taken up to a small village named Villach in Austria, a few miles from Klagenfurt. [Melville states that their main duties in June and July 1945 were to intercept German soldiers escaping home and to capture Nazi and SS officials]. There was a strict No Fraternisation Order which was not lifted until later, officially. The people were busy cutting the hay and it reminded us so much of home with the burns. Woods and lochs and lovely weather. We shot a couple of roe deer for the pot and the house we were billeted in had a wel-stocked cellar to which we gave a lot of justice! After being there a couple of weeks, we were flown to Salonika in Greece, where it was very hot indeed. Our job was to try to keep law and order as several factions were squabbling and fighting among themselves. A corporal and two privates would be sent out to remote villages with a Ghurka driver and his bren-gun carrier to deliver food parcels to those people who had helped escaped British prisoners-of –war, earlier in the war. Each Bren-gun carrier had a Greek interpreter who called out the names of those due parcels as they would all gather round the Bren carrier, probably never having seen one before. Most of them could not read or write and would put an X for signature. When we had landed at Salonika , we were for some days in tents by the sea, close to the town and we would venture in to the sea for a paddle or swim, those who could. That piece of the sea was very polluted, one minute one would see a piece of human shit or a condom floating past their face, so we didn’t go in very often. We were not left there long before we were sent out to the Struma Valley where the heat and flies were awful. [Melville gives the location as Sidhi Rokhastron, beyond Seres and close to the Rupel Pass and the Bulgarian border]. We were not long there when a chap from Sutherlandshire took ill and three days later he died. The medics said it was infantile paralysis or polio as it is now called. The place was scrawling with all sorts of bugs, ants, scorpions, flies of all shapes and sizes, snakes and tortoises. We used to race the tortoises on the sand, lay a track by a scratch, with a stick at each end of the race track and each would encourage his tortoise to the other end. The Struma river was large, fairly wide and the water was very muddy indeed, so much so that it did not look like water at all. The bridge had been blown up before we came there and the two middle parts were like a V in the river. I found lots of First World War empty .303 bullet cases all around the area. In the 1914-18 war the Ross Mountain Battery fought there, so maybe some of these cases had been fired by them. Most of the young men from this area [Wester Ross] had been there with the Ross Mountain Battery. We slept under our ground sheets which we draped over scrubby bushes. When writing home ones’s letters would be a wee bit blotched with sweat running off our noses and wrists. During our time there we all, or practically all, learned to swim. The water was like shaving water and after being in for a few minutes one was glad to get out. We collected some pieces of wood and some oil drums and some of the boys made a raft and anchored it about forty yards out with a piece of twine and a stone. One day when there was no-one on the raft, I planned to swim out and reach it, which I did, but by the time I got there, before me were a couple of good swimmers before me and who were sitting on the raft. When I got reached it, I clung to the side of it. The two chaps on it began to caper and over it came on top of me, pushing (p88) me under. When I came up the first time I came underneath it and got a dunt on the head and was pushed under again, bursting for air. I struck out for the shore and when I came up again I was clear of that damned raft and so I swam to the shore. We also made a diving board using some scaffolding poles and planks. We had endless fun there diving for stones and coins. There was one chap who could swim a bit but could not dive though he tried hundreds of times. He used to jump out from the platform and land on his belly with a big splash. Everyone cheered him and he’d do it again and again, always landing the same way. After a dozen or so belly flops his body was like a boiled lobster. With the boys praising his dives each day, it was difficult to get on to the board until he got tired, as he said, but we all thought he was a bit sore as well. One chap from the south was found drowned not far from where the blown-up bridge was. He had always been a loner and it was though that he had tangled with some Greeks and had landed in the river. We had a corporal named Hubbard who had come from some English mob to us prior to going to Greece. Each evening he used to take a chap named Bannerman from Portobello and me out about a mile. We swam one on each side of him. He really taught us well and gave the orders for a rest or change of stroke. One evening while we were in that area, there was a mobile cinema came up and was fixed up on a slope near the river. The ground having dried so much was full of cracks, some of them quite wide. While we were watching the film and very engrossed in doing so, I put my elbow in one of these cracks. I felt something on my shoulder and the next second felt something like a red hot needle going in like a dart just behind the top of my shoulder. I made a grab at it but didn’t catch it but the chap sitting next to me put his boot on it, a scorpion. I could feel the whole shoulder and the side of my body going numb. Luckily the doctor or medical officer was at hand and gave e a jag and a couple of pills. Next day I was none the worse for it. We were still in Greece when the atom bomb was dropped on the Japanese and the war was over. The night of VJ, victory over Japan had come. Sgt Jock MacKenzie, Cpls Donald company clerk, MacBean and myself walked about a quarter of a mile to where there was a Greek who had a wooden shack from which he sold fruit and drinks of various kinds. We sat around a table in the open air where it was nice and cool. Each evening at sundown we were compelled by orders to change from shorts into long trousers and to roll our sleeves down. This was to prevent being bitten by mosquitoes. Cpl Donald still had his sleeves up and shorts on when a young lieutenant just out from Blighty came smartly by with his cane under his arm. As he was about to pass us, he made a very smart halt, had a look at us all and noticed the odd dress out, Looked at Jock and said ‘Sergeant put that man on a charge for being improperly dressed after sundown’. I can still see Jock sitting there with his balmoral at the jaunty angle he always wore it at, still sitting. He looked up at the young officer and said, ‘look mate, we’ve been f……. around by chaps like you for the past six years so f….. off’, which the poor chap did by tucking his cane under his arm and marching away very smartly.

