CPSD-Y Letters
PATRICK DENHOLM-YOUNG
QUITE A PARTY
LETTERS FROM THE BATTLE OF ALAMEIN
AND THE CAREER OF A BRITISH ARMY OFFICER
1925–1950
Edited by Serena Moore
Also by Patrick Denholm-Young
(writing as C. P. S. Denholm-Young)
MEN OF ALAMEIN
SONGS OF SOLDIERS
WILL YOU TAKE MY TORCH?
Under the name of ‘Pat Young’:
Short Stories written for radio and broadcast on the BBC:
CATCH ME AN AMBULANCE
FOUL BUSINESS
THE SMALLEST ROOM
For more information on Patrick Denholm-Young’s letters visit:
..... imperial war museum...
QUITE A PARTY
LETTERS FROM THE BATTLE OF ALAMEIN
AND THE CAREER OF A BRITISH ARMY OFFICER
1925–1950
_______
PATRICK DENHOLM-YOUNG
Edited by Serena Moore
[?? publisher??]
London
Published by .....
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Letters © Patrick Denholm-Young 201....
Editorial matter © Serena Moore 201....
.............
have asserted the right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 of Patrick Denholm-Young to be identified as the author of this work, and Serena Moore as its editor.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not,
by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out,
or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior
consent in any form of binding or cover other than that
in which it is published and without a similar condition,
including this condition, being imposed
on the subsequent purchaser.
First published in Great Britain in .... by
...
...
...
www ......
ISBN .....................
Designed in .....
Typeset by ...
Printed and bound in Great Britain by ....
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For Piers and Alethea
‘Goodness knows how long this Party will last ...’
[Letter 116, 26 October 1942]
‘I’m a little tired of living like a mole ...’
[Letter 119, 31 October 1942]
CONTENTS
Illustrations ....
Conventions and Abbreviations ....
Mentions in Despatches ....
Preface
Family Background ....
Parents and Childhood ....
The Young Scot ....
The Gentleman Cadet ....
The Professional Soldier: Peace ....
THE LETTERS
Series 1:
Preface to Series 1 ....
Woolwich: The Gentleman Cadet 1925–1926 ....
Catterick: The Young Officer 1927–1928 ....
Bulford: 1928–1930 ....
Series 2:
Preface to Series 2: ....
India: 1931–1932 ....
Series 3:
Preface to Series 3:
Colchester, Cattrick, Aldershot,
Bordon: 1933–1935 ....
Hiatus:
Preface to Hiatus: ....
Nigeria: 1935–1937
Aldershot, Liverpool, York: 1938–1939 ....
The Phoney War / The Staff College: 1939–1940 ....
Brigade Major / 51st Highland Division: 1941 ....
Series 4:
Preface to Series 4: ....
In Transit ....
The Western Desert: Quite a Party: 1941–1942 ....
Series 5:
Preface to Series 5: ....
Cairo: A written Record: 1943 ....
Series 6:
Preface to Series 6: ....
Sicily, Italy, Greece: 1944–1945 ....
Series 7:
Preface to Series 7: ....
Catterick, Burma: 1945–1950 ....
Afterword: 1950–1991 ....
Appendices:
‘In the Shadow of the Himalayas’ 1931 .... ‘Edinburgh from the Braid Hills’ 1932 ....
Chronology ....
The Denholm-Young Genealogy ....
Index ....
ILLUSTRATIONS
ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE TEXT
1. Map showing Broomrigg, Holywood, Dumfries ...
2. Urdu Examination Paper 1931 ...
3. Map of Kashmir and the Khyber Pass 1932 ...
4. Map of Nigeria 1935 ...
5. Map of the Battle of El Alamein 1942 ...
6. Map of the chase across Libya 1943 ...
FIRST PLATE SECTION
1. Greatx5 grandfather: Revd William Veitch (1640-1722), Minister of St Michael’s Dumfries, by the Circle of John Baptiste de Medina (1659–1710): exhibited in the Glasgow Scottish Exhibition of 1911
2. Greatx3 grandfather: Dr Samuel Young of Guilliehill and Broomrigg (1701-82), by the Circle of Allan Ramsay (1713–1784);
3. Greatx3 grandmother: Sarah, Mrs Samuel Young, (??–??) by the mid 18th Century School
4. Great great grandmother: daughter of Dr Samuel and Mrs Young, Sarah Young of Guilliehill and Broomrigg (1741–1824) by the Circle of Allan Ramsay (1713–1784)
5. Half-brother to Sarah Young: Madeira Wyne, (??–??), son of Sarah Young (senior) by her previous marriage to William Wyne, by the mid 18th Century School: died aged 11
6. Great uncle. Colonel John Hamilton Kennedy, (1805–1865), Madras Native Infantry, painted circa 1838, by his brother William Denholm Kennedy (1813–1865)
7. Great aunt. Sarah, Mrs John Hamilton Kennedy, (née Denholm-Young) (1805–1848) painted circa 1838, by William Denholm Kennedy (1813–1865)
8. Grandfather. Colonel Samuel Denholm-Young (1820–1910), Rothesay 1863, on retirement from The Madras Indian Army
9. Broomrigg 2013
10. Father: Ebenezer Denholm-Young, W.S. (1857–1930): honeymoon portrait 1899
11. Mother: Margaret Logie Hamilton Edmondston (1865–1936), aged 25 (1890), nine years before her marriage to Ebenezer
12. 10 Morningside Place, Edinburgh the Denholm-Young family house 1894–1954: garden front 1906
13. 16 Abbotsford Park, Morningside, Edinburgh (this photograph taken 1980)
14. 15 Rutland Street, Edinburgh, professional address of Ebenezer Denholm-Young W.S. from approximately 1887 (this photograph taken 1966)
15. With Margaret (left) and ‘Kenny’, his nurse/governess (right) c. 1907
16. c. 1907. An early interest in wheeled transport!
17. Brother and sister as children
18. Hilda, aged 22, 1925
19. Hilda at Picktree October 1925
20. The Royal Military Academy, Woolwich (the official Christmas card 1925)
21. The Gentleman Cadet 1925
SECOND PLATE SECTION
22. The Second Lieutenant, Royal Corps of Signals, on leave 1928
23. Second Lieutentant, Royal Corps of Signals, on leave with his Talbot ‘Benjamin’ 1928
24. Mounted on his Irish hunter ‘Inertia’, Bulford, 1929
25. In the Riley Redwing 1929
26. HMT Lancashire 1931
27. Lander’s houseboat, Srinagar, Vale of Kashmir, 1931
28. From the Shalimar Gardens, with Hara Moukh, the Sacred Mountain 1931
29. At ?Upper Topa, Murree Hills, Punjab, 1931? (L to R: ?, Patrick, ?)
30. The Autocar magazine: cover April 1932
31. The newly qualified doctor: Hilda, July 1932
32. Fort Jamrud, 10 miles from Peshawar 2/3 September 1932
33. Driving up the Khyber Pass 3 September 1932
34. Kandaroo Picket Signpost on the Kabul Road 3 September 1932
35. Kandaroo Picket, 2½ miles beyond Landi Kotal, 3 September 1932
36. The young paediatrician: Hilda at ?Booth Hall Infirmary for Children, Manchester 1935
37. Signals Commander at his desk, Zaria 1935–1937
38. Signals Commander, Zaria 1935–1937
THIRD PLATE SECTION
39. Rachel Estcourt Kitching c. 1941
40. An officer’s billet in the Western Desert 1942–1943
41. HD Desert Signals Office 1942–1943, Interior, A
42. HD Desert Signals Office 1942–1943, Interior, B
43. HD Desert Signals Office 1942–1943, A
44. HD Desert Signals Office 1942–1943, B
45. A tactical discussion mid-battle, El Alamein, October 1942 (L to R: Lieut. Colonel ?, Royal Scots Fusiliers, Major General Douglas Wimberley, Patrick, Captain Fraser)
46. General Montgomery’s flying visit to the Signals Unit of the 51st Highland Divison at Agheila in January 1943 before the advance on Tripoli: (a) Patrick (right) greets the General (centre) on his arrival: on the left is Major Genera Douglas Wimberley
47. (b) With the General (centre) at the start of the visit
48. (c) Escorting the General over to meet the Unit staff
49. (d) Presenting his second-in-command to the General
50. (e) Presenting his Regimental Sergeant-Major to the General
51. (f) Posing with the General (centre) at the site of a cable line
52. (g) A further word from the General
53. (h) Saluting the General on his departure
54. On the Coast Road, 1942–1943
55. Men of Alamein 1943 Dust Jacket
56. Chief Signal Officer for Lines of Communication behind the 8th Army, Central Italy, May 1944
57. Marriage, Kirk Deighton, Yorkshire 16 July 1946
58. The senior officer 1947
59. Serena Denholm-Young b. 1947
60. Geraldine Alyson Denholm-Young 1949–1981
61. Piers Anthony Denholm-Young b. 1951
CREDITS
Illustrations in the text (listed by page):
....
Plates:
1–7 Photographs by the Editor of the family portraits
8 Photograph by J Adamson & Son, The Studio, Rothesay, Bute
9 Photograph by Piers Denholm-Young
10 Photograph by W. Crooke, 103 Princes Street, Edinburgh
11 Photograph by Fleming, Photographer Royal, Royal Studio, Palmerston Road, Southsea, Hants
12 Photograph by ?Ebenezer Denholm-Young
13 Photograph by Hilda Denholm-Young
14 Photograph by Hilda Denholm-Young
15 Photograph by ?Ebenezer Denholm-Young
16 Photograph by ?Ebenezer Denholm-Young
17 Photograph by ? E. R. Yerbury & Son, 90 & 92 Morningside Road and 48 Coniston Road, Edinburgh
18 Photograph by E. R. Yerbury & Son, Edinburgh
19 Photograph by Kitty or Molly Cook
21 Photograph by E. R.Yerbury & Son, Edinburgh
22 Photograph by J. B. Wintour, 141 Bruntsfield Place, Edinburgh
23 Photograph by ?Ebenezer or Hilda Denholm-Young
24 Postcard by J. B. Wintour, Edinburgh, from photograph by ?an army friend
25 Photograph by ?Ebenezer Denholm-Young
26 Official Postcard: no photographer named
27 Photograph by Patrick Denholm-Young
28 Photograph by Patrick Denholm-Young
29 ?Official Ministry of Information photograph?
31 Photograph by E. R. Yerbury & Son, Edinburgh
32–35 Photographs by Patrick Denholm-Young
36 Postcard by ? from photograph by ?
37 Photograph by ?an army colleague
38 Postcard by J. B. Wintour, Edinburgh, from photograph by ?an army friend
39 Kitching family photograph: photographer unknown
40 Photograph by Patrick Denholm-Young
41 Official Ministry of Information photograph, Crown Copyright. B.M. 21456
42–49 Photographs taken on Patrick Denholm-Young’s camera by
?his driver/batman
50–54 Photographs by Patrick Denholm-Young
56 Photograph by Studio Cavalieri, Perugia
57 Photograph by Marlborough Press, 19 Beauchamp Place, London SW3
58 Photograph by Madame ?Caryl Ltd
59 Photograph by Patrick Denholm-Young
60 Photograph by Eric S. Bramhill, North Street, Wetherby
61 Photograph by Hilda Denholm-Young
Matter previously published:
‘In the Shadow of the Himalayas’, The Watsonian, Vol. xxviii, No. 1. (December 1931), pp. 19–22.
‘Edinburgh from the Braid Hills’, The Autocar, April 22nd, 1932 p. 651.
CONVENTIONS AND ABBREVIATIONS
The format of the names, addresses and dates of letters has been standardised and the most common addresses abbreviated as follows:
The Shop The Royal Military Academy, Woolwich, London S.E.18.
Catterick Royal Signals Mess, Catterick Camp, Richmond, Yorkshire
Bulford Royal Signals Mess, Bulford Camp, Salisbury Plain, Wiltshire
Rawalpindi Royal Signals Mess, Rawalpindi, N-W. India
Srinagar c/o J. H. Lander, Kashmir Express Company, Srinagar, Kashmir, and c/o Postmaster, Nassim Bagh, Srinagar, Kashmir.
Gulmarg Gulmarg, Kashmir
Upper Topa Royal Signals Mess, Upper Topa, Murree Hills, Punjab, N-W. India
Aldershot Royal Signals Mess, Aldershot, Hampshire.
Bordon Officers’ Mess, The Buffs, Bordon Camp, Hampshire
51st HDS, M.E.F. 51st Highland Division Signals, Middle East Force, Western Desert
GHQ, M.E.F. X(i) Branch, General Headquarters, Middle East Force, Cairo
Editorial changes to the letters consist of correction of the (very few) inconsistencies or errors of date or fact, and cuts only where essential for greater clarity, to avoid repetition, or where material might have a direct bearing on the living.
Extracts from Patrick’s published record of the Battle of Alamein and from his unpublished autobiographical writings have been included to illuminate and complement the letters and to bridge intervals for which no letters survive, and these appear italicised and within single quotation marks.
Modern editorial practice has been followed to standardise spelling and punctuation, altering only when this is needed to make the meaning clear.
MENTIONS IN DESPATCHES
I am unendingly in the debt of Henry Hardy of Wolfson College Oxford for an impeccable twelve-year tutorial on the art of editing letters (while we were working together on those of the College’s founding president, Isaiah Berlin O.M.). All errors that have subsequently crept into this volume are, alas, entirely my own work.
I am indebted, too, to Henry Hardy’s co-editor on Volume 2 of the Berlin Letters, Jennifer Holmes, whose professional approach to researching footnotes taught me much; and to Mark Pottle for so generously assisting with footnotes for the lesser-known military personnel.
Nor could this edition have been possible without the superb and patient support of Phil Nixon, Senior IT Officer, Wolfson College Oxford.
Further thanks are due to Michael Butler of the Royal Signals Museum, Valerie Holman, Fiona Hooper and David Brown of George Watson’s College, Celia Kerslake, Anthony Morton and Andrew Orgill of the Royal Military Academy, Sandhurst, Mr and Mrs Mark O’Hagan, Simon Offord of the Imperial War Museum, John Paterson, Frank Payne, Mr Zahir Soonawalla FRCS [sine qua non], and Dr Nicola Warner MRCP.
And I could never have managed to do any of this without the constant encouragement of my brother Piers Denholm-Young.
PREFACE
O Caledonia! stern and wild,
Meet nurse for a poetic child!
Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood,
Land of my sires! what mortal hand
Can e’er untie the filial band,
That knits me to thy rugged strand!
from: The Lay of the Last Minstrel
Sir Walter Scott (1771–1832)
Family Background: ‘We have [long] been soldiers’[1]
Robore Prudentia Praestat
‘Prudence excels strength’
Denholm-Young is the name of an old Scottish military family, rooted in the district around Dumfries. The Youngs can be traced in that area back to the late 14th century, and before the Reformation provided several churchmen. The first member of the family definitely connected with the burgh of Dumfries was Patrick Young, who flourished there at the end of the 16th century as burgess,[2] surgeon and owner of a seat in St. Michael’s Church.
In 1612 his grandson acquired the merkland[3] of Broomrigg and Guilliehill, long part of the ancient Abbey lands of Holywood, four miles from Dumfries on the banks of the rivers Nith and Clouden, and so established the family’s early roots as gentlemen farmers. In the nearby Valley of the Cairn Water is the ancient stone circle of the Twelve Apostles, the largest such in Scotland, close to Lincluden Abbey (founded c. 1160 and possibly Cluniac). Nithsdale soils are hard, gravelly and light – ideal for barley, oats,corn and turnips – and the estate was nearly all arable, with some woodland. This was also a prime location for country sports: otter hunting and angling for salmon and sea-trout in the deep pools and beneath the steep banks of the Nith; and fox-hunting and shooting in Nithsdale. ‘Broomrigg’ or ‘the ridge where broom grows’ takes its name from the Common or Scots Broom (Sarothamnus scoparius), the emblematic native perennial with fragrant yellow flowers that grows well on rough banks and has been used variously for centuries in Scotland.[4]
The modest Broomrigg estate of approximately 640 acres with its farms,[5] woodlands, shootings and plain, stone mansion, with stables and outbuildings, passed down the Young family, including through a marriage with the daughter of Rev. William Veitch (1640–1722), [Plate 1] Minister of St Michael’s Church, prominent Covenanter, and loyal friend of the 9th Earl of Argyll,[6] at whose side he stood when the Earl was executed on 13 June 1685 for his part in the Monmouth Rebellion. In 1776 Dr Samuel Young of Broomrigg and Guilliehill (1701–82), [Plate 2] sometime practitioner of physic attending Colonel Cowcolt’s regiment in Antigua and from 1753 surgeon and burgess in Dumfries, inherited the estate and left it to his daughter Sarah, [Plate 4] and her husband Captain William Denholm of the 63rd Regiment. Captain Denholm was the son of William Denholm of Birkbush, bailie[7] of Dumfries, and his wife Nicolas Dalzell of Fairgirth. Birkbush is a small estate on the Cairn Water (a tributary of the River Nith) a few miles due west of Holywood, and the family may have been descended from the Denholms of nearby Creichan. Of their eleven children, a daughter Elizabeth produced Colonel John Kennedy [Plate 6] and his brother William Denholm Kennedy R.A., Victorian genre painter. Sarah and William’s son, Samuel (1777–1854) succeeded in 1824, when he took the name Denholm-Young, and built considerable additions to the house, only to sell the whole estate in 1838[8] for reasons that are not recorded, but may have stemmed from his having six unmarried daughters to provide for (when he died, aged 77, he had lost his wife and six of their ten children, including five of the daughters) – and built himself a smaller house at Rothesay, Isle of Bute. Broomrigg passed to other hands, and still stands today, in very good heart. Samuel’s son Colonel Samuel Denholm-Young, (1820–1910) [Plate 8] had a distinguished career in the Madras Army. His son Ebenezer (1857–1930) [Plate 10] broke with the family military tradition by training as a lawyer. He married Jessie Woodburn, sister to the Governor of Bengal, and then, after her death during the birth of their son who was buried with her, Margaret Edmondston, daughter [Plate 11] of David Edmondston of Buness, Shetland and practised as Writer to the Signet[9] in Edinburgh. His son was Clement Patrick Samuel.
The family has a strong tradition of service to the community through the professions, stemming from the first Patrick Young. His son James was surgeon, burgess and Burgh Treasurer in 1608; James’s elder son (also James) was also surgeon and burgess, while the younger son John (who acquired the Broomrigg lands), was burgess and Notary Public[10] in Dumfries 1607–12, Clerk to the Commissioners of the Middle Shire in 1622, and Sheriff Clerk of Edinburgh in 1625. The second James’s brother, Patrick, was also a surgeon and burgess in the Dumfries area, with four sons, one of whom, likewise, was a surgeon locally.
The tradition of Army service began two generations later, with Captain Gilbert Young of the Scots Brigade; in the next generation Dr Samuel Young of Guilliehill and Broomrigg (1701–82), a qualified physician, attended Colonel Cawcolt’s regiment in Antigua and then returned to practise as surgeon, and to be admitted a burgess, in Dumfries 1753–64; his son-in-law was Captain William Denholm, whose regiment, 63rd West Suffolk, fought at the capture of Guadaloupe Grand-Terre in 1759 and was on active service in the West Indies till 1764; William’s son, Samuel Denholm-Young of Guilliehill and Broomrigg, was an officer in the 21st Fusiliers, and his son-in-law was Colonel John Hamilton Kennedy of Madras Native Infantry; Samuel’s son was Colonel Samuel Denholm-Young (1820–1910), who served 26 years with the Madras Army in India and the Far East where six of his nine children were born; and two of Samuel’s grandsons, Brigadier Eric Denholm-Young OBE DSO and Colonel Clement Patrick Denholm-Young OBE, [‘Patrick’] served in the 13th Frontier Force Rifles and the Royal Corps of Signals respectively, the latter seeing action as Commander of the Signals Unit of the 51st Highland Division in 1942 at the Battle of El Alamein.
Parents and Childhood
Ebenezer Denholm-Young (1857–1930), eldest son of Colonel Samuel Denholm-Young, was born at Chicacole,[11] the district (now known as Srikalulam) with a fort and cantonment (permanent military quarters) of British India, at the extreme north of the province of Andhra Pradesh, mid-way down the Indian Coast of the Bay of Bengal, in the year of the Indian Mutiny. Four years later his father retired from the Indian Army, returned to Scotland and built a house in Ayr. Ebenezer and his younger brother Archibald (1858–1942) attended Ayr Academy and then Glasgow University, where Ebenezer graduated B.A. He then went on to Edinburgh for an Ll.B., did his articles there in the offices of Mitchell and Baxter, and in 1887 was admitted to the Society of Writers to His Majesty’s Signet. His practice, based in handsome premises at 15 Rutland Street [Plate 14] in the heart of the capital for the rest of his professional life, specialised in Patent Law, that ancient branch[12] serving those petitioning for protection of their intellectual property in an invention. In 1894 his parents left Ayr and settled in Edinburgh where they bought 10 Morningside Place. The following year found Ebenezer, as a young bachelor, staying at Broomrigg as the guest of the tenants Mr and Mrs William Maxwell Maynard, for the fishing. He married, but his wife died in childbirth in approximately 1896, and so it was that Ebenezer, a deeply upright, good man of strong religious faith (for years an Elder of Morningside United Free Church), who, in his son’s words,[13] ‘never forced his faith upon us, but simply lived the life of a truly Christian gentleman’ came to parenthood late. In 1899 he married his second wife, Margaret Logie Hamilton Edmondston (1865–1936), daughter of Laurence Edmondston, laird of the Buness estate, Shetland, owned by his family since the 15th century. Ebenezer and Margaret were 46 and 38 respectively when Hilda Margaret was born in 1903; and 49 and 41 in 1906 when Clement Patrick Samuel arrived.
As an infant, Patrick showed most engaging signs of the interest in wheeled transport that would become a lifelong passion. [Plate 16]. And he records that his early memories of a childhood in Edinburgh just after the turn of the twentieth century were, characteristically, of cables, horses and vehicles. In his words: ‘Edinburgh was a noisy place, for the main thoroughfare carried the old cable tram cars. These ran somewhat bumpily on solid steel rails, but there was also a wide metal slot half way between, and through this you could see the heavy wire cable moving rapidly along on its rollers. It made the very devil of a noise, which only stopped when the machinery was closed down quite late at night after the last tram had reached the depot. Each car had its ‘gripper’ which the driver operated with a large wheel, exactly like a ship’s steering wheel, set in a pillar-box type of capstan on his platform at the front end. On his left were two tall brake levers, similar to those in old-fashioned railway signal boxes. The conductor would signal to the driver by pulling sharply on a stiff wire handle, for all the world like the key of a tin of sardines, just above his head on the rear platform. This action rang a bell above the driver, who turned his wheel in a forward direction. As he felt his gripper close on the moving underground cable, he would ease off the brake with his left hand. The tram would then lurch ahead gathering speed until it was travelling at the same speed as the cable. In cold weather, the driver would then stand there with his feet wide apart and fling his arms across his body, clapping his hands against his sides to keep warm, for there were no glass windscreens in those days. Many times those cables would stop for some reason, for the huge driving machinery at the depot was none too reliable. So the standing excuse for being late in Edinburgh then was “Sorry, but the cars stuck”.’
‘Taxis were all but unknown before the First War, and the horse-drawn cabs never patrolled the streets looking for fares but waited peacefully at the various cab ranks. The more important ranks had a small sentry-box office with a telephone number. Even then, you often had to wait while the horse finished his food, or the cabby his drink, and the harness was adjusted and the feed bag stowed away.’
16 Abbotsford Park, Morningside, [Plate 13] a comfortable, detached four-bedroomed family house with a big garden at the back, was an immensely secure environment for children. The interior was lit by ‘gas bracket lamps, with their fragile little mantles which so often broke when we had run out of spares and the shops were shut. When we went on holiday, it was to houses lit by these and the lovely soft golden light they gave. Outside, the street was lit at night by tall gas lamps, and we loved watching the lamp lighters hurrying along at dusk carrying their long poles, designed to pull the gas tap lever to the ‘on’ position, then ignite the mantle from the flaming torch also at the top of the pole. If any lamp refused to light first time, it was too bad, and was left unlit. These men were probably very poorly paid.’ The house also provided the first taste of a social life full of friends: ‘almost my earliest recollection is of standing in my nightgown, peering through the banisters and listening to gusts of laughter and talk being wafted up from our parents’ dinner parties which they gave fairly often.’
‘Next door lived a young man who owned one of the first motor cycles in that part of Edinburgh. One afternoon that summer Mr Davidson persuaded me (I was then six), much against my will, to sit astride the petrol tank in front of him while he took me for a short run down the Colinton Road. I was very frightened, not of the speed which seemed to me to be terrific, but of falling off and being hurt. There was nowhere to put my feet, and Mr Davidson wouldn’t let me place my hands on the handlebars. He said it interfered with his steering. So I was told to grab hold of the sides of the tank. Consequently, I was thrown off balance every time the machine deviated from a straight line. I was frightened and wished to heaven he would stop. So I was thankful when he eventually turned round and made for home, where I clambered off and ran into my house, without saying a word of thanks to him for his kindness. My mother immediately insisted that I did so, but I was so shaken by my experience that I could only shout ‘Thank you very much’ to an empty front garden, and then fled back home, leaving my mother to explain about my shyness.’
And there were wonderful Scottish holidays. Ebenezer always took a fortnight’s leave in the spring, and the family went to Lauder, in the lap of the Lammermuirs, deep in the Borders, followed by a month in August or September, at Dulnain Bridge on Speyside or in Ballater on Royal Deeside. ‘Ballater had everything for a young family. There was the fascinating railway journey, taking up the best part of a day; and a large village with the ever-present smell of Scottish scones being baked. There was the river Dee and two pine-clad hills and heavenly walks in every direction. For five of us, including our beloved ‘Kenny’, our governess, we paid something like a pound a week for ‘rooms with attendance’ and bought food which was cooked for us by the landlady. This paradise could also haunt children. Once, on the hills overlooking the village, my sister and I were chased by a number of frightened horses, and in my never-to-be-forgotten panic I fell and fractured my collar bone.’
‘Each year, as a great treat, we were taken for one long drive perched high on the sit-up-and-beg seats of a charabanc, usually pulled by four horses. The speed, the smell of the animals and the leather, were magic for children. When we came to steep hills on those dusty roads, all but the oldest passengers were asked to jump down and walk, to ease the load on the horses. There was no protection from the weather, so if it wasn’t a fine day, we didn’t go. Then in the summer of 1914 (when I was eight) our trip was in one of the new motor cars. The car’s body was like that of a taxi, and my father and I sat with our backs to the driver. My mother, sister and Kenny sat facing us. We had never travelled so fast, and our parents quickly became alarmed. My father slid aside the glass partition and asked the driver for ‘second speed, please’. On our many walks we always noticed that the few motor cars we saw were invariably followed behind by a white cloud of dust stirred up from the gritty roads as yet innocent of tar.[14] Often too we saw them standing at the side of the road while the driver mended a puncture. The motor car was the thing we all stood and looked at; and the garages kept big piles of petrol cans standing ready outside. Tanks were filled by tipping these into wide funnel fillers, for the petrol pump would not come on the scene for some years. There were not many makes of motor car on the roads before the First War, but I remember the Renault, the Benz, the Rolls Royce, the De Dion Bouton, the Panhard, the Austro-Daimler and the popular little Argyle.’
Another whisper from the future came at Ballater ‘on Sunday 4 August 1914 when, seated beside my mother in the front pew of the local church, I saw someone hand a sheet of paper up to the pulpit. The Minister paused to read it, then very slowly and solemnly said “I deeply regret to tell you that this country is now at war with Germany” adding “Let us pray”.’
A drama over Hilda’s health led, temporarily, to a second rural environment. ‘On returning to Edinburgh, where we began to see soldiers everywhere, and to become aware of rationing, my sister was struck down with double pneumonia. There was no penicillin then,[15] so our parents must have suffered agonies waiting through the long days for the crisis, after which she slowly began to recover. For her convalescence we moved out to a rented house in the village of Balerno, seven miles west of the capital. Here too Hilda and I went for long walks every day with Kenny. Once we came across a young lady with a Great Dane that suddenly dashed at us in a most alarming way. We were terrified and clung, shrieking, to Kenny, who was as frightened as we were, until ‘Toro’ finally left us alone. Ever since then I have been nervous of oversized dogs. In due course, my father decided that we should stay on at Balerno for the rest of the War, while he daily took the train[16] back into Edinburgh and his work. Quite often in the evenings we went to meet him at the station where horse-drawn dog carts would be waiting in the yard to meet other commuters. One man was met by his car. Life in Balerno was wonderfully rural and taught us an appreciation of the outdoor world which we never lost. During those summers we stayed outside playing with our friends until it was too dark to see, then went in and lay on the hearthrug before the fire to be read to from Coral Island or The Last of the Mohicans, The Dove in the Eagle’s Nest, Robinson Crusoe, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, Anne of Green Gables, or Mr Wytcherley’s Wards. Gradually, I found myself growing intrigued with Meccano, model railways and that fascinating magazine, The Model Engineer. Then there was a terrible rail accident not far away, at Ratho,[17] and I devoured all the gruesome details in the daily papers.’
‘One Saturday afternoon [in 1915], a small single-engined aeroplane with an open cockpit landed in a field close to the village, and everyone trooped out to have a closer look at this strange machine. The pilot and observer had in fact, come to call on some friends of our parents. When they climbed back in, I was impressed by their huge size as they towered above me in their furry flying suits. Amidst great excitement among the villagers, they took off, just managing to clear the trees, circled in a steep turn, and roared back across our field to wave a last goodbye. This was the first flying machine we had ever seen.’
‘In 1915, aged nine, I began to commute myself, to school, and thus learnt about the railway’s “tablet” system of signalling[18] which had always fascinated us. Another boy and I made friends with a guard we called ‘Andrew’ who used to let us wave his green flag to start the trains. Then we would wait till the guard’s van came along, sometimes at considerable speed, and we would jump on. We did the same thing on our bicycles, exchanging a home-made “tablet” at speed, and then hopping up on to the back step of each other’s bicycle, something we got very good at.’
George Watson’s College,[19] a fee-paying day-school on the Merchant School model, in Archibald Place, was only a tuppeny tram ride from Edinburgh Haymarket station, the stop beyond Slateford, and, after the family moved back from Balerno into the city, a short bus ride from Morningside. A few months after Patrick’s arrival, on the night of 2/3 April 1916, the German Zeppelin L14 dropped 24 bombs on the port of Leith and the city centre, a raid in which 11 people died and 24 were injured. The College was hit, and the damage, though not great, meant a glorious extension to the boys’ Easter holiday.
The curriculum included, besides the standard core subjects, French, Latin, drawing, woodwork and a healthy diet of games. In winter, this included rugger three afternoons a week (and in his last year, 1924–1925, Patrick would in fact Captain the GWC Lauriston House Rugger 1st XV), plus ‘matches on Saturday mornings - and in the afternoons, if we were not in the School 1st XV, we trooped down to watch the Watsonians XV wherever they happened to be playing or, on rare and wonderful occasions, to Inverleith and eventually Murrayfield to see an International. The standard of Scottish schools rugby was very high indeed as was that of the various Old Boy teams, so we were fortunate to be able to watch rugby of the highest class every Saturday of the season while at school, and GWC was Public Schools Rugby Champions for my last two years. In the summer it was either cricket or golf with a fair amount of tennis thrown in – and lots of practice on the grass tennis court beyond the orchard in his aunts’ garden at 10 Morningside Place. At 16 I was getting quite good at golf. My father was always a keen golfer and one of the oldest members of Mortonhall on the Braid Hills. He was a most skilful fisherman and I loved to watch him fishing a running stream where he invariably knew the best places to cast. It was he who taught me that the father of the pool would lie just at the tail of the ripple at its head, and that you would always find a good fish just before the water broke again at the bottom end. And nine times out of ten he was right.’
‘Through the decade of my schooldays, everyday life in a big city was changing subtly too.’ The scourge of the 1918–19 world wide Spanish ‘flu’ epidemic that killed more than the war had done was by far the most serious. But it was once again vehicles that the schoolboy noticed. ‘By 1920 those dear horse-drawn cabs had all but disappeared, to be replaced by evil-smelling taxis, belching blue smoke from their exhausts, and a few private cars. Most of the latter were open models, fitted with hoods. It was a tiresome business erecting these, especially in a high wind, and they never fitted well enough to exclude bitter draughts or quite a lot of rain water.’
‘Now 14, I was beginning to read the motor notes in The Scotsman and became interested in makes and models. The rich drove around in Hispano-Suizas, Bugattis or 3-litre Bentleys. For those with purses almost as deep, there were the Crossley, the Arrol-Johnson, the Siddley-Deasey and the Sizaire-Berwick. More commonly seen were the Angus-Sanderson, the Cubitt, the A.V. Monocar and the Morgan three-wheeler. In 1924 that canvas hood started to fall out of fashion and strange box bodies with glass windows made their appearance on the roads. The saloon had arrived. Motor bicycles were another fascination to schoolboys: we loved to watch the old Harley-Davidsons and Indians chuckle past on the dusty roads with their inevitable side-cars occupied by women and luggage. But the king of the road for us schoolboys was always the Brough Superior, the beautiful, silvery machine with its huge effortless engine and torpedo-shaped tank that would breeze along emitting its curiously individual exhaust note that made us all turn our heads. Around the same time, the old cable tramcars in Leith were the first in the city to be electrified, with the rest following in 1923.’
Music lessons had taught Patrick to love playing the piano, which he enjoyed best in the dark and alone, while his mother ‘would stand at the door, listening.’ And the cinema was another new enthusiasm. ‘The two old picture houses of my youth, at opposite ends of Princes’ Street, and small, dark affairs where the music was provided by a solitary pianist thumping away and possibly a violinist standing beside him, were joined by 1923 by the new super-palaces with names like the Ritz and the Plaza.’
‘My last year at school (September 1924 to June 1925) was hard going. An aunt of my mother’s[20] had recently died, leaving £2000 to each of her many nephews and nieces, a quite unexpected bonus which enabled my sister and I to finance ourselves through our professional training. Hilda chose medicine, while I decided to try for the Army Entrance Examination in June 1925.[21] Given that the family forbears had for the most part been soldiers, my parents were delighted. Watson’s College had not entered anyone for the regular army since 1918, and consequently I found that it did not offer some of the prescribed subjects. So all through the winter of 1924 and into the following spring, in addition to my normal work for the Higher Leaving Certificate, I studied under private tutors, most, but not all, of whom were masters at Watson’s. This meant staying up night after night reading far into the small hours, but the subjects interested me and it taught me how to organise my time.’ In due course he sat all the Higher papers and the Army Entrance Examination in June 1925. ‘I managed to pass everything, but it took a great deal out of me, mentally and physically.’
‘In addition, my father had set his heart on my winning the Mile in the School Sports of July 1925. In fact, I was far better at the 440 yards, but to please him, and I suppose for the pure hell of it, I did run in the Mile. But, generally exhausted by all the extra work, I came in nowhere and I know how dreadfully disappointed he was. Nevertheless, after half an hour’s rest, I did run a fine 440 yards. I was Captain of my House, Lauriston, and this gave my self-esteem a real boost, and I began to feel better.’
What Watson’s College had failed to check was the conditions of the Army Entrance Examination. Rather like the Oxbridge Entrance, it required candidates to have already passed the Higher Leaving Certificate (equivalent of the later ‘A’ Level) in the necessary subjects; and since the Higher results always came out later than those of the AEE, to sit both one had to take two years over it. However, Patrick must have realised this for himself, for he simultaneously decided to try for the only other means of entry, nomination to an Army Council Cadetship. He applied for an interview and got it. ‘This appointment at Burlington House, W1 was my first journey to London alone – and a marvellous adventure.’ This over, he went ‘to OTC Camp at Montrose, and then to join my family on holiday in Ballater. Then came the bombshell.’ The newspapers duly published the results of the Army Entrance Examination and, of course, without yet having passed his Highers, Patrick’s name wasn’t there. He would shortly learn that he had, in fact, passed all the necessary Highers, but for the purposes of the Army’s selection process for entry in September 1925, this was too late. ‘My whole world crashed in flames, and I went off on my bicycle alone into the hills to think. My father was terribly good about it and simply said: “Never mind. You’ll get a good Engineering Degree at the University.” Two days’ later I got my wonderful letter: the Army Council had nominated me to a Cadetship. I was to go to Woolwich after all. I had passed in 31st, on marks that would have taken me into Sandhurst in 6th place – but I had always preferred “The Shop”. That morning I went round Ballater golf course in 79.’
