Open Writing

Mobilising And Immobility

1943

Following all this excitement and action came the long chase across the North of Africa. There were many feints to confuse the enemy along the way, and of course, wherever possible, the enemy would leave a rearguard. Nothing was ever certain and there were many places where disaster could strike.

Trucks bogged down in the sand, trenches had to be dug, patrols had to be carried out – there was the constant worry of meeting the enemy again. Not only was the terrain itself difficult and challenging, there was the omnipresent danger of mines. Some minefields were so dangerous it was only possible to get through them by threading a line of tape to mark a passage that had been cleared.

Wee Robbie had been impressed during the height of the battle at El Alamein when one of the senior officers had come racing around to lend support to his men in the only form of transport accessible to him - a jeep. This exemplary behaviour made him feel that he and his own personal effort counted. He had begun to understand just how important these gestures, small in themselves, were to the morale of the men.

Another great character was Ironside, the nickname of the padre. He was a larger than life character, tremendously ebullient, with an excellent listening ear. He knew when a man needed encouragement and when he needed a cigarette. He wore his faith as armour, and this was on display daily as he refused any manmade protection. With no superior other than God, he refused to wear a helmet or sleep in a trench. In the middle of a night battle, when all the men were dug down as deep as they could go, he erected his army bed at the side of the trench and shouted down “Good night, Lads!”

Whether he ever got any sleep is not known, but his cavalier approach and bravado made many of the men smile and wonder, reducing the level of their fear. Nobody else so casually got ready for bed in the heat of the battle. During his time with the battalion he became a legend. The Almighty took care of him. He was never injured.

The Battalion navigated 1,500 long miles of hazards before again seeing real action. They became expert in digging, in finding the wadis in which it was suitable to shelter, in making improvements to doovers. There were many things that could be done to make life more comfortable in a trench.

The War Office decided that the cheapest way of supplying petrol was in disposable four-gallon cans. Indeed these were more useful empty than full because the petrol in them was prone to leak. The empty cans became furniture. Trench walls were revetted with them. They were converted into chairs and tables, lampshades and fly traps. They served as latrines and made excellent Benghazi cookers. These cookers were easy to construct and manage. An empty can was partly filled with sand which was mixed with petrol to form a paste. A lit match was then thrown from a distance into the paste. The makeshift stove would then burn for half an hour without any tending.

And while he was enduring all this, a friend from Tain wrote to Wee Robbie, telling him that Helen was no longer wearing his ring. He was devastated. He was loyal, having made a commitment, and he looked for that same loyalty in others. Here he was, doing his level best in the most insane of conditions, and she was unable to show her support for him and their relationship.

He decided that any discussion of the matter was best left for when he arrived home - if he ever did. He continued to write to her without mentioning what he now knew.

Meanwhile the long trek through the desert continued. Minefields were prolific and progress was slow. Eventually, there was to be an assault on the Mareth Line, but Wee Bobby's battalion was not scheduled to take part in it.

Very soon they were about to discover what kind of soldiers they were in an almost unrecorded military incident involving an ordinary ditch. The horror of what happened cannot even be imagined by these who have never been involved in combat.

The battalion was asked to capture and hold an anti-tank ditch. The difficult approach to this ditch involved traversing a minefield. The enemy was able to observe their movements. The general who gave the order had thought the ditch, when they reached it, would offer some cover, but optimism faded when they saw it. The ditch wall facing the enemy was six feet high. It was not possible to fire over it without presenting oneself as a target. The back wall sloped at a 45 degree angle, and there was no level floor in the ditch. It was merely a large slit in the ground. The men tried to dig in, but hope faded when the earth rang like steel. Much sweat and energy was expended, but not one inch of cover would the trench yield up to the them.

The enemy shelling was deadly and accurate. Fear prevailed among the men. They were unable to fight back. The ditch was explored foot by foot, but no one could find additional cover. As the hours crawled painfully by, anguish and alarm increased. The enemy shelling was coming closer and was increasingly accurate.

They had now lost all communication with supporting troops. They realised they were near the front line. Again they tried to dig themselves some shelter. Again they failed. The men were unable to do anything to help themselves. The enforced inactivity was torture.

Men were being killed. Wee Robbie went up and down the line, attempting to support and encourage those under his command whose numbers were diminishing by the hour.

"We had just had a lad of 18 join us,'' he recalled. "I left him while I checking on the other positions. When I came back he was dead. His head was missing.''

The Medical Officer, Farquhar, worked round the clock.

It was impossible to bury the dead. In the midst of such horror and loss, men wept.

It was the longest forty-eight hours of their lives. Eventually, they were relieved.

With a despondency that had been unknown before, the handful of men that survived carried out the wounded, along with their equipment. There was no option but to leave the dead.

Those commanding the battle would have no knowledge of the details of what had taken place. They would never know the effect on the surviving men - of the horrors imprinted upon their memories for the rest of their lives.

After all, it was only a ditch. Probably not that important in the high command's great scheme.

Not one man who survived the experience was ever able to forget it. One of the most soul-destroying aspects of the whole incident was that they had been unable to give a good account of themselves. They simply had to stand there, taking the punishment meted out to them.

There was no right of reply.

***

The Meeting

1986

She met a severly disabled man who was admitted to the ward with a broken knee. His name was Peter. Immediately she knew she had met someone who was extraordinary. He had a muscular condition, which meant that he was totally dependent on staff for everything. Never before had she encountered this level of disability.

He was always courteous and polite, but very strong-minded and stubborn. In his thirties he had become a handful for his parents to deal with. Well spoken and articulate, he set exceptionally high standards for himself. He informed her that it was essential for him to arrive at his work in a morning before the other able-bodied members of staff. He understood his good fortune in being employed by a family firm which was willing to keep him on despite his disability.

He was meticulous in everything he did, and he was hugely amusing. She became interested in his situation, discovering that he had never mixed with other disabled people. Despite being profoundly disabled he liked to think of himself as able-bodied. All his friends were!

She had not encountered this mind-set before and realised that it would present him with difficulties. Trying to get him to talk about his situation was hard going. She discovered that from childhood on he had refused to take part in any discussion about his disability. At his home no one was allowed to mention it. That was his way of coping.

She discovered that he had taken “secret holidays”, as he called them. In truth, these were respite breaks. But in his current frame of mind he could not tolerate the truth. He found it necessary to live in an optimistic world.

Without bursting his bubble she tried to introduce a greater sense of reality. Sometimes she was frustrated almost beyond words. He offered to take her riding to hounds. He insisted that this is what he did from time to time, though it was painfully obvious that he could not balance on a stool, let alone a horse.

He possessed a considerable intellect, even though he insisted on living in Cloud Cuckoo Land. He was a complex individual. At first he put up brick walls. Whatever thoughts, suggestions and arguments she advanced, he rebutted them. He refused to face the reality which was so obvious to everyone else.

But gradually, bit by bit, he began to square up to his problems. The process was painful to him.

He began to learn his rights.

He began to learn what was possible.

He became a fighter.

He became a problem solver.

Together they began a journey that was going to last a long, long time.