We used to see bent old ladies dressed in black herding a few cows here and there and collecting the dung pats which made good fuel for their fires. There was no coal available anywhere, only charcoal. If the wind was blowing from the north, from Bulgaria, it could be bitterly cold at times. We spent the winter of 1945-46 in Greece, moving about from place top place and trying to keep the Greeks from killing each other. We had a couple of interpreters who had good English. Papadoupolis the elder had been in London and Takis was the younger one. As we were going back to Salonika for Christmas, the two interpreters were called to our food store to collect their rations for the week we would be away. The store man told them they could have it in one lot or separately. The younger on wanted it in one lot but the older man said no because he would have his share stolen by the younger. In the end we had to wade in and pull them apart before they would pull the shirts off each other. Things gradually got better and by the end of January or early February we were back with the battalion. As we had thousands of excess rounds of .303 ammo, we did quite a bit of target shooting on four- or six-foot targets. One morning as we got to the range we could not believe our eyes as the canvas to which the targets were glued was all gone, stolen. As each target had thousands of bullets through it we often wondered what on Earth they did with them. Another way in which we got rid of a lot of ammo was trying to shoot geese and ducks as they flew past in their hundreds, though fairly high up. All that came down was one duck and a hell of a lot of telephone wires by the roadside. It looked very simple to shoot them but there was an awful lot of room to miss them. ……………………………………………………………………………………………………….

[Donny’s account ends at this point, in Greece, but on the following page he wrote the following short notes.]

Met Donnie MacLeod Balmacara Scots Guard in hospital in Italy and struck up friendship right away.

Blokes with the shits.

My mother knew I was sick and maybe in hospital

When leaving Greece for leave, ate about four to six oranges and got the shits again.

Boat back to Taranto and then to Calais and home for a month’s leave.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Faroe place names – spelling adjusted to Times Comprehensive Atlas of the World 2005

Deir

Fort Skance

Fuglefjord

Gota

Kirkjbour Kirkjubøur

Klackvie ? Klagksvig - Klasvig

Sudroy – Suðuroy

Strendur - Strendur

Taverra - Tvøroyri

Thorshaven - Tórshavn

Donald the Piggie MacDonald Aultbea

Tofti - Toftir

Vestmanna – Vestmanna

Names of boats mentioned in text:

Suigrill

Smyrill

Poppy

Lochgarry

Preston North End

Lincoln City

Baranda supply ship

Names of Lovat Scouts mentioned in text:

Major Alastair Fraser, Big Sandy

Major Anthony Wills

Major Richard Fleming

Sir Simon Campbell Orde

Capt Mike Leslie Melville

Padre Ronald Robertson, Lochcarron

Lieut W Budge Lieut MacDonald Tote

Lieut SF MacDonald

Lieut Sydney Sgroggie

Trippy Tam

Lieut G Tingulstad

Lieut Wooton

JA Beaton Portree

Bob ?

? Bannerman Portabello

Jock Buchanan

Butterworth

Donnie Cameron Glenurquhart and Letterewe

Allan Campbell

Danny or Donny ‘Trapper’ Campbell

Donald Campbell Inverness

Cpl James Campbell

Neil Campbell S Uist

? MacAulay Benbecula

? Dodds

Bill Dunbar Dallas

Hugh Falconer Sutherland

Cpl Ferguson Skye

Norman Ferguson

Duncie Fraser

Cpl Hubbard

John MacIssac Benbecula

? Jones

Peter Lamond Skye

Cpl Donald MacBean Company Clerk

Donald the Piggie MacDonald Aultbea

Sgt Willie MacDonald

Cpl Fraser MacDonald Spey Bay

John Geats MacDonald Kincraig

Piper John MacDonald South Uist

John Bocan MacDonald, Roy Bridge

Angie MacDougal Onich

DJ MacIssac N Uist

John MacIssac Benbecula

J Oxo MacKay

Willie Corrie MacKay

Malcolm ‘Calum Mòr’ MacKenzie Aultbea

Donald ‘Piggie’ MacKenzie Aultbea

Hugh MacKenzie Kyle

Hugh MacKenzie Evanton

Sgt Jock MacKenzie

Jackie MacKenzie

DJ MacKinnon

Dolie MacKintosh

DJ MacKinnon

CSM/SSM Ian MacLean Dunvegan

Jimmy MacLean

DJ MacLellan

Cpl Dahl MacLennan Cannich

Provost Sergeant ‘Slope Hips’ MacLeod

Sgt JA MacLeod

L/Cpl Johnnie MacLeod

Johnnie MacLeod

? MacLeod Skye

Jock MacPherson

Johnnie MacPherson Kinlochleven

Alick MacRae Kishorn

Sgt Colin MacRae GM

Johnnie MacRae Duilick, Gordon Highlanders

Sgt Archie Martin

Rod Matheson N Uist

Ken Milligan Glasgow

John Monk

? Murray Stornoway

Alick Proctor killed Italy

Cpl DH Robertson

Cpl George Rose

Sgt Alex Ross

RSM Norman MacSween South Uist

? Scotland

Stubbs

Sgt Jimmy Sutherland

? Walker Aberdeenshire

Bibliography:

Melville LM 1987. The Story of the Lovat Scouts 1900-1980, Librario Publishing

Sgroggie S 1976 The Drugstore Commandos. Aspects of the Lovat Scouts’ Training. Period in Jasper December 1943 to May 1944. Private Publication.

Whitaker J (1939) Whitaker’s Almanac 1939, London

Other sources referred to by Sgroggie:

Film made in 1943/44 released after the war under the title Ordeal by Ice – film maker Hamilton Wright

Picture of D Squadron ski-ing down Athabaska Galcier in formation in a book -Fifty of the World’s Best Photographs, author anf published unknown.

Sgroggie also states Regiment lost 50 dead in Tuscany and Romagna (out of a strength of 500-600)

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