The Young Scot
The son whose relief Ebenezer was now so pleased to share had much of the typical Scots character – practical, inventive, forthright and highly organised – in his make-up. Such qualities had forged a highly organised nation, with its impressive banking, financial and legal sectors, its distinguished reputation in science and medicine, and its magnificent civic domestic architecture; and had given birth to many of the great modern inventions, particularly in the realm of transport – the first modern steam engine (1776), the first iron-clad steamship (1845), the tarmacadamed road (1816), the bicycle (1869), the pneumatic tyre (1846), the telephone (1876), the mackintosh (1824), the light bulb (1800), insulin (1922), general anaesthetics (1847) and the trans-Atlantic telegraph (1866). Penicillin (1928), television (1935) and radar (1937) would shortly follow. The Scot has in his blood the urge to see the world, and it was Scotsmen who discovered the source of the Blue Nile, reached the Arctic, identified the North West passage, and explored much of West and Central Africa. The Scots, too, are great soldiers. Patrick could grasp the essentials of any situation fast, approached problem-solving in an methodical and concise way, and acted with resource. And he loved travelling (especially when it involved staying in hotels). To this mix, Ebenezer and Margaret had also added the qualities of kindness, decency and a firm loyalty to them and their values and style and, when they chose the name ‘Clement’ for their son, something of that saint’s respect for the concepts of authority and duty.[22] The only duty that proved too much for him was the strict regime in childhood of heavy attendance at Church of Scotland services.
Family genes had laid down in the blood a driving desire for physical activity and fitness. A school with a fine tradition of team sports turned this into a passion for games, especially rugger, his father’s encouragement instilled a love of golf, and the Army brought hunting and polo – with the result that Patrick always set enormous store by fitness and all his life took large amounts of exercise. Likewise, the team spirit that was such an attractive feature of the sporting life led to an instinctive liking for the institutional, and a corresponding dislike of living alone.
The tone of Patrick’s early letters home is even and cheerful, an exterior which concealed an innate lack of self-confidence, a relentless need to prove his worth, and a tendency to drive himself too hard. The first may have stemmed from an emotionally remote father, whom he would never have dreamt of rejecting, and about whom he would not hear an unkind word, but whom he never knew well enough, and from being the younger sibling of an elder sister. The combination of this with an ‘all or nothing’ approach was to be the principal risk-factor of his life. Not good at half measures, he tended to throw himself into everything he did. Decades later, his wife famously maintained that ‘he had only two speeds – flat out and stop.’ An astonishing amount of personal drive [an Army doctor once said to him: ‘Denholm, where on earth do you get all this drive?!] led him to put himself through often gruelling regimes of work and endurance – with the inevitable payback, be it physical, in terms of stress symptoms, or emotional, in terms of the paradox that, for ever forcing himself onward, he was constantly tearing himself away from people and places that he loved. All his life he took his strong genes and superb physique (with the exception of his eyesight, which required spectacles from the age of eight) utterly for granted. There is some truth in the Scots’ famous reply to Dr Johnson’s definition of oats (‘a grain, which in England is generally given to horses, but in Scotland supports the people’) – ‘Yes, but what horses and what men!’ – but nevertheless this insouciance, coupled with his tendency [ignoring the family motto] not always to pause and consider enough before making big decisions, meant that he made some tough demands on them, most notably the assumption that he could cope with the climate factor in his two voluntary stretches of overseas service. In the event, through a 25 year career in the Army he suffered a movingly long list of accidents and serious illnesses: nasty blows, literally, that he took as part of the game and the deal, with very little complaint and no bitterness.
Part of a generation that was brought up on a boyhood reading of Buchan and Beau Geste, combined with a family tradition in the army, Patrick grew up with a romantic view of heroism and male valour, and an equally romantic view of women. ‘I was innocent in other senses, too. Just after my 19th birthday my sister wrote to me: ‘Our parents never told us many things you really ought to know. So here is a book.’ It was Men, Women and God by a man in holy orders. It was exceedingly well written, but its contents came to me as a great shock.’
He had inherited his affectionate nature and the Shetland ‘second sight’ from his mother, to whom he was particularly devoted; and from his father a tendency to anxiety (generally about money) that was to be another major factor in all his most important decisions. From somewhere, too, in spite of those two alarming childhood incidents, came a growing love of, and humane kindness to, animals. Rather poignantly, he lost his slight Scottish accent, that burr as sturdy as a Highland terrier, during his Army training, and never regained it.
Part of his charm lay in an individuality that could be terribly funny. Some of his expressions were priceless: he was inclined to ask for ‘the penny house’; when unwell, he felt ‘cheap’; when hot, he was in a ‘muck-sweat’ (stable language, of course); when complimenting his wife/daughters on their appearance, he would say they looked ‘very highly polished’; in later life he might be ‘going to my little box bed’ (probably an expression from deep childhood, perhaps used by his mother’s servants recruited from Shetland; in the far north, in farms and even quite large houses, sleepers were often protected from draughts by beds that were ‘boxed in’ literally with wooden panels, doors and curtains that drew’); and he was always deeply concerned about ‘the field mice’.
The Gentleman Cadet
Cadets who passed through the Royal Military Academy, Woolwich and the Royal Military College, Sandhurst in the years before the Second World War were generally the sons of military families – families who had long understood the nature of the contract between the serving soldier, prepared to lay down his life for King and Country, and the nation. Many of Patrick’s contemporaries at the R.M.A. in 1925–1926, and many of the friends he would make in the ensuing 25 years were, like him, the sons and grandsons of former officers – a background that served to redouble the concept of the ‘regimental family’.
Founded in 1741, the R.M.A., first housed in a converted workshop (hence its nickname ‘The Shop’) in the Royal Arsenal and then in its own fine Hawksmoor building [Plate 20], was the older and more senior of the British Army’s two training establishments. [It was to close in 1939 and its functions would be reincarnated when in 1947 the Royal Military College, Sandhurst became the Royal Military Academy, Sandhurst.] The R.M.A. motto, inscribed below its beautiful blue crest, was Ubique Sua Tela Tonanti – ‘To the Thunderer his Arms,’ now more commonly, ‘To the Warrior his Arms’. Both institutions offered their training to students, or cadets, very much in the manner of the public schools and universities – in return, in the case of the R.M.A., for fees of approximately £200 a year [equivalent to £10,200 in 2014] covering tuition and boarding, paid by the parents, who also met the cost of uniforms (of the same pattern as that worn by subaltern officers, but without badges of rank ― Plate 21), books and instruments. A bicycle (always, to Patrick, a ‘push-bike’), sent separately by carrier, was another essential item. Traditionally, the cadetship had lasted for two years, arranged as four terms, but in 1925 this became 18 months, arranged as three terms. ‘The Academy was a fully self-sufficient unit with its own hospital, small shops, stables, etc.’ Two expressions from the old R.M.A. have passed into the language. ‘Talking Shop’, meaning ‘to discuss subjects not understood by others’, and ‘Snooker’, the table-top game, was invented by a former cadet of the R.M.A., where the members of the junior intake were known as ‘snookers’, from a corruption of ‘les neux’ (the new boys). The Commandant of The Shop in 1924–1926 was Major General Ronald Charles,[23] an Engineer, and the 1925 intake was 53.[24]
The training was intensive and highly focused, with a major emphasis on physical fitness. ‘These long hours in the Riding School and on the Square learning the intricacies of Infantry Drill and Mounted Sword Drill, coupled with exercises in the huge Gymnasium, dangling from the wall bars or leaping on to a different kind of horse, the high vaulting horse, (both of which activities I loathed and was not good at), were only part of our curriculum. We had to attend a full programme of lectures, in the daytime and in the early evenings, after tea, on French, Mathematics, Tactics, Military History, Military Law and Military Engineering.’ Study was counterbalanced by masses of games – rugger in the two winter terms and cricket in the summer. Not long after his arrival, (while Hilda was riding at Picktree in Derbyshire [Plate 19] with her schoolfriends the Cooks[25]) for a few weeks of very heaven in 1925, Patrick played rugger in the Shop XV until a nasty tackle accident put him in hospital with a fractured lower jaw, and, to cope with the sharp disappointment of being off rugger, he took up bayonet fencing instead for the rest of that season.
The military academies in 1925 reflected the civilized standards of the upper classes. Meals at the R.M.A., always with grace before and after, were taken in the lofty dining hall, doubtless off china bearing the crest and motto, with cadets waited on by their room servants at all times except during afternoon tea (which last would be laid out, waiting, when they came in from exercise or classes, to help themselves and walk about, cup and saucer in one hand, sandwich in the other, chatting – in very much the same way that tea was then being taken in country houses up and down the land). An officer had to know how to acquit himself well in the drawing-room and on the dance floor. So cadets were expected to take part in general conversation at dinner, and to attend the weekly Friday evening dances held in the Gymnasium.
‘Our world then was a very limited affair. We lived for the Army and everything to do with it. We looked forward keenly to the day when we would get our Commissions. Many wanted to be Sappers,[26] but comparatively few qualified well enough in the final examinations. About the same number entered the – still young – Royal Corps of Signals. The rest, the majority, went into the Gunners. I chose Signals, a decision I never once regretted.’
The Professional Soldier : Peace
Patrick was commissioned on 27 January 1927 as a member of the Royal Corps of Signals and told to report to the Signal Training Centre, Catterick Camp, Richmond, Yorkshire, where he spent 18 months.
The Royal Corps of Signals – descendent of the 1870 Telegraph Troop and the 1908 Royal Engineers Signal Service which introduced despatch riders and wireless sets into the First War – had been formed in 1920 after Winston Churchill, Secretary of State for War, issued a Royal Warrant declaring that there should be a Corps of Signals within the British Army, as one of its combat support arms. Signals units are among the first into action, providing the battlefield communication and information systems essential to all military operations. The Corps has its own engineers, logistics expert and systems operators to run radio and area networks in the field. All wear a blue and white tactical recognition flash on the right arm and the cap badge featuring Mercury, the winged messenger of the gods known as ‘Jimmy’, a corruption of Giambologna or possibly after the boxer Jimmy Emblem, or both. Before World War 2 all Signals recruits were required to be at least 5 feet 2 inches tall. During World War 2 the Corps had over 150,000 members at any one time and servedin every theatre.
The esprit de corps, the regimental family, and the team work, meant that probably never again in his whole life did Patrick have so many friends, friends who endlessly stepped into the breach and helped each other out with everything from a bed for the night to a swapped posting. This was the network stretching from England to India to Nigeria to North Africa by which, through the next 25 years, he seldom walked into a Mess or a party without seeing someone he knew. The British Army between the wars was an enormous club, based on old standards and assumptions, somewhat similar to that other, grander network of the Colonial Administration, that old guard of the imperial ruling class abroad, a small and exclusive club of very senior and powerful men, akin to the Roman Praetors, who all knew each other. It had all sprung essentially from the same root, the traditional values of the English public school system: integrity and trustworthiness, playing the game, never letting your friends down, service to others.
This spirit is especially well expressed in the Signals Corps magazine, The Wire, of those years. Its upbeat, cheerful air and tone was that of a large family, a family that works and plays together and to which every member matters individually, plainly clear in the scrupulous attention to details of names and ranks and dates, in the photographs, and in the congratulatory reports of marriages and the birth of children. It has, too, a charmingly innocent humour – jokes, small cartoons, and the often hilarious nicknames. In later life, as his Army friends began to fall off their perches, Patrick was often heard to say from behind The Times at breakfast: ‘Oh dear. I’m so sorry. Splosher’s dead’ ― or similar, with some other priceless name.
In mid-1928, Patrick received his first posting, to join 3rd Divisional Signals at Bulford Camp on Salisbury Plain, to begin his first job as an Army officer. The following two years, in command of B Cable Section, in No 1 Company of the Signal Unit, were some of the happiest of his life. The Unit was congenial and the Gunners a hospitable crowd, and he rapidly made yet more new friends. Through the long days of two whole summers and autumns he led cable-laying exercises on the Plain, or helped solve Artillery problems with the gunners at Oakhampton, and spent the evenings ishing or taking part in athletics training, while winter meant masses of rugger and two splendid seasons of hunting. It was not all perfect, however: a nasty rugger accident in 1928, when he suffered a fractured jaw in a match against the Old Whitgiftians, took him home for two months’ sick leave, and a year later he was summoned back to Edinburgh where his father died on 27 February 1930.
Then, ready for the next stage in his career, Patrick applied for an overseas posting, was told in the late summer of 1930 he was being sent to India, and sailed for Bombay on SS Lancashire 10 January 1931.
The Early Letters:
Up to August 1931, these are handwritten with a fountain pen and Parker Quink blue-black or green ink on the various crested papers supplied by the R.M.A., the Royal Corps of Signals and other regiments with which he happened to be based. The Shop paper carries the smart dark blue crest and motto of the Royal Artillery: Ubique Sua Tella Tonanti ‘To the Warrior his Arms’; that of the Royal Signals Mess at Bulford bears the black Signals crest and motto: the crown, the figure of Hermes, and Certa Cito: ‘Sure and Swift’. The manuscript is stable and lucid, with almost no crossings-out, corrections, insertions or post-scripts, is fully punctuated, and occupies both sides of the paper.
T H E L E T T E R S
Series 1: 1925-31:
Woolwich: ‘The Gentleman Cadet’ 1925–1926
On Friday 4 September 1925, four days before his 19th birthday, Patrick entered The Royal Military Academy, Woolwich as Gentleman Cadet number 11795. Having travelled down from Edinburgh the previous day, he now took, from Charing Cross, the train that ‘rattled along following the River Thames into the heart of the East End, through Charlton and Woolwich Dockyard with its grim forest of ugly rooftops, and finally drew into Woolwich Arsenal. I got out and summoned up my courage and asked another bowler-hatted young man[27] if he would care to share a cab with me. Our horse-drawn cab grumbled along at a leisurely pace up the hill out of the bustling old town and towards the greenery of the wide Common, beside which stood the Royal Military Academy, affectionately known throughout the world of the fighting services as “The Shop”, a name that conjured up visions of well-equipped workshops in which future officers of the Royal Engineers (or “Sappers”), Royal Artillery (the firepower, or gunners) and Royal Signals obtained a substantial amount of their elementary technical training. Our cabby turned in through the great wrought-iron gates and bowled us along at a swift trot towards the tall, fortress-like building in the centre of the front parade ground.’
1. To Margaret Denholm-Young
Thursday 8 A.M. [?10 September 1925] Woolwich
Dear Mother
I haven’t got much time just now, but I received the gown and racquet & reviver[28] all right. Thanks very much. No questions are asked here as to pocket money; at least not so far. But we are limited to 10/-. It does not matter if it is paid weekly or fortnightly. I suggested[29] a 10/- note a week, but it really does not matter much.
We get up here at 6.30 AM. and start work at 8.30. There is plenty to do and it is always interesting. We had a company game of rugger on Monday and I must have done all right, for I am up in good position for another game. The “Shop” games don’t start till Friday. We get as much as we can eat here and it is well cooked, also our servants clean our stuff all but the rifles. The uniforms are arriving by degrees, but it will be a fortnight before they are complete. I’ll write to Daddy whenever I have time but I have not much to-day. Our half-days are Wednesdays and Saturdays. I won’t get week end leave for a few weeks yet, but when it comes we can get out from Saturday at 1 o’clock till Sunday at about 10 P.M. The officers are a very nice lot, and the M.O. (medical) is going to have Collingwood[30] & myself to tea on Sunday. He knows his family. We have all had a chat with the General and he is quite genial, especially when he heard I had passed in on merit, and not only on nomination. The Presbyterian Church minister is going to ask us to tea, as there are only 5 of us so far.
But I must stop now.
Love from your affectionate
Pat
P.S. Love to Pussy, there are plenty dogs here.
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‘In 1925 there were Friday night “Snooker Dances” when all years (or “Terms”) trooped up to the Gymnasium after dinner to dance to the strains of the Royal Artillery String Band. There were no girls available, so we just had to dance with each other. But the occasion served its purpose, for it sorted out those who could dance from those who couldn’t; and those who couldn’t were advised to do something about it. For there was a good deal of old-fashioned social life about an officer’s career in those days, and an ability to dance well was a distinct asset. The Senior Term and the Second Term were all dressed up in their blue patrol jackets and tight overalls with a thick red stripe down each outside leg. The Snookers had to turn up in gym vest and shorts, and carrying their locker keys. After each dance, as soon as the music had stopped, all the Second Term were expected to sit on the benches round the walls, leaving the floor clear for the Seniors to do as they pleased – with the Snookers. Between every dance some horrible form of devilry was devised, largely as a test of each Snooker’s courage, but also to provide amusement for their tormentors. There was a high wide shelf more than ten feet above the gymnasium floor, and Snookers had to climb up on to this, remove their gym shoes and throw them into a heap in the middle of the floor. Then when the Seniors shouted "Jump!” they had to jump – from ten feet up, on to hard boards, in just their socks. Not at all pleasant. Another mild form of torture was to make the Snookers kneel in a long row at one end, then place their locker keys on the floor in front of them, and on the command “Go”, bend forward, hands clasped behind their backs, and propel said keys the full length of the Gym by their noses, to the accompaniment of cat-calls and howls of delight from the Seniors. Much blood was spilt on that floor during those Friday evenings.’
‘And we had plenty of games, rugger in the two winter terms and cricket after Easter. In my very first week I played rugger in a trial game in which the captain of the Shop XV happened to be playing on the opposing side. K. M. Wright[31](soon to become a Scottish Rugger International) told me the next evening that I was to play for the Shop the following Saturday, and for the next few weeks I was in the very seventh heaven, for the First XV had grand fixtures with several first-class London clubs.’
2. To Ebenezer Denholm-Young
12 September 1925 Woolwich
Dear Daddy,
I am just writing this before tea which is in ten minutes. I have just had my first swimming lesson and the instructor says I won’t take long to learn. Last night we had a “Snookers’ Dance” (the new men are called Snookers), and we have one each Friday. We have to appear in gym costume and must dance all dances. During the intervals we have to roll in pairs across the floor, which skins your arms, and also we have to push our keys across the floor with our noses for the edification of our elders and betters. To finish up we have to climb a 12 foot shelf, throw our shoes off and jump off. Then we find our shoes if possible, and proceed to grope our way out down a dark flight of stairs jammed with chairs and planks. Coming out at the foot we get a few pails of water thrown at us and then we run to our houses, stopping at intervals to sing songs or tell stories by request. The officers enjoy looking on, and I really enjoyed it, but some of the smaller chaps got rather knocked about.
There have been three rugger games so far; all practices. Two have been Company ones, and one “Shop” one. The Company games correspond to School House games, and the “Shop” games are like School games, only more so. I must have done all right in the Company games to have been picked for a “Shop” practice. We don’t start fixtures for about a week yet so cricket finishes to-day.
The officers are very nice here, especially the Padre, and all the work is congenial.
We are allowed to use the workshops here any time, and are encouraged to make anything we can from a trouser press to a gramophone. I want to make a cabinet for my wireless set and I think I’ll ask Stewart Brown[32] to come in and dismount[33] one or two things I should require. We are given the wood very cheaply. I’ll write to Stewart and tell him what I want him to do.
We are very comfortable and enjoying life. But I must go to tea.
How do you like the writing paper? It is also supplied to us very cheaply.
Love from your affectionate
Pat
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‘Those early days were hectic. We would awake to the sound of terrific metallic crashes in the passage, then our door would burst open to admit a huge burly man wearing a grubby apron – “Morning, gentlemen! Arf past six, Sir! Time to get up, Sir!” and he would dump our metal hot water jugs on the bare floor boards beside the two wash basins and go off to fetch our belts, boots and jackets. In those days there was no such thing as Battledress. We wore barathea jackets, whipcord riding breeches, boots and puttees and a service cap. Old Proby, as he was called, an ex-Sergeant-Major in the Gunners, invariably slept in himself, so “Arf past six, Sir” meant about ten to seven. And we had to be on parade before 7.15. A fraction of a minute late and the penalty was a couple of extra drills which meant getting up even earlier the following morning and doing either Fatigues (digging wet clay for a new hockey ground) or Infantry Drill for half an hour. Which left 15 minutes to wash and change again for Breakfast Parade at 7.15. when the roll was called before chapel and breakfast. We rapidly became adept at the quick-change routine. Meanwhile, I invested in a cheap alarm clock.’
‘Meals, always with grace before and after, were taken in the lofty dining hall, with rows of tables up each side seating ten cadets each. Down the centre were trestle tables with hot plates and crockery where the actual serving was done. Our room servants waited on us at all meals except afternoon tea, and the whole place was presided over by a stoutish man with a heavy Victorian moustache and the vocabulary of a Newhaven fishwife. Rumour had it that “Venus” (I never knew his real name) was also doing a roaring trade as a bookie. The food was pretty good with plenty of carbohydrate and enormous helpings, essential for young men at the age when they just can’t get enough to eat.’
‘After breakfast we were free till the first Works Parade at 8.45. The rest of the day, during our first six weeks, was spent doing Infantry Drill on the Square, physical training in the gymnasium, or learning to ride under Horse-Gunner Sergeant-Instructors. Each year’s intake was divided into approximately six teams, or “rides”, of eight or ten cadets, and on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays we would be seen cycling out through the main gates in short crocodiles and pedaling away down the hill towards the Artillery Depot indoor riding schools. Our Sergeant Instructors were exceedingly good teachers – and merciless. Some months into the course, while we were learning to take somewhat higher fences than usual, Sergeant Rourke set each corner fence at an angle and announced: “Any gentleman not been off yet? The others, dismount!” I was one of the few who hadn’t yet fallen that morning. So round we went once more, taking these corner fences, while the Sergeant stood with his long whip flicking at each horse to encourage him to fling his heels in the air and unseat us. It worked, and I took a heavy fall. But there was sound common sense in this, for it taught us how to fall. And gradually, I became better and better on the back of a horse, and equally gradually I started to lose my fear of the beautiful and brave animals.’
3. To Margaret Denholm-Young
13 October 1925 Woolwich
Dear Mother
This is the first good opportunity I have had to write, so you can tell how full up we are. Absolutely at it from morning till night. They either make or mar us here, but very few are marred. Yesterday I started a voluntary course of bayonet fighting and in a month I shall transfer to foils or sabres for fencing.
We had to sign our monthly accounts, and mine was unavoidably large. £5∙∙6/-3d, but it was a lot of initial expenses, as I had to get three football jerseys (one white, two R.M.A.) two pairs of “colours” stockings, one secondhand hockey stick, but I paid for this; I got it for 3/-; ½ dozen hard collars because we are not allowed to wear soft ones except when on leave or in uniform; trees for my wellington boots and apparatus which is absolutely necessary for putting them on. All this uniform expense is for uniform which will do me after I leave here. Having to wear spotlessly clean collars and shirts before we got our uniform unfortunately raised our laundry bill. I have not got anything, by order form, which was not absolutely necessary. But next month’s account cannot be nearly so much because all initial expenses will have been paid. I have, however, to get three or four white shirts with stiff cuffs for mess kit. Shall I order three here and get 1 or 2 of my own from home? Or should I get 4 here?
As for Rugger, they have got to give a trial to about 50 men before the Sandhurst match, and I was the first to be tried, so last Saturday I was playing for the A XV v St Paul’s School. The Shop team will not be fixed for about a month yet, and no one can tell who will be in it. I have played in two representative games and am regular for the company, and this is as much as any Snooker could hope for.
I heard from Daddy about the Chapel fund. I suppose the 7/6d will just be put on to the bill each term. When I was with Aunt Elsie[34] last Saturday night, who should walk in but Don McFadyean.[35] Aunt Elsie asked him to tea on Sunday so we had a fine afternoon. Also I have now got the guitar.
We have an informal bible class meeting in the Padre’s house each Thursday evening, and he is very good indeed. Only about ten of the men go, but we all enjoy it. The rest call us the “devil dodgers”
I am permanently settled on a horse called Raff; he was given to me because he is quiet and I am not very good at sticking on, but today I suddenly found out how to sit, so I think it will be all right in future.
The McFadyeans are going to have me some weekend, probably next.
I enclose my Saturday’s correspondence from J. C. Smith.[36] I am sending some photos as soon as I find an envelope for them.
Ever your affectionate
Pat
P.S. 14 October 1925
I put this in a note book and forgot it till today. We had a good game against the R.A. today and the Shop won by 35 to 12.
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Patrick’s “seventh heaven” of rugger was, alas, short-lived, but since no letters about this survive, one cannot tell whether or not he told his parents. It is possible that he didn’t: Margaret was a worrier, and on many future occasions he would hold back news that he knew could upset her.
‘Then we played the Old Whitgiftians at Croydon, and my luck came to an abrupt end. We kicked off and their full-back fielded the ball. I could run pretty fast, and I went for him from the front, but, by the merest fraction of a second, I didn’t get in my tackle in time. He got in his kick and his boot must have caught me slap in the mouth, for I woke up in the dressing-room and was taken back to the Shop Hospital at once by car. My mouth felt appallingly painful and the M.O., Colonel Coates of the R.A.M.C.,[37]made speedy arrangements for me to be X-rayed at the Herbert Hospital, Shooters Hill. Here they found I had fractured my lower jaw but in a rather odd way, in that four teeth had hinged backwards on a slaver of bone, just like opening a door. So once more I was hustled away by ambulance, this time to a dentist in Blackheath who must have spent at least two hours pressing the teeth back into position and then fitting a silver bridge. Mercifully, he used the best available anaesthetic, but even this didn’t save me from awful pain. And I played no more rugger that term – and so missed my chance of a First XV Cap, only awarded to those who actually took part in the match against Sandhurst at Twickenham. The disappointment was hard. I did, however, take up bayonet fencing, on account of the heavy leather helmet with its strong steel-mesh face guard. I enjoyed this because it involved quite a lot of skill and was extremely good exercise – the equivalent of several tough games of squash racquets, which I also played.’
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In December he used the formal R.M.A. Christmas card. Perhaps he pre-signed a batch, and then sent one to his parents, thinking they might like to see it.
4. To ?Ebenezer and Margaret Denholm-Young
Christmas 1925 Woolwich
Official Christmas card, bearing the R.M.A. crest, and containing a b/w photograph of ‘Royal Military Academy, Woolwich, from the Air 1907’
[signed] ‘From C. P. S. Denholm-Young’
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‘The cost of living was low. Pocket-money was not supposed to exceed ten shillings a week, and the only real expense was travel for the occasional week-ends with friends. For this we had to provide a list of friends approved by our parents and when making application for a Week-end Pass we had to file a letter of invitation from someone on that list.’
‘In my second term, I persuaded my parents to let me have a second-hand New Imperial motor-bicycle, and I used this to go to spend week-ends with friends, such as the family in Croydon of a great school friend[38] who was then reading civil engineering at London University. One of these I would never forget. I had just left his house and was turning right at the end of his road when a Morris Cowley open two-seater swept up and rammed me broadside with a sickening crash. I later discovered that his starting handle had caught my right foot between it and my engine cylinder and had knocked the latter right out of the frame, taking a scoop out of the top of my foot in the process. They left me lying on the road while they backed this car off me and my wrecked motor bike. Then I was attended to by a couple of ambulance men, and taken to the local hospital. Strangely enough, I hadn’t broken any bones, but my lacerated foot went septic and languished for more than three painful weeks in the Shop Hospital and walked with a limp for some time longer. And from that day forward my hair on the top of my head never grew again, and within two years I was partially bald.’[39]
This episode assumes a strange premonitory air in the light of what happened shortly afterwards. On the morning of 8 March 1926 in a tragic motor cycle accident near Durham, Hilda’s fiancé, the 23-year-old Dr Stewart Hendrie, was killed, on his way to answer an urgent call for medical assistance, in a collision with a coal lorry. He had been qualified for less than a year, having, as a gifted student and BMA prize winner, obtained his M.B. Ch.B. at Edinburgh the previous summer and begun work in General Practice; and it was this death that prompted Hilda to switch her own undergraduate course (from perhaps a general?) and embark on the medical degree the following October.
‘However, I did manage to get fit again in time for the all-important winter rugger season. In the Services, before the War, either you played games or you didn’t. If you did and were a “good fellow” to boot, you were respected by all. If you didn’t, then you had to excel at something else, or you became a nonentity, respected by no one. I know this, because, while I was not especially bright academically, my instructors and senior officers in later days were all invariably helpful in the serious side of my professional career – for I played many times for the Shop 1st XV and afterwards for my Corps XV which I captained for more than two years, and I could also run a fair quarter mile. Looking back, I am quite certain now that all this had got a bit out of focus in those days. Games, especially the dangerous ones like boxing or polo,[40] were and are a good pointer to character, and they kept us wonderfully fit, but a little more concentration on the study of our profession would have paid good dividends in the years that followed. Similarly, our senior officers had only recently emerged from the Great War and did not appear to believe there would be another for a long time to come: the serious teaching of the next generation to face war again soon, and a different kind of war, was not an urgent priority.’
The following Spring, Patrick would doubtless have seen a notice that appeared in The Scotsman on 24 April. Since 1838 the Broomrigg estate had been owned by the Trustees of John Airston, entailed to his son resident in Toronto, and let to tenants. In 1925 the entail was broken and the property was offered for sale:
‘Dumfriesshire Broomrig Estate FOR SALE by Public Roup, within the County Hotel, Dumfries, on Wednesday, 12th May 1926 at 12 Noon. The RESIDENTIAL ESTATE of BROOMRIG, situated on the Banks of the River Nith, one mile from Holywood Station and four miles from Dumfries Station. The Estate extends to 643 Acres or thereby. The Mansion House contains Hall, Lounge, Diningroom, Drawingroom, Smokingroom, Gunroom, Six Bedrooms, Dressingroom, Bathroom, Kitchen, and Ample Service Accommodation. The Estate also comprises the Three Excellent Farms of Guillyhill, Over-Broomrigg and Hardlawbank, as also some Woodlands. Total Rental £789. Upset Price £15,750....’
It was eventually bought outright, in 1932, by the McMicking family,[41] tenants there since c. 1912.
‘In my time at the Shop, there were a number of coloured cadets from different parts of the world. Some were excellent young men who fell in with our life and did very well. However, I cannot recall any of them ever playing rugger, or managing to overcome their natural nervousness on the back of a horse. We thought they were afraid. We never paused to think that, perhaps, they had an entirely different brand of courage to ours – as indeed they had. After all, they were in a strange land, speaking a foreign language, wearing unfamiliar and uncomfortable dress and encountering all the difficulties which we ourselves had to contend with. Yet, when they looked uneasy when putting a horse at a high fence, we were inclined to laugh. To our shame, I am afraid we didn’t make much attempt to understand them. On the other hand, our allegiance was to the Army, and our code was such that we managed to live peaceably enough with these cadets from other lands, all quite different from ours. We did not attempt to make close friends with them, but we entirely accepted their presence, and most of us did what we could to help them acquire the knowledge which they had come so far to seek. I have often felt, since, that our instructors could have done much more to help the coloured cadets if they had told us all to befriend these visitors who were every bit as much our brothers as the man next door. This too was all part of the generally somewhat static outlook of the senior and teaching staff in the mid-1920s when few seemed to care. They’d had their War.’
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‘The following Gentlemen Cadets of the Third Class have qualified at the passing out examination, held in December, for appointment to commissions in the Regular Army. The names are given in order of merit:– … 44. C.P.S. Denholm-Young, R.C.S.’
(The Scotsman 21 January 1927 p. 10)
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1927-28 Catterick: The Young Officer
‘The under-mentioned Gentlemen Cadets from the Royal Military Academy to be 2nd Lts, 29 January 1927:
Royal Corps of Signals …. C. P. S. Denholm-Young.’
(London Gazette 1 February 1927, Issue 33244, p. 651)
Having been assigned a unique, lifelong Army Number, 37063, on ‘29 January 1927 I was commissioned into the Royal Corps of Signals and ordered to report to the Signal Training Centre at Catterick Camp, Yorkshire – with another 11 from the Shop – to take the 18 month Qualifying Course, after which, as fully trained subalterns, we would be posted to active units at home and abroad to begin our careers.’
‘We had been told to travel to Richmond by rail, so I left my beloved motor-bike in a Darlington garage, for collection later, and caught the train. A large Army lorry met us and took us the three miles to Camp. This great camp, a collection of brick and wooden huts, dated back to the Great War. There were the usual Infantry and Artillery Regiments, together with units of the Service, Ordnance and Tank Corps and others, but far the largest component was the Signals Training Centre at the southern side. The Centre consisted of an HQ (which we dubbed “The Kremlin”) up on the slopes of Druggon Hill, a Depot Battalion and a Training Battalion. The School of Signals ran courses for regimental signalling instructors in many branches of the Army and qualifying or Q courses for the Corps’s own young officers [or “YOs”]. Our Q course was No. 15.’
‘It was dark when we drew up outside a couple of wooden huts, divided into small single rooms with a large workroom at one end for our batmen and a couple of bathrooms and a lavatory at the other. Hot and cold water came in large jugs, if your batman responded to your shout; if he wasn’t there, you fetched it yourself Each room had an iron bed, a washstand and chest of drawers, a small wardrobe and writing table. There were no carpets, rugs or curtains: there never were: every officer had to carry his floor covering and curtains about with him to each posting.’
‘We bathed, changed into lounge suits, and went down to the HQ Mess for the late supper laid on for us. We were all rather quiet as we sat there in that huge room with the two long tables capable of seating 120 officers. The walls were hung with a few oil paintings of battle scenes, including the famous Signals picture ‘Through’ by Francis Martin (1915) and a portrait of Lieut-General Sir John Fowler, one of the ‘fathers’ of our as yet young Corps. This Mess, used by all unmarried officers, was a not-unattractive three-storey building with gardens laid out in front. The dining-room and ante-rooms, billiard-room and kitchens were on the ground floor, with two floors of single rooms above, each with a sitting room, usually reserved for the permanent staff and one or two of the more senior Y.O.s.’
‘The first month was spent on the square, under the eagle eye of the Regimental Sergeant Major of the Depot Battalion, Paddy Nolan, a very pleasant Irishman whom I got to know well in later years.[42] Why this was necessary, we never understood. We had just completed 18 months at the Shop where the standard of drill must have been second only to that at RMC Sandhurst. I suppose it had happened to the colonels and adjutants of our day when they had been young subalterns, and they didn’t see why we shouldn’t do the same. But it was ‘organised waste of time’ as we called it: we were extremely good at infantry drill and we knew it.’
‘Before we could start the Q course proper, we had to attend three-months of training for Regimental Signalling Instructors at the School of Signals. This was splendid for we worked beside officers from many other branches of the Army and so made new friends. We had to master the Morse code and semaphore and become skilled in the use of field telephones and small exchanges and the wireless sets of the day. It was early September and we kicked off with nearly four weeks of learning the art of laying field telephone cables across country. The weather was heavenly and it was all tremendous fun. Cable wagons had not altered since 1918 and looked from a distance for all the world like a field gun and limber (or shaft), drawn by a four horse team. The great heavy steel and wood drums holding the many-stranded, rubber-clad D.8 field cables were set on spindles. Field cables had to be laid safely, and the wagon teams always halted when it became necessary to build a safe crossing over a side road or other obstacle. During our course we would lay our cable out from Catterick in the mornings, and across the high moors to the south where there was an official training area. There we would test our lines for speech, and when our instructor was satisfied, we would drop the last empty drum off the wagon and trot off to the nearest village in search of a pub. Here we would see to it that the drivers watered and fed their horses after first slacking the girths and removing the bits from their mouths. After sweating through a long morning on Barden Moor on the back of a skittish horse while doing my best to see that our cable was well and truly laid and clear of the roadway, a pint of bitter was sheer nectar.’
