A soldier’s personal account of World War 2 from 12th December 1939 – 2nd March 1946

Part Twelve –North of the border

L to R, The Author, Keith Priestly. Frodsham 1941

In mid-summer 1941 we left Frodsham and arrived at RAMC No.2 Depot at Dalkeith Barracks just outside Edinburgh. We stayed here about 2 weeks only because the depot was just in the process of changing hands and becoming an ATS Depot and from here we moved again to No.4 Ettrick Road Edinburgh. This large, requisitioned house in a wealthy residential area of Scotland’s beautiful capital city was to be our home for eleven of the happiest months I spent in the Army.

My reaction to Edinburgh was one of disappointment. After all I had heard about the ‘Athens of the North’ my very first impression was one of dull, grey drabness, but in time I grew to know it and by the time I left I was fully convinced that it is quite the most beautiful city I had ever seen.

In Edinburgh the war seemed a long, long way away. True there was a black-out and for the civilian population there was, of course, ration books and identity cards. Apart from this however the life of the City appeared to us to go on almost unimpeded. Edinburgh has numerous theatres, cinemas and dancehalls, beautiful streets and historic buildings and lovely scenery in the surrounding countryside. One of my favourite spots was at the top of Arthur’s Seat – a hill some 700 feet high that dominates the City. From here one can see Holyrood Palace, seat of the old Scottish Kings and still one of the Royal households, nestling at the foot of the hill. A clear view of the entire City, Carlton Hill, The Castle, Princes Street and the Scott Memorial and the triple spires of St Mary’s Cathedral away in the distance. In the other direction the panorama of the Firth of Forth and the Islet of Inchkeith partly shrouded in the mist that hangs over the whole city and gives it its nickname of ‘Auld Reekie’.

Here in Edinburgh there were more and better Service Clubs and canteens than anywhere else I visited during the whole of the war. In Edinburgh we learned the true significance of Burn’s Night and experienced the full Gaelic flavour of Hogmanay.

We were attached now to Edinburgh district of Scottish Command and my work took me to many of the border towns on numerous trips of several days duration. Here we opened a minor ‘Army School of Hygiene’ and ran courses for medical orderlies and sanitation personnel from all the units from miles around and there were almost always some dozen to twenty ‘guests’ sharing our billet, predominantly artillerymen from anti-aircraft regiments.

Whilst in Edinburgh I was sent on a temporary posting to Scottish Command Headquarters where I was employed as a clerk in Medical Branch and although it made quite a change I was not sorry when, after two months, I returned to my own unit. I had though, in any case, spent every evening and weekend when not on duty, with my pals.

We played quite a lot of football here and once had the thrill of playing on the famous Murrayfield International Rugby stadium where we our best ever victory by defeating a team representing the City’s NAAFI canteens by eight goals to nil. This game is particularly significant in my memory because it was the first time I ever played as a forward. I was outside right that day and became the hero of the match by laying on the passes for no less than five of our eight goals. I was the only forward who didn’t score however, although in the dying minutes of the game my fellow players conspired to ‘nurse’ me into scoring. As a result of their manoeuvering I was presented with a wonderful scoring chance with only the goalie to beat but blazed away over the bar from about six yards just before the final whistle blew.

Whilst in Edinburgh Major Wybourne left us to be replaced by a new Officer Commanding, Major Ross.

I was given - and grasped – the opportunity of being a spectator at my first (and at time of writing only) international match and saw and England team including such stars as Swift, Mathews and Lawton defeated by the odd goal by the Scots at Hampden Park, Glasgow.

It was with great regret that, in the summer of 1942, we left Edinburgh and travelled north to Aviemore, a small highland village in Invernesshire. On this occasion we travelled by road and I rode one of the motorbikes as an outrider to the convoy. Although I had been riding one of the unit machines since the early Frodsham days this was my first experience of convoy work – though by no means my last and the experience was to prove useful later on in my Army career.

Until that journey through the Scottish Highlands I had never before realised that it was possible in the British Isles to travel ten or twelve miles along a country road without seeing any other living thing or sign of habitation except for rabbits and shaggy, half-wild, highland sheep. When we were a few miles north of Perth I remember the exhaust pipe became detached from the cylinder block of my bike and Bob Sisson, also motorcycling, dropped back to assist me in fixing it. But we had a glorious belt along the almost deserted road at 60mph plus, catching up with the convoy.

L to R, The Author, Bill Stent, Keith Priestly. Aviemore, Summer 1942

The Army camps in the Aviemore district covered scores of square miles of country and the object of them was to provide a training ground for troops engaged in learning the arts of mountain warfare. We were to take over the hygiene arrangements of the entire group of camps. We lived in tents here – they were all canvas camps – and it was the first time we had done so since Aintree Racecourse. It was a very isolated spot. The village of Aviemore itself was no more than a few small cottages, with an hotel and a railway station so big as to appear incongruous in their surroundings.

The size of the hotel was explained by the fact that in peacetime it is one of the largest Highland touring centres because of its proximity to the Cairngorm Mountains and the highest peak Ben Macdui. The railway station is a junction of the Inverness and Thurso line and the Elgin and Frazerburgh lines.

Our camp was three miles from the station. It was situated in a really beautiful place on the banks of Loch Alvie and the sunrises and sunsets were some of the loveliest I have seen. The only recreation afforded in the camp was the NAAFI canteen in a very large marquee where bingo was a nightly feature.

After we had been there a while we had a long spell of rainy weather and the NAAFI floor became knee-deep in mud and the whole series of camps just one great quagmire. We organised, after a time, a fortnightly trip by 15cwt Bedford truck into Inverness – some forty-five miles away and the nearest town – on alternate Fridays. There were a couple of cinemas here which were always packed to capacity when the liberty trucks rolled into town, and, needless to say, the pubs did a fair trade too.

It was whist we were stationed here at Aviemore that I made my first acquaintance with Indian troops who had been sent here, with their mules, to assist in the general training and the use of the mule as a pack animal and an alternative and infinitely more suitable form of transportation in the mountainous country. I’ll never forget the day Dizzy Taylor and I accepted an invitation to sample a real Indian curry – and for some time afterwards became almost convinced that we had swallowed some of the hot coals over which it had been cooked!

Although we were not present in the camp actually to join in the general training, we did keep our hands in by going on periodical route-marches and some of them were pretty tough going. One in particular springs to mind when we were lost in a Scotch mist on the mountains and covered nearly thirty miles before we got home. This however did not prevent some of us, after washing our feet, changing our socks and having some tea, from walking the three miles into Aviemore, spending three hours dancing at a village hop and then walking the three miles back to camp again at around midnight. There was no doubt we were exceptionally fit young men.

To be continued