‘We were tremendously fit during that wonderful cable-laying course, and after we got back to the camp in the late afternoons, we would change, have tea in the Mess and then shove off on our motor-bikes into Richmond or Darlington, either to shop or just for the ride, returning in time for a bath and change again for dinner at 8. Six nights a week we dined together, in stiff boiled shirts, blue patrol overalls, wellington boots and spurs and a short, scarlet ‘Eton’ jacket with black collar and silver RCS lapel badge. Then on Sundays we were allowed to come into supper in a dinner jacket or blue patrol uniform[43] with high, stiff collar – practical and less expensive, but nowhere near as nice as our red Mess Kit. We could be absent from Mess dinners once each week, but not more, and a strict watch was kept to see that we obeyed this rule – a good one, since it encouraged us to dine together and practice the gentle art of conversation. Every Thursday there was a Guest Night. The great, long tables glittered with silver trophies, and the scarlet Mess jackets and white, starched shirts stood out in marked contrast to the wine-coloured curtains covering the tall windows and the white tablecloths. Outside in the hall, the Corps Band played throughout dinner, which usually lasted a couple of hours and often much longer and nobody was allowed to leave until after the port decanters had been round twice, the signal for each round being the tinkling of a little silver bell by the President for that week. After the first round, he would call for silence with the “knock, knock” of a small ebony hammer, then rise to his feet in that great, hushed room and say in a loud voice: ‘Mr Vice ― The King!’ Some nervous subaltern at the far end of the second table would rise and stammer: “Gentlemen ― The King!” and everyone would rise, raise their glasses, and murmur: ‘The King’ while a few old Majors would exercise their “Field Officer’s Privilege” and add “God Bless Him!” Then we all sat down and reached out for an apple, or an orange or perhaps some nuts. Coffee followed, and for those who ordered them, liqueurs ― and we would smoke and chat eternally about horses and hunting or motor bikes and cars or perhaps the prospect of serving overseas in the near future. We never spoke of politics or religion or women by name ― taboo at dinner before the Second War. After dinner, things often got somewhat rowdy, for we would play games like ‘Are you there, Moriarty?’ and there were rugger scrums in the middle of the Ante-room floor. Uniforms got torn and occasionally trousers were forcibly removed. On the whole it was all taken in good part and it didn’t do anybody much harm. On the contrary, it taught some of us to keep our tempers under trying conditions.’
‘Armed with our pass certificates, we finally began the Q course itself, with lectures in electricity and magnetism, wireless, instruments, and organisation and administration etc. It was a full routine of study, but there was much else to interest us also. Our Army pay was £3.12.4d a week and few of us had more than £50 a year of our own in addition, but we managed to have a pretty good time even so. We played the usual games and the STC Rugger XV had many excellent fixtures. One of our best was at Ampleforth, where they brought us beer in our baths afterwards too! In summer there were athletics and cricket, local fishing for those who had transport, and golf at the Dinsdale Club, near Darlington.’
‘Most of us arrived with motor bikes, but by the time we left nearly all of us had graduated to cars. The Subaltern’s car in 1928 was a second-hand Citroen, Humber, Morris-Cowley, Standard or Jowett, costing about £25 and we loved to drive around in our ramshackle vehicles, far more interested in the ride than in what we were going to do at the other end. I had an oil-cooled Belsize-Bradshaw which we all referred to as “Chug”. It cost £30 and gave me endless fun. Alas, in the end somebody blew him up on an airfield! Then in my last month at Catterick I bought a second-hand old two-seater Talbot which I called ‘Benjamin’ [Plate 23] and which was quite capable of doing sixty, if treated gently. Indoors, we took to building our own wireless sets, on which we listened to dance music or comedians such as Stanley Holloway, almost never the News or anything serious. The gramophone[44] was an abiding joy. You could buy a very good HMV portable for £7 and records were cheap.’
‘We saw little of the senior officers, between whom and the Y.O.s there was a gulf: captains and majors and colonels were beings we seldom spoke to, and rarely got to know, because discipline was strict and we young subalterns tended to remain in the herd, keeping to our own groups and our own pursuits.’
‘All too soon, our Q course ended, with all of us in 15Q passing the exams, and then came the best part of those 18 months at Catterick ― the riding course. This was six weeks of sheer delight and involved riding in the indoor school and out on the North Yorkshire moors. We groomed our horses and were even taught, in the blacksmith’s shop, how to shoe them. My chestnut was a hunter called Mustard and I loved him dearly. He was a grand horse with a Roman nose and the heart of a lion. What’s more, he had a real sense of humour. He and I got on famously and I never once had a fall. It was now that I lost all my early fear of horses and came to love them.’
5. To Hilda Denholm-Young
Christmas 1927 Catterick
Official Christmas card, bearing the Royal Corps of Signals crest, and colours (dark green and white) and containing a b/w photograph of ‘Mercury: The Statue in the Headquarters Mess, after the original by Giovanni da Bogogna’
[signed] ‘Pat … Catterick Camp 1927’
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‘In due course, all this ended and our postings went up on the board. Mine was to join the 3rd Divisional Signals at Bulford Camp on Salisbury Plain. On that last morning we all had breakfast together, then one by one we slipped away for a spell of leave. I climbed into Benjamin and headed for Edinburgh and home.’
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1928-30 Bulford
‘On a Saturday, two weeks later I reported to Aldershot where all of us late of 15Q were to attend a two month Motor Transport course in the driving, care and maintenance of “mechanically propelled vehicles” – army lorries. We were expected to find our own accommodation. It was also Tattoo[45] Week, so there wasn’t a dog-kennel for miles around that hadn’t at least six dogs in it. All the hotels were full. The Club was full. Our own Corps Officers’ Messes were full. In the end, after boxing and coxing for a few days, a friend and I put up at the Queen Hotel where we were magnificently looked after by Harry Birch and his sister, who were kindness itself, for the whole two months.’
6. To Margaret Denholm-Young
12 August 1928 Queen Hotel, Aldershot
Dearest Mother
I fear I have been rather busy to write the last few days. You’ll be glad to hear that my allowances have at last been paid in and relieved the financial strain. I propose to send you £10 on Sept. 1st to finally clear off what remains of the £33 I once had. I think that will do that lot won’t it? Tell me if I am wrong.
I change my address on Saturday to
“ R. E. Mess
Bulford Camp
Wilts ”
I am to take over a cable section and will, at last, have my very own men to look after. Thank heaven! I believe I shall also have to assume the duties of “Sports Officer”, but I don’t quite know yet, so don’t say anything.
I shall be on Brigade Training for a week or two, and then on Divisional Manoeuvres.[46] After that, any time after October 15th or so, I hope to grab some leave. I may not take it till nearer Christmas so as to get more at once.
Please look in the “Scotsman” for the last few days, and see if there is a Death of a Mr McFadyean in Purley London. You know Don McFadyean. Well, his father, an engineer, is home from Africa suffering from dysentery, or something; and is in a home. He is to be operated on. I went across to Purley yesterday to ask for him, and found all the blinds down so I did not go in. It was a very sunny day, but just in case of accidents, you might wire me if anything has happened. If nothing, don’t wire, and I’ll take it as all O.K. You see, I’ll have to write if so, and I don’t like to go and ask at the house. I’ll watch the papers for a day or so. Don is through a BSc. Did Stewart[47] get through? I expect so.
I am reading “Hunting Tower”, by J. Buchan; it is rather one of his better ones.
I spent this afternoon at the R.M.C. Sandhurst. It is a huge place in lovely grounds, but much more flashy than the Shop.
I shall be here till Saturday morning.
Much love
Ever your affectionate
Pat
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‘The M.T. Course was a bore. We were all accustomed to stripping down our motor bikes and cars and were already pretty competent with internal combustion engines, so we didn’t much like it when, at our opening lecture, we were solemnly informed that “A car is steered by means of a steering-wheel situated in front of the driver”. It could have been worse, but it was more ‘organised waste of time, of which there was too much in those days. To begin with we drove a good deal in one of the then new Morris 6-wheelers and usually out on the obstacle runs on Laffan’s Plain. Then we got down to work in the workshops, stripping down lorry engines to the bare parts. They didn’t work us in the afternoons and, since we couldn’t afford to do much with the leisure, time hung heavily.’
‘Half way through the course my poor Benjamin died on me and so I reverted to a motor bike. At the end of the M.T. course it was glorious to speed away from Aldershot and out on to the Basingstoke/Andover road. At the top of Beacon Hill I paused to look at the view: to the south in the middle distance stood the lovely spire of Salisbury Cathedral, while over to the right, lay the green sea of Salisbury Plain, with trees like islands here and there, and, on the edge of this, the sprawling huts of Bulford Camp.’
‘There was no Signals Officers Mess, so our unit, the 3rd Divisional Signals, were sharing with the Sappers and it was a happy union, for we all made friends easily. Our Signal Unit comprised an HQ and three Companies. These sections were as yet still on their flat feet, save for their officer’s charger and his groom, plus one small wagon. For the Army was then in the transition stage from horse transport to mechanical vehicles. Many still regarded the horse as irreplaceable, but it wasn’t quite so. There was already an experimental Armoured Fighting Vehicle Force only three miles away at Tidworth Camp to which a friend of mine had been posted, and he invited me over to see his small command. It opened my eyes. It was modern. The horses were going to be left a long way behind, and soon.’
7. To Margaret Denholm-Young
18 August 1928 Bulford
Dearest Mother,
I have just got settled in here, and it is not at all a bad spot. After Catterick it appears very small, as there are only about 15 of us here. I have got a cable section, and start work on Monday. The leave season starts in October, so I’ll get some leave between October and the New Year.
I saw the Bloores[48] yesterday; they are all very well. Alfred and David are still in the Isle of Wight; and Daisy has bought a gramophone.
Mr MacFadyean is all right; the blinds were down because of the sun. Donald has got a job in Cheshire, near Liverpool, and is there now.
That’s all now,
Much love
Ever your affectionate
Pat
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‘On my first morning I reported to my O.C. Company, to find a tall, charming, very good-looking if middle-aged Captain with a long row of War ribbons and a pleasant smile. He shook hands: “You are to take over ‘B’ Cable Section ― at Haxton. They’re reeling in cable they laid last week for a Competition Shoot. Go up to the stables, ask for a horse called ‘Flighty’ and go out and find them and take over command, will you?”’
‘A groom brought out a wiry little grey mare and wished me luck. I mounted, not quite understanding what he had meant by that remark. I soon found out. That mare was a runaway; few could manage her at all, and of course nobody had told me. I didn’t really mind: I’d recently completed a riding course at Catterick, I loved horses and I was extremely fit. So I let her go. And when we arrived at ‘B’ Cable Section I had her under control. Old Sergeant Purseglove looked me over with a curious glint in his eye as he saluted his new officer. It wasn’t until much later that I learnt that he had once been a Rough Rider at Saugor[49], the then famous riding school in India. And so it was that I took over command of ‘B’ Cable Section, my world for the next 18 months. I loved it dearly, the horses and the men.’
8. To Margaret Denholm-Young
6 September 1928 Bulford
Dearest Mother,
Here are some photos. Those of “Flighty” are not good except the one with me on her. They make her too big.
I have tried my new charger and am in luck. It comes from the 5th Field Bde. Royal Artillery and is the brother of the famous jumper at Olympia “War Boy”. It is a huge horse, 17 hands fully, a chestnut. It seems ideal, and is quite a calm animal. Name of “Jumbo” owing to its elephantine size. It is a real good horse, about the best in Wiltshire.
The curtains should run on a rod. I could get it at Woolworths.
It was an unpleasant surprise to get Daddy’s letter telling me that my Life Insurance of £19 was due. I was not expecting it till January. However, I’ll see what I can do before the end of the month. I suppose it is worth while being insured? Money for reinvestment, or so. But I am waiting to see my Mess Bill to see how much I can send this month.
I have a good deal of washing I hope to get off tomorrow.
If you ever meet anyone suffering from “nerves”, recommend Pelmanism as a certain cure. It makes a person sure of themselves in everything they do.
We are all ready now for the Army Cup Game v Tanks on Wednesday.
Much love
Your affectionate
Pat
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‘That autumn there were Army manoeuvres on the Plain and I and my “B” Cable Section laid our telephone cables wherever authority told us to lay them. What it was all about, or what the objects of the exercises were, nobody bothered to explain. I realised later that my O.C. hadn’t a clue either, meanwhile throughout the unit there was nobody who made it their business to tell me, or anyone else, what we were all doing, and make sure we understood the wider picture ― and I ended that training season in a complete fog. I did, however, look after my horses and my men ― I knew how to do both very well.’
9. To Ebenezer Denholm-Young
u.d. [?late September 1928] Bulford
Flighty has been classified as “dangerous” and is to go back to the Remounts Depot. Personally, I like her to ride ― I rode her this morning; ― only she is a bit of a handful with the rumble of cable wagon wheels. But just out walking she is quite all right.
About London
I expect to have to go there about November 3rd or so, but could go almost any day you wish. Afternoons only. If you care to fix a date, with an alternative, please do.
I recommend that any new wireless[50] go before Captain D. L. Wade on the R.E. Board at the War Office. I know him very well, and if you can manage to furnish me with particulars, I can let him in on it. He is a wireless expert. I suggest that I go and see the show and then commune with Wade on the subject. He would be able to put us right about production or sale etc. Alternatively I suggest Colonel Fuller R.E., Chief of R.E. Board, War Office. I don’t know him. There is a young electrical engineer here on a course, who is a genius, & who might help. I hope this is what you wanted to know.
About the car,[51] if my offer is accepted, ― I’ll know by Wednesday; shall I just deposit a nominal sum pending sale of shares? Or shall you sell out at once.[?] If I buy, I propose to send you a cheque on the first of each month starting Nov. 1st.
Much love,
Your affectionate
Pat.
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10. To Margaret Denholm-Young
6 October 1928 Llanfendigaid, Towyn, Merioneth.
Dearest Mother,
I left camp at 2 p.m. yesterday and reached Towyn at 8.45 pm. which wasn’t so bad considering it is 200 miles exactly, and the weather was awful. The first 75 miles were awful, it didn’t pour, it came down solid, so I had to go slow. I can tell you, it’s moments like these that I miss a car. However a bike has its compensations. I came by Swindon, Marlborough, Cirencester (SSISSISSTER!), Gloucester, Leominster (LEMSTER) Ludlow, Craven Arms, Bishop’s Castle, Newtown, Machynlleth, Aberdovey, Towyn. I thus managed to see quite a lot of Western England. I sometimes wonder how many fellows who were at school with me have seen as much of their own country as I have. My total mileage of Britain must be close on 50,000 miles for 3½ years. Also how many of them have the responsibilities I have?
However, to revert, I found only the two old people here,[52] so I’ll get a rest this week end.
If a play called “Thark”[53] comes to Edinburgh, do go and see it. I saw it in Salisbury, and it is extremely funny.
I expect to start back tomorrow about mid-day.[54]
I enclose snaps of Jumbo,[55] who has been retransferred to me; I hope, for good. His habit of standing with his hind legs crossed is seen in one of these photos. He also has a most expressive face. My shoulders are just below the lowest point on his back. If you have no sugar, he blissfully licks your hand. I’ve been teaching a young officer to ride lately, and it is rather nice to be instructor in this art after hectic hours under sergeants at the Shop.
Much love
Ever your affectionate
Pat.
How’s the wireless?
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11. To Margaret Denholm-Young
Sunday night [7 October 1928]
Llanfendigaid, Towyn, Merioneth.
Dearest Mother,
I got a long week end but it really was not worth coming north. I am staying with Andrew Usher[56] in Stourbridge, but return to Aldershot on Tuesday. He is alone, so we are camping in the house.
I ran over here to see the Nanney-Wynns, and am staying the night. You’d love Mrs Nanney-Wynn, she is a dear; something like Mrs Cook.[57] Edward, unfortunately, is not here. He doesn’t get leave for 3 weeks yet. I am spending a quiet day, just pootering round, wheeling Captain Nanney-Wynn in his chair etc.
I shall soon be going to Bulford, actually August 20th. I am getting rather tired of Hotels and shall be quite glad to be in a Mess again. They are quite a nice lot at Bulford.
That’s all the news. I go back to Andrew for tomorrow and leave on Tuesday afternoon.
Much love to all
Ever your affectionate
Pat.
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‘Winter came and we plunged into the Individual Training Season. It was back to school again for all tradesmen and we subalterns were each given a class to supervise. There was rugger too and the Unit XV was a good one. We played every Wednesday and Saturday and the standard was pretty high. I joined the London Scottish that first winter at Bulford, but had to drop it again because travelling to London every week-end was beyond my means: a disappointment, but it was really best to get to know my fellow officers and men instead of playing with civilians a long way away. Then one day, playing on a muddy pitch which had had cows on it, I was badly injured, and a deep cut went bad on me and I retired to Tidworth Hospital with a septic throat. It was serious. I was delirious for many days and the doctors suspected diphtheria. Eventually, and as weak as a kitten, I was allowed to get up and was sent home on sick leave. I survived the long journey to Scotland, only to be re-admitted to hospital there ― with appendicitis. So I played no more rugger that season.’
‘I returned to Bulford two months later, in the New Year of 1929, and a stone lighter. Several newcomers had joined the Mess, among them one Captain E. G. W. Pearse.[58] He [like the O.C.] was years older than me and he too wore medal ribbons, and it was some time before I got to know him, but he turned out to be just what I had sought in vain for so long ― he was a teacher beyond praise. Meanwhile, my Company Commander had decided to retire from the Army altogether and had been replaced by a Major only recently returned from India. I wasn’t sure about this. My carefree Captain had at least left me alone to manage my Section, whereas this new man did not. Always immaculately turned out, he wasn’t really interested in anything but horses, and while I realised that he was doing his level best, he turned out to be a spit-and-polish merchant with no technical knowledge. He was pleasant enough, I suppose, but his method consisted of finding fault with everything and everyone, yet he never attempted to offer guidance as to how things should really be done. I wasn’t very happy, serving under him through 1929, for I felt I was getting nowhere. I was keen to learn my job as an officer, to find out about the other companies and sections in the 3rd Divisional Signals ― and I would have liked to learn much more about the organisation of the Division itself; but whenever I broached these subjects to my Company Commander, he would quickly bring me back to the everyday problems of my 36 horses and would not talk about anything else. I must admit he rode magnificently.’
‘In the end, I did the only thing possible with any hope of survival in this equestrian company: I threw myself, when off duty, into hunting with the Royal Artillery Drag Hounds, and occasionally with the Tedworth. Sir Peter Farquhar[59] was the popular young Master then, and it was enormous fun spending a whole day in the saddle with his Hunt. We were able to hire Army horses for hunting for a mere fifteen shillings a month to cover the cost of extra feed, a sensible and civilized arrangement. The whole idea also proved to be a tactful move on my part, since it pleased my Major to see that I was prepared to hunt and enjoyed it.’
Patrick was also given a teaching role briefly: ‘ ... I was sent up to Cambridge for two weeks to help get a dozen undergraduates through the Certificate B Examination of the O.T.C. I lived in a pub near the river and went round lecturing all day. And ten of them passed the exam. I had to go round to the digs of these youngsters and try to instill some useful facts into their heads.’
12. To Margaret Denholm-Young
1 March [1929] Friday: Garden House Hotel[60]
Belle Vue
Cambridge
Dearest Mother,
I am having a grand time here. They have made me a Member of the PITT Club,[61] and the ‘Varsity’ Union. People are awfully kind; and I get as much social life as I can compete with.
I do about four or five hours’ coaching and either lunch, dine and tea in Undergraduates’ rooms, or one of the clubs or have them to my hotel. I have a very good lot of pupils. It is rather more teaching lads of one’s own social class for a change.
Victor Holland[62] is coming to stay at this hotel over the week-end; and I return to Aldershot on Tuesday.
I must go out & teach now.
Much love,
Pat
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‘I also spent a great deal of that summer of 1929 training for various Athletics events. I ran the Quarter Mile fairly often, and took up the Javelin, the Discus and the Shot. And here it was that I came into daily contact with Captain Gerry Pearse. He had been a fine athlete immediately after the Great War, and even now, at 36, was no mean performer over 220 yards and, as we discovered later, was a hockey player of considerable class. However, his real strength lay in teaching others and he was a marvellous coach. He saw I was keen, so he roped me in to assist him, and we would spend most afternoons and early evenings training ourselves and others. There was plenty to train for: matches with other regiments, Unit Sports Days, the Southern Command Sports Meeting, and ultimately the Army Meeting, being held that year at Aldershot. On this last occasion, Jerry and I went over to watch ― and saw the young Lord Burleigh win the Hurdles. It was a thrill to see him run at the height of his form and fame ― he seemed to float along above the track with a wonderful fluid motion that was a joy to watch.’
‘Sometimes, too, in the summer evenings I used to go off and fish in the River Avon, and I played quite a lot of golf on the Southern Command course at Tidworth, the garrison town a mere three miles away. Now earning approximately £14 a month, I had acquired a Riley Redwing, [Plate 25] a 10.8hp Sports version of the 1923 Riley. It had an aluminium torpedo-shaped body, a cockpit like that of an aeroplane, and a long strap encircling the bonnet after the fashion of racing cars then. I paid £35 for this beautiful car that would do almost 80m.p.h., spent two full weeks painting it Cambridge blue, and drove it for 16,000 happy miles. I loved it. It looked like a full-blooded racer and went like the wind. So I had transport in this isolated spot; sadly, though, social life was almost non-existent. Subalterns were very occasionally invited to dine with the married senior officers, and there it finished. We could not afford to return this hospitality, nor were we expected to do so. Sometimes, on a Saturday, we had a night out in Salisbury, which sported good cinemas and a small theatre and treated ourselves to a mixed grill at the Haunch of Venison just off the Market Square. In those days it was just a pub, but an excellent one, serving marvellous food in a tiny upstairs dining-room. An added diversion was a glass case containing a mummified hand which old Mr Bradbeer told us had been discovered behind the tapestry. It seemed that someone had long ago cheated at cards and paid for it gruesomely.’
‘I was becoming concerned about my future, financially, for I knew I had little hope of adding to the remains of my legacy for many years. Between the Wars, promotion in the Army was terribly slow. In the Infantry it was quite normal for a subaltern to wait 15 years for his captaincy, though in our young technical Signal Corps things were better. We reached Captain in eleven years. But even for us the “second pip” [63] that brought an extra two shillings a day in pay was a wait of three years. After seven years, you qualified for the “Drunkard’s Bob” (so called because a whisky and soda, at 8d and half a pint of beer, at 4d, together cost a shilling). Young officers without real private means were always short of money until promoted to Captain. Many wearied of this long wait for reasonable responsibility and reward, and volunteered for “Scallywagging” in the remote and often dangerous parts of the Empire where local promotion was faster and the pay better. I myself was beginning to feel something of this when it so fell out that I began to see more of Gerry Pearse, also unmarried and living in the Mess, and now occupying the quarter next to mine. Having fought in the 1914–18 War and now recently returned from a posting with the Shanghai Defence Force, he was exceedingly well informed about war and service overseas, and gradually, as we talked, he explained the details of my own Unit, and its place on the chequered board that was the 3rd Infantry Division, and taught me the right way to approach military problems. He was wise, too, for he never spoke disparagingly of our seniors, though he certainly drew attention to their weaknesses, frequently as the funny side of a story. He showed me that those on the General Staff (whom I rarely met) and our own C.O. and his Company Commanders were human beings with all sorts of professional problems; and while he laughed at their idiosyncrasies, he took the trouble to expound his own views as to how these problems might be solved. He was a professional soldier of the best kind: he loved the Army and he knew his job. In fact, during the manoeuvres of that summer our new Colonel took Gerry away from his own small command and kept him at his side as his personal Staff Officer for the whole of the season. I never knew much about him personally or indeed anything at all about his background and upbringing: he didn’t invite confidences; but I owed him a great debt for the kind way in which he guided my professional development.’
13. To Ebenezer Denholm-Young
21 July 1929 Bulford
Dear Daddy,
Many thanks for the letter. I have just heard from Edward that he has been put on a job which is very likely to keep him busy from now till the end of September. He does not expect any leave in August.
This being so, it is more than likely that I shall come home. I can’t say definitely yet, but I expect I shall.
We had an “Old Comrades” Church Parade to-day, and all our Unit attended. It was about 85º in the shade and consequently very sticky.
We go out for the night[64] on Tuesday, and I hope it keeps fine. There was a local thunderstorm yesterday.
I have not seen Eric[65] again, but I believe he is somewhere in Devonshire or Cornwall. I don’t really know.
I’m glad to hear that Patricia Young[66] is no worse.
We had a Gymkhana & Sports last Thursday. My section won the Mounted Tug o’ War [small drawing] You sit 8 in a line & pull sideways. I was in the team & got a plated butter knife worth 1/6d. I gave it to the Sergeant who coached & got nothing. We also won the Boat Race: ― This is done by 8 men sitting astride a pole, carrying it, and running backwards [another little drawing] We were second in two other events, so did not do so badly.
I expect to get away about August 10th.[67]
Much love
Your affectionate
Pat.
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14. To Margaret Denholm-Young
8 September 1929 Bulford
Dear Mother,
Please thank Daddy for the tie.[68] It comes in very useful.
We have been very busy, and are so again. The heat is rather trying. It is 80 just now and that is cool compared to what we’ve had.
We marched out towards Andover on Wednesday, stayed there three hours and marched back about 12 miles to the Avon. The march was very hard on the Infantry, as the men were falling out like flies, with mild sunstroke. One company of infantry (60) arrived that night with 15 men left. We didn’t lose any, however. It was icy cold at night, and we had another long trek next day. We go in about 6 pm on Thursday. I had rather an amusing few minutes chasing enemy cavalry. I hope this weather lasts, as I prefer it to rain.
Jumbo went back to Remount Depot a few weeks ago. He was really unsuitable, and I have got a new grey mare. She was hunted in Ireland last year, and is specially recommended.
I acquired a dog a few weeks ago, or rather two weeks ago. The vet. in Salisbury had one in to destroy, but as it was a good one, he gave it to anyone who would give it a home. It is a Black and Tan Alsatian, only 9 months old. I call him Roger. He is very friendly and well mannered. He is a valuable dog, and has a beautiful head.
Please ask Daddy when my Insurance falls due, also if I get any Income Tax Return, and if so, when.
I have the Oxford O.T.C. here again also another complete Section from Aldershot, so I’m very busy. We go out again on Tuesday, and return on Friday.
Much love
Pat.
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15. To Margaret Denholm-Young
6 October 1929 Bulford
Dearest Mother,
It is raining hard now, and has been for several days. We need it, however, as the ground has been too hard for games. I have now had three Trial matches and start our Fixtures on Wednesday with a game against the Somerset Light Infantry from Tidworth.[69] We are going to have a very fine side this year, and may go a long way in the Army Rugby Cup Matches. There is a knock-out competition for the “Army Cup”.
I shall be Captain of the Southern Command Signals this year. So I have got back a job I like. There is very little work to do so we can train pretty hard. I feel much fitter this year after the games – probably a result of the operation.[70] We have a lot of good matches, travelling to Aldershot, Swindon, Newbury, Salisbury, etc …
I expect to get home somewhere about Nov 21st ― 25th. Anyway, that week end.[71]
My new horse was a bit dreamy when it arrived, so I named her “Inertia”. She is a grey Irish mare. I have hunted her once, and she is not at all bad.
We get a new Commanding Officer in a week’s time. Lieut. Col. Le Cornu[72] is taking over ― a change for the better!
Tell Daddy that I hope to get the Pyrophone business[73] well settled before I come home. I won’t rush matters, but I think that now is the time for action.
If the extra earpieces[74] arrive, I shall be in London with them within a week, to demonstrate to the people who matter.
Much love,
Pat
P.S. Ask Daddy if he needs any ready money for Patents.
____________________________________________________
‘The undermentioned 2nd Lts. to be Lts 29 January 1930:-
C. P. S. Denholm-Young [+ L. T. Shawcross[75] and D. L. Hyde[76]]’ (London Gazette 28 January 1930, Issue 33574, p. 575)
Patrick was summoned from Salisbury Plain to Edinburgh where Ebenezer Denholm-Young died 27 February 1930, aged 73, at 9 Abbotsford Park, Edinburgh and is buried at Warriston Cemetery. His obituary notice in The Scotsman of 5 March 1930 p. 9, was doubtless drafted by Patrick and Hilda.
‘The late Mr E. Denholm-Young W.S.
The funeral took place to Warriston Cemetery of Mr Ebenezer Denholm-Young W.S., who died at 9 Abbotsford Park, Edinburgh. Mr Denholm-Young was the eldest son of the late Colonel Samuel Denholm-Young, of the Madras Army, and representative of the old family of Young of Yullyhill[77] and Broomrigg, in the County of Dumfries. He was born at Chicaecle,[78] India, during the Mutiny, was educated at Ayr Academy, graduated in Arts at the University of Glasgow, and Ll.B. at Edinburgh. Trained in the offices of Messrs. Mitchell and Baxter, he was admitted to the Society of Writers to His Majesty’s Signet in 1887, and was latterly senior partner of the firm of Messrs. Denholm-Young and McVittie. Mr Denholm-Young was an active church worker, and an elder in Morningside High Church for many years, by whose congregation he will be greatly missed. In his passing, Edinburgh has lost a highly respected citizen. He is survived by a widow, a son an officer in the army, and a daughter.’ (The Scotsman 5 March 1930 p. 9)
‘In the spring of 1930 I was moved from “B” Cable Section to “E” Section, in No. 2 Company and due to go down to Exeter that summer to act as the Signal Section of the 3rd Field Brigade, Royal Artillery, then stationed at Topsham Barracks. I knew almost nothing about the details of Artillery Signals, so I tackled Gordon-Wilson[79]who had already done a year with his own Field Brigade R.A. Signal Section. He was an enthusiast and spent a whole week coaching me for this new job, and I went off fairly confident that I could cope. It was a wonderful summer and I loved that job with the Gunners. It wasn’t difficult and I had a good Section. We did a great deal of training, ending up at the Artillery Practice Camp at Oakhampton. One day, carrying a field telephone, my groom and I were riding out over the heather moors to make sure that a cable for use in that day’s target practice had been correctly laid and was ready for use when suddenly there was a whine overhead and a shell burst about 200 yards ahead. My horse shied, and I pulled up short, dismounted, tee’d into the telephone cable and listened hard. To my relief, it worked, and they put me through to Regimental HQ. The Colonel asked where we were, and when I gave him my map reference, he got rather excited. “My God, you’re right in the middle of the target area! Get back here at once. Meanwhile, I’ll tell them to cease fire.” We didn’t linger. It had been a mistake, of course, but I could not have known that they had advanced their programme for that shoot by half an hour and someone had forgotten to tell me.’
‘It was a wonderful life, that summer of 1930: horses to ride, men to train, the Artillery problems to understand and master. There was fishing to be had on the River Otter and on many an evening I would drive out there (by now in my old, round-nosed Humber) and cast until it was too dark to see any more, and then have bread and cheese and beer in a village pub. I was fit. I was a long way down the road to knowing my job properly. I had a Section that I loved and trusted. I was supremely happy. We were all probably largely unconscious of the fact that we would never again be quite so carefree; but then, as we really weren’t very interested in the outside world, we could not know that a financial crisis of the first magnitude was only three short years away, or that an obscure painter and decorator from Munich was already hatching schemes to change the face of the world and sweep away our present life for ever. Then, a little while before I was due to return to Bulford in September, I received a letter from my Colonel telling me I was being posted to India.’
16. To Margaret Denholm-Young
28 September 1930 Bulford
Dearest Mother
I have just heard that I am to get the 51 days’ leave I applied for. I am getting December 1st until January 10th, followed by 10 days’ before sailing. So that is not so bad. I shall be very busy up till the middle of November, as my Major is on leave, and I am [the most] senior subaltern left in the company. However, I don’t mind. I got another excellent confidential (annual) report from my Colonel for this year’s work. I also had a good chit from the Colonel of the Artillery Brigade in Exeter, also a very good report indeed from General Anthony,[80] the chief Vet. in the army, for my horses.
So, on the whole, it has been a very satisfactory summer’s work. We have started Rugger again, and I hear that I shall, in all probability, be a member of the Corps Rugby Committee, and will travel to Aldershot, Catterick and possibly Colchester to see games. I hope so, as I would get all expenses paid. However, it is not quite settled yet.
Many thanks for the sheets and towels; are you quite sure you can spare them?
I sent Mr McVittie[81] a cheque for my Insurance Premium yesterday.
As regards a house, I strongly urge you not to take a top flat, as when you are, say, ten or fifteen years older, you will feel the stairs. I would try for a divided villa flat or something like that, near the ground. However, there is plenty time to look round.
Much love,
Pat
____________________________________________________
Meanwhile, on Friday 3 October, as Patrick would have read in The Scotsman, up at Broomrigg, let since c. 1912 to the elderly Thomas McMicking[82]and his sister, the Dumfriesshire Otter Hounds were out on the Nith:
‘On Friday the Dumfriesshire Otter Hounds finished their season with a meet at Cairn, foot of the River Nith. There were a select field of members present, besides a number of residents belonging to Dumfries and Maxwelltown.
Major Spragge of Denbie, Dalton, was Master for the day, and there were also present Miss Spragge, Miss McMicking, Broomrig [sic], and party; Mr Wilson Davidson, Eastrigg; Mr Robert Clarke, Whitehill Lodge, St Mungo, and others. Will Scott, the huntsman, was forward with the pack up to time, and he took the hounds up to Lincluden Abbey and cast them off.
Trying down to the foot of the Cluden where it joins the Nith there were no signs of the game having been near the foot of the Cluden, and the huntsman called the hounds up stream. A short distance beyond the Abbey the pack alighted on a line, and spoke to it freely amid plenty of music. They ran the drag across the meadows from one bend of the river to the other as if they were in full cry. On they carried the line, which occasionally appeared to be a little stale, yet they puzzled the drag out in grand style, but the line gradually fizzled out near Dalawoodie. Whether they found a fresh line or not was not clear, but above Irongray Bridge, where there are plenty of holts, the pack burst into loud chorus, which told the “field” that they were about to find their game. Above Irongray Bridge the whole pack made a decided stand. The racket the pack made round the holt caused the game to shift. The next moment the huntsman gave a loud tally-ho. Every hound was in the river swimming in full cry down a deep pool. When they lifted the “foil” of their otter they spoke to it in grand style. The quarry found shelter again and again under the banks, but he was soon found. Driving the otter out of the deep end of the pool, he was viewed by the hounds scrambling over a shallow stream. In full cry they rushed after him. The otter, however, reached sanctuary in an impregnable drain, and, despite all the digging in the bank above, he could not be moved. He had by this time given two hours’ good sport, and he was left for another year. The pack were then called off for their kennels at Annan. The past season, notwithstanding frequent floods causing fixtures to be abandoned, was a good sporting year, and the hounds accounted for an average number of kills and many finds and brilliant hunts.’
(The Scotsman, 6 October 1930, p. 6.)
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A month later, on 1 November, some 200 miles further south, Patrick had a memorable day’s hunting with the Royal Artillery Draghounds (or possibly the Tedworth) on Salisbury Plain:
‘It was a glorious morning as Waters[83] and I hacked out[84] to the Meet at the Crown Hotel, Everleigh, about seven miles across Salisbury Plain, past landmarks such as the Five Sisters, Dumbbell Copse, and Silk Hill. Dismounting, we ran our eyes over our horses to see that all was well. I was riding my Irish grey mare Inertia; I had given her this name as she had been almost impossible as a youngster. She had arrived in my stable with a long mane and a large grass-belly. It had taken a great deal of hard work to train her, and after two seasons the raw mare had turned out a really valuable hunter and few horses could keep up with her in a long run with hounds. She had a stout heart and a sound wind and I would not have sold her at any price. We were the greatest of friends. Often in the evenings after dinner I would stroll round to the stables to see her in her stall. She would usually be lying down and I would sit for a while on her quarters as she lay there. She only lifted her head to see who it was, gave a little snort of pleasure at seeing me, and lay flat again.’
‘It was a popular Meet and most of the Garrison were out. I spotted Colonel Maynard, a retired soldier, his daughter on a hard-looking rowan, a good many of the farmers, and two parsons.
“Hounds Gentlemen please!”
Social chatter stopped and the business of the day began. We moved off to the first draw ― a field of cabbages just behind the hotel. The Field remained at the top of the cultivated land while hounds were put in near the bottom of the slope. There was dead silence for a few moments, and then they found. It was quick work, and a fox was seen racing away towards the far end of the field. In full cry, hounds trailed hot foot after him; but that hunt was not destined to last long. Almost before anyone realised what had happened, it was all over. There was a fence of rabbit-netting running along the bottom of the field, and into this he ran full tilt. Before he realised his mistake, it was too late ― ten seconds later he was no more. And so ended what was probably the shortest run in the history of the Hunt.’
‘Hounds were then taken along the road to a covert nearly two miles further on, and the Field waited outside, hoping for the good fortune to kill twice in one morning. Sure enough, there came a whimper from the depths of the covert and a large fox broke out and ran right through the waiting Field. Heading north, he was almost 300 yards away before hounds came tumbling out in pursuit. Off they went to the crashing music[85] of the whole pack.’
‘The Field surged forward and I edged away to the right. I knew that part of the country well, having been over it many times on Manoeuvres, and guessed that the fox might take us towards the Vale of Pewsey. Out in front of me was Waters, and the Field Master, while away to the right was Colonel Maynard. Most of the rest were behind me on my left but I knew that the odds were that the fox would veer round towards the right, so I ought to be well placed for a good hunt. Over a post and rails, and on into good grassland, the Field raced on after hounds. I was riding hard to get a start, and edged further to the right in the wake of Colonel Maynard. Over an In-and-Out, across a lane, and on into a field of plough, the grey mare was taking me well clear of the others. On across the plough and over another post and rails into grassland once more, Colonel Maynard was scarcely 300 yards ahead now, his great-hearted chestnut going well.’
‘My topper was well rammed down on my head, and I sat into my saddle for a hard ride. Ahead, I could just see hounds streaming away across a field of grass towards a stone wall. I was nearly level with the Colonel when the first accident happened. His chestnut hit the top of the wall, and horse and rider came down with a sickening crash. But the horse got up as I took the wall behind him. I pulled up. The Colonel was struggling to his feet.
“Are you all right, Sir?”
“Yes, thanks. Go on, will you please?”
So I pressed on. I glanced over my shoulder, but could only see Waters behind me, and even he was a good 400 yards away. There was no other in sight. Except for the Master and the two whips, Waters and I were alone with Hounds.’
‘On we went, Waters falling behind, until I was the only one in it. Across three more fields of grass and I could see that the fox was making for a small covert away to the right. There was a slight check at this, which allowed me to come up with hounds. Inertia was a bit blown, and was evidently glad of the respite. But it wasn’t for long, as hounds hit off the line again after about three minutes. This time they were heading for the Vale of Pewsey. Another couple of fences and they were off down the steep slopes towards the valley bottom. There was still no sign of the rest of the Field as I urged my obviously tiring horse to face a wicked-looking thorn fence. We just got over, with nothing to spare and galloped on across plough. I edged towards the side of the field to ease her, but the end of that hunt was near. We had only one more fence to take, a stone wall, and I was rewarded by seeing what is only too rare a sight, hounds kill their quarry in the open.’
‘I reined up my mare and dismounted. She was pretty blown, and I loosened her girths to give her a bit of a rest. It had been a great run, and certainly the first one that I had finished alone of all the Field. It was a proud moment when the Master gave me the brush, the first time I had earned this honour.’
‘The rest of the Field began to arrive by ones and twos, and before long the place was a mass of steaming horses. Flasks and cigarettes came out and all had a well-earned break, before moving on to the next covert. But luck was out, and finally the Master decided to take hounds home. It had been a grand day, and horses and men were feeling pleasantly tired. I had lost sight of Waters and decided to hack back to Camp by myself. Leaving what remained of the Field, I took a short cut I knew. After a couple of miles, I found that I would have to jump a small fence of the “Hen Coop” variety. The alternative was to go round about half a mile out of my way. These fences were fashioned out of wooden planks and thrown across wire to render them jumpable. The place I chose was a somewhat steep slope upwards between two fields, and this should have been an easy jump for Inertia. But the poor horse was so tired that she could not manage it at all. With a gallant effort she tried her best, but could only get half way over. Here she stuck with her fore-legs across the wooden fence. Then she started to come backwards, the only way out of the predicament. But she was too tired to keep her feet, and rolled over backwards. I saw what was coming, and hitting the ground with a bang, I rolled as hard as I could to prevent her coming over on top of me. By a merciful Providence I managed to get just clear, and struggled to my feet to catch the horse. But I need not have hurried. The poor mare was so tired that she just lay there all curled up till I came up to her. The reins were hooked round her fore-legs and I had to untangle these before she could get up. Checking her all over, I saw that all was well. “Poor old lady,” I murmured, patting her shoulder. And the horse muzzled against me, as if to say: ‘”Awfully sorry, old boy; but I really was too tired to take that fence.” ’
‘I led her for about a mile, in order to give her a bit of a rest, and then, mounting once more, horse and man wended their way back to Camp across Salisbury Plain. It was dark when we reached the stables at last. ... and Inertia suffered no ill effects.’
17. To Margaret Denholm-Young
2 November 1930 Bulford
Dearest Mother
I’m very sorry, but I clean forgot about that stocking. It is all made up in a parcel, but I have quite overlooked it. It was up on a shelf. However, I’ll get it off without fail tomorrow.
We play the Royal Welsh Fusiliers tomorrow in the 1st round of the Army Rugger Cup, but I rather doubt if we can cope with them. However, it will be a good game.
I had the best day’s hunting yesterday that I have ever had. We killed twice, once in the open.
I hear that the trooper sailing on Jan. 10th is the “Lancashire”,[86] the latest Bibby Liner. It is much larger than the other troopers.
I am going to bring home all pictures etc, which I will not want in India. I have a lot of useless stuff, and a lot of clothes I never wear. I can sort these out at home.
Much love,
Pat
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‘At Christmas I went off on Embarkation Leave and then returned to Bulford to spend the last two weeks in the Mess with my friends.’
‘I was hoping for a few final days’ hunting. But the ground was in the grip of a very hard frost, and so I would hunt no more for six years. Instead, I went round saying goodbye to my many friends. On my last night I joined one for an early supper and went to the Garrison cinema and saw “Journey’s End”.[87] Next morning I bade the Colonel goodbye, boarded the train, and looked out on the Plain and its familiar landmarks ― the farms, the copses, the small hills and the valleys I had hacked over so often in the last few years ― and the great camp. It was a sad wrench: intensely conservative, I loathed change and doing anything for the first time. But I had asked to be sent to India. At Southampton, I took a taxi to the docks, and envied the taxi-driver who did not have to uproot himself bag and baggage every three or four years and take himself off to the ends of the earth. But then, for all I knew, he may have been cursing his monotonous existence and envying his fare his life of variety. At the Embarkation Officer’s desk I found I was in a two-berth cabin (cabin No. 34) on B deck, then made my way through the Customs Sheds to where the SS Lancashire was lying, painted white with a blue line round her.’
‘In the cabin my Agent’s man had already placed all my small things, and I bought a deckchair, wondering how many times it had been bought and sold, and went up on deck. In the crowds I spotted several people I knew ― friends for the voyage ― and since we weren’t sailing till the following afternoon, two of us got leave to go ashore till midnight and took in one last English meal followed by a theatre.’
‘At three o’clock, with lunch over, the ship was due to sail. Several friends who had come to see me off prepared to leave, and with them the General. The gangway was removed, the hawsers were cast off, the tugs began to haul the great ship away from the quay, and the band struck up “Auld Lang Syne”, followed by the National Anthem, to a flutter of hats, then stillness. A troopship was leaving England carrying soldiers to the outposts of Empire, and homage was done to the central figure, H.M. The King. A glimpse of a great imperialism. I found myself wondering how many of this company would again see Southampton Breakwater. Three of my friends on board would be buried in Indian graves in the next two years.’
18. To Margaret Denholm-Young
9 January 1931 (p.m.) Postcard HMT Lancashire Southampton
We sail at 3.0 pm Saturday.[88] I have an excellent 2-birth cabin, sharing with a friend of mine. It is a lovely boat and most comfortable. The Cabin is in the very middle of the ship. Will write again as early as possible.
Love,
Pat.
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Preface to Series 2
Patrick’s 23 months (26 January 1931 to 8 November 1932) in the Indian Signal Corps, Rawalpindi, close to India’s North West Frontier with Afghanistan in the last days of the British Raj, as Signals Officer commanding the Signal Unit attached to a Brigade of Gunners, for which he had volunteered, broadened his professional experience, and offered unsurpassed travel opportunities of which he made the very most. For example, he saw the North-West Frontier. Its very name was legendary. The province of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa established by the British in 1901 from the old British Indian province of the Punjab, lying below the mountains of the Hindu Kush, and bordering Afghanistan to the west and Russia to the north, had long been a ferment of tribal warring and a thorn in the side of the British ― a riddle near impossible to solve. In 1897, when still the Punjab, it was where an ambitious and adventurous 23-year-old cavalry officer, one Second Lieutenant Winston Churchill of the 4th Queen’s Own Hussars, had seen action (in the Mamund Valley, in the Malakand Field Force under General Sir Binden Blood), earning the India Medal with Clasp and a Mention in Despatches.
However, it came at a price. There was the climate, humid sub-tropical, pleasant enough with a mean annual temperature of 70ºF, but capable of rising to a dizzying 116ºF[89] in a fierce hot season from mid-June to early September, through which it was necessary not just to survive but actually to work, Monsoon rains from mid-July, mosquitoes in August and September and ultimately serious illness and repatriation before the end of his tour. Meanwhile, he learnt Urdu, made yet another whole new circle of friends, and wrote home, as ever, once a week. Mail for the U.K. left once weekly on Tuesday at 5pm, and took three weeks to do the 10,000 mile journey by rail and sea in each direction ― so the wait for a reply was six. Air mail, which took five or six days and cost more, was reserved for urgent matters. Letters from home were, as always for forces serving overseas, of prime importance, and any delay was a real hardship. Magazines and newspapers were the next best thing.
The letters from India:
To begin with, these are handwritten in Parker Quink blue-black or green ink on Air Letters or Airgraphs (a wartime invention whereby photography miniaturised letters on to film which was flown in bulk and then blown up again at the other end into a legible size). From 12 August 1931, when Patrick had bought himself a portable typewriter in Rawalpindi and taught himself to use it, he tended to type his letters, often using the flimsy lightweight paper on which he also produced his manuscripts for mailing home to editors and publishers. His typescripts are remarkably accurate for having been tapped out with two fingers only.
Some passages have been excised, possibly by Margaret in order to send them to Hilda or to show them to other members of the family or to her friends.
The style already displays a precision learnt from reporting to seniors, verbally or in writing, and used for giving orders, clear and succinct. It is apparent that letters did not necessarily arrive in the order in which they had been sent. So the conversation had to allow for hiatus and non-arrival, with some inevitable repetition.
Series 2: 1931-32: India
‘Slow-hooved across the carrion sea,
Smeared by the betel-spitting sun,
Like cows the Bombay islands come
Dragging the mainland into view.
Around the wide dawn-ridden bay
The waters move their daggered wings;
The dhow upon its shadow clings ―
A dark moth pinioned to the day.’
From: ‘Bombay Arrival’ by Laurie Lee (1914–1997)
‘On 10th January 1931 I sailed for India on board the Troopship “Lancashire”, a Bibby liner of about 10,000 tons. I was one of a batch of 8 or 10 Royal Signals subalterns, all about the same age and going to the East for the first time. Some of us had drafts of men to look after. I had none. So, apart from the obligatory boat drill, I travelled just like any other First Class passenger, entirely without responsibilities, for three whole weeks. There were two of us in our cabin and the daily routine was far from dull. We could take plenty of exercise by walking or running round the decks, use the library, and enjoy the food (unlimited and excellent).’
19. To Margaret Denholm-Young
10 January 1931 H.M.T. Lancashire
Dearest Mother
Please tell Hilda that as I take size 10, her Boots are no use, and I can’t find anyone who wants them.
I enclose the negative. Please ask Hilda to take it to Wintour’s[90] and ask them to make a postcard size, or bigger, enlargement. I’d like to have one, she could post it out, and if she lets me know what it costs, I’ll send it to her. I had no time to go to [?] Christie’s,[91] but I am writing them, and sending the Photo.
We call at only two places ― Port Said and Suez. It is a very comfortable boat, and I have only one other in the cabin. We sail about 3 pm today. Some Bulford people are lunching with me on the boat today, as a send off. The serjeant of the Edinburgh Signal Section is on this boat. My next letter, or letters, will be posted from Port Said. There are seven Signals subalterns and one captain on board, so we are the strongest of any Regiment. It is a boat entirely of odd draughts of troops from all regiments.
I must get this posted now. It will be a fortnight before you can get another, I think.
Dearest love,
Pat.
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‘On the first morning out we awoke to find the ship rolling and pitching to beat the band. I dressed with difficulty and went up on deck. It was bitterly cold and the waves were scudding past with heavy white foam lashing up into spray. We were well into the dreaded Bay of Biscay which made many of my companions exceedingly seasick. I had been nervous of succumbing myself, but I turned out to be a first-rate sailor. My mother was a Shetlander, and the sea was in my veins. By the middle of the next day, however, we were clear of it and in nothing more than a steady swell were steaming down the sunny coast of Portugal ― and on the third morning, as we breakfasted, the dark shape of Cape St Vincent[92] was fading “Nobly, nobly”[93] away to the north west. Some hours later we slipped past Gibraltar and into the Mediterranean.’
20. To Margaret Denholm-Young
15 January 1931 11.35 pm. H.M.T. Lancashire[94]
Dearest Mother,
I have at last made the discovery that I am a little more than a good sailor, ― in fact a very good one; and I hope it lasts! It started to blow a gale last night, shortly after we had lost sight of Gibraltar, and I woke up to find the ship pitching, but not rolling much, in a heavy sea. About 85% of the people on board are ill, ― very ill. I am on watch duty today 8.0 am till 12 noon, and again 8.0 pm till 12.0 midnight. It is nearly midnight now, I’m glad to say. I have to visit every sentry once each hour of duty, and there are 19 sentries. This means a complete Cooks tour of the ship, 8 times. These are trying, as the large majority of the troops are sick, and there are over 1500 people on board (1750 or so, I think.). At night is the worst, creeping under hammocks hanging so close that they touch each other, expecting every moment that their occupants will be sick on you. However, I have escaped that, and can go to bed soon. I even had roast pork for dinner tonight, to the horror of the others at my table. It is all rather fun, as long as I can keep from joining them. The ship is pitching very badly, but not rolling much. I’ll not fill this up, but I’ll keep it open to finish when it gets calm. We are well past Algiers.
__________________________________________________
‘I was enjoying the voyage immensely. From my deckchair on the Boat Deck, near enough to the rails to put my feet on them, I could see the shores of Malta, a smudge on the horizon. It was late afternoon and we had passed the island just after lunch, without calling there as there were no troops on board for that station. The sun had come out, the air grew warmer and the ship surged on through water now a deep blue. On either side sat a subaltern of my own Regiment, both asleep. Life was made up of eating, sleeping and walking round the decks. The hour before dinner was the most amusing, in the Smoke Room over mild games of chance. One Captain of the Indian Cavalry had brought a horse-racing game, consisting of a canvas mat on which were marked the conventional signs of a race track. This was stretched across a table and by turning a handle which worked a ratchet beneath it, six model horses were made to move along the track. Small bets were then placed.’
‘We made Port Said in 10 days from Southampton and went ashore for a few hours to stretch our legs. There wasn’t much to do except visit the famous Simon Artz stores full of phoney and expensive souvenirs. I bought a roll of silk, and had it parcelled up and sent home to my sister, whose letter of thanks reached me two months later: grateful for my kind thought but less than pleased that she had had to pay a king’s ransom in customs duty.’
‘We then walked on to the Casino Palace Hotel and sat for a while over beer in the glass covered winter garden, looking at the sea, before briefly looking into the old town whose dirty streets offered nothing more than vendors offering obscene pictures and brothels. Refusing all this, we returned to the ship.’
‘The Suez Canal was a long, slow business and we got tired of looking across at the desert road on the West Bank of the Sweet Water Canal[95]and the miles and miles of nothing beyond it. Suez. A picturesque little seaport with its flat roofs and its circle of red hills in the distance. Ahead of us were several other big liners patiently waiting their turn to pass into the Canal, behind two huge oil tankers ― these always had priority. A hot wind swept down on our ship as her bows lifted gently and she nudged her way into the Red Sea.’
‘All the way down the Red Sea it grew hotter and hotter. It was almost impossible to sleep and the troop decks were stifling. Nearing Perim, with a following wind, the Captain decided to turn and sail northwards for three hours, just to get some air through the ship.’
8.45. January 18th
The storm lasted two days, the second wasn’t so bad. Yesterday was very fine but it [? may change as] we pass the Straights of Perim, or the “Gates of Hell”, as they are rightly called. It marks the Southerly entrance to the Red Sea, and leads out of Bab-el-Mandeb, Gulf of Aden. We should make Aden this evening, but although it may be possible to post letters; ― I doubt it ― a lighter may come out with mails, we are not due to stop at all. We get to Bombay next Saturday,[96] early in the morning, and I shall catch an evening train reaching ‘Pindi the same time on Monday evening. It is a 48 hours’ run.
You’ll be amused to hear that it is very probable that Major Yule[97] will be my future Commanding Officer. He becomes Lieut Colonel in March.
From what I can gather, ’Pindi is an excellent station, where they never get civil disturbances, and is very handy for Kashmir [98] and the hills. There will be morning frosts when I get there. ― a pleasant change from present conditions. They say we will get it cooler now, until very near Bombay; which place is always pretty sticky. A greater number of the men are now sleeping on deck, where it is pleasantly cool. I can just see the Southern Cross, high in the heavens to the South, and the North Star very low to the North. The Southern Cross is every bit as beautiful as one imagines it to be.
We had a tug o’war yesterday. I pulled in the Officers’ team, and we easily beat the Warrant Officers team, and also the winning team of the inter Regimental tournament.
[Unsigned]
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‘The next few days were uncomfortable. I had never before been so hot. The temperature reached 115 degrees during the day and the nights were impossible. The hottest stretch of all was when we passed the barren little island of Perim,[99] at what our Captain referred to as “The Gates of Hell”.[100] Once clear of this, the ship’s bows were pointing north eastwards towards Bombay, still seven days away. For the last few nights the Southern Cross had been visible. It has to be seen to be fully appreciated ― the beauty of the Eastern sky and the light of the phosphorescent sea, and that strangely soft cross high in the heavens to the south.’
‘Later on we slid into the Indian Ocean, with nearly another week to go. We reached Bombay at last early in the morning. As the engines stopped running I awoke and, slipping on a dressing-gown, went on deck to look at the great harbour with the house-tops of the city beyond ― the Taj Mahal Hotel, the white-roofed buildings and the great arch of the Gateway of India. Beyond this city lay all India, the place where my ancestors had lived.’
‘Breakfast, money-changing, collecting railway warrants from the Embarkation Officer, and then off to the train. It took some time to see our baggage through Customs, but it was done at last and we had a saloon carriage on the Frontier Mail with a bearer to look after us. I was left in charge until the train departed, while my companions set off for the Army and Navy Stores for Bombay Bowlers[101] and other purchases, then to the great hotel for some of its famous draught beer. They need not have hurried back, lunchless: the train was 90 minutes late leaving ― my first taste of the ways of India.’
‘Then two and a half days in the Frontier Mail, that train with the biggest and dirtiest carriages I had ever seen. It was hot and dusty, there was precious little water to wash in and even less to drink. We passed through Delhi the next afternoon, and Lahore by nightfall, and it was four-thirty in the morning of the third day when we were set down on the platform at Rawalpindi. The Mess Sergeant was there to meet us, with two more servants. A heavy driving rain began as we left the station in Tongas, the horse cabs of India. I did not like the smells of the native city we passed through, in the dim light of that Indian morning, and this and the dirt and the rain and the hour filled me with melancholy. We were driven on, through the British Cantonment, along broad avenues lined with tall chenar trees[102] in front of big bungalows set well back, and finally turned into one of these ― the Royal Signals Mess. Here we were shown where to wash and shave and served an early breakfast of tasteless eggs, horrible tea, and sodden toast with rancid butter. My morale dropped to rock bottom and I wondered if I would ever get to like India.’
21. To Margaret Denholm-Young
u.d. [29 January 1931?] Rawalpindi[103]
[A page seems to be missing here]
and Navy” Stores to get a hat etc. Bombay really isn’t a bad city at all. It has shops just as good as London ones. There were three of us in a carriage. The carriages are small saloons, with four berths, sideways, and during the day, the two lower ones form couches. It is quite comfortable, but oh the dust! It covers everything! The food on the train was quite good, and we were only two nights and two days on the train.
We arrived at Pindi at 4.30 am.[104] It was raining, but there was someone to meet us.
The Mess is excellent. I’ll send a photo of it before long. I live in a bungalow, along with four others, about 200 or 400 yards from the Mess. I have a very good /room, quite well furnished.
I had dinner with Hyde[105] and his fiancée on Tuesday night, and we went to the Pictures: ― quite a good cinema house, and very good Talkies. I saw ‘Blackmail’,[106] which I saw in England about a year ago.
I have got a Mechanised Artillery Section: ― the same job as I had last summer, but no horses. I shall have to get a charger, of course,
[A page would appear to be missing here]
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22. To Margaret Denholm-Young
12 February 1931 Rawalpindi.
Dearest Mother
I have posted another envelope along with this one, also containing photos. I couldn’t get them all into one. Some of the photos are quite good. I think the best is the one of the Lancashire in Bombay harbour. It is taken from near the Railway Station. The Pilot coming aboard at Port Said isn’t bad, but those on the boat are mostly underexposed. I hope you got all the letters from the boat, I numbered them as I wrote them.
This bungalow is quite comfortable. It is only about 500 yards from the mess.
I have been very busy all this week, and it looks as if I shall be busy for a few months. I am doing 2nd in command of a company, which entails all the administrative work, food, clothing etc. I have my own Section, of course: and the unit, B. Corps, Athletics. Combined with that I help to run the Mounted Sports, and do a little hockey.
A normal day starts with breakfast 8 o’ clock. Work 9.0 AM till 1.0 AM.[107] Lunch till 2.0 pm. Tentpegging[108] 2.15–2.30. Athletics training 2.30–3.30. Bath & tea 3.30–4.30. “Moonshi” our native language teacher comes to me 5.30–6.30, and I work till 8.0 pm. Dinner 8.30pm. Then either go to the Pictures (9.30) or go to bed, usually bed. It sounds a lot, but it isn’t in reality. I have a very good Urdu[109] Moonshi. His name is Mohammed Abdullah, and he is a very stately old gentleman. Very high caste, and preaches in the local mosque. He is an excellent teacher, and I am speaking Urdu, very slowly, already. It is a very simple language, the only difficulty being the enormous vocabulary one must learn.
Early in March we are holding a “Signals week”. It is an Athletic and Social Signals Reunion in India, and should be very good fun.
I believe that we new people are going to be taken on a specially conducted tour of the Frontier. To Kohat,[110] Peshawar,[111] and up the Khyber Pass[112] to Landi Kotal,[113] where we will see into Afghanistan. That won’t come off for a few weeks yet, but it should be very interesting when it does.[114]
It is pretty cold here just now, but the sun usually shines pretty strongly. It has been raining a bit this last week.
I have some work I must do now, so I’ll post this.
Much love,
Pat.
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‘The financial position was traditionally difficult on first arrival in India, because the Army in England paid its officers monthly in advance, whereas in India one was paid in arrears. The interval of change-over was inevitably bleak therefore, and one item seemed to me to be particularly unhelpful, namely the rule that in the Indian Signal Corps to which I belonged while I was serving in India, officers were expected to provide themselves with their horse or “charger” out of their own pocket, unlike in England where horses were supplied free of charge from the Remount Depot. Gone were the days when the yeomanry supplied their own. In India, we were ordered to buy our own, the bait being, of course, that if we played polo and were any good, we might so train our ponies as to sell them at a profit later on. In reality, there was no hope of this, since we were competing against rich merchants and maharajahs, who pushed up the price of good polo ponies beyond our reach. Most of us were obliged therefore to borrow 600 Rupees[115] from the Regimental Polo Fund maintained for this purpose and to which repayments could be made over months or years. It seemed shameful to me that a young officer should be ordered to place himself in debt on arrival, in order to buy the horse that the Army should have provided for him. But “dustur hai”, “it is the custom”.
23. To Margaret Denholm-Young
19 February 1931 Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
This week has been very busy, but not particularly eventful. I have had to take over Quartermaster of the Unit for the next six weeks. This means a lot of office work, but is very good experience. I am getting plenty of hockey and other exercise.
The Border Regiment have constructed a Rugger Ground on which they have laid on water pipes; this should make it quite soft. Tomorrow there is to be the first game of Rugger ever played in Pindi. The Northern Command XV are playing the Border Regiment. I am playing in the Northern Command XV. It should be good fun.
Tim[116] is to be in Pindi this week to take the Staff College Exam. I hope to get him to dinner one night. I haven’t seen him yet.
I enclose two photos. One is of my Bungalow showing my Verandah on the left. My windows look out on the left hand side, not seen in the photo. It is taken from the compound, beside the bungalow stable. The other is the jumping ground, or manage,[117] you can just see the Murree Hills[118] above the trees. They are quite near the border of Kashmir.
[incomplete]
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24. To Margaret Denholm-Young
26 February 1931 Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother
This week has been fairly full. On Friday last, I played Rugger for a Northern Command XV against the Border Regiment. We played on a pitch which would have been called a “hard tennis court”, at home; but no one was hurt, and it was a good game. We lost 8–6, but won the return match on Monday by 19–6. The ground had been well watered on Monday and was quite soft.
D L Hyde[119] is coming to stay with me for ten days. He is coming for our “Signals Week”.
The Sports are being held today, we ran off the heats yesterday, and are running the Finals today. I’m in the final of the Shot, Hammer[120] and Discus, with quite a good chance of winning one of them ― probably the Hammer!
The Hot Weather in Pindi doesn’t begin till well into June ― not really hot ― and finishes early in September. June, July and August are not very nice, but you can always run up to Murree, in the hills 35 miles away, for week ends.
Tim is in Pindi now, but I haven’t yet seen him. He is taking the Staff College Exam.
The fellow in the room next to me heard British Broadcasting on his wireless set last night. He could hear every word said.
I believe young Collingwood[121] is at Peshawar, but I don’t quite know yet.
I must get this to the post.
Much love,
Pat.
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25. To Margaret Denholm-Young
5 March 1931 Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother
It has been raining hard for several days, but has cleared up now. The Sports went off very well. I was third in the Shot, second in the Discus, and won the Hammer Throw. The grounds here are somewhat different to run on from those at home, there being no grass. I enclose two photos, both taken at the Sports last Thursday. One shows a tug o’war between a team of Sikhs and one of Punjabi Musslemons. The other is a group of Indian officers, three sikhs and two P.M.’s. The old gentleman in the middle, with the blue coat and brass buttons, is Jemedar Ujala Singh, a most warlike old Sikh, and an extremely sound man. Our Indian troops are a very fine lot, absolutely loyal and very keen on their jobs.
Afterwards, three pipers marched round the table and played things like Hieland Laddie etc. Those of us who were Scottish enjoyed it, the rest stood it very well! As a matter of fact, it wasn’t at all a bad band.
I was invited to visit a Sikh temple yesterday, by one of our Indian officers. It was rather a marvellous place, and very few people see the inside of these places. To enter the inner chamber, you have to remove your boots.
The language is proceeding quite well. I know about 4–500 words well, and can talk slowly. It means two hours’ work every day, but it all helps to save money, as otherwise one goes to the Club etc.
North, there is a range of hills, only thirty odd miles away, and to the North East, snow capped mountains mark the 8000 ft. pass over to the Valley of Kashmir.
I have the same job here as I have had since last May i.e. attached to a Gunner Brigade, on my own. I don’t join the Brigade till November, or so, when I go to Ambala,[122] and then on to a camp 15 miles south of Delhi. So with any luck, I may get a little pig sticking[123] next cold weather.
I’m mechanised,[124] so don’t have to march, but I still retain my charger.
I don’t remember whether I ever thanked Willie[125] for his present of the shooting stick. If I did not ― and I somehow think I did ― please tell him that I use it constantly and find it very useful.
You might ask Mrs Peattie[126] for her son’s address some time, as I have not got it.
That’s about all the news this week. Tell the Browns[127] that the lighter continues to light faultlessly.
Much love,
Pat.
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26. To Margaret Denholm-Young
10 March 1931 Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
This has been an eventful week, and I hope I can put it all down. Firstly, although I’m sorry that we have had to drop so low in price, I think it was wise to sell the house at £1100.[128] I personally have no fear but that McElvie[129] will eventually pay up! I shall be very thankful to hear when you are comfortably settled in the flat[130] ― for which I do hope he has accepted our offer. I expect that next Sunday your letter will tell me definitely whether he has accepted, or not.
We have a lot of old Indian pensioners, old discharged soldiers whom we are entertaining. One old Honorary Captain was a well known Indian Officer in 1892! He can’t speak English, none of them can, but they are a very fine lot.
Last Wednesday we had a Guest night, and the Corps Band ― a pipe band ― played pipes in the diningroom, after dinner. The pipers marched round the table in the approved Highland style.
The next night, after attending an Indian Ranks tea party, we went back as their guests to a “Tamacha”, or theatrical display. We all sat round in a large circle, lit by coloured lights, and watched interminable dancing and singing. ― all quite unintelligible. I was sitting beside the old Captain Sahib, and he told me it was a particularly fine show. There were hired dancers and singers. One pair consisted of a very ugly young woman, beautifully dressed who danced and sang to the accompaniment of a strange string “mandolin type” instrument played by a very fat and swarthy man. His singing was supposed to be something extra special, but he looked, and sounded, in great pain. These two came close in front of us ― the old warrior and myself, ― and honoured (!) us with a special song. It was a frightful effort not to laugh, but doubtless the old Captain enjoyed himself. It certainly was an impressive show, being held as it was in the open, under a full moon, and the spectators ― Sikhs, P.M.’s, Dogras and Pathans ― lined up in a circle round us. We managed to get away after three hours of it!
On Sunday I happened to strike my turn to take Church Parade. We had the Band with us, and it was rather good fun marching past, after church, to the tune of “Highland Laddie” played by an Indian Band. We marched through the Cantonment to the tune of the “Cock o’ the North” and steamed into our lines under full sail to the strains of “Bonnie Dundee”.
I have several photos and will enclose them if they come out in time.
Yesterday was the strangest of all. In the evening, at the special invitation of the Sikh officers, we went to their “Gurdwarh” or Temple, for a Service. The place was all lit up with flares etc. We had to remove our shoes in the courtyard before entering the Sanctum. In there, we all squatted down in a semicircle on one side of the altar stone, while the Sikhs conducted their service on the other side. During the service, we were given holy nuts to eat! The crowning piece was when the band marched into the courtyard outside and stood round in a circle, each man with a tall Sikh standing behind him holding a flare. It was very strange sitting in a Sikh temple surrounded by gaudy coloured silks, beads etc and stranger still people, and seeing this weird pipe band standing outside in the torchlight and playing ― of all things ― the “Bonnets of Bonnie Dundee”. I’ll bet that few Edinburgh people ever heard that tune played in stranger places!
Today we had a Mounted Sports Meeting, and conclude the week tomorrow with a grand bonfire.
If the photos are ready, I’ll put them in on the way to the post. If not, I’m afraid we must wait till next week.
Much love,
Pat ________________________________________________
‘Then one day the Adjutant sought me out in Anteroom of the Mess and announced that, since another officer was returning earlier than expected, I could take my annual leave then, if I cared to. Two months ― and May and June were the best months in Kashmir,’ the ancient lake basin below the Karakorum range separating Kashmir from China, and surrounded by mountains rising 12–16,000 feet. ‘A letter to J H Lander who ran a trading company in Srinagar,[131] produced an invitation to live on his houseboat [Plate 27] for the whole of May and longer if I desired.’
27. To Margaret Denholm-Young
26 March 1931 Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
I was very glad indeed to get your air mail letter on Monday, the 23rd. It is a great relief to know that McElvie is going to pay up after all. By now, you will be in the new house, so I am sending this to the new address. I do hope you won’t find the stairs[132] too much, and will get a good woman to help.
It is almost too hot to write just now, it being somewhere about 95–100 outside. It is nearly 80 in my room. However, it really is not unpleasant.
Things have been very ordinary this week. I am still very busy doing Quartermaster, but that will stop on April 15th. Major Yule arrives here about April 9th. Hyde is, I believe, coming down from the Frontier this weekend, so I hope I will see him.
By the way, you never told me how you disposed of the cat? Did Sarah[133] take him?
I wish we could get Lord Lloyd as Viceroy and Winston Churchill[134] as Secretary of State for India. This weakling Government at home is the laughing stock of the world. I have seen no civil riots, there are none up here, but down in Lahore, Delhi, Bombay etc, the police are not allowed to use fire arms! What on earth do we want to discuss anything with a despised Bengali Babu like Ghandi? We should tell him that there is nothing to discuss, and that either he shuts up and holds his tongue, or we will blow his country sky high ― and proceed to do so! That is the only way to gain respect of the large majority out here. If there are civil riots, a few thousand rounds of machine gun fire would soon stop that. Instead of maintaining law and order in this way the Indian understands ― and respects ― we argue! However, it will all come right in the end! There is no doubt that things are much quieter out here, but British prestige would be much higher if we would only act very firmly. It’s the old fools at Westminster who have never been out here who fondly imagine that Ghandi represents India. The soldier classes, who are the finest men in the land, heartily despise him. All they want is security under strong British rule. I’d just like to address the House for about half an hour.
The Punjabi farmer, up here, is the most peaceful of men, and a very good man indeed to[o].
I saw Ronald Coleman in “Condemned”[135] last night. It was quite good. “Mickey Mouse” has also just arrived. So I’ll be able to see him all over again.
Last night we were sitting on the lawn under the few palms there are in ‘Pindi, at midnight, drinking iced beer. It was grand to feel cool again after last week’s warmth!
There is nothing special to relate, so I’ll catch the mail.
Much love,
Pat.
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28. To Margaret Denholm-Young
16 April 1931 Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
Many thanks for your letter. I enclose Edward Walker’s[136] letter. It was a very great act of kindness on his part, and I know that you will find it very acceptable. Tell him when you see him, that I will write to him as soon as I can get time.
Mr Elsie Grant[137] appears to be getting just what he deserves. I wonder what the end will be. Why they keep a car, I can’t think.
I can’t write for long, this time, as I am very sleepy. I must catch the mail tomorrow but I won’t have time to write in the morning. I am on a Board just now, examining 110 men from all over Northern India in all kinds of Trade Tests. It means a good week’s hard work. However, it is very interesting.
I had a letter from David Cousin,[138] yesterday, telling me he was a father! I hope Betty is now quite well again.
[incomplete]
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29. To Margaret Denholm-Young
23 April 1931 Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
I was very sorry indeed to hear about Mr Veitch,[139] and I will write to Ian.
I had a letter from David, and have already replied. I am glad it was a boy.[140]
The adjutant offered me May and June, instead of May and July, so as to save me travelling expenses twice over. So I am taking May and June in Kashmir. It should be lovely. I am spending May, at least, on a house boat on the Dal lake[141] near Srinagar. I shall be staying with a retired officer in Signals, and will be living quite cheaply. A lot of people I know are to be near the same spot, so it ought to be a good holiday. Just like Scotland, golf and fishing and picnics. My address will be:-
c/o. J. H. Lander[142],
Srinagar,
Kashmir.
I went up to the Murree Hills yesterday, for the day. The road took us from here, which is about 1000 feet up to the Murree which is just about exactly 7000 feet up. The road is very hilly, just like 20 miles of the Devil’s Elbow, only more dusty. The view is glorious! You leave the tropical vegetation and pass through a belt of Scotch pines. I have taken some photos, and will send them if, and when, they come out.
The air up there was glorious. It was fresh and really cool. I can imagine that two months in that sort of air will be a real holiday. It is just a little on the warm side down here now, but by sleeping on the verandah under a mosquito net it isn’t too bad at all. By taking my leave in May and June, I escape the hottest part of the Summer, and also hit the best part of the Summer in Kashmir.
We have been playing a lot of hockey, [page missing here]
… reach ’Pindi by 25th June. I return to ’Pindi on June 29th. So after June 10th, please send to ’Pindi as usual.
Lander was a Captain in Signals in the war,[143] and is putting up Signal Officers cheaply. Roughly two pounds a week, all found. This is about half the usual charge. The Rupee is about 1/6d but in reality does not go as far as 1/-. The mess charges Rs3 a day for catering alone, so 4 Rupees a day for food, light and furniture, Rooms etc is very cheap. Kashmir is supposed to be a [sic] finest holiday country in the world. I’ll have been there three weeks when you get this. I enclose photos of the Kashmir road taken from a lorry. They were about 6000 feet up, and show how twisty the road is. The others are of Millicent,[144] and are not very good.
I am sending home my album with this post, as photos turn yellow out here. I’ll send the negatives also, if I can remember. The “family” might like to see the album. I know aunt Ella[145] would.
It has been a bit hotter lately, averaging 100o in the shade. It was 102o last Thursday. It doesn’t feel at all uncomfortable yet, as it is quite cool at nights. We sleep in the compound right out on the lawn. Personally, I am not using a fan yet, but some people are. I had a visitor a few nights ago ― a centipede a foot long! Unpleasant, but practically harmless! The bugs are certainly the curse of this country! I expect I shall go to the Gardens of Shalimar during this next week, I’ll send photos as I take them.
I must stop now
Much love
Pat.
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‘I booked myself and my bearer, Fateh Mahommed, on to the Mail Bus to Srinagar, and we rode away early one Saturday morning with my bed-roll, a suitcase and my beloved golf clubs all tucked away at the back. The vehicle was really only an ancient Chevrolet lorry with two fairly soft seats in the cab, and three benches on which sat Indians in the back, while behind them again was a wired-off cage for the mail bags, heavily padlocked. I sat beside the driver. The journey took us two days along a road with scenery of such surpassing beauty as I shall never forget.’
‘Seventeen miles out, we started the steady climb up the Safed Koh Mountains, the foothills of the Himalaya. The bumpy road wound up through Tret and on to the Murree Hills, with their beautiful pine trees and rarified cool air. The road had climbed to a full 6000 feet and every breath was nectar after the heat of the Plains of Hindustan. At Murree we paused to pick up more mail, then began the 26 mile winding descent down to the river at Kohala. This dirty little village, hot, sticky and smelly, clinging to the steep hills on either side of the Jhelum was in reality rather an important place, the last outpost of British India. The narrow wooden bridge looked anything but strong: but we got across ― and then on into Kashmir. It was a marvellous and spectacular run up the riverside to Domel. There was scarcely a straight couple of hundred yards in that narrow road, that twisted and turned along the steep sides of the gorge, between the high hills of the Pir Punjab range, with the turbulent river racing far below. We stopped for the night at Barramula, a small township, where I put up at an hotel about a mile out, on the Srinagar road, where they served me a excellent dinner, after which I strolled round the hotel’s beautiful moonlit garden smoking a last cigarette before bed. I rose at 4.30., and at 5 we were off again, with the headlights of the lorry piercing the dark road ahead, picking out the lethargic bullock carts with their drivers invariably asleep and leaving it to their pair of skinny animals to press on regardless ― so typical of everything in this ramshackle but beautiful country. One of my friends told me that he had once turned one of these bullock carts round and set it off back on the road whence it came, and with the driver still fast asleep! It was bitterly cold and I found my greatcoat essential. Daylight came, and we chugged on. The road was almost straight now and for the last ten miles ran down long, straight avenues of giant chinar trees with, everywhere I looked, huge, snow-capped mountains towering in the distance above the bowl of the Vale. On either side were rich soil and cultivated fields ― a fertile and prosperous landscape. Finally we arrived at Srinagar, the capital city of Kashmir, in time for a late breakfast. The “City of the Sun” in May and June must be one of the most beautiful places in the world. Built astride the River Jhelum, it was a conglomeration of Hindu temples and palaces, dozens of open shops of all kinds, and hundreds of wooden houses, all in an extremely poor state of repair. Of fresh paint, there was nothing to be seen. The narrow streets were thronged with Europeans as well as Kashmiri, for this was the Switzerland of India, and a favourite holiday resort. I pulled my bags out of the lorry, thanked the driver, bade farewell to the other passengers, hired a tonga and reached Lander’s houseboat just as its owner was getting up. We had many friends in common, and were soon behaving as though we had known each other all our lives.’
30. To Margaret Denholm-Young
u.d. [? Approx. 1 May 1931] Srinagar
Dearest Mother,
You might be interested to know how this letter will reach you. It will start from here, in the centre of the Vale of Kashmir, by motor lorry, and will follow the Valley of the River Jehelum right through the Pir Punjab Range, the foothills of the Himalayas, as far as Kohala, where it climbs for 30 miles up to Murree, 6500 feet up, and then falls down to Rawalpindi. Here it will be placed on the “Frontier Mail” for Bombay, where it will be transferred to a “P and O” liner. At Marseilles it will travel across France by train, then across the Channel by boat, and again to Edinburgh by train, to finish its 10,000 mile journey as it began, by motor van to the G.P.O.
I arrived here yesterday morning in time for breakfast, after an eventful journey. The motor bike developed a slight engine defect, so I left it behind and travelled to Topa by lorry, where I spent the night with a married Captain and his wife at their bungalow, 7100 feet up, and very cool after the heat of the plains. Next morning I caught the mail van ― we always get [a] front seat ― and started the long 30 mile descent to Kohala, the first, and last, bridge over the Jhelum River. This is the boundary of the State of Kashmir, and India is left behind. The road winds in and out following the [?exact] line of the valley, and is hewn out of the hillside. Not unlike what Switzerland must be like! At Domel Dak Bungalow[146] I had some excellent lunch, and tea at Chinari. We arrived at Bara Mulla as it was getting dark, but as the Gulmarg[147] mail had to be sorted, we stayed there for the night. I put up in a very pleasant little hotel. We had to be off at 5.00 am, so I had to get up at 4.30 am! The 30 miles drive to Srinagar was somewhat chilly, but it was really glorious to feel cold once again! Bara Mulla is the last point on the mountain, and marks the entrance to the famous Vale of Kashmir.
I arrived at Srinagar at 7.0 am and my bearer met me ― he had travelled by an earlier lorry. The house boat is on the canal joining the River Jehelum to the Dal lake. It belongs to a Captain Lander, and he is putting me up very cheaply indeed. It is a very comfortable boat. It has a diningroom, sitting-room and bedrooms. I have taken photos and will send them next week, if they come out. I climbed to the top of a hill just behind us, and the view is glorious. The Vale is an enormous flat valley entirely surrounded by snow capped mountains. What at once strikes one is the amount of greenery, trees etc. Through the length of the valley, the River Jhelum flows lazily, while the beautiful Dal Lake lies on its right. Here is a rough sketch. The circle represents the Vale.
I’m afraid I did not manage to get the albums posted before I started, but I will send them the moment I return, on June 29th. I am to be here for two months, but I shall probably move up to Gulmarg in June for the golf, as it gets hot here. It is only 5000 feet here, while Gulmarg is 9000 feet. There is also the finest golf course in India there, or some people call it the finest in the world.[148] The mail goes on Tuesdays at 5.0 pm. I shan’t get your letters till Tuesday mornings.
We are roughly 200 miles from Pindi, the nearest railway.
I am going to spend my two months very quietly. A month’s sight seeing in Srinagar ― walking and also by Shikara,[149] or small boat ― and a month’s golf at Gulmarg. I won’t close this yet, as I expect your letter will reach here from Pindi by tomorrow.
The mail has not brought your letter, so I expect ’Pindi have been late in forwarding it. It will probably come tomorrow.
I am continually pestered by salesmen to buy Kashmir goods. They come with wonderfully carved boxes etc which are really quite cheap. I intend to buy one, or perhaps two, before I leave, but I’ll have a good look round first.
I’ll have a lot more to tell you next letter, as the Maharajah is to make a state entry into Srinagar on Friday.
It will be rather amusing if we have to address Uncle Frank[150] as “Doctor Sir Lord Lyon King of arms”. You might tell Stewart[151] that letters from the Civilised World are always acceptable. He hasn’t written yet.
Much love
Ever Your
Pat.
____________________________________________________
‘The weather was heavenly, and I was mostly out of doors. I spent the first few days looking round. I saw in Srinagar a curious resemblance to London. Built astride the river Jhelum, it has many bridges, and a fascinating native quarter, full of carved houses and shops where craftsmen sat at wood-carving. I joined the Club and played my first round of golf. Not knowing anyone there, I asked the Caddy Master if there was anyone without a partner that day, and he pointed out a young man standing alone, perhaps a Captain in the Indian Army. He was happy to play, and we started out. We talked generalities, and finally ended all square and walked into the clubhouse for drinks. Again, our talk was impersonal and when we arranged to play the next day, I did not quite like to ask the man’s name. During our second game, it began to sound as if he were no Captain. Moreover the name on the card (to be signed up for handicap) was a well known name in Indian then. He was in fact no less than a General ― and himself had thought me at least a Major. This amused us both, and we played many times together after that. I also went for long walks in the surrounding countryside, and did a great deal of reading on the houseboat, either inside or on its broad, flat roof.’
31. To Margaret Denholm-Young
u.d. [? Approx. 8 May 1931] Srinagar
Dearest Mother,
I posted some photos last Friday, to go by air mail; but they would not leave here till Sunday. I’m afraid they may be a week late, as also this letter may be, because the road is again down. We have once more been cut off by landslides. It is always happening during the Summer.
Imagine a road like the Devil’s Elbow, only worse, for two hundred miles, and you have some idea of the road to ’Pindi from here.
The golf[152] is going quite well. I am at present playing in a Competition for a Challenge Cup, played for annually by people from all over India. I have survived two rounds, and meet a very good player tomorrow. It shows what a variety of people one meets when I say that in the first round I played a General, in the second, today, I played a Captain, while tomorrow I play the son of a Russian General, and who plays the saxophone in the local dance band!
It is raining hard just now, but I expect the through road will have been cleared by now. The tray[153] is being packed up today, but the parcel post doesn’t go till Saturday. I am sending a small cigarette box for David’s small son. It is a very cheap one, but was made in Srinagar.
There is really no more to tell this week. The weather has been poor and I have been just reading ― chiefly Dorothy Sayers. There is an excellent library in the club. I am constantly meeting people there who know Tim. Tim is now at Bannu[154] on the Frontier. I have yet to see him, but I expect he will be in ’Pindi before long.
I am trying to wangle a move to Quetta,[155] if not very soon, certainly in a year or so, so as to get hunting and rugger. I believe it may be managed, but not yet. Not that I dislike ’Pindi, but the rugger and hunting would be very pleasant.
Much love
Pat.
___________________________________________________
32. To Margaret Denholm-Young
u.d. [? Approx. 15 May 1931] Srinagar
Dear Mother,
It is unfortunately raining hard just now, so golf is impossible. The local golf course is quite good, and I play there every day, just like at Ballater. I had two games with a very pleasant man who I thought was a Captain in the Cavalry at Sialkot.[156] It wasn’t till after our second game that I found he was the Brigadier commanding the cavalry at Sialkot. A very pleasant man indeed. The people here are very pleasant, and it is easy to get games.
I have written to Pindi asking a friend to post you the album of photos, so you should get it soon. I enclose some of Kashmir. They give a good idea of the type of country. The one of the Palace is taken from a shikara[157] in the middle of the river Jhelum. The Maharajah made a state entry on Friday, on his wonderful State Barge.
The panorama views are taken from the “Tucht”, a hill roughly 1000 feet above Srinagar. It is to Srinagar what Arthur’s Seat is to Edinburgh.
I am spending almost all my spare time writing.[158] I sent my first article away today, to a local paper.[159] Another fellow, also up on leave, makes quite a good thing of writing. I have just finished a short story for one of the home magazines, and I’ll let you know if it is published. I’ll probably try the “Storyteller”, or the “Red” magazine.[160]
The ’Pindi road is down just now. It is often blocked by land-slides after rain. They estimate a fortnight to clear it. We are not quite cut off as there is another road. The mails are carried across the hills for two miles to a van beyond the landslide. It is a very common thing on this road. Bridges get washed away in the rains ― August and September. I shall be back in ’Pindi before that!
Tell Aunt Adah[161] that she would probably approve of our little “colony”. All in two houseboats, but feeding together. Myself, two Methodist ministers, an old lady doctor, wife of the elder minister; a Professor of Physics at a missionary university (American), and a retired Signals Captain. However, the company is quite entertaining.
I think this will reach you about your birthday.[162] Many happy returns, dearest. I have got a present for you, but it won’t be ready for another three weeks! It is an afternoon tea tray, carved in Kashmiri walnut. They are carving the family crest[163] on it, and it was really quite cheap. There should be no duty to pay on woodwork.
I am going to see the Shalimar Gardens on Sunday. They are four to five miles away across the Dal Lake. I’ll miss the mail if I don’t stop.
Dearest Love
Your affect.
Pat.
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‘Occasionally, a few of us would club together and hire a ‘shikara’ or narrow, flat-bottomed boat with two sharp ends and be paddled across the Dal Lake to visit the old gardens of the Moghul Emperors, the Nasim, the Nishat and the Shalimar. These lovely gardens lie close to the lakeside and are laid out in truly royal style. There are numerous noble chenar trees, black marble pavilions with fountains, and terraced slopes of formal flower beds in a riot of bright, soft colours. I loved these gardens, but always thought it a great pity that they were spoilt by the strange Indian habit of doing things by halves. The flood-lighting system was quite good, but all the lamps were mounted on upturned soap boxes, which quite spoilt the whole effect. Nevertheless, I loved to lie on the grass in the Shalimar, imagining the old Moghuls in their splendour: Shah Jahan and Akbar, escaping from the heat of the Plains to this cool retreat; and sometimes thought I could half-see the stately figure of Akbar walking up and down the lawns, deep in meditation, or sitting on a many-coloured carpet being read to. To be there in the late Spring and early Summer and look out across the Dal Lake and the wonderful Vale of Kashmir to the pink and white snow-capped mountains in the far distance must be an experience no-one can ever forget. For sheer loveliness, I have never seen its equal.’
33. To Margaret Denholm-Young
22 May 1931 Srinagar
Dearest Mother,
I want to see if the air mail is really better than it was. I believe it is speeded up by 3 days now. In fact, only 5 days from Croydon to Karachi. If this can catch it, I’ll send it by air mail. You might let me know how early you get it. It will leave here at 5.30 pm, but of course, the delay will be between here and Karachi, if any. If I miss the air mail, I’ll just post by the usual mail on Tuesday.
I enclose photos with descriptions on the back. They are mostly of the Dal Lake and Shalimar Gardens. [Plate 28]
The tray arrived yesterday, and I’ll send it off by Tuesday’s mail. It is really excellent and very cheap (the equivalent of about 12/6). It is so good that I am having another made for Hilda’s birthday. I don’t think there should be any duty to pay. If by any bad luck there is, say the value is 10/-, and let me know how much.
The golf is going very well, and there is a competition this week end, and a more important one starting on Monday. I have quite a chance in both.
You never told me what Willie Usher[164] is going to do. I’ll write to Andrew when I can summon energy to do so. I remember you told me Willie had flung up his Edinburgh wireless course.
I have explored the old city here, and really, Port Said was dirty, but for sheer filth the Kashmiri is quite unbeatable. It is very picturesque, but very, very dirty. The Kashmiri is of all races in the world, the most cowardly.
Tell the Browns[165] that the petrol lighter[166] is most useful.
Much love
Pat.
__________________________________________________
‘I stayed with Lander for a month, then, when he had other people coming, I discovered that that a great friend of mine was bringing his wife and small daughter up for June, and was asked by him to move to their boat, about five miles out from Srinagar, at Nasim Bagh ― chosen for its stretch of grass sloping to the water’s edge ― an ideal place for the child.’
34. To Margaret Denholm-Young
u.d. [? Tues 26 May 1931] Srinagar
Dearest Mother,
I think that your tray is to be ready this afternoon, but I doubt whether I will be able to catch the post with it. I’ll try to get it off in time, but I’m afraid I may not catch the 5.0 P.M. mail.
I have been playing a lot of golf, and I managed to win a medal competition last week. There is another starting next week, which I have entered for. I am playing quite well just now.
I went to the Shalimar Gardens on Sunday, and they were really quite as good as I expected. They are the gardens of the Mogul Emperors. A long narrow garden, lovely lawns and flower beds, and a stream running in marble steps, with fountains all over the place. I have taken some photos, but they won’t be ready until tomorrow.
I am going to move up the lake into the Sind Valley[167] for trout fishing during June. There is some of the best trout fishing in the world there, and the price is moderate. I shall then go to Gulmarg for a week on the way back to ’Pindi on June 29th.
The Frontier situation is exceptionally quiet just now. I don’t know what the home papers say about India, but I have seen no riots or any unpleasant things at all. The North of India is, of course, always quieter than the middle; except the Frontier. But even the Frontier is very quiet this year.
[incomplete]
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35. To Margaret Denholm-Young
1 June 1931 Srinagar
Dearest Mother,
I am changing my address to-day, but only for three weeks. I am going up to a place called Gunderbal,[168] in the Sind Valley; for fishing. It is only about 15 miles away, and letters will be forwarded. It has been raining hard for a week, but is quite fine once again, now.
I got as far as the third round in the Golf Competition. I beat General Sir W. James[169] in the 1st Round, and a Captain Bayliss in the 2nd, but lost to a man called Gerraff, the son of a Russian General. Gerraff was beaten in the Final. I think I won another medal round yesterday, but I’ll know for certain to-day.
There is very little news this week, as it has been raining so much, and keeping us indoors.
One of the Hyde brothers,[170] at the Shop with me, is coming up here, I think, today.
I had a long letter from Stewart[171] this week, he says he will fix your wireless whenever you like.
I had another letter from Edward Nanney-Wynn.[172] He is now in Canada, attached to the Royal Canadian Corps of Signals. He is at Camp Bordon, about 70 miles N.E. of Toronto. It seems a good job, and I might think of it after I have done my 5 years here and 5 at home. However, that’s ten years ahead.
The man I am staying with, Capt. Lander, a retired Signals officer, is an agent for an American tourist company. He suggests that, if he were me, he would go home when his 8 months’ leave came round, by way of Hong Kong, the Far East, the Pacific, Canada and the Atlantic. We looked up the fares, and find that it is not so much more expensive and only takes about a fortnight longer than by Suez. However, it is a long time ahead. Perhaps, if the Burrs[173] depart this life before then, I might think about it. I have written to Uncle Denholm[174] asking if he knows any cheap lines, or can work any cheap fares. If he could only get me a cheap Atlantic fare, it might be worth it. However, we’ll see. As I say, it is 18 months ahead. Only 18 months! Here is June already, it only seems the other day since I left Edinburgh. Time simply flies out here, there is so much to do.
I am taking a language Exam and also a promotion Exam in October. If you work hard in the hot weather you never notice the heat.
You should see the cherries[175] we are getting to eat here, I’ve never seen any like them. Fish is very tasteless out here, but fruit is good. Bacon is very bad, and all meat, except mutton, is hardly worth eating. Mutton is very good. We take it in turns at ’Pindi, to make out menus for a week at a time. It means that we all get exactly what we like for a week. You can’t please everyone, so please yourself!
Colonel Yule felt the heat for a bit, but he is quite happy now, I think. I don’t mind heat.
You needn’t worry about civil riots. I’ve never seen one yet. Northern India is very quiet just now. The Cawnpore Riots,[176] away down in Central India, were certainly terrible, I heard from a friend there who told me all about them. However, they were entirely between Muslims & Hindus; as they always are. Usually, if there are any riots ― small ones ― we never know till we read of it in the papers.
I go back to ’Pindi on June 29th, but I’ll be going up to Gulmarg for a couple of days before that. It is 9000 feet, and gives a chance to get really cool before plunging into the oven of ’Pindi. However, half the hot weather will be over by then, and the rains are due about the 15th of July.
That’s about all now.
Much love,
Pat.
Ask Hilda to drop me a line. If you get the chance to go to Shetland, I certainly would. Why not go and live there for a bit? I’m sure Stephen’s[177] people would take you for the summer.
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36. To Margaret Denholm-Young
9 June 1931 Srinagar
Dearest Mother,
Please keep on addressing letters to ’Pindi, as I shall be starting back for there as you receive this. Your letters come most regularly, and are very welcome. “Mail day” in India is a most important event.
I enclose a very rough sketch, it gives an idea of the height of the mountains which photos do not convey. It is the view from my window I can see as I write. The lake is about two miles across.
You might let me know what Dr Fraser’s bill was, so that I can send it. Please also tell me what duty you have to pay on the tray. 15% is correct, and the value is 10/-, out here, but probably more in England. If you have to pay much, I won’t send anything more home until I come on leave. Then I’ll bring them with me. I can get things through the Customs quite cheaply.
I have got several things here for a very few shillings which will look very well at home. I got a pair of copper trumpets, each about 16 inches long, which came from Tibet. I also got a slab of copper with six idols’ heads embossed on it. It is reputed to have come from Lhasa, the forbidden city of Tibet.[178] I have also got a pair of Tibetan tea cups, wooden with copper mountings. I got the lot for a very few shillings.
I am going up to Gulmarg on the 25th for three days. It is 9000 feet high, and will give me a chance to get a good blow before going to the airless plains. The hot weather seems to be pretty mild this year.
I sent David a cheap little cigarette box for his son, when you see him, you might tell him that I’ll bring him a better one when I come home. They cost very little out here, but the customs are heavy on them.
The weather is glorious out here, five miles from Srinagar. The sky is deep blue with fleecy clouds. It is like a perfect English summer, though perhaps a trifle warmer. The nights are beautifully cool.
The mail is not in yet, so I’ll have to post this without waiting for your letter.
Much love
Pat.
[Plus the drawing, on a separate sheet.]
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37. To Margaret Denholm-Young
16 June 1931 Nr. Srinagar
Dearest Mother,
I am still in Kashmir, but please address letters to ’Pindi as I shall be back there a fortnight yesterday. It has been a very pleasant holiday, and the hot weather will be on the wane when I get back. The rains are due early in July, and when they come the temperature immediately drops.
As regards expense, this country is not quite as expensive as at home. It was a bit tight the first three months, as we get pay in arrears as opposed to in advance at home. But things are all right now. As I had to buy a lot of drill clothes, mosquito net, etc. I have not managed to start putting by yet, but I reckon from September 1st that I can quite easily put by at least Rs 100 a month. That is just over £7. This holiday has, of course, cost me a good deal, but I had saved up for it, and one isn’t in Kashmir every summer holiday! However, I’ve managed to put by a decent margin to take back to ’Pindi. I don’t go dancing and drinking endless cocktails at the club like some people do, but live just as I did in England, playing plenty of games, so, when I get leave a year next January, I count on having saved at least £100. A subaltern can save £100 a year if he wants to. And that is not too much of an effort either.
When on leave at home, I’ll get Indian rates of pay for 2 months; that will pay for the return journey and a bit over, and after that, English rates of pay. So my leave, when I get it, should be good fun. I haven’t forgotten that I owe you 5% on £100, and it falls due on September 1st. I won’t forget it, and will post it on September 1st. I won’t miss it, and don’t forget, that that was the understanding I borrowed it on.
The mosquitoes hadn’t started when I left ’Pindi, and are only bad for two months in the year ― August and September. There is not much fever in ’Pindi.
I have had a snap taken, and a few more photos, but they are not developed yet. I’ll send them when they are ready. I wonder if you ever got the photo album, I asked a friend to post it, but if he hasn’t, I[‘ll] get it away as soon as I get back.
Many thanks for the photo, I think it is excellent.
The writing is going pretty well; I’ve written five short stories and five articles since I came here. I sent two stories to Home Chat[179] five weeks ago, but I won’t hear for a fortnight if they are published. I write under the name of “J. R. Edmonston”; and I’ll send you a copy of anything I get published.
The fellow I am staying with has taken a course in Journalism, and he helps me a lot. I’ll spend a long time on short stories before tackling a novel. It is best to do so, for practice.
I enclose a short article on “Kashmir”, which I have sent to the “Watsonian”.[180] I think they will print it, as I enclosed photos; but I don’t think they pay at all.
It is an interesting hobby, and, I hope, a paying one. I feel that, if I ever do make a fortune, it will be as a novelist. However, we’ll see!
A lot of Signals people are here just now, including Hyde, from the Frontier. He is stationed far up the Khyber Pass, at Landi Kotal.[181]
By the way, we go to the hills for all next hot weather, and I am earmarked for the job of Quartermaster and Station Staff Officer. I’ll get an extra Rs 75 a month for it for 6 months. That is Rs 450, or £32 for doing a job I like. I hope I do get the job. Personally, I think I will, as I have already experience of it.
It is gloriously fine here, about 85o in the middle of the day, but with a cool breeze, and really cool at night.
I hope you do go to Shetland, and this letter will probably reach you there. I’d rather like to go there, I think; and perhaps we will go, when I get leave!
I think I’ll stop now. I enclose a couple of “tradesmens’ ” cards.[182]
Much love
Your affec.
Pat.
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38. To Margaret Denholm-Young
23 June 1931 Nr. Srinagar
Dear Mother,
Tomorrow will be the last day at Srinagar, as on Thursday[183] we move up to Gulmarg for three days. I am going back to ’Pindi next Monday,[184] sharing a car with another fellow. So I shall have been back a fortnight by the time you get this.
I’m glad you went to Helensborough; it will have been refreshing, and Aunt Ella[185] will have taken you for drives. I’m sorry to hear about Mrs Duff,[186] but I expect she is all right now. I wonder if you have ever heard how the Ushers are faring? What Andrew is doing, and if Willie has got a job yet?
I expect you will be in Shetland by now; I should stay there as long as you can, if I were you.
It is pretty warm up here, usually about 85o–90o during the day, but not unpleasant, and it gets cool at nights. ’Pindi’ does not appear to be nearly as hot as usual; it has never exceeded 109o, and two years ago it was 117o. It won’t get hotter now, as the monsoon has broken in the South, and some rain has already fallen at ’Pindi. So I expect I shall find it quite pleasant.
I have been writing very hard, and have now completed 6 stories and 14 articles, but, except for the few I have sent away already, I am waiting till I return to ’Pindi to get them typed. I’ll have to work for a language exam, and a promotion exam, in October, when I get back, but after October, I’ll be writing regularly again. It makes an excellent hobby, and should prove a paying one.
I enclose a few photos; they’re not very good. The Mishat Bagh was the Empresses’ garden, as the Shalimar was the Moghul Emperor’s. The water effects are finer than the Shalimar; in fact it is altogether a much finer garden.
There is very little news this week, as I have been only eating, sleeping and writing, with a few walks thrown in. It has been a wonderful holiday, and a delightful change.
Remind me[187] to Stephen; tell him I’ll try to see him when I come home on leave.
Much love,
Pat.
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‘For my last few days [25–29 June] I left the lush flat valley, as my hosts decided they would like to move up to Gulmarg, at 9000 feet, the highest inhabited village in Kashmir. My friend’s wife was going to stay there for the rest of the summer: her husband would return to Rawalpindi with me in a hired car. We drove the 30 miles out to Tannmerg, the dak bungalow which lay at the foot of the steep hill pathway which wound its way up to Gulmarg and transferred to ponies or ‘tats’ which carried us up the last three and a half miles, through the great pine trees till the path opened out into the Marg.’
‘Gulmarg was a huge green bowl of grassland about 9000 feet above sea level between the end of the tree belt and the beginning of the eternal snows. There were a number of guest houses managed by English ladies, where many of the wives and children of British officers came to spend the hot weather months while the husbands toiled on the Plains. Whole regiments would move up the Hill Stations like Murree, Upper Topa and Gharial, about forty miles out from Rawalpindi, but a modicum of British troops still had to remain behind through the long, hot summer. So it was to places like Gulmarg that the women and children were sent to escape the appalling heat of the Indian hot weather. I was not staying with my friends but was putting up in one of the guest houses. I was very comfortable, and it was pleasant to sleep in a bedroom with a large, roaring fire once again.’
‘I did not do much that week ― the thin air at that altitude made it inadvisable ― but I enjoyed quite a lot of walking and particularly the Circular Walk that gave such a wonderful view, down into the Vale of Kashmir 4000 feet below, and beyond it to the mighty Himalayas, range upon range of snow-capped peaks as far as the eye can see. And three hundred yards from my guest house there was a spot on the hillside from which one could look out across the many tiers of mountains and see, 70 miles away, and towering above them all, the snow-clad, almost perfect cone of Nanga Parbat, pink and white against the deep blue of the sky. Seen from the heights of Gulmarg, across the serried ranks of minor mountains, this lone giant must be one of the most beautiful sights on earth.’
39. To Margaret Denholm-Young
28 June 1931 Gulmarg
Dearest Mother,
As you see I am now in Gulmarg. I came up here on Thursday evening. It is 9000 feet up, and the highest inhabited hill station in India. It is 35 miles from Srinagar, but the last 3½ miles are done on ponies as the road is too steep for cars. There is really no road, only a track.
Imagine riding up Craig an Darrock[188] on a pony for four miles, climbing 3000 feet; that is what it is like. This is a grassy plateau surrounded by pine trees, and overlooked by snow clad mountains. The view of the Vale of Kashmir is finer than anything I have yet seen. This morning, Nanga Parbat,[189] nearly seventy miles away, stood out clear and distinct, a perfect snow clad peak, high above everything else. It is reputed to be the most beautiful mountain in the world, and I don’t doubt but it is.
The view of the Northern Himalayas is truly magnificent; nothing but peaks of snow clad hill tops stretching right to the horizon.
Gulmarg is a collection of wooden huts, somewhat like Switzerland. It has two excellent golf courses; the finest in India.
The air is beautifully cool, and it is really cold at night.
I go back to ’Pindi tomorrow,[190] starting at 7∙ AM. We should arrive about six in the evening, in time for mess. I expect it will feed decidedly unpleasant for a day or so, but we’ll soon get used to it. The rains are due any day, and after that, things are much cooler. It was 110o in ’Pindi last Tuesday, and 82o at night, but I see that it has fallen now a bit. I shan’t be sorry to get back, as two months’ leave gets boring.
I have sent my things down the hill to Tanmerg Dak Bungalow where I’ll sleep tonight, and I’ll start myself after tea.
I expect you’ll be in Shetland; if so, tell Stephen[191] that I am now 5000 feet above Ben Nevis.
I’ll leave this open till I return to ’Pindi.
_____________
‘At the end of the week, my companion and I left his wife and daughter and drove back down to Rawalpindi in one day.’
6.P.M Sunday.
I have just reached Tanmerg, and am sitting on the verandah of the DAK Bungalow. It is an exceptionally good bungalow, and most comfortable. I will leave for ’Pindi at 7∙0 tomorrow morning.
The view from here, in the valley, is exactly like home. I might just be in the highlands. I can hear the roar of a river nearby, and English-looking trees are near the door. Farther off are pine clad hills and, above them, snow. On the whole, very pleasant. There is a cleanliness about the place which I haven’t yet met in India.
__________
‘It was a pleasant journey, except that the temperature rose and rose, and still stood at 98 as [we] arrived at 6 p.m. That first night back, when the reading never fell below 92, was hard, but in the days that followed [one] gradually became accustomed to it again.’
Thursday 2nd July
Reached ’Pindi at 6∙30 pm on Monday.[192] It had been 113o in the day, and never fell below 87o at night, but, even if unpleasant, it is not unendurable.
It isn’t as hot as I imagined it would be, and at about 7∙0 AM. it is beautifully cool!
I can sleep at night, very well, so I won’t mind the heat, which I am getting used to now.
There are heaps of fans, iced drinks etc, and my present job ― an accounts one ― consists of sitting in an office under a fan, so it isn’t unpleasant. I shall do Accounts Officer till the end of September.
That’s all just now. We expect the rains any day now; in fact, we had some last night, so the outlook is cooler!
Much love,
Pat.
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‘Back in Rawalpindi, since many fellow officers were on leave, there wasn’t very much work to be done: just as well, for the heat was oppressive.’
‘We were up at half-past six for a Works Parade, followed by technical duties until breakfast. Then office work from nine until lunch. In the afternoons it was customary for everyone to sleep till half-past four, when we had a cup of tea before a game of hockey or football or tennis. I tried this sleeping in the afternoons for the first few weeks. After that I felt I was merely wasting my time, so I bought a portable typewriter on the never-never and took to writing. Most evenings at about 6 p.m. we played football and hockey and I got quite good at hockey.’
‘I came to enjoy that hot weather on the plains, although from time there were nights that were worse than all the others put together ― and caught so powerfully in Kipling’s story, ‘City of Dreadful Night’,[193]set in Lahore, just down the road. The coolest place was the air-conditioned Garrison Cinema, and we often went there after dinner to see the early films of Laurel and Hardy or Wheeler and Woolsey or the Ben Travers comedies with Ralph Lynn and Tom Walls, Robertson Hare and Mary Brough, so popular in the early 1930s . Then I would sometimes go off on my motorbike afterwards for a long run down the Lahore Road, in an effort to get a breath of cooling air before climbing under my mosquito net for another endless, sweating night on the verandah, with a fan blowing in one’s face. The real nuisance was when the fan failed ― and the dilemma of whether it was worse to lie there in a muck-sweat, or get up and try and mend it, and if it wouldn’t mend, return to bed in a worse muck-sweat. We all suffered from the ravages of Prickly Heat[194], and often the only panacea was a brisk scratch all over with a clothes brush!’
40. To Margaret Denholm-Young
16 July 1931 Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
I’ve left this rather late, so I must hurry to catch the mail. I am posting this to Shetland direct, but next week I’ll post to Edinburgh, in case you are back.
No, we don’t feed separately, just as usual in the mess. The feeding is excellent.
It is a bit warm just now, being always between 80o and 90o at night. But personally I don’t feel it.
I have sold my motor bike, as it wasn’t much good, and am negotiating for a Ford car for 100 Rupees (£7)! There are a lot of almost new cars being sold by the Government for next to nothing, so we are buying them.
Taxation on cars out here is next to nothing. I think we’ll get them all right. They are all completely overhauled.
Actually it is just the Govt squandering money. However, we don’t mind that in this case.
I shall probably go up to the Hills for this week end, just for a change.
I have been engaged on the Prosecution side of a Court Martial. Col. Yule gives me these jobs as he says I have a “legal mind”. Anyway, he said the results were “excellent”, so I take it I still have a reputation for “Law”. It pays to be imagined an expert in something, even if you are not! The Colonel is much better now. He was in hospital for a bit with sand fly fever,[195] but is all right now.
I am very fit just now, I’m glad to say. It is rather amusing watching other people oppressed by the heat. I rather like it. Collingwood[196] is at Monshera,[197] about 70 miles away. I haven’t yet seen him.
I really must post this.
Much love & regards to Saxby,
Yr affec Pat.
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41. To Margaret Denholm-Young
12 August 1931. [Typewritten] Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
I was very glad to see that you had actually got to Shetland, and that Isobel[198] had gone with you. [A sentence has been excised here, presumably by Margaret, perhaps to send to Isobel.]
I was up in the Hills last week-end, and it certainly made a very pleasant break in the heat. It was gloriously cool up there, and we had big fires at night! Things which are NOT required at present in Pindi!
Things should start to cool down a bit shortly now, as the hot weather is nearly at an end. It cools off in September, and is really pleasant in October.
I have decided not to take the Promotion Exam in October, but only the Language, as this is the last time that the Urdu will be easy. They are stiffening it up afterwards. And the exam is worth Rs 150-0-0! So I will be taking the other exam in March. This will give me the whole Cold Weather to work. It is really not possible to work at one’s best in the present heat. Also, if you do very well in the Captain’s exam (my promotion exam), and get over 80%, you are exempt from having to take the exam for promotion to Major. So it is well worth while waiting and working properly for the March exam.
A friend whom I haven’t seen since I was at the Shop, is coming to dinner with me tonight. He is in the Sappers here.
I [A paragraph has been excised here, again perhaps to send to someone] suppose... awhile.
Thursday morning:-
It has rained all night, so it will be cool to-day. As a matter of fact, the days are obviously getting cooler. The days are also drawing in a lot. It is dark now by 8 o’clock.
I have just looked at the thermometer, and it is only 76. This is a bit of a change, as, the day that I went to the Hills last week, it was 93 at midnight. That was the worst night of the year, and I was lucky to miss it. 90 is the worst that I have had at night, and that was quite enough!
I had a letter from that boy Smith[199] who went to the Shop from Watson’s. He tells me that he has been Commissioned in the Gunners. He wanted Signals, but he was not high enough up in his term to get this. There is a great deal of competition now for Signals, as it is the Crack Corps just now, and has numerous advantages over the others. As a matter of fact, Smith would not have been much of an asset. He was rather more of the girl than the boy. He’ll improve, of course, but I can’t see him making a superfine Officer.
I expect that you will be home by now; tell Hilda that I will try to get time to write to her next week.
Colonel Le Cornu,[200] my old Bulford C.O. is out in Naini Tal,[201] as Chief Signal Officer to the Eastern Command. I hope to see him before very long.
Must have breakfast now,
Much love,
Your affec.
Pat
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‘As Summer passed and Autumn came on, I began to realise that I was getting quite fond of the country of my adoption. There was so much to do and see. In the hot weather, there were the delightful evenings spent out on the lawn surrounded by huge trees over which rode the tropical moon, in front of the Mess. Here, we officers would sit on our long chairs after dinner, and the company and the conversation were of the best.’
42. To Margaret Denholm-Young
19 August 1931 [Typewritten] Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
I got your first letter from Shetland last week, and was glad to hear that you are enjoying yourself so much. I shouldn’t hurry home if I were you, but stop as long as you can.
Last Saturday was rather unpleasant here. We went to the Pictures in the evening, and could hardly see the screen for the sweat that kept dripping into our eyes! A boiled shirt feels like a tennis shirt on these occasions! As a matter of fact, it was the worst night yet ― not that it was very hot, but that it was very sticky ― which is always worse! I don’t mind sweating when it runs off you in gallons, but I do object to it when you sweat and it sticks.
This Country seems to suit me. I feel very fit out here, and have lost a good deal of surplus weight which I put on after appendicitis and could never get off. India has taken it off all right. Since January I have lost over “2 stone”. I was 15 stone 2 lbs, when I was in Edinburgh last Christmas, while, when I weighed myself on returning from Kashmir I was only 13 stone 2 lbs. That makes me about 12 stone 7lbs now, or much more near what I ought to be.
Last week’s few days’ leave was a great rest, and I will take another long week-end about the middle of September.
[incomplete]
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43. To Margaret Denholm-Young
14 September 1931 [Typewritten] Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
I am sending this by Air Mail, because it may save a lot of time. You will be glad to hear that I have at last got an Article accepted. The paper is The Autocar. It is a weekly paper, costing 4 pence. It has not yet appeared, but the Editor says in his letter that he will publish it when he has space, but cannot guarantee any date. I suggest that you get The Autocar weekly, starting this week. If it appears before you get this I’ll let you know. I have sent several other articles to the same paper. They all come under the series “Exploring Britain”. The one that they are definitely publishing is a description of the Great North Road from London to Edinburgh. It is called “To Scotland by Carlisle”. The others that I have sent since then are all descriptions of beautiful views from different places in Britain that I have seen. There are seven of them. Edinburgh from the Braids; Salisbury Plain from the Beacon Hill; Deeside from Craig en Darroch; Lauderdale from the Stow Road; Bowes Moor, Yorkshire; Dartmoor from Yes Tor, Okehampton; The Grampians from Muckerach. Whether they will publish any or all of these, I don’t know. But I hope that at least three will be accepted. I’ll send you an extra 10/- on the 1st. of October along with the other £2/10/-, to cover these mags. I have another story up for consideration with the NOVEL Magazine,[202] and it hasn’t yet been returned; also a story with HOME CHAT which also has not been returned yet. So there is quite a hope that they may publish them. However, I’ll let you know if, and when anything is published. The nom de plume remains the same – J. R. Edmondston. Is that correct now? The one that The Autocar have taken was 1500 words, so I ought to get a couple of guineas for it.
Things at home seem to have reached the limit! Does this economy affect you in any way? The Rank and File are not much pleased with their reductions! Well! It is the Country’s own fault for giving the unemployed so much money! And I don’t call that an EQUALITY of sacrifice. A man with £5000 a year drops to £4500, but the poor wretched Private Soldier loses 20% of his none too adequate pay! It looks as if there will be a great Trade revival within two years. I certainly hope so.
I shall have to take this down to the train and post it there. So this letter actually leaves my possession at 6.30 p.m. on the 14th September. You ought to get it within the fortnight.
Much love,
Ever your affect,
Pat.
P.S. Please thank Hilda for the 1066 and All That. I am Very Glad to have it.
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44. To Margaret Denholm-Young
17 September 1931 Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
I expect you will have got my air mail letter some time ago.
There isn’t much news this week, except of course, that all our Pay is to be cut. We don’t know how much yet, but it will probably be in tonight’s papers.
It is a shame to touch the Rank & Files’ pay, which is scandalously little as it is. A man drawing 3/6d a day will under the new order, only draw 2/-. How much officers are going to be reduced, we can’t even guess. But I know one married subaltern who will have to retire at once if the cut is more than Rupees 100 a month. I’m thankful I am not married! Now that they are tampering with men’s pensions, there is no security. A man expects that his hard earned pension will be left alone! If I could make £500 in one year at writing, I should retire and write. There is no security in Army life, and no means of complaining. They can legally cut the Pay as much as they like. However, I can carry on still, even if the cut is Rs. 120 per month (£9), but if it is much more, then we shall have to look round for something else. Personally, I don’t think the cut will be anything like as much; and if it was, there would be mutiny! I see that the Navy are having trouble as it is. I don’t wonder! The services are the worst paid men in the world. Do you see that they are reducing officers Pay, putting up Income tax, and reducing Income Tax Relief. In order words, increasing burdens threefold. There will be a lot of fun if they do reduce too much. However, we can only wait & see.
The weather here is very pleasant now, except for mosquitoes! It is beautifully cool at nights. I slept inside last night, with a blanket!
I must catch the mail.
Don’t worry about the Pay. I don’t expect that the reductions will be so very big after all.
Much love
Pat.
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45. To Margaret Denholm-Young
u.d. fragment [?end September 1931] [Typewritten]
Rawalpindi
… much of a groove.
I like the Accounts
… of the two new mechanised
Artillery M….. Brigade Sections in India, and is very much in the public eye at the moment. So it should be an interesting winter.
The Chief Signal Officer, Colonel Barker,[203] inspected the Section last week, and he was very impressed with it. There are a lot of new ‘gadgets’ of my own design in it that he was very interested in. I have had a photo taken, but I doubt if it will be ready before the Mail goes. There are another dozen men to come, as they all go up to the Hills on courses during the summer, leaving very few of us down here on the plains.
Much love,
Ever your Affec,
Pat
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46. To Margaret Denholm-Young
7 October 1931 [Typewritten] Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
Thanks for your last letter. Glad that you are home safely. I see by the papers tonight that there is to be a General Election.[204] I hope that means that Baldwin will get in again. We have had quite enough mismanagement! I don’t think that there is any fear of Lloyd George getting in. What a pity he survived!
Things have got a little clearer out here. We have all decided to cut our expenses. Throughout the Army all servants are to be cut; all Mess subscriptions are to be reduced; all entertaining is to be cut to a minimum, etc. So the end of it will be that we are not much worse off after all. For we are really well paid whatever we may say!
I am to move to Ambala[205] on the 11th of November. As it is nearly 400 miles from here, I am to take at least three days, perhaps four, on the way there. We will stop at Lahore for the night, Jullunder, and possibly Jhelum. The Section is a very pleasant command. Perhaps the best in India. I have 23 British troops (2 sgts, 2 cpls, 1 L/Cpl, 18 Sigmn.), and 8 Indian troops (1 Lance Naik and 7 Sigmn). The Transport is 3 Morris 6-wheeler lorries, 2 Ford lorries, 1 motorcyle. The Government wouldn’t provide me with any transport ― unreasonable, I called it ― but they agreed to selling me a new motor cycle at a greatly reduced rate, on the instalment system; so I took it. It was not expensive, and the payments will be finished in a year. This is the unfairness of India. Officers must buy their own chargers and also cars and motorcycles. But he reason[206] is that the pay is good to allow of this. Actually I shan’t lose over it. I have managed to get a new and safe m/cycle out of the Govt. I can get free spares and petrol and I am at liberty to sell it when I come home on leave.
The tray for Hilda has not yet arrived from Srinagar ― pronounced sirrrinagar ―, but I’ll send it along as soon as I can. I expect that the recent riots in the city have affected trade. The riots were rather bad, but they never affected the European population. The city of Srinagar is quite a long way from the haunts of the visitors ― about 3 miles.
We have stopped using fans from to-day, and really it is getting cooler ever day. The nights are very pleasant indeed. The number of malaria cases this year has been smaller than ever before, thanks to the work of the Anti-Malaria Squads.
I gave up the Accounts from Monday, and I am not sorry to do so. I am now free to get on with my own Section. My Section is not to go to the Unit Camp next month, as we are leaving for Ambala so soon. I am very glad, as it will leave me alone here to get on with the job.
The language exam is next Monday so by the time that you get this, all will be over. I am not at all too sure of the result, as I have not been able to work very hard lately, owing to other work. But my Munshi thinks that I have quite a good chance. However, we’ll have to trust to luck.
We are having another paper chase tomorrow morning; I am to be Master of Paper Hounds again. We are taking eight British troops and eight Indian, as we have so few horses left. It is very good fun, almost as good as a hunt at home.
I am going out to a place 30 miles away tomorrow afternoon to fish. There are big ones to be had there. The place is called Hassan Abdul; it is the farthest place that Alexander the Great reached in India.
No news from Autocar yet. I expect to hear any day now.
I am going to get up early tomorrow so I’ll get to bed now.
Much love,
Ever your Affect.
Pat
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47. To Margaret Denholm-Young
15 October 1931 [Typewritten] Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
You’ll be glad to hear that I managed to get through the Oral part of the Urdu Qualifying Exam; the results of the written will take about a month to arrive. I enclose the paper,[207] [Illustration 4] and you will see that the standard was rather a high one. I didn’t do so badly in the English into Urdu, but I found the Urdu into English rather hard. However, I hope to have scraped enough to get the required 60%. I shall be disappointed if I don’t get through, but not surprised. After all, I have only been in the country eight months, so I can hardly expect to speak fluently yet. However, I am hoping to have got through. The reward is Rs 150/-/-. This is to pay for the Munshi, [to] whom you give Rs 30/-/- a month. Having passed the Oral, even if I have to take the written again, I will never have to take the Oral again. The Oral is apt to be the worst.
I had to send you a cheque two weeks ago as the Post Office had stopped selling Postal Orders, for the time being. This was to stop people sending money home, and gaining by the exchange.
The pay cuts are to take effect from December 1st. We had a Garrison Meeting the other night. The General said that we would cut everything that we could. All subscriptions ― Mess and Club ― are to be reduced. We are cutting the cost of our Messing etc. All servants are to be cut also. So the long and short of it will be that we will not be appreciably worse off after all. Everybody has gone crazy on economy. The General suggested that we should never buy anything that we could not pay for in cash. And I think that he was very wise.
The cold weather has definitely begun. It rained yesterday and all this morning, and was almost cold last night. It dropped as low as 66 degrees on my verandah last night. A considerable difference to the 92 it reached one night in June!
The Autocar has not yet printed my article, nor has it returned any of the others that I sent about a month ago.
I enclose a photo[208] taken on last week’s Paper Chase. It is not a very good print. My horse is the one on the extreme left. There are eight Indian Ranks and eight British Ranks.
I went out fishing to-night. There is an excellent river[209] ten minutes out of ’Pindi on a motor cycle. It was too far to go to before, but now that I have got a bike, I will fish it a lot. The water was too muddy to-night. There was a storm last night.
It is lovely and cool now. I am going to sleep inside tonight. It seems as if we will be able to do so from now on. This cold weather means that our Prickly Heat [210] will go! This is the curse of a hot country! Your body comes out in little prickly lumps, and there is no cure but to go to a cool place. Everyone has it ― more or less. I was very lucky and escaped it until late in August. However, it will soon go now.
I mean to do a bit more writing now that the language exam is over, at least for the present! So I shall get started on something new to-morrow.
Much Love,
Ever your Affec.
Pat
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48. To Margaret Denholm-Young
22 October 1931 [Typewritten] Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
It has suddenly turned very cold here now. I was out fishing this morning and it was very nippy. We are wearing red Mess Kit again, and the usual clothes instead of shorts and shirt sleeves. It is indeed a welcome change, and it has all happened in two weeks!
I had dinner the other night with the Presbyterian Padre, Mr Hendrie.[211] He is the one that you told me about, from Dalmellington.[212] He is very pleasant, and has a charming wife. They have been spending some time in Kashmir. He is only here for a year, and goes home early in the year.
I shall certainly look up John Alexander[213] when he returns. Jammu[214] is not very far away. About 100 miles.
By the time that you get this I will be off to Ambala.[215] But as my movements are to be somewhat uncertain, I think that you had better still address all letters to Pindi. I don’t know how long I am going to be there. And I am certainly going to be in Camp near Delhi for a couple of weeks. After that, we are supposed to be going up to Nowshera[216] for a few days before returning to Pindi. However, the Pindi address will always find me. I shall not be away for more than three months, probably only six or seven weeks.
The tray has not yet arrived from Kashmir. I am afraid that the civil troubles up there may have interfered with the shops. However, I’ll write and find out.
I bought a very nice little rifle for Rs 15/-/- (£1-0-0) from a fellow who is going home. Ambala is teeming with game,[217] so I should get some fun.
I have got to go up to the office now, so must stop.
Much Love,
Ever your affec,
Pat.
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‘The weather grew less hot, and I started a correspondence course with the Staff College[218] Entrance Exams in view, and the Battalion prepared to go out to Camp ― this year to Hassan Abdul, 20 miles north-west up the Peshawar road. The quartermaster went ahead with a fairly large party to build the Camp and get it ready, but then, just as he had got the last tent up, came the news that owing to the Financial Crisis at home and worldwide, there would be no Camp that year after all. There was nothing for it but to take all the tents down again. The Quartermaster was required back in Rawalpindi, so I was sent to take over from him and finish the job of breaking up the Camp. I enjoyed this. The work was pretty hard, but there was fishing to be had in the evenings, and it was a while since I had had any fishing. On arrival, I went straight to the stationmaster (there is a station at Hassan Abdul) and arranged for two wagons to be ready three days hence to take the loads back to Rawalpindi: but when the time came, and I went up the station with my tents, there was no sign of any wagons. Instead, I was told, they were in a shed about 300 yards down the line. ‘Well, I want them up here, at once, as arranged,’ I replied briskly. The stationmaster agreed, but still nothing happened. I had learned by now that it was of little use losing your temper in India, as the only person you hurt was yourself. Then the Frontier Mail steamed in, and the stationmaster went off for a chat with the engine-driver. Suddenly, the engine was uncoupled from the Frontier Mail and steamed away down the line, to reappear, shunting my wagons which were duly brought up the platform to where I wanted them, and the express engine went back to its train, and the Mail drew out again en route for Bombay. I laughed. Just imagine the Flying Scotsman being put to work in some wayside station to do a little local shunting! But then, time is of no consequence in the Orient.’
49. To Margaret Denholm-Young
5 November 1931 [Typewritten] Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
I sent a letter by air mail last Sunday which I expect you received a couple of weeks ago. I was too busy to write a proper letter last week, as I had to go out to Camp at half an hour’s notice.
By the time that you get this, I shall be well settled in at Ambala. I am looking forward to going there, as I shall be more my own master.
Don’t take too much notice of what is in the papers about the trouble in Kashmir. We have sent some troops up there, as the papers say. But I expect that it is only to do police work. You needn’t be afraid that there will be a war. I don’t expect that anything much will happen at all; and in any case, we are well prepared for anything that may occur.
Didn’t I say some time ago that there would be a great trade revival within two years? It seems that it is beginning already. The whole world seems rather staggered at the way Britain has got down to putting her house in order. I trust that we are at last going to take care of ourselves instead of financing the All and Sundry.
Hilda appears to be doing very well.[219] I had a long letter from her last mail. She seems to be enjoying herself. Is there anything going to happen between her and young McFarlane? Or Donald Hendrie?[220] It’s about time she got engaged to somebody.
The weather here [?is now very] pleasant. It is very cold at nights, but as warm as a hot English [?summer] during the day. We are still [?sleeping] under nets, but just …
[Bottom half of page torn away]
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50. To Margaret Denholm-Young
u.d. fragment [?November 1931] [Typewritten]
[Rawalpindi]
[First page missing.]
The camping place that I was at during the week is out 30 miles up the Peshawar Road. It is quite near to Taxila, the place where Alexander the Great reached, in 200 B.C. The Greeks were there for two centuries. It is a very pleasant spot, quite like the Highlands. The camp at Hasan Abdul, where I was commanding, was a glorious spot, and it was really just a three days’ picnic. We had to strike about 100 tents, but we spent the afternoons bathing and fishing.
I expect that you will find the prices will come down soon, as the country gets confidence in the new government. I see that the Stock Exchange is already on the up grade.
The result of the written part of the Urdu Exam is still to come. I can’t hazard a guess as to the result. I just hope for the best (and expect the worst, so as not to be disappointed!).
I hear that I am to get Allowance of Rs 30/-/- per month for the motor cycle after all. So that will be welcome. The pay question is going to be all right, as we have all reduced our expenses accordingly.
I must stop to get the mail,
Much love,
Your affec,
Pat.
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‘On return from Camp, I began to feel pretty seedy and developed bad stomach pains ― so bad that I spent one night sitting in a chair because it was too painful to lie flat ― and had to send for the M.O. It proved to be a really bad attack of Sheega Dysentery[221] and meant hospital at once, so I retired in disorder by ambulance to the Rawalpindi Military Hospital. Here I was put in a side ward on a verandah and left in solitary confinement save for a sweeper who came to dispose of the usual bedroom ware at intervals. My highest score was to call on him 26 times in 24 hours, though I was later told that you couldn’t claim to have dysentery really badly until your daily score exceeded 30. My doctor, a Major in the RAMC, looked in each day, asked me how I was feeling, replied: ‘Right you are. Carry on with soda-sulph’ and with that he was gone ― and I was told he was exceedingly good at tennis. After about a week, an orderly told me that the hospital was to be inspected by the most senior medical officer of all, who was also a General, and I had good cause to bless him (though I never knew his name) for he gingered the staff into getting on with their jobs and I at last received proper attention. Using something like a bicycle pump, they gave me a colossal injection of anti-Sheega serum in two goes, one each side of my poor tummy, with me holding on to the rail at the top of the bed. I obviously had a violent allergy to this, for I came out all over in a terrible itchy rash, which I was warned not to scratch. There was no area the size of a sixpence that was not covered with large, white lumps. The irritation was almost more than I could stand and one night a dose of morphia brought a little relief. An orderly sat by my bedside and kept dabbing at me with a rag soaked in some pink mess[222] that was supposed to ease the irritation, but didn’t. In despair (so I learned later) they finally lifted me up and carted me down a passage to a bathroom and plunged me into a hot bath reeking of carbolic. I was lucky, for this was about the only long bath on the Station then: routinely we all had to use little tin nursery baths filled from cans heated over fires in the servants’ compound. The lumps disappeared like magic, only to return two hours later after I was back in my bed on the verandah. So I had to have another bath. This went on for five exhausting days till the rash finally departed. They weighed me: I had lost 3½ stone, down from 15.2 to 11.7.’
51. To Margaret Denholm-Young
17 November 1931 [Typewritten] Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
I’m afraid that I didn’t feel like writing at length last week; so I hope that you were not too much alarmed at the news.[223]
I came in here[224] a week tomorrow,[225] and expect to get out within three weeks at the most. Last week was decidedly unpleasant, not to mention a trifle painful. But I have been on the mend since Saturday. They discovered the bug that day. It is called a “Shegah”, and is one of the many kinds of Dysentery. They gave me an injection of 20 c.c. of some sort of serum, and that appears to have killed the bug!
I have lived on nothing but tea and barley-water for the last ten days, but today, as a treat, I got a poached egg on toast and three slices of bread for tea! I never enjoyed a meal better in my life! All the pain is gone now, and I expect to be on a light diet now. It seems likely that I will get to Ambala early in December. Another fellow has gone there to be with the Section until I come.
This is a very cheery and comfortable hospital, and everybody is most kind. Never a day passes without someone coming to see me. The Commanding Officer, Adjutant, all the Subalterns that are available, some civilians, Indian Officers, British soldiers even ― they all come at various times. Even one of my Indian Soldiers who had to be left behind has constantly been in to see me. Padre Hendrie has been in twice. So I am not allowed to get neglected!
I’m afraid that I didn’t pass the written part of the Urdu exam. However, that was really expecting too much, after such a short time of study. Some fellows have been in India for several years and have not yet passed. I am lucky to have passed the Oral part of the exam. So I will not have to take that again. I expect that I shall get through the other the next time all right.
I’m sorry that that letter didn’t arrive in time, as you say. I think I sent it to the post by my Bearer[226] that week. He is quite capable of loitering. I usually post all letters myself.
I had a letter from David[227] this week, enclosing some snaps of the kid. It doesn’t look too ugly a child, considering its parents!
The Adjutant has just been in to see me again. People are very kind!
I’ll stop now and write a little more tomorrow.
[If more was added, it has not survived.]
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52. To Margaret Denholm-Young
25 November 1931 Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
The doctor thinks that I’ll be out of hospital within a week now, and I should get to Ambala early next month. I am much better today. The last four days have been rather unpleasant owing to my having reacted rather violently to an anti-Dys. serum injection. It broke out in a rash, just like that bad go of nettle rash I had at Conniston Drive.[228] However, they gave me injections of adrenalin etc for it, and I get into carbolic baths every four or five hours, and it is really getting better now. It was most unpleasant, but is much better now. The bath is a big one! The first time I have been in a long bath since the Lancashire, last January! It is lovely to get into one again!
The irritation is almost away now, so I’ll be up probably tomorrow. I have already sat up by the fire for a couple of hours.
It hasn’t taken so very much out of me after all. The actual Dysentery only lasted one week. It is now only the rash that is troublesome. I am really better, and feel much fitter. Never a day has passed, but somebody comes in to see me. Sometimes several at a time. The Chief Signal officer, Colonel Barker,[229] has been in twice. So has his wife ― a most motherly lady. Very kind.
I hope you can read this, as I am writing it in bed, eating my supper.
I am on normal food now, and get a pint bottle of beer a day! So life is improving!
[unsigned]
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‘After five weeks[230] I was fit again for duty and returned to my quarters, but felt very weak and sorry for myself. The Adjutant gave me an office job for a month, a good move.’
53. To Margaret Denholm-Young
17 December 1931 [Typewritten] Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
I’m afraid that Ambala have been very slack in forwarding your letters. For, except one Scotsman, I haven’t yet received any letters. It is now three weeks since I got a letter. We just can’t help it, as the 5th Medium Brigade are out on manoeuvres, and it may be another week before they are back. So I should get them all for Xmas.
So you see that I can’t answer any questions you may have asked until the Brigade forward them! I won’t alter my address again, even if I go away to Kashmir in the summer. So you might please always address the letters to Pindi, and they will always forward them on.
I got back to work last Friday, and they gave me a sedentary job which will last me till after Christmas. So I won’t be doing anything much until after the New Year. Colonel Yule wants me to stay in Pindi for the present, at any rate, but I may join my old Section in February, when they are passing through Pindi on their way to Nowshera. However, we’ll see.
I have at last got well started on a novel! I suddenly had an idea at the end of last week, and have got the plot all worked out, and last night I finished the first chapter. That is the hardest part over, as now I have got started, it will be comparatively simple to carry on.
Don’t let the idea get out of the family, and I’ll tell you the plot. I mean I don’t want the idea noised abroad as I think it is fairly original.
The idea is that an Indian Army Captain, home on eight months’ leave, takes a bet with a wealthy young friend who has nothing special to do, and who has a genius for getting into trouble, that he ― the friend ― can’t do a motor tour of Britain and get what might be termed an “Adventure” in ten entirely different towns or villages. The friend accepts the bet on condition that the Captain goes with him. The time limit is one month.
The young friend is, of course, married off at the end; but the whole story centres round the central character, “The Hon. Jerry Peters”. And the story must leave off so as to be capable of extension into other books of the same character; probably in different parts of the globe.
For instance, the next one might be called “The Hon. Jerry in India”. You see, I want to create a character, say like Bulldog Drummond, or at least on those lines, but at the same time, quite different.
We’ll see how things go in the next few weeks. I hope to finish their first adventure before the New Year. I’ll send you the chapters as they are written. The first one is only introductory.
I think that I told you about my agency[231] to which I send articles, etc. for submission to editors, on commission. Well, I got a reply from it last post. They say that the story “Hounds Gentlemen Please!” is quite up to magazine standard, and will hope to write me of an acceptance fairly soon. So I am hoping for an acceptance. If so, I’ll let you know as soon as I can, what magazine to buy.
No news yet from the Autocar. But that can wait.
I am concentrating on the novel now. It should be finished before midsummer. Must stop now. I’m quite fit now, and able to do anything.
Much love,
Pat.
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54. To Margaret Denholm-Young
31 December 1931 [Typewritten] Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
I received your letter dated December 9th this afternoon. It had only been delayed a couple of days in its way from Ambala. I had to go off to Jhelum last week, to look into an accident to a lorry, so my letter was unavoidably short.
We have not been doing any work for a week; or at least the men have not, but I have been pretty busy with one thing and another. I went to the Midnight Mass in the R.C. Church on Xmas Eve. It is certainly a beautiful service. The Church was full to the limit. I spent Xmas evening with the Rogers;[232] he was in Catterick with me, the same couple I was staying with in Kashmir.
There have been the usual round of Mens’ dances, Sergeants’ dances, childrens’ parties, etc. But they all went off well. The men had an excellent dinner on Christmas Day. We entertained the Indian Officers to drinks and coffee in the Mess at 12 noon, and after that went up to the Mens’ Dinner. On these occasions the Sergeants do the waiting, the C.O. makes a speech, and all the officers walk round the room and autograph the programmes.
I spent the afternoon helping to run sports for the men who were not sleeping off the effects of the dinner! After which there was a free tea in Sandes Soldiers’ Home.[233] Lady Cassells,[234] the Commander-in-Chief’s wife, presented the prizes. At the tea, the men had three Brigadiers, several Majors and Lady Cassells to wait on them!
Tomorrow we are going to have a Signals Hunt. All the Station is coming, even the General, so it should be good fun.
I enclose a few photos that I would like you to keep for me. There are three taken when I was in Camp just before I went to hospital. It shows the five of us outside the Sgts’ Mess. The other shows the whole party. The last is taken from the Grand Trunk Road about 40 miles from Pindi. It shows what a forbidding country the Punjab is! It is taken from the wall on the side of the road.[235]
I am quite recovered now, and go out on local manoeuvres on the 3rd. They will finish on the 8th. I am in charge of the Neutral Signals in the Division. And should be interesting, if a somewhat responsible, job. I’ll take the camera with me. I have managed to pick up an old Govt. side-car for nothing, and it will do very well for my bike. It will mean that I will be able to take another fellow with me when I go to Kashmir later on in the year.
I never thanked you for the book! It was very, very good of you to send it. And I think that it was the one I most wanted. As a matter of fact, I nearly bought it two weeks ago. Thank you very much indeed. It is certainly a prized possession.
I have had little time to get on with “Looking for Trouble”[236] during the last week. It will have to wait till I come back from manoeuvres on the 8th.
{Must post this. Again many thanks for the beautiful book!}
Much love,
Pat.
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The magazine of George Watson’s College, Edinburgh, The Watsonian, published Patrick’s illustrated article ‘In the Shadow of the Himalayas’ in its issue of December 1931, Vol. xxviii, No. 1, pp. 19–22 (see Appendix 1). He may have given Margaret’s address to the editor, for a copy if they printed his article, and she then relayed the news on.
55. To Margaret Denholm-Young
9 January 1932 Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
I did not manage to get a letter off last Thursday, as I did not get in from manoeuvres until after the post had left. I’ll send this by air mail tomorrow, so you will get it before next week’s letter!
We had a very good time on manoeuvres. They were held over country from 20 to 40 miles north west of Pindi ― up towards the Frontier. I was in charge of Neutral Signals, which meant laying many miles of cable etc for the benefit of the Gilded Staff. However, all went exceedingly well, and the Brigadier said he was very pleased, and thanked me personally. So that was that!
We were out five days in all, and although we worked pretty hard, we did not have much night work. The roads were very bad ― sometimes about ten inches deep in dust!
I came back feeling very fit, as one usually does after manoeuvres.
I think I shall be going out again on the February manoeuvres, but in what capacity, I don’t yet know.
I’m glad The Watsonian have printed my article. They never acknowledged it, so I thought it had gone astray.
I had a letter & Xmas card from Nan,[237] and also from David.[238]
I have hired a piano for my rooms, at Rupees 17 per month. That is about a guinea. I don’t call that expensive, and I will probably only have it for three months, as I go to the hills in April.
I believe the mail will be 2 days’ late this week, as the boat dropped her propeller in Aden harbour, which delayed her two days.
Much love
Pat.
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‘Our new Colonel started Officers’ Training Classes, very important to me professionally. We had many discussions, and sand-table exercises on the floor of our large lecture room, and at long last I found myself beginning to learn the real technicalities of soldiering in Royal Signals.’
Patrick must have already mentioned to Margaret in possibly a letter of 16 January 1932 [missing] that he had ‘decided to take advantage of the Exchange System which was available to all of us at that time. There was much that I loved about those years in India: I liked the spells of leave spent playing golf in Kashmir or shooting in the Central Provinces. I got a tremendous amount of pleasure from playing hockey with the men and looking after their games generally. The two periods of hot weather I spent amid the scent of the great pine trees of the hill station up at Murree, were a delight. But I found the Indian heat wearisome, missed home and especially missed playing rugger. True, there was a little in the Hills during the wet season, but it was nothing like the first class rugger of home which, at 27, I was still just young enough to qualify for.’ Through the Exchange System, ‘you could apply to change places on the Foreign Service Roster, and if your C.O. approved and would recommend it, your application would go off to Army HQ. I had a friend who was due to return to the UK that winter,[i.e. November 1932, the next trooping season] but who didn’t want to go yet for he loved the life in India, while I wanted to leave; so he and I agreed to apply to switch, for a mutually agreed financial consideration.’
56. To Margaret Denholm-Young
28[239] January 1932 [typewritten] Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
Thanks for the last letter. The blankets have not yet arrived. But I expect that they will before long now. I have just remembered that I never posted Maysie’s[240] Christmas present. I have it here now. A miniature of a Hindu cooking bowl. I’ll get it off as soon as I can.
I hear that I am probably not going out on these coming manoeuvres, but have to stay behind to do the work here. I can’t say I am sorry. I have had enough of Camp for this year.
Things are pretty quiet now, in the office line, and there isn’t much work to be done. I am working pretty hard at the language to try and get through in April, and get it over. So I am afraid that the writing has been rather left aside. I enclose, however, the first chapter of the novel. I’ll send the others as I write them. I have retyped it on better paper than the one I enclose. Don’t send it back. I have plenty copies. I can’t tell how it is going to work out at present, but I think that the start is not too bad.
I sent another short story entitled “Jerry Fieldgate’s Last Fence” to the agency, and they replied that it was “a well written story and they would be disappointed if it found no market”. I have sent another to them called “The Girl in the Veil”. I think that they are genuine enough, as their advert. appears every week in John O’London’s Weekly,[241] which is a good paper. And the agency was established in 1911. However, we’ll just have to wait and see. I find that I have a spare copy of “Jerry Fieldgate’s Last Fence”. So I am sending it along. Don’t return it. It was an early story and I don’t think much of it myself. But I think that the hunt is the best of it. It describes parts of actual hunts I have had with the Tedworth Hounds myself.[242] Especially that bit about the fox running into the wire fence. That actually happened. I saw it happen on my last hunt in England. The market for this story is something like the Boy’s Own Paper. Don’t “read’ myself into these stories too much. I certainly am writing from first-hand knowledge, but there is a lot of sentimental padding you should take no notice of. Stories don’t sell without this.
Please thank Nan for her letter, also Stewart when you see him. No more news about the exchange,[243] but I have no fears but that [it] will go through all right. I played for the Army Golfing Society against the Club the other day. I got beaten in the singles, but we halved the foursomes. The A.G.S. team won easily on the total.
Must stop now. Hope you like the stories!
Much love,
Pat.
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57. To Margaret Denholm-Young
11 February 1932 Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
Thanks for your letter of 19th January. As a matter of fact, I have been out in Camp again. I went out on Sunday and came in yesterday. So I was only out for two nights. I merely went out to dismantle some Permanent Lines ― about 30 miles. The sergeant had been taken ill, so I sent him in, and so I was left with nobody else who could speak English at all. In fact, not a white man for 30 miles. We did the work in almost record time, getting in on Tuesday instead of Friday as expected. I enclose some photos of the Section.[244] They are all Sikhs, and most excellent fellows. You can’t tire them out. The Indian Officer, Jemadar Jogindar Singh, is one of the very best Indian officers you could hope to meet. He can’t speak English, but he is not very difficult to understand. He was a reputed wrestler in his day.
The other photos show the Section at work, and also the old Lumbardar[245] of the nearby village. He had just had a new well built, and I took his photo standing beside it. The other shows the men who dug the well. They are Pathans from Kabul. They are professional well diggers.
There are two pictures of the funny little railway station near our Camp. There are only four trains in the day, so the Station Master can sleep most of his life ― and does!
I wrote another article for a local paper the other day, but I have not had a reply as yet. It is on how to buy a car at home, when on leave.
The newspapers[246] have both been arriving regularly, so there is no need to worry on that score.
I have a dog at the moment. A friend has gone on eight months’ leave, so I am looking after it for him. It is a sausage dog, a Dachshund bitch. Rather a nice little thing, but she parked six puppies three weeks’ ago, and I have kept three. The father was a Cocker Spaniel! So they are spaniels with long tails and bent front legs! I have got them all homes already. I enclose a few photos that I took in Kashmir last year. They are of this dog and the baby of the house I was staying in. The one of the child and the young starling is rather good. If I had taken it longways it might have been a prize picture.
There is no more news; and no publications yet I fear. However, we have but to wait and see.
Much love,
Pat.
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The application under the Exchange System had been successful. On 16 February ‘the Authorities gave their blessing, and I was to sail, in the “Lancashire” again, in early November 1932.’
58. To Margaret Denholm-Young
17 February 1932 Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
I suppose that by this time you will be back at home again. A few days ago, last Sunday to be exact, I was to have gone up to the Frontier to do a bit of telephone construction work; but the need for that has passed. So I will not be going. I am not sorry, as there are so many sports to be played off just now, and the Northern Command Signals Week is starting early in March, so I would have missed all this. I want to win some things this year. I should be pretty certain of the Hammer, the Shot and the Discus; almost certain of the Quarter Mile; and also a very good chance in the Officers’ Individual Tent Pegging[247] in the District Sports. So, much as I would have liked to see the Tribal countries, I am just as well pleased to be staying behind.
There is no special trouble on, just the ever going on “opening up of new countries”.
I heard officially yesterday that the Signal Officer in Chief at Army Headquarters in India[248] has approved of my coming home in 1933[249] instead of that other fellow. It has then only got to have War Office sanction, and that is merely a formality. So it seems pretty certain.
I am managing to put by a certain amount of money each month. About £10 to be exact. Some of that must go to the £50 for the exchange, and some more in clothes etc. But I should manage to have put by quite a nice little amount when I do actually sail for home. On top of that, I am not taking any leave this year, except a casual ten days or so, and I will thus be eligible to take two months’ Privilege Leave from the date of landing in England, pending reversion to the Imperial Home Establishment. These two months will be on Indian rates of pay, about £37 a month. So we can do our tour quite all right. What I mean to do is to drive to Liverpool, then to Bulford, Exeter, Cornwall, London. Here we could bring Aunt Elsie North for a week or two, calling at Catterick on the way. The Ushers at Birmingham could be visited between Liverpool and Bulford. I think that this would make rather a nice round, stopping for a day or two where we wanted.
I had a letter from Edward Nanney-Wynn the other day, and you will be sorry to hear that his father died suddenly about the New Year. It must have been really a blessing, as the poor man had never walked since the Boer War. Edward is also due home for good in April 1933. So I seem to be very lucky.
Still no news from either Agency or Autocar. I think I’ll write to The Autocar and ask if they can now give a definite date for publication.
That’s about all the news this week.
Much love,
Pat
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59. To Margaret Denholm-Young
24 February 1932 [typewritten] Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
I will answer your questions first.
No, I will not pay anything more than the bare £50, as I will get the other fellow’s Trooper Passage. If I had just come on leave, it would have cost at least £75 return. The £50 is merely a private arrangement. And cheap at the price. The usual payment would be nearer £150.
The Urdu exam will be early in April, but I rather doubt of passing now until July, as all these movements have rather messed up the study. The language exam will have absolutely no influence on the Exchange.
The blankets arrived safely. Many thanks.
I am not going to make this a long letter, as I have been out
since early morning. I have been up to Mirpur, in Jammu State, the place where all the civil unrest and riots have been going on.[250] It is about 100 miles from here. The Border Regt. are there just now, but all is as quiet as Edinburgh. Of course things will continue to be quiet as long as the British Troops are in the place. As soon as they Leave the place will flare up again.
I took a lot of photos which I will send as soon as they are ready. Mirpur is rather a nice little village on the lower slopes of the Kashmir hills. The trouble has been entirely between local Hindus and Mohammedans, and the Troops are only there to keep the peace. It was rather a pleasant run, but very tiring, as the roads are none too good. You will probably have read of these places in the papers ― Jhelum, Mirpur, Jhutley and so on. I only went up to see the Brigadier about something, and will not be going again. I don’t expect the Troops will be there much longer either.
Our annual Signals Week begins next Monday, and we don’t do any work for a week. The District Military Tournament follows, and I have entered in the Officers’ Individual Tent Pegging, which I think I have a chance in.
If you don’t mind, I will stop now as I am very tired, and want to go to bed. You see, it was over 200 miles today over bad roads, and we are playing cricket tomorrow against the Sergeants.
Much love,
Your Affectionate,
Pat.
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‘Back at work after the dysentery, I failed to recover properly and within two months I was back in hospital with a recurrence, not so bad this time, and I was out again in three weeks’ time. Again, I had to endure the same treatment, and again I managed to recover, but felt like death. Then after four days, it happened again, and back I went again, into hospital, for another four weeks. I really was frightened, but unaccountably it cleared up somewhat sooner, and I began to feel better.’
60. To Margaret Denholm-Young
9 March 1932 Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
I am very much better now,[251] and am to leave Hospital tomorrow. I’m afraid it was Dysentery all right, but only clinical this time; which means a mild type without any bacteria. So there were no unpleasant injections or such like. It was a mild attack, and I am quite well again now.
I am asking, as I said last week,[252] to be allowed to come home for good as early in the Trooping Season as possible, as I don’t want to run the risk of getting this disease again.
Supposing, by bad luck, I do get it a third time; I will immediately ask for a Medical Board, and ask for six months sick leave. So even if I did get another dose, it might prove a blessing in disguise.
Don’t think I’m unhappy here. It isn’t as bad as all that; but, as I said to Colonel Yule, “when a man has had Dysentery for the second time in three months, his outlook is apt to become jaundiced!” The eternal being careful about what to eat and what not to eat gets a bit trying; and I can’t say I shall be sorry to leave India. The doctors tell me that it is sheer bad luck, and not any weakness to disease; as the strongest man may easily get Dysentery.
I have been putting in my time writing articles, etc. and doing the language. I can read and write Urdu quite fast now, but I rather doubt if I will have a sufficiently large vocabulary to pass the Higher Standard Exam. on April 4th. However, we’ll see. I should, at any rate, be certain of getting through in July. The Exam. is every three months. I am not going to employ a Munshi after this month, as I don’t really require one now.
I have not yet run across Tim, or even young Collingwood. I understand C. is still in Nowshara.
I had a letter last mail from the Portland Literary Agency accepting two more stories, “The Keeper of the Maharaja’s Door”, and “The Girl in the Veil”. They say that these, too, are up to standard. But they don’t want me to send them any more until they have “scored a success for me, and justified my confidence in them”. They say that they have been delayed by editors, but still have to get acceptances. They may be a good agency, or they may not. It is impossible to tell. We can only wait and see. When I get home, I won’t use any agency. It is an advantage from here, as it takes six weeks to get a reply from one editor. While, on the other hand, an agency can hear from several editors in a very short time. However, I am getting good experience out here, both in writing and in seeing places and peoples. So when I do get home, I hope to be able to get things published fairly regularly. The great difficulty out here being the minimum of six weeks which must elapse before a reply can possibly arrive.
Must stop now.
Don’t worry about me, I am all right now.
Much love
Pat.
P.S. Here is 10/-, as you must be spending something on Autocar etc. Go to the Pictures with it!
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61. To Margaret Denholm-Young
u.d. [approx. ?16 March 1932] Rawalpindi
[The first page ― of a letter reflecting back on the army career in India, and especially about money ― is missing.]
The hardest part is having to buy one’s charger.[253] The standard price is Rs 600 (about £45), but of course, you can sell it afterwards. But it is hard on the Subaltern. However, the only way is to borrow money from [the] Regimental Polo Fund, which exists for this purpose alone, and pay back monthly.
Many people argue that it is unfair to make a subaltern pay R600 straight off for a horse; but the answer is that the pay is higher to allow of this. This is so, but he must first find the R600. This can be done by buying a horse from Government, and paying back by having 30 Rupees a month deducted from your pay. The Govt. is quite fair, and will repurchase the animal when you leave the country.
I must say, I feel quite proud of having paid ALL liabilities now, with one small exception, and on my pay at that! A great many fellows, delighted at the high rate of pay, proceed to squander it in cars and ponies etc. Personally, I prefer to get straight first.
I’m afraid I have said a lot about this, but I thought you would be interested ― and pleased ― and I didn’t want to tell you until I had paid all bills. I have had a very pleasant time too, even if I have not joined the club; and it has let me get seriously started at journalism.
I have seen so many fellows with bills they can never hope to cope with, that I decided to see what could really be done if one really tried. The result is that they still have the bills, while I have absolutely none.
[the rest of the letter is missing.]
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‘Our new Colonel ― someone I had known and liked at Catterick ― had arrived and he took charge at once and sent me off to Upper Topa in the Murree Hills, our Hill Station for the whole of that summer. So I joined the advance party where I lived in was to be my own quarter near the Mess building, and ate with the Captain who was opening up the Station. He and his wife were very good to me, and contributed greatly to my eventual full recovery. I stayed there all that summer and finally got so fit that I could play a game of rugger, run the mile back to my quarters, and immediately play several sets of tennis ― and all this at 7000 feet!’
62. To Margaret Denholm-Young
12 April 1932 Upper Topa
Dearest Mother,
I came up here[254] last Thursday, and am living in my own quarter, but feeding with a married Captain until the Mess comes up here about the 20th of this month. There is not much to do up here, so it is really a fortnight’s leave.
As you probably know, the place is called Upper Topa, the highest point in the Murree Hills. It lies about 7000 feet high among the pines, and the air is glorious. I am to be here all the hot weather. One good thing about this place is that there is no malaria. We never use nets up here, which is a good thing as they are a nuisance.
I am feeling much fitter here, and hope to go for a day’s shooting[255] on Thursday.
I enclose a few photos; they are not very good, as they were badly developed. The one of me, taken the day before I left Pindi, is quite good. I am going to have it enlarged a bit. One of them shows Murree as seen from here. Murree is the main village, three miles away where all the shops are. The one of the Quarters is very good. The Mess is not so good. The one of the Mall at Pindi shows the European Cantonment; broad roads and plenty of trees. The rest are of Pindi city, and give you an idea of what a dirty, congested place it is.
The air up here is wonderful, and there are any number of walks among the pine trees.
I have finished the next two chapters, but I won’t send them till I have revised them. They need some alterations.
Address letters to Pindi as usual. We are only 37 miles away and the mail is forwarded.
Much love,
Pat.
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63. To Margaret Denholm-Young
20 April 1932 [Typewritten] Upper Topa
Dearest Mother,
Many thanks for your last letter dated 30th March. You might thank Molly[256] for her enclosures. Tell her that I will try to write to her before very long. Glad to hear that she is getting stronger.
I am having a very pleasant time up here. The others don’t arrive until next Sunday or Monday. The Mess will probably open about Saturday. I have been doing a lot of walking, and feel really fit again. The air up here is lovely. You see, we are 7000 feet up. We always feel frightfully hungry long before the next meal. Murree is just over three miles away, and makes a pleasant walk there and back. I have had a good deal of time to write, and sent a short story to the Argosy magazine[257] by this mail. I’m afraid that this may be too ambitious a market, but I might as well try it first. It is called “The Last Man”, and is a story of the end of the world. I hardly think you would like it, as it is a thriller and certainly not the kind of finish that the Church would like. However, the public likes to be thrilled and shocked, so I am hoping for an acceptance. I enclose it, but don’t think anything of it. It is pure rubbish.
Last Thursday I went on a shooting trip. We started off at half [past] four in the morning and walked …
[rest of page torn off here]
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64. To Margaret Denholm-Young
27 April 1932 [Typewritten] Upper Topa
Dearest Mother,
I will answer your questions first. Yes, I am perfectly fit again, and unless anything unexpected turns up, I shall be here until the middle of October, or somewhere about then. That means the whole Hot Weather. Please always address letters to Pindi. It is a mistake to change one’s address from home. Please don’t continue the Green Dispatch[258] now that the Rugger Season is over. I don’t think that there is any other paper that I would like instead. So just don’t send any but The Scotsman.
The rest of the Unit came up her on Monday, and are settling in. I am glad to see that I will be doing an Instructor’s job all the summer, and not one like Station Staff Officer or Quartermaster or Accounts Officer. I am very glad to get back to a job with Troops at last. The last few days I have been helping Mrs Yule to paint her floors, hang her pictures and passepartout[259] some more. But I am rather glad that all this is finished now. It was getting too much of a good thing.
I enclose a few snaps. The two of Murree are excellent. It is the local town, and, like all the hill stations, is built on top of a hill. I think these two are particularly good. You will see that I have gone back to the old size of camera. Jika Gali is the small bazaar at the foot of our hill, and is on the Kashmir road. This road disappears on the left of the photo. Gharial is at the other end of our road, and is about a mile from Jika Gali. There are a lot of good walks around the place, and we have our own tennis courts. So I think that we will have a very pleasant summer. It is rather pleasant to be back with British Troops entirely, as the Indian Troops stay in Pindi. Not that I don’t like them, but a change is always good.
I will probably go to Kashmir for ten days sometime later on, probably July or August; but this will only be if I keep fit until then; as I hope to do.
I haven’t sent the film album as yet as I'd intended …..
[lower section of page torn off here]
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‘I had not long been up in Murree when the shadow of tragedy fell upon the Station. One of the soldiers was taken ill with appendicitis. As ill luck would have it, it had not been reported soon enough, and peritonitis set in. He was one of my own platoon, a young man I had known all his service, as Cottam had been one of the Battalion rugger players at home and we had seen a great deal of each other. I hated to see an old friend so ill, and went often to visit the lad in hospital.’
65. To Margaret Denholm-Young
11 May 1932 [Typewritten] Upper Topa
Dearest Mother,
I’m afraid that this must be a short letter, but I enclose the next two chapters of the novel. These, I am quite aware, are not very good, and may have to be revised a good deal. But it may amuse you to read them. Don’t return them, but keep them until I come home.
I have to go over to Murree, four miles away, every day, just now, as one of my old Section is in hospital there with peritonitis. He is only a boy of about twenty-one, and very dangerously ill. In fact, we gave up hope on Monday, but he is still alive. The Colonel[260] has come with me twice, but he did not recognise him, but he knows me all right. So I feel rather bound to go and see the boy every day. It seems now that he has just a chance to live. These things are distressing, but he isn’t the first, and he won’t be the last.
I see that Edward Nanney Wynn is back in England now, and is to go to Catterick again. It’s about ten to one that I go there too, as I am due for a tour at the Depot. That would be very satisfactory from all points of view.
There is really not much to tell you this week, as I have been spending all my spare time between here and Muree Hospital. For, after all, the poor lad has no people in this country, and one can’t let him down. However, I am much more hopeful about him today.
I had better stop or I will miss the post.
Much love,
Pat.
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The second half of the following gives a moving description of one of the sadder responsibilities of a young army officer, organising a military funeral for one of his troopers, Signalman Frank Cottam, a 22-year-old despatch-rider. Patrick was 25½ and his punctilious and responsible reaction to this death was an early pointer to the attitude of the future senior officer to the men under his command.
66. To Margaret Denholm-Young
15 May 1932 [typewritten] Upper Topa
Dearest Mother,
I’m afraid that this will be a bit late for your birthday. I keep forgetting that it takes three weeks for a letter to reach home. However, here is a small remembrance to go to the Pictures with.
One of the Sergeant clerks here has a friend who is a clerk at Army H.Q. at Simla, and he is writing to him to find out, if he can, when I am likely to sail. It appears that I am quite likely to sail in October. The first Trooper generally sails about the middle of October. He tells me that Officers’ sailing orders for the first boats usually come out some time in July. But I’ll cable you as soon as I know my date of sailing.
I have just returned from Murree, where I have been seeing that boy who is so ill. He seems to be making progress, although he is still dangerously ill. Personally I have great hopes for his complete recovery. He was quite cheery this morning.
I haven’t been able to do much writing of late as I have been so very busy with other things. But I sent you the next two chapters last week. I’m afraid that these are not very good, but they are all practice. I have no doubt that I will be able to make quite a good thing of it when I get home. It takes so very long to get a reply out of an editor when one is out here.
Hilda sent me Wintour’s[261] estimate for the slides and I think that they are very reasonable. So I shall certainly have some done when I get home. But I think that I will wait till I see Wintour before I decide upon those to be done. It will need professional advice upon which will come out well, and which will not.
Hilda’s tray arrived the other day, from Srinagar, but I don’t think I will send it now as I will be able to bring it before long now. I have also got her a pair of bedroom slippers in the shape of Pathan shoes. They have turned-up toes, like Aladdin pictures, and are covered in gold braid. They cost nothing out here.
I hear that they are using fans in Pindi now; but it is perfect up here. It never gets too hot, and one never uses a mosquito net. We are only 40 miles from Pindi, but we are 7000 feet up. Right up among the pine trees. I shall probably go to Srinagar for ten days or so later on, probably July, August or September. But my two months will be taken at home.
‘From the first there was little hope for Cottam and after a fortnight, he died. I asked the Adjutant to let me go over in the lorry that was being sent to bring the body back for the funeral, and it was a sad journey. On entering the Lines, the cortege drove, at walking pace, past the guard standing at the salute on the left. On the right, the C.O. stood alone, also at the salute. It struck me then that the only time a private gets the “Present Arms” is when he is dead. The procession drove on past the guard-room to the parade ground where the whole Battalion was drawn up in three sides of a square, and passed through the ranks of the Firing Party, to halt just beyond. As the coffin was unloaded, shouldered by the pall-bearers, and carried towards the square, the Firing Party came slowly down to the position of Rest on their Arms reversed. I was struck by the simple beauty of this movement, for the Firing Party were standing facing inwards in two ranks, and just before the pall-bearers reached them, they stretched out the arm nearest the coffin and remained in this position for a moment. It seemed to me that the lad was thus being blessed by his comrades.’
‘The C.O. motioned to me to come and stand beside him, as I was representing the boy’s parents. The service started. It was very simple, but very impressive, and concluded with ‘Abide with Me’, including the unusual verse:
“Come not in Terrors, as the King of Kings;
But kind and good, with healing in Thy Wings;
Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea;
Come, Friend of Sinners, thus abide with me. ” ’
‘The service over, the Firing Party moved off, followed by the pall-bearers, followed by two privates, great friends of the deceased. I was next, followed by the Colonel and the R.S.M. Then the band, and the rest of the Battalion, in order of rank ― and finally, the officers. Passing the guard, the deceased received the Salute again, this time to the accompaniment of that most majestic of martial music, the Dead March from “Saul”. Thus, this man who had filled a humble place in the forces was followed to the grave by his entire Battalion. At the grave-side, the Chaplain stood at the head, the pall-bearers on either side, and his two friends, plus the Colonel and myself, stood at the foot. After the Commital, the Firing Party gave the three-volley salute; and as the last echo died away, the only sound to be heard was the moaning of the wind through the great pine trees overhead. Then came the notes of that most poignant of all bugle calls, the Last Post. It tears at the heart, this British military farewell ― akin, I thought, to a last shout of goodbye to someone disappearing round a bend in the road. Silence again, and then the bugles again, playing the Reveille, that Christian call. I found himself thinking of another funeral, in England[262] where the scream of sea-gulls overhead seemed to say: “There is no death, no death, no death.” Those nearby remained motionless for a few more moments as the wreaths were placed, then they saluted and moved away. But the rest of the Battalion did a very touching thing: every man present (and there were close on 600) filed past the grave, pausing a moment at the salute. Leaving the cemetery, I recalled the lines of Rupert Brooke:
“If I should die, think only this of me:
That there’s some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England.” ’
Tuesday.[263] I’m sorry to say that that youngster died yesterday.[264] I’m glad I saw him the day before. I have promised to go and see his people when I get home. I went over to Murree this morning to fetch him with a lorry and an escort of seven dispatch riders on motorcycles. The man had been a D.R.[265] I brought him back to a service in the lines at Topa. Colonel Yule and I represented his family as Chief Mourners. After the service, we all, as a Unit, marched to our own cemetery to the band playing the Dead March in Saul. At the grave, we gave him the volley of three rounds, followed by the Last Post and the Reveille on bugles. It was my first Military Funeral, so I am describing it to you. I suppose it is only human, but one does get so very fond of these soldiers, especially our chaps who are a big cut above the rest of the Army, and one can’t help feeling it a bit when they go out. After all, an Officer is “Father and Mother” to them out in these place.
But to become more cheerful. The Autocar have at last printed one of my articles. It is the one on the view of Edinburgh from the Braid Hills. It is in The Autocar for April 22nd.[266] [Plate 30] You could probably get a back number more easily than I can, but I will send you a cutting if I can get hold of one. It is one of the shorter articles, of which they accepted seven. There is also one longer one, on the Great North Road. Perhaps they will soon print others. I hope so, and it seems pretty hopeful, as the first to be printed is the one out of the series of seven, and not the single one. And then again, they have not returned any one, so it looks as if they intended to print them all eight, ― in the fullness of their own good time!
{I have just ordered 2 copies of The Autocar for 22nd. They have not yet arrived, but I’ll send a cutting next week, so don’t bother to buy one.}
Much love
Pat.
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67. To Margaret Denholm-Young
u.d. fragment [? approx. 22 May[267] 1932 [Typewritten]
[Upper Topa]
… , so I shall just see them well started, and then go off on leave. I am not taking any more than ten days as I want to get two months at home before starting work again.
There are only three of us here just now, besides the Colonel, one is Adjutant, one is Quartermaster, and I am commanding both Companies. The rest are either on leave, or down at Pindi for the time being. I shall be going down to Pindi for Thursday, so I shall get just a taste of the heat. I intend to finish off in one day, so as to get back to the cool before night. They tell us that this is the very worst Hot Weather for many years; the heat has really been very bad, averaging well over 112. Over 110 is unpleasant.
Mrs Yule has taken over the catering for the Mess as there are too few of us for the cook to do us on the Contract system. She has certainly improved the place.
The rains will be breaking up here any time now ― in fact, it is raining to-day. It lasts about a month on and off. The other units will be playing rugger, but the Colonel won’t let us play at all, because he says that it isn’t safe at this height, 7000 feet. I think he is quite right. It is not worth taking any risks. I certainly won’t as I am now to get about five seasons more at home.
We caught a snake[268] here this afternoon, at least one of the servants did. It was about seven feet long, and I have taken a couple of photos of it. I will send them next week if they come out all right. These are very rare up here, and in fact this is only the second I have seen in India.
I’m afraid the Argosy returned that story, but I sent it again to Pearsons Papers[269] along with four more, so I should get a reply before very long. I am hoping to get well on with both novels when on leave. In fact, I will not be doing much else, as it is not worth joining golf[270] for a single week, as one has to pay a whole month’s subscription. I wonder if I told you that I have got another novel on the go at the same time. It is called “So This Is India”, and I mean to finish it first. It is merely a series of sketches of India, and I have decided upon the following chapters:
Prologue: ― Kipling’s Prologue to ‘Departmental Ditties’.[271]
Chapter 1. Departure.
“ 2. Bombay to Rawalpindi.
“ 3. Camp. Fishing at Hasan Abdal. Camp ― Sukho.
“ 4. An evening in the Hot Weather.
“ 5. Kashmir.
“ 6. Hospital.
“ 7. Christmas.
“ 8. Mirpur.
“ 9. The Hills.
“ 10. A Funeral.
“ 11. A Shooting Trip.
“ 12. Home.
Epilogue: ― Kipling’s “The Recall”.
I have already written chapters 1, 10 and 11. I may alter some of these, and I may even add one or two, but the general idea will remain. I think it would be a good idea to finish this one first while I am on the spot. I can illustrate it …..
[lower half of page torn off here]
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68. To Margaret Denholm-Young
28 May 1932 [Typewritten] Upper Topa
Dearest Mother,
I’m afraid that I have missed the ordinary mail this week, so I am sending this by the air mail. I have been somewhat busy the last few days. You see, I have to write a long letter to that boy’s parents.[272] I have promised to go and see them when I get home. That is, if they would like it. The Colonel and I have written an obituary notice[273] for the Corps Magazine. The Colonel told me that he thought that the funeral was the most impressive that he had seen since King Edward’s.[274] It certainly was magnificent, and I don’t think that any of those present is ever likely to forget it. I am very glad now that I have taken so many photos of the troops, as I have some very good ones of this lad which I will show you when I get home. I didn’t take these, but a friend of his lent me the negatives.
I hear that it is very hot in Pindi just now. It is just like a hot English summer up here, and we can wear English clothes all the time.
You will have received the Autocar cutting by now, and I hope that they are going to print some more of my articles before very long. Having started on them, I don’t think that they will be very long before they print the rest.
I had a pleasant surprise the other day. One of us had to go down to the plains to take the place of another fellow on leave. He was training the dispatch riders, my old Section. So I have been moved from the Operators Course to the D.R.’s Course. So I am now back in charge of my old Section, and have all the old men as well as some from other stations. It is very pleasant getting back to the particular men I had got to like so well. Also this is the Section that young Cottam, the fellow who died, belonged to. I think that the Colonel put me back there knowing that I know them all so well. Personally I am very pleased, as I know them all extremely well, and can therefore get the best out of them. They are extraordinarily nice fellows.
I am dining in Murree tomorrow night with the Church of Scotland Padre, an old friend of Hilda’s from the Varsity, Paul Stirling.[275] I met him the day before yesterday at a hockey match. He says that he has been out in India for four years.
I bought two books the other day that you should try to get to read. In Search of Scotland and In Search of England both by H. V. Morton.[276] They are the best descriptive books that I have read for a long time.
{You might thank Maysie for her letter, the next time you see her.}
Much love
Pat.
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69. To Margaret Denholm-Young
1 June 1932 Upper Topa
Dearest Mother,
I’m afraid I have left this a bit late, as the mail goes very soon. There hasn’t been much doing this last week. We are doing the Ceremonial Parade on the King’s Birthday on Friday, and held a practice today.
I had dinner with the Colonel last night, and called to have tea with Paul Stirling and his wife on Monday. She is very nice indeed ― a Canadian. I enclose a couple of photos you might like. One is of a typical village near here. The other three are of Sigm. Cottam, the boy who died the other week. You might ask Hilda to get them mounted and framed (small black frames) by Wintour, and keep them till I return.[277] I have a big one of him, but I think I’d like these as well.
Thank Hilda for her questionable (!) letter.[278] It is pretty hot up here now, but not unpleasant at all.
Must stop,
Love
Pat.
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In Edinburgh, Hilda was now sitting her Final Examinations in medicine to qualify MB Ch.B. (Edin.)
70. To Margaret Denholm-Young
8 June 1932 [Typewritten] Upper Topa
Dearest Mother,
I’m glad to hear that you are getting a good run of holidays at last, and if I were you, I would certainly accept all the invitations you get. By the time you get this, I expect that Hilda will have completed her Finals. I wonder where she will go.
I got a cheque for £1–1–6 from The Autocar for that little article. So, if they pay on the same basis for the other seven, I should get about £10–0–0[279] for the lot. One of them was about three times as long as the rest. However, anything is better than nothing.
I paid my last bill last week, so I have nothing outstanding now but Rs 450 for the Exchange.[280] I have already paid the fellow Rs 200. I am giving him Rs 100 a month now, and not really missing it. So, even if I don’t come home a millionaire, I will at least not have any outstanding bills; and I will at least have enough to get some new clothes and buy a small car, as my two months’ advance of pay for my leave in England will be about £70.
I wrote to Jerry Pearse[281] the other day, and asked him what the odds were on my being posted back to Bulford. I think that he will try to get it for me.
I can’t say that I am very keen to go to Catterick. Even if it is near home, the work there is so very uninteresting. Also the weather is inclined to be so very bad. However, we can only wait and see.
They will be making up the first Trooper in July. So I ought to get an idea of when I am likely to sail by the middle of July. It all depends upon what sort of a mood the particular man at Simla is in [on] the morning he gets my application for an early passage.
I hope to hear from The Argosy magazine by the next mail from home. I sent them that story, ‘The Last Man’, about six weeks ago. I can hardly expect them to print it, as they are about as good as The Strand mag.[282] But there is no harm in trying them first.
I think that I sent you some photos last week. The last few films have been letting light in, so I have sent the camera to Kodaks at Bombay to be properly repaired.
I was going to have taken my D.R.s out for a week-end camp last week, but as it rained hard, we did not go. However, I hope to be able to go this week instead. I took them for a run as far as Kohala[283] on Sunday morning. The bridge is down there, but we were able to walk across and stand on the Kashmir side. They were thrilled at being actually on Kashmir soil. It was pretty hot down there, as Kohala is only a little higher than Pindi.
I hear that I can get ten day’s leave in August or September, whenever I want it. The Colonel is going some time in August, and he suggested that I should go with him. However, I shall wait and see.
Much love,
Pat.
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71. To Margaret Denholm-Young
u.d. fragment [?mid June 1932, not before 14th[284]] Upper Topa
[top of page missing]
…we had a dinner in the Sergeants’ Mess. This was for all Ex-Boys in the Station. The dinner was a great success, there being all ranks present, officer, sergeants, corporals and signalmen. They all made speeches of varying quality, the Colonel’s one being particularly good.
Then we have just finished a three days tennis tournament; so there has been plenty doing this week.
I enclose a couple of snaps which are not very good, and a smaller one of a couple of servants.
[passage missing]
Think I shall probably take … [passage missing]… August.
I had a long letter from Mr Cottam, the father of that man who died here. They live in Sheffield and want me to go and see them when I get home, so I shall certainly do so.
As soon as I have completed another film album, I shall send it home to Wintours for them to get on with a few slides.
There is really no more news of note.
Much love
Pat.
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72. To Margaret Denholm-Young
18 June 1932 [Typewritten] Upper Topa
Dearest Mother,
I’m afraid that I did not manage to get a letter off by the ordinary mail last Thursday, so I am sending this by air mail.
No. I’m afraid I have not got the green case; I remember it all right, but I don’t think I ever had it.
You will have seen from the papers that the North of India is in the middle of a heatwave. It has been very warm up here, but never unpleasant. In Pindi it has reached 115 in the shade, while in other parts it has been as high as 123. However, the monsoon will be breaking in three weeks or so, so the plains ought to get some relief soon. I am rather glad that I am not down there this year, as it seems to be pretty unpleasant.
We had another unpleasant occurrence this week. The wife of our Sgt Major died of an internal complaint (it sounded like cancer). So we had yet another funeral. Wreathes are coming expensive! She was the wife of my first Company Sgt Major at Bulford. It is all very sad.
Two of us are away in Kashmir on leave, and there were only two of us left in the Mess. The other fellow contracted appendicitis last Saturday, and had it out the same day. He is getting on quite all right. But as I am the only one left in the Mess, I am living with the Colonel and the Mess is being spring-cleaned. It will be opened again on the 25th.
I have been so busy for the last few weeks with all these people either away or just going away that I have had no time for writing at all. I have not heard from the Argosy magazine yet, but I expect to hear on Monday.
We had an excellent time last week end. I took about 30 of the troops out for a camp from Saturday till Sunday. The Colonel called it my “Boy Scouts’ ” camp. It was very good fun and we all enjoyed it. It was at a very nice place in the pine trees, only about seven miles away.
When you next see Stewart, you might suggest that a letter would not be out of place. Though I’m afraid I have not written to him for some time.
Major Buller,[285] who was my Company Commander at the Shop, came to dinner last night. He is in Murree at the present time.
There is really no news this week as I am pretty busy with all these others away or ill. But the work is all very pleasant and there is really not so very much to be done. I am also running the Entertainments, which entails running a dance for all ranks once a fortnight.
Much Love,
Pat.
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Meanwhile, Hilda had passed all her qualifying examinations and was now Dr Hilda Margaret Denholm-Young M.B., Ch. B. (Edin.) [Plate 31]
‘Edinburgh University Faculty of Medicine Degrees
Successful Candidates
In the Faculty of Medicine, the following candidates have passed the final professional examination for the degrees of Bachelor of Medicine and Bachelor of Surgery (M.B., Ch. B.):–
Denholm-Young, Hilda Margaret …’
(The Scotsman 13 July 1932 p. 8)
She took up a hospital appointment in England that enabled her to go on and specialise in paediatrics.
73. To Margaret Denholm-Young
20 July 1932 [Typewritten] Upper Topa
Dearest Mother,
It looks as if I am going to catch the ordinary mail this week. I note from your last letter that you are surprised to find that it is raining here just now. Unfortunately it is in the hot weather that it does rain, that is just what makes it so unpleasant down on the plains. The intense heat combined with the humidity is what is not nice. Nobody minds a dry heat; it is the stickiness that we all hate. It is all right up here, but down in Pindi it is not quite so pleasant. I was down there on Thursday last week, but as we had had a lot of rain the few days previously, it was not at all bad there. When we have rain in the hills, it is quite cool on the plains. It certainly wasn’t as bad as this time last year. The intense heat comes in May, June and July; then the rains break about the 20th of the month, and for about two months it is just beastly. Imagine being so sticky and hot that you were NEVER dry for two months! But you get used to it. Personally, I am not sorry that I am finished with it for another five years or so.
I am going down to Pindi again this Thursday, to attend a Mess meeting. We are all going, but we will only be there for the day.
I have managed to get rid of the job of running the dances, so things are not so rushed now. I shall be commanding one of the companies until I sail, but there isn’t much in that.
I am not at all sure that I will go on leave to Kashmir in August. I rather thank that it would be much better to spend the time and money on a tour of the Frontier in September. It would be awful to come home and never have seen the Khyber Pass[286] or Afghanistan from the Pass, or Kohat[287] or Waziristan.[288] So I think that I will most probably make a tour of the Signals Messes on the Frontier just before I sail. Anyway I am going to wait and see my date of sailing before I think of leave. I heard yesterday that the news of our home postings will be here any day now. So I hope to be able to tell you where I will be stationed in England before the end of this month. I could not hazard a guess, but I rather think that it will be one of three places, Catterick, Bulford or Colchester. I really don’t mind which it is.
Yes, I shall get two months’ leave at home on Indian rates of pay, also twenty two days at English rates for the voyage.
Edward,[289] I see, is definitely at Catterick, although I have not heard from him since he left Canada. I am writing to him by this mail.
I have half finished the book on ‘So this is India’; this means that I have got six chapters written; and I am getting on with the rest as quickly as I can. It all depends on how much time I can spare to write.
I wrote the Obituary notice of that youngster’s death in The Wire, our Corps magazine, and it should reach us next week.
Much love
Pat
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Obituary
It is with very deep regret that we have to announce the death of No. 2318895 Sigmn Frank Cottam at the British Military Hospital, Murree, on Whit Monday, 16th May. He was taken ill with acute appendicitis, and lived but two weeks after the operation. He was only twenty-two years of age.
As he was a despatch rider, the six-wheeler which brought him back from Murree to the Signals lines in Upper Topa was escorted by seven despatch riders on their machines. The first part of the funeral service, conducted by the Rev. Dr. McKelvie, was held in the lines. The coffin was then carried down to the little cemetery below by some of his fellow despatch riders, while the band of the 2nd Battalion The Border Regiment played the “Dead March” in Saul. Lieut. Denholm-Young, his Section officer, Signalmen Talbot and Baggeley (two of his greatest friends), the commanding officer and the R.S.M. followed immediately behind the coffin. After the committal, every officer, n.c.o. and man ― over two hundred ― filed past the grave and saluted. No one of those present is ever likely to forget the impressive dignity of the service.
In his passing, the Corps has lost a man of cheerfulness, resource and pluck. Sigmn Cottam had been a great favourite with all ranks, and his place will not easily be filled. He died as he had lived, patient and cheerful.
(The Wire, July 1932, p. 258)
74. To Margaret Denholm-Young
u.d. fragment [?early August 1932] Upper Topa
… I have definitely postponed my leave for …
I heard a Major Brown wanted a companion for a tour of the Frontier. I know him very well, and will probably go with him, perhaps in September.
….. are out, there are 13 of them; …
[fragment verso:]
I suppose she has not yet got a job. If she must go to England, I strongly recommend the South, or failing that, Yorkshire.
It will be nice for her if she gets a reasonably well paid job at some ….
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Patrick was still hoping to get a look at the North West Frontier.
‘I had been sitting in my office working out programmes for the coming month’s work when it occurred to me to ask my clerk, an old soldier, what it was like in Peshawar then. The Sergeant Major, a very old friend of mine, and just lately out from England, overheard and asked to come too. We arranged to go one Friday to Monday.’
75. To Margaret Denholm-Young
24 August 1932 [Typewritten] Upper Topa
Dearest Mother,
Still no boat lists. But these are expected any day. As a matter of fact, if I am on the first boat, and it sails seven weeks tomorrow, next week will be the last one where there will be time for me to get an answer to my letters. It takes six weeks for me to get an answer from home. But I will let you know by air mail or cable as the case may require, and then all your letters posted after a certain date will have to be addressed to the boat at Port Said. If I do get the first boat, your last letter to India will be posted on September 21st.
The more I think about it the more pleased I am that I have been posted to Catterick. It has so many advantages. It is near enough home for me to get up to Edinburgh twice a month at least. I will not be a student on a course as I was when I was there in 1927-8, so I will be able to get away on Fridays till Monday morning quite often. Then there are no manoeuvres there, so summer leave is possible. The Colonel of the Depot there is my old Company Commander, Major Fladgate,[290] when I was there before. He joins in November. Major Neale[291] is there also. On the whole it is very satisfactory.
I have written to Swan[292] about a car, and there is still time for me to get an answer from him before I sail. But I intend to wait till I get to Edinburgh before buying, as I have no idea what the state of my account with the Royal Bank[293] is. This economy will have dropped the value of all investments, and I don’t know in the least whether my £100 will have been paid off now or not. Also I don’t know if the Office have been paying my life insurance or not. If they have, I may have to cough up some money to them. After all, I can always run down to London to buy a car when I have seen how things stand in Edinburgh. They are much cheaper in London.
I shall leave most of my heavy stuff at Catterick on my way north. Or more probably, I shall send it on by goods and look in at Catterick later on to see if it has arrived.
If Hilda has got that job in Mitcham[294] it will do her a lot of good, as I think she has been in Edinburgh far too long. And as you say, it is only for a year. She needs something like that to broaden her outlook. Even if it is only to get her up in time. But if she is going there, I am very glad I am coming home for a bit. You don’t want both of us away for a long time. You could take your holiday in Richmond, Yorkshire. I know lots of places you could stay, and I could bring you there and take you back again. But we will see when the time comes.
I was going to have gone up to Peshawar for three days’ leave yesterday, but I could not get away. A friend was on leave here, and could have taken me back with him. But I will be able to go in two weeks’ time; that will be 3rd September. I am going to take my Sergeant Major with me. He was a Sergeant at Catterick and used to teach me at the School of Signals. We are going up by train on the Friday to Peshawar. A friend of mine is arranging for a car to take us up the Khyber Pass as far as Landi Kotal on
[rest of letter missing]
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The brief trip that Patrick made on 2 to 4 September 1932 to Peshawar and from there up the mile-long stretch of the Khyber Pass of history to Landi Kotal, last outpost of British India 4000 yards from the North West Frontier, with its world-famous view deep into the plains of Afghanistan backed by distant snow-capped ranges, was one of the great adventures of his life.
[Friday 2 September 1932]
‘We set out from Murree by lorry to Rawalpindi, where they lunched and saw a few friends, before catching the Frontier Mail for Peshawar in the late afternoon. We had a carriage to ourselves, and both being keen photographers, hung out of the windows taking snaps till the light gave out. I got a really grand picture of the River Indus as the train crossed over the Attock Bridge.’
‘Arriving at Peshawar, twenty odd miles from the Afghan border, one of my friends was there to meet us with a car, and drive us to the local regimental Sergeants’ Mess to drop my friend,[295] then on to Officers’ Mess where he and I talked for a while before separating to bathe and change before dinner. After which the whole Mess went to the pictures and I was surprised to find myself in a theatre that would have done credit to London’s West End. Were it not for the white uniforms of the officers and men, I might have been in a cinema round the corner from Piccadilly. That night I slept outside the Mess, bothered by the swarms of biting sand-flies. Tiresome in Pindi, these were really pestilential here.’
[Saturday 3 September 1932 The Khyber]
‘In the morning, after breakfast, the Sergeant Major arrived and we set off in a civilian lorry taking a load of wood up to Landi Kotal at the far end of the Khyber Pass. We were in uniform, possibly helpful in getting past posts and piquets.’
‘The first ten miles lay across an open plain on the far edge of which stood Fort Jamrud, [Plate 32] entrance to the Khyber proper, where Gradden and I had to get out and sign the visitors’ book kept at the toll gate. Two miles out on the far side the climb up the Pass began. The road lies close to the railway line all the way up. This railway is one of the world’s most remarkable feats of engineering. Trains take four hours to travel the 27 miles from Peshawar to Landi Kotal. Like the high passes in the Scottish Borders, the Khyber has two summits. The first is at Fort Shagai, the great fortress at the Peshawar end. After this the road drops a little as far as the Piquet of Ali Musjid, and it is here that the mile-long Khyber Pass of history begins. The local name for this stretch is the Ali Musjid Gorge ― and it is one of the bloodiest valleys in the world.’ [Plate 33]
‘At the other end of this gorge the valley opens out a little, and the road winds down for six miles to the camp of Landi Kotal. Inside the barbed wire are huts for the troops and various stores and dumps, while in the middle stands the fort. Anyone who has seen the film of Beau Geste[296] and remembers Fort Zinderneuf will have a good idea of the appearance of Landi Kotal. Inside, amid the various buildings, the Officers’ quadrangle is most startling: quarters built around a perfect lawn, like a carpet of soft velvet, marked out as a grass tennis court, and surrounded by great trees. I was delighted: even here, in this lonely outpost of Empire, there was civilization and beauty. After drinks in a friend’s quarters, we all three got into another lorry to go and look at the Afghan border, four miles away. We left the lorry at Michni Kandaro Piquet, [Plates 34 and 35] beyond which no vehicles are allowed without special permit and climbed up the hillside to the blockhouse ― and the view.’
‘In front of us, about 4000 yards away down the valley, lay the line of the North West Frontier of India, just beyond which could be seen a small Afghan house. On the heights to my left, I could just distinguish some Afghan piquets, and using my glasses, could make out their tents just below the skyline. Far away in the distance lay a great green Afghan plain surrounded by high mountains. I found it a strange thrill, to stand there, right on the Front Line, gazing over the Frontier into that vast expanse of Afghanistan.[297] How many desk-bound young men at home would have voted to change places with me just then? Quite a few, I thought. We stood there for some time, taking photographs, till my friend[298] asked casually: “I suppose you know that a fellow was shot last week on the very spot you are standing on.” We made our way back to his quarters and sank some beer, before the Sergeant Major and I set off for the market square and another lorry[299] for the ride back to Peshawar. There were always plenty going up and down the Pass when the road was open.’
‘Gradden sat next to the driver and I was on the outside, and the run was uneventful till we came to Ali Musjid Gorge again and stopped to top up the radiator. No sooner had we re-started than, rounding a corner, I saw, 100 yards ahead, a car drawn across the road, and standing round it 20 of the most bloodthirsty-looking tribesmen, all armed to the teeth. Through my mind flashed what ?Shawcross[300] had said on seeing that my Sergeant Major and I were wearing revolvers: “What on earth do you want with those? You don’t want those: you want a couple of bombs! A fellow ran into a hold-up only last week: a car across his path forcing him to stop, men who jumped on his running-board and held a knife at his throat. Took all his money, slit his tyres and left him to walk back. Sometimes they do this; at others they just shoot straight into your car, and that’s that.” I had visions of being robbed and left bleeding by the roadside, or dead. My hand felt automatically for my revolver, and out of the corner of my eye I could see my Sergeant Major’s doing the same. “How much have you got?” I said quietly. “Six rounds, Sir.” That made twelve between the two of us. We both made lightening calculations as to how many we could each take before being shot ourselves. But then, just as our lorry reached a point 25 yards from the armed men, the car across the road drew clear, leaving us a way through. Through this gap we drove, looking at the villainous faces on either side. There wasn’t much mercy in those features. These were men to whom human life meant as little as a snap of the fingers. The lorry passed on, and the tribesmen were left behind. Perhaps they were waiting for someone else, or were put off their purpose by the sight of the King’s uniform. Whatever the case, it had been a nasty moment and neither of us spoke for some while. Then I looked round, to see the car, which gradually made up on us and passed, all four occupants sitting with rifles across their knees. For the next ten miles, until we had passed Jamrud, I could not suppress an uneasy feeling that perhaps that car might have set down its occupants round some corner where they would now be waiting, rifles trained on the spot over which our lorry must pass. But nothing happened, and we arrived safely back in Peshawar.’
‘I spent that evening being driven round Peshawar by a friend, exploring, and after dinner Gradden and I left again for Rawalpindi on the midnight train. Arriving at 5 a.m., we hired a car to take us up to Murree, and the drive up into the cool of the hills was sheer joy after the heat of the plains and the Khyber. It had been an unforgettable trip.’
Patrick’s letter of two days’ later giving Margaret an account of his adventure is the star of Series 2.
76. To Margaret Denholm-Young
6 September 1932 [Typewritten] Upper Topa
Dearest Mother,
This will probably be a pretty long letter as there is a lot to tell. I’m afraid that there is still no news about the Troopers. This may even be delayed until a couple of weeks before I am due to sail. I am rather hoping that it will not be until the end of October as the Colonel wants me to go down to Ambala with my old Section, just to see them over the long march, and return by train. But he wants me to take a few days’ leave from there and go and see Agra with the Taj Mahal[301] and Akhbar’s Tomb.[302] As these are quite two of the Wonders of the World, it would be well worth while my waiting for another fortnight before sailing. But I don’t expect that I shall get any choice, but will have to sail when I am allotted a passage, be it first or second boat. However, we’ll know before the end of this month.
We managed to do our little trip up to the Frontier as I told you we were going to do. We started off after breakfast on Friday[303] and got down to Pindi in time to book our carriage before lunch. I had lunch in the Pindi Mess as the Frontier Mail leaves at four o’clock in the afternoon. My C.S.M.[304] came with me. I used to know him back at Catterick when he was a Sergeant. We were lucky to get a Coupé[305] to ourselves and got tea as we left Pindi. It was still light when we crossed the River Indus at Attock[306] so we were able to get photos of it. The Kabul river joins the Indus at Attock Bridge.[307] This is one of the most famous bridges in all India, as once you are across it you have left India behind and crossed into the strange land called the Frontier. It was almost dark when we reached Nowshera,[308] and quite dark when we got to Peshawar at eight o’clock that night. A friend of mine was there with his car to meet us, and also another Sergeant Major to meet Gradden. So he went off to the Sergeants’ mess and I to our own Mess. There is a Signals Mess in Peshawar. After dinner we went to the Pictures. They have just had a grand new cinema built in Peshawar Cantonment and you might just as well be in a cinema in England; except that Peshawar is hotter still than Pindi.
The next morning a friend of mind phoned up to Landi Kotal, the last fortress in the Khyber Pass, to say that we would be up there for breakfast. The Signal Officer in Landi Kotal is Shawcross,[309] who was at the Shop with me, and also at Catterick.
We hired two seats in a civil lorry which called for us at the Mess. Gradden was sent up from the Sgts’ Mess in a side-car to meet me. Nobody else came with us. So we had the fun of going up the Khyber alone. One has to carry arms, of course.
Outside the wire barrier of Peshawar there is a flat plain for ten miles. Then we came to Jamrud Fort[310] a couple of miles from the actual start of the Pass proper. Here we have to sign in the book as travelling along the road. There is a police post just beyond Jamrud where all cars are examined; a Levee (police) stops the car on the road, while in a block house fifty yards away another man sits with a rifle ready. They don’t trust anyone in these parts!
Another ten miles of very steep climbing took us to Shagai Fort.[311] This looks exactly like the Fort Zinderneuf in Beau Geste. It stands on the crest of a hill and is made of mud and bricks. Every little hill has its block house, all the way up the Pass. Just beyond Shagai the actual Khyber Pass begins. It is scarcely more than a mile long at its narrowest point and is overlooked by high hills on either side. A few men could easily hold up an army here for a considerable time. In fact, they have often done so.
Beyond the Pass proper, the country opens out a little, and there are Afridi[312] villages with their little look-out towers, all made of mud. About nine miles farther on, we dropped down into Landi Kotal. This is a large camp in a barbed wire enclosure, and right in the middle stands the fortress. This is the last outpost of the British Empire in India, and therefore a most important place. There are no women, even native ones, allowed inside its gates.
We left our lorry here, and went inside the Fort. The inside is made up of stores and barracks. The Officers’ quarters are in a beautiful little quadrangle built round a most lovely lawn. The grass is deep and soft. Here I found a friend of mine, Shawcross, and he gave me breakfast in the Brigade Mess. Gradden got his breakfast with the Signal Section which we have up there. Later on I went to see the four men I have in Landi Kotal with one of our wireless sets.
After breakfast Shawcross got us a lorry and came with us out on the Kabul[313] road. You are only allowed to go another two and a half miles beyond Landi Kotal as far as the Michni Kandaro Picket.[314] Here we saw the famous view of the North West Frontier of India. We could see far away into Afghanistan straight ahead of us, and on the heights to our left were the white tents of the Afghan pickets. It is not a good thing to stay here too long, so we came back to Landi Kotal and had a look round the camp.
We wanted to see Peshawar in the afternoon, so we got on a bus at about half past twelve. Just beyond Shagai we stopped for something and there were a lot of tribesmen at the side of the road. So we managed to get a photo of these gentry. You never saw such a villainous-looking gang of cut-throats. Every man had his rifle and belt of ammunition. They are a fine lot of fellows, but we were not sad to leave them behind. As Gradden remarked to me after we had left them, what chance had we, two men with two revolvers and twelve rounds between us, against that lot if they cared to cut up rusty!
We got back to Peshawar in time for lunch, and another friend of mine took me for a drive round the city and cantonment in the evening. We caught the night train and reached Rawalpindi at half past five on Sunday morning. We hired a car, and reached Topa in time for breakfast. On the whole, a most interesting tour. I would not have missed it for worlds.
I took forty photographs, so I won’t send a lot home now, but I enclose one; it is the view from Michni Kandaro Picket, and shows the N-W Frontier in the middle distance, the Afghan pickets up on the hills on the extreme left, and the road leading to Kabul, with Afghanistan in the distance. It is, of course, a world-famous view.
I am not sorry to get back to the cool of the hills.
Much love
Pat.
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77. To Margaret Denholm-Young
10 September 1932 [Typewritten] Upper Topa
Dearest Mother,
I have just received my Embarkation Orders, and I sail from Bombay in the Lancashire[315] on November 8th. Things could hardly have planned out any better. The Lancashire is the best Trooper, and is the boat that I came out on. Then it gives me time to take my Promotion Exam in October and get that over.[316] Also, it will mean that I will be able to go to Ambala on the march with my old Section and see that part of the country. I will take a few days’ leave from there and go down to Delhi for a day and then on to Agra to see the Taj Mahal and Akhbar’s Tomb. If all these things come off all right, it will be very pleasant. I know it is nearly a month later than I had hoped, but I am lucky to be going home at all before Christmas.
I should land at Southampton about the 30th of November. So I should be in Edinburgh by Friday the 3rd December. Then I shall get the whole of December and January on leave, and go to Catterick in the beginning of February. Not two ideal months for leave, but as I am to go to Catterick, I will be able to get some leave in the summer.
We can decide later if you want to come down to London or not. It would be rather a good idea if you do, but we can wait to decide that. Don’t post any more letters to India after October 9th, but address them to me c/o H.M.T. Lancashire at Port Said.
I’ll keep this open until the photos arrive, if they are in time. I am sending you and Hilda copies of the best snaps I took in the Khyber last week. There are seven snaps I am sending; they ought to be ready to-morrow morning, but if they are not, I will enclose them in my Wednesday’s letter. One is of Jamrud Fort, about ten miles from Peshawar on the Khyber road. The entrance to the Khyber Pass is over the gateway on the left of the picture. The next one is taken looking towards Peshawar after we had gone a few miles up the Pass. It gives you a pretty fair idea of the ruggedness of the countryside. Then there is one of me and Sgt-Major Gradden taken by my automatic camera just at the entrance to the Khyber Pass itself, just beyond Shagai Fort. There is one of the Picket block house at Michni Kandaro within sight of the Afghan Frontier. Then there is the one I have sent you already of the view from this Picket. The group of four is taken at this point also, and shows the wire of the Fort on the left. The hills beyond are Afghanistan. Left to right are: the Sgt-Major, a Signalman, myself and Shawcross. Next is rather a strange picture of a road sign than anyone could read. It means ‘Camels to the Left and Cars to the Right’. This also is taken at Michni Kandaro Picket, and shows the Frontier in the middle distance. There is a very good one of the Fort at Landi Kotal ― the absolute Back of Beyond, and looks it too ― and one of the best snaps I have ever taken, of the actual Khyber Pass looking towards Peshawar.[317] I have had this enlarged and will frame it. I intend to send this one to The Times when I get home. It is really a perfect picture of this outlandish place.
I’ll enclose these if they are ready in time. I am sending these to Hilda as well.
Much Love,
Pat
{P.S. Photos will not be ready till this evening, so I[‘ll] send them on Wednesday.}
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‘My last month in India[318] gave some good memories to take away. There was the night when an invitation to dine with the Colonel and his wife at their house turned into an impromptu picnic and everything was heaped into their car and we all drove out to the old Moghul gardens at Wah, [319] ten miles out on the Peshawar road, for a perfectly lovely time under the great trees of this glorious garden and a full moon. And there were the drinks parties in my room when I entertained some of my brother officers in social hours between games and dinner.’
78. To Margaret Denholm-Young
u.d. fragments[?early October 1932] (Typewritten)
Upper Topa
The Yules took three of us out to a place called Wah last night and we had a picnic dinner in an old Moghul garden. It was very pleasant, but it is getting rather cold for that sort of thing now.
I am having a good deal of uniform made out here now, as [the prices] are just about half those at home. A tunic that used … [some words excised] … be able to tell you some more …. [some words excised] after I have seen Jerry Pearse.
I have arranged to spend my first evening in England with Jerry Pearse; and we are going to have a super dinner at the Ritz. One must celebrate these occasions. This is always supposing that I don’t have a draft. I might have to take some Troops … [words excised] Scotland … [words excised]
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[Friday 7 October 1932]
‘Except for that week-end exploring the Khyber, I had had no leave for a while, so as soon as the Battalion returned to the Plains I put in for ten days, to go and see something of Delhi and Agra. My Company Commander had been to both the previous year, and had often described their beauties. None of my friends could get away, so I went alone, and by train.’
This must have been a real break: alone and on holiday for a week, out of uniform (with no batman, but, usefully, the services of a Mess for the third and fourth nights) and with time on his hands.
‘Leaving Rawalpindi by the afternoon Punjab Express, I decided to break my journey at Lahore, where I arrived after tea, checked into Neudos’ Hotel[320] and set off to explore. I began with the huge Sikh “Gurdwala” or native temple. Outside, I was asked to remove my shoes and have my feet bathed before entering, and found myself in a small hall, opening into a much larger one round whose walls were recesses containing weird and wonderful statues and ornaments. In the centre was a dais on which sat an old Sikh reading out of a holy book, his sonorous voice ringing through the huge spaces. I had removed my hat, by force of habit, and was surprised when a big Sikh approached me with a smile and asked in Urdu why I had done this. I replied, also in Urdu, that in England it was the custom as a mark of respect. The Sikh explained that in India the head was kept covered for the same reason. I apologised and replaced my hat. It struck me as very nice that no one had taken offence at my ignorance, and were instead glad that I had come to visit their temple and liked the interest I was showing in all the wonderful things in it. So the correction had been given in the spirit of real friendship.’
‘After leaving the Gurdwala, I made my way to the Fort of Akbar and saw here the many fine marble buildings and museum of treasures of the Moghul Dynasty. By which time it was getting late, so I retraced my steps back to my hotel for a bath, met several people I knew, or had met before, in the bar and spent a very pleasant evening. Later I took a tonga and went to the cinema.’
[Saturday 8 October 1932]
To Ambala via Amritsar.
[Sunday 9 October 1932]
‘I arrived at Meerut in time for a late lunch and decided to stay till that evening, as there were some old friends of mine stationed there. I liked Meerut, with its masses of greenery and wide roads through the cantonments and hundreds of monkeys desporting themselves along the walls (but unwilling to be photographed), which reminded me of Peshawar.’
79. To Margaret Denholm-Young
10 October 1932 Meerut
Dearest Mother,
I have been doing a lot of moving about this last week. I left Upper Topa, in the Murree Hills, on Wednesday morning last.[321] I drove Mrs Yule down to open her bungalow in ’Pindi, and incidentally gave her dinner that evening. Then I left with the Section convoy on the Thursday morning,[322] and spent that night at Jhelum. On Friday[323] we made Lahore,[324] and I stayed at Nedou’s Hotel. The bathrooms are white tiled and have ‘long’ baths, almost a miracle out East.
My Sikh drivers took me to the old city in the evening, and all over the wonderful old fort. Afterwards, they took me to their Gurdwala,[325] or temple, in the native quarter. I could not have gone there alone, or there would have been trouble, but it is quite all right to go with our own Sikhs.
On Saturday[326] we reached Ambala, passing through Amritsar, the Sikh capital,[327] and Jullundar[328] on the way there. I stayed at the Gunner Mess in Ambala during Sunday,[329] leaving for Meerut[330] at 3 a.m. on Monday (this) morning. There is the 3rd Indian Divisional Signals here, and a lot of people I know. I leave here at six this afternoon for Agra, which I will reach at one tomorrow morning.
Meerut is rather beautiful. It is in Eastern Command, and is getting on for Central India. There are no hills for over four hundred miles, but the place is all green, and not burnt up like the North. The monkeys are rather amusing, for they are sitting on all the walls, and cruise about in small groups all over the place. The place is stiff with them. I managed to get a photo of about …
the road.
[remainder of page has been torn off]
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[Monday 10 October 1932]
‘Then, having seen my friends, I left and reached Agra about ten that night and went straight to Laurie’s Hotel,[331] one of the most comfortable in India, and turned in for the night.’
[Tuesday 11 October 1932]
‘In the morning, after a somewhat late breakfast, I took a tonga to the Taj Mahal. It took nearly half an hour to get there, along broad avenues lined with great trees, and then quite suddenly I was in sight of the main gateway. Telling the tonga walla to wait, I passed through and up the steps to the terrace ― and stood, rooted to the spot. Till the end of my life, I will never forget coming through that arch, and up on to the terrace, to be confronted by a vision of such surpassing loveliness that it brought a lump to my throat. Beauty takes people in different ways. I found that the impact of the beauty of the Taj Mahal seen for the first time was almost painful. It was as if, after countless ages of seeking, I had at last arrived at finality: it was purity, it was peace.’
‘Leaving the terrace, I climbed the stairs to the top of the main gateway, and here sat for some time gazing down at the scene in front of me. I was actually looking at the Taj from approximately the height of its dome. Far away to the left was the city of Agra with its ancient Fort; while all around lay peaceful, flat, cultivated country; and behind the great building flowed the majestic river Jumna. My eyes ran up and down the exquisite waterway of white marble flanked with cypress trees that led up to the Taj itself. For the Taj Mahal is not merely one of the most beautiful buildings in the world; it lies in what is perhaps the most perfect setting, and the whole effect is wondrous. I lingered up there, then finally returned back to the terrace and made my way along the marble waterway to the Taj itself and climbed the steps to the broad terrace surrounding the shrine. It is from here that one realises what an enormous structure the Taj is: its perfect proportions are apt to deceive the eye as to its real size. Entering the shrine, I saw the resting place of Mumtaz Mahal and her husband, the Moghul Emperor Shah Jahan. They lie side by side beneath two tombs of spotless white marble, on which are written (the attendant explains) the names of God. Re-emerging into the sunlight, and passing out through the Gateway as I left, I could not help remembering a remark once heard about the Taj: “He must have loved her very much.” ’
‘That night I returned to see the place by moonlight. Again, I was not disappointed, for by night it was equally lovely. Any suspicion of hardness had left the great building and it stood there in the white light for all the world like some fairytale structure, etherial and mysterious and other-worldly. Could this really have been fashioned by human hands?’
[Wednesday 12 October 1932]
‘Next morning I paid a visit to the Fort and saw the Pearl Mosque, the Gem Mosque, and the Halls of Public and Private Audience, but in my opinion the finest sight was the little Jasmine Tower, overlooking the Jumna and commanding an uninterrupted view of the Taj. Likewise built of white marble, it bears the most intricate carving. It was from here that the Emperor Shah Jahan used to gaze upon the Taj where his wife lay, and it was here that he himself died, his eyes at the last resting on the resting place he had created and where he himself was to lie, beside her. In the Fort, I also looked at the Shish Mahal, or Hall of Mirrors, the two-room building off the Vine Garden, whose interior walls covered with many hundreds of tiny mirrors, all set at different angles. The attendants light flares and as their flames stream upwards the whole place is lit in a strange, weird light that has to be seen to be believed.’
‘After returning to my hotel for lunch, I summoned a further tonga to take me to Sikandra, six miles out of Agra on the Delhi road, to see the Mausoleum of the Emperor Akbar. The narrow roads ran through cultivated country that might almost have been England, with its neat patches of crops and hedges ― a most unusual sight in India. Arriving at Sikandra and leaving my tonga, I walked, again, through a large gateway and along a narrow formal garden that led up to the Mausoleum of red sandstone topped by a marble dome. Inside, I climbed to the top where I found a square court, open to the sky, and surrounded by marble walls, constructed like trellis-work, their marble set together in such a way that one could look right through them at any point. In the centre of the floor was a white marble tombstone with a pillar of marble as headstone. This is the pillar on which the famous Koh-in-Noor diamond at one point in its history used to rest. I descended to where, 70 feet below, the Emperor lies in an inner sanctuary. It took some time for my eyes to become accustomed to the dark vault which proved to contain a marble coffin covered with a rich velvet cloth. Sounds from the attendants above echoed weirdly through the darkness. A very faint light was just visible through one high window. Standing there, beside Akbar’s tomb, I felt as though I was in the presence of Napoleon or Alexander the Great. It was no rude barbarian who lay there, I felt, but a gentleman, and were he alive today, he would still be a great man. Going out into the sunlight once more, I remembered what my Company Commander had said about this place: “Only an Emperor could be buried here.” ’
80. To Margaret Denholm-Young
12 October 1932 Laurie’s Hotel, Agra
Dearest Mother,
I think this will just catch the Mail, as well as the letter I posted yesterday.
This is my second day in Agra, and I leave for Delhi at 5.0 pm today. I went to the Taj Mahal yesterday morning, and a more perfect building in a more lovely setting is not possible. It just beggars description, and is far larger than one first imagines. I went there again after dinner, and saw it by moonlight, when, perhaps, it is even more lovely. It is white marble all inlaid with colours.
In the afternoon I went five miles out to Sikandra to see Akhbar’s Tomb. This is also unique. The actual tomb is in a vault 70 feet high, and almost dark. You feel going in that you are in the presence of a man of the rank of Napoleon or Caesar. One of our Lance Corporals came here last year with Col Yule, and at Akhbar’s Tomb he told Col Yule, “Well Sir, only an Emperor could be buried here”; and that is exactly the feeling one gets.
This morning I did the Fort, and it is full of lovely places such as the ‘Gem Mosque’, the ‘Pearl Mosque’, the ‘Hall of Private Audience’, the ‘Jasmine Tower’, etc. Most of these places are of white marble.
‘I left for Delhi and the Cecil Hotel[332] (under the same management as Laurie’s at Agra and just as comfortable). I was there for just one day, so I hired a Hindu guide who produced his card bearing the wonderful inscription: “Chhunna Mall, Guide. Delhi. Top Hole & O.K. 40 Years Experience.” And so he proved. We began by hiring a car and driving to the new War Memorial, where we managed to get inside and climb up to the balconies at the top, balconies that gave what was probably the best view of New Delhi. In front stretched the magnificent avenue, the Kingsway, leading to the Secretariat and Viceregal Lodge; behind was one of the old forts, on the ground below which lay literally hundreds of white objects, the city’s washing drying in the sun! What struck me most was the amount of greenery: all around, as far as the eye could see, were great trees with white houses peeping out through their leaves. It was this greenery that made the place remind me of another royal city, Edinburgh. Descending the stairs, we got back into the car and drove slowly up the Kingsway to Viceregal Lodge. By a strange coincidence, as they were passing the Army Headquarters, the Commander-in-Chief[333] was just alighting from his car. The Government was returning from the Hills that very day.’
‘There was nothing much to be seen from the gates of Viceregal Lodge, except perhaps the gorgeously dressed sentries of the Viceroy’s Bodyguard, and the splendour of the gardens, so my guide took me away through the Cantonments to the old city. Here was a curious mixture of east and west: tramcars and motor cars alongside tongas and bullock-carts. The driver made his way to the Juma Musjid, the largest Mohammedan mosque in India. Once again, before entering, I had to put on a large pair of slippers which covered my shoes. This too was a wonderful place, though this white marble looked dirty compared to that of the Taj Mahal; but then it was in constant use by thousands of worshippers. After taking yet more photographs, I went back to my hotel for lunch and arranged to meet my guide again afterwards.’
13th October 1932 Hotel Cecil, Delhi
P.S. I’ve just got back from a morning in Delhi. I first went to the top of the great War Memorial from which is a grand view of New Delhi and the Viceregal Buildings. Then we went on to the actual Viceregal Lodge. The Viceroy arrived this morning from Simla, and I got to Army H.Q. just as the Commander-in-Chief stepped out of his car.
Then I went all over the Juma Musfid, the great
Mohomedan mosque. It is one of the seven wonders of India.
This afternoon I will see the Fort, in which are the Palace, the Halls of Audience & the Pearl Mosque of the Moghul Emperors.
I leave for ’Pindi at 10 ·10 tonight and will reach there at 4·0 pm tomorrow afternoon. I’m going on the ‘Frontier Mail’.
Much love,
Pat
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‘At about 3 p.m. we set off again, this time for the Fort, a huge collection of buildings not unlike the Fort at Agra, and also built by Shah Jahan, creator of the Taj. It housed many fine buildings, the finest, to my eye, being the little Moti Musjid, or Pearl Mosque. It was here that the Emperor used to perform his devotions while a captive to his own son. It is very small, has three domes of exquisite proportions, and is best viewed from between the pillars of the Diwan-i-Khas, the Halls of Private Audience. Just off the Diwan was a beautifully carved big marble screen, incorporating a version of the scales of justice, above which is written, in Persian, “If there is a heaven on earth, it is here, it is here, it is here.” It came as a strange shock to see the modern British Army barracks right in the middle of this ancient Moghul Fort.’
‘That night I left for the North by the Frontier Mail, my mind full of all I had seen, and my one outstanding conclusion: “The Moghuls were Gentlemen.” ’
81. To Margaret Denholm-Young
1 November 1932 Rawalpindi
Dearest Mother,
I have got practically everything done now, and I leave Pindi at 1·41 pm the day after tomorrow;[334] so I expect this will be the last letter from this unpleasant country! I shall reach Jhansi[335] on Friday evening, where I expect I shall stay with one of the Messes there for the night, and leave for Bombay on the Special Troop Train on Saturday evening.[336] It is a long journey, 5 days; and shows how big India is. Jhansi is South of Agra, where I was on leave last month. From there to Bombay is right through the Central Provinces on the Great Indian Peninsular Railway; a way I have not yet been, so it ought to be interesting.
I dined with the Colonel last night, and am taking Mr and Mrs Rogers to dinner & Pictures tonight. Tomorrow I dine with them.
I enclose a few ‘verses’[337] taken from a magazine. They are true of about 95% of English people in the East. The remaining 5% only pretend they like it.
I won’t bring much luggage home, only
1. Black trunk
1. Wooden box[338]
2. Suitcases
1. Helmet case
1. Hand Bag
1. Valise[339]
1. Cabin box
The rest I’ll send on to Catterick or Colchester, whichever it turns out to be. I may not know till I go to the War Office to find out.
Four weeks more, and when you get this, only ten days more.
Much love,
Pat.
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[Thursday 3 November 1932]
‘My last day in Rawalpindi. Last for breakfast because I had been packing, I found the Mess deserted and after a solitary meal I returned to finish packing my small kit. Then at ten I went up to the Lines to make the rounds of the Barracks to say goodbye. It was a sad business, to be leaving so many friends, and it depressed me a lot. My men, who were all personal friends, meant a good deal to me and it was a wrench to part from them. I walked slowly round from barrack room to barrack room, and into the workshops and stables. Everywhere faces showed only too plainly how genuinely sorry they were to lose me. I had not fully realized this till now.’
‘When it was done, I went to see the Colonel. The rest of the Mess would be at the railway station, but the C.O. wanted to see me about some small matters of business. Then a solitary lunch, too early for the others; a lorry for my kit; a dealing out of ‘buckshee’ for all the servants; and the station. The Frontier Mail steamed in and I got my small kit into a coupe, and saw my heavy stuff into the Jhansi van ― I was to go there first and pick up a draft of troops for the boat. There was still 15 minutes left. Three of the Indian Officers of the Cavalry Regiment had arrived to say goodbye to me, and all the Mess were there and some other friends besides. Finally, the Colonel and his wife arrived. We all stood in little groups, myself at the Colonel’s side. No one said much. The whist le blew and I hurried to shake hands all round, ending with the Colonel and his wife. The Colonel’s hand-grip was very genuine, for we had been good friends. As the train began to move, I turned and climbed aboard, then watched that tall figure ― growing indistinct and not only from the distance ― as long as I could. I cursed these goodbyes. I seemed to have been saying goodbye to somebody ever since I left school.’
‘I sat down, relieved to be alone. From the window I could see the outline of the Hills where I had spent the Hot Weather before last. I thought of the grave up there, one of my own young men, whose funeral I had attended. I had the boy’s watch with me, to take to the parents. And I thought again of all the others I was leaving behind. But this was the way of Service life, and I had chosen it. Jhelum station and tea were welcome.’
[Friday 4 November 1932]
‘The train reached Delhi early the next morning and I got out and took breakfast at the Spencers restaurant ― there was always time to do this at Delhi and Lahore. I had tea in my carriage at Gwalior, where the station was so fine, it might have been England. Two hours later we pulled into Jhansi and after getting all my small stuff into a tonga and leaving the heavy loads at the station, I went off in search of an hotel and dinner.’
[Saturday 5 November 1932]
‘The next morning I got up late, and after a leisurely breakfast decided to have a look at Jhansi and do some shopping. It was a pleasant place and I found the greenery of the surroundings attractive after the barren wastes of the North West Frontier. I had never seen so many palm trees in one place before and took a good many photographs. Being further south, it was also much hotter, and returning to the hotel for lunch, I slept most of the afternoon. I was due, at six, to be at the station to report to the Staff Officer and take over my Draft. It was a big one and I found myself in charge of 60 men from some 12 different regiments. Most were going home to leave the Service on discharge, so I envisaged a somewhat rowdy trip. In the event, they turned out to be a most congenial lot who gave practically no trouble at all.’
‘Our train left some time after eight that evening, and it was not until the afternoon of the third day, after a tiring journey mostly through jungle country, that we finally drew in to Bombay Docks. There lay the troopship and what a sight for sore eyes she was. Up the gangway and on to British Territory. A much longed-for moment had arrived at last. Getting my draft aboard, I saw them settled in on their Troop Deck and then I changed and went ashore to sample the beer at the Taj Mahal Hotel, returning to the ship for dinner and an early bed.’
Some of Patrick’s memories were troubled and his verdict on the country was mixed. He later wrote that ‘although I saw much that was beautiful and had many pleasant and even exciting experiences, I did in fact hate that life in India in the early 1930s. Wherever I went, I was appalled by the poverty and severe overcrowding. The big, appealing eyes of those undernourished, scantily clad children made me feel wretched at my inability to help them, and astonished that my seniors simply didn’t seem to care about such obvious human misery. “They don’t know anything better ― they’re all right, old boy. They don’t feel things as we do”. Clearly, these officers wanted nothing else but to be left alone to enjoy their easy way of life, looked after, hand and foot, by poorly-paid and illiterate native servants. We newcomers were actively discouraged from mixing at all with the people of the country. We were, however, expected to cultivate our relations with the Indian Officers of our own Indian Signal Corps ― though we must be careful never to shake the hand of anyone of a lower rank. What utter nonsense this all was, and what dreadful snobs most of our senior officers were. I went for many long rides in the countryside, saw many native villages, and marvelled at the conditions in which the countryfolk of the Punjab lived. There was no proper sanitation, no piped water supply, little shelter from the dreadful heat or heavy rains. Of proper transport there was little but the railways, the ancient lorries, donkeys and bullock carts, all dirty, all grossly overloaded. Beggars were everywhere and disease screamed at you from the pockmarked faces of the sick. I saw men with elephantiasis of the foot, with horrible deformities of arm and head, and with eyes that didn’t bear looking at. I came to hate the very smell of Northern India and the sight of the parched, worn-out, arid soil. [340] The overburdened donkeys, the under-fed ‘Tonga’ ponies, the diseased chickens scratching for food in the filth of the village streets; all this made me ashamed of our many years of stewardship. Surely we could have done more? Didn’t we care?’
Patrick sailed from Bombay in the HMT Lancashire on November 8th 1932. ‘There were two others in my cabin, and all of us were either too hot or too tired to talk much, so we turned in for the night. And what a night it was: all my life, I will never forget it. I had a thermometer which I hung above my bed, and it never once dipped below 92ºF. Even with a fan, there was no question of sleep. Kipling’s ‘City of Dreadful Night’ is the only prose in English which comes close to describing it. I had lain sleepless many times during the Hot Weather, but never before had I been quite so uncomfortable as this. Dawn came at last and after breakfast I went ashore to buy some khaki shirts. Then lunch and we were due to sail. I went back on deck with my camera, arriving as the ship began to move away from the quay. The last link was broken: I had left India. There was just time to take a shot of Bombay Harbour from the stern of a troopship before going below for Lifeboat Drill. But later on I sat on deck watching the shores of India fade away astern. Apart from the sadness of leaving wonderful friends behind, it had been a grand experience ― but I had had enough of the outposts of Empire for the time being and would be glad to be home. I kept a diary of that voyage.’
‘Wednesday 9 November 1932:
The first of a succession of glorious days in the Indian Ocean with, after “Ship’s Rounds” every day, nothing in particular to do, except eat and sleep.’
‘Sunday 13 November 1932:
We pass Aden at lunchtime, but are too far out to be able to distinguish much more than the bare outline of the hills. It is quite dark when we pass Perim, aptly named the ‘Gates of Hell’ and move into the Red Sea. I am on Watch Duty from midnight until four a.m. It is blowing hard, and I am not feeling any too fit.’
‘Monday 14 November 1932:
Feeling very seedy and think I may have a touch of fever. After Ship’s Rounds, to bed. In the afternoon, the M.O. visits: he says it is either Sandfly Fever or Dengue.[341] I hope it isn’t Malaria. Temperature 102º and cabin temperature 92º. Rarely have I felt so wretched.’
‘Tuesday 15 November 1932:
Morning and the fever has left me, so in spite of feeling weak I get up and go on deck. It is far too hot to remain below, but, as there is a following wind, even on the Boat Deck it is very little better. The awful day drags on. Then night again, dreadful night. The Red Sea, with not a breath of air over it, is almost more than man can stand. Only the knowledge that we are moving steadily northwards keeps everyone’s spirits up.’
‘Wednesday 16 November 1932:
Dawn, scorching dawn, on the Red Sea. The air is heavy and damp and we are all listless. Then, in the early afternoon, we pick up the northerly breeze and one and all cheer up at once. We breathe again.’
‘Thursday 17 November 1932:
The Gulf of Suez at last! By evening we anchor off Port Twefik and wait our turn to enter the Canal. There are four other ships ahead of us, three tramps and a Dutch mail boat. It is quite dark when our turn comes and we move off again. Gradually the lights of the small town fade astern. We are west of Suez ― and the air is cool!’
‘Friday 18 November 1932:
Port Said. We enter the harbour from the Canal before breakfast and everyone is up early, eager to get ashore and stretch the legs. Four officers are detailed to take the troops to bathe, while the rest of us are free to leave. We take a taxi to Simon Artz, but the shop is rather beyond our means and nobody buys anything. Round the corner, however, in a side-street shop I know of old, I get a rather nice cigarette case. Then off for some beer at the Casino Palace Hotel overlooking the beach on the Mediterranean side, and so back, on foot, to the ship. The walk has given us an appetite. We sail after lunch, and in half an hour Port Said is just a cluster of rooftops on the horizon. As the sun sets, I feel that I am back in Europe at last.’
‘Saturday 19 November 1932:
It is blowing a bit and the sea is getting choppy. Most of the women on board have already succumbed. As the ship starts to pitch, it grows difficult to write. Evening comes and the breeze freshens. It will be rough tomorrow.’
‘Sunday 20 November 1932:
Sunday morning at sea. It is blowing hard and the ship is pitching a lot, but not rolling much. The Padre is feeling very seedy and did not keep his breakfast very long ― so there will be no Matins. The saloon is practically empty at lunchtime. The sea drops a little by tea-time, but still the night is unpleasant.’
‘Monday 21 November 1932:
A beastly morning. The ship is rolling and pitching to beat the band and I can hardly stand up to shave, but I manage it somehow by wedging myself in the narrowest part of the cabin, under the porthole. Very few at breakfast and I wonder if I shall last out myself. Back on deck, it has been raining hard and the chairs are soaking. Ship’s Rounds are cancelled, so I settle in the lounge with a book. Lunchtime, and the sea has gone down somewhat, and faces absent at breakfast reappear. Then, nothing to do but sleep in one’s cabin. Tea in the Saloon in sunlight over a much calmer sea. Malta is clearly visible for a while, then slowly fades astern in the red blaze of sunset.’
‘Tuesday 22 November 1932:
A fine morning but a stiff headwind. At breakfast time we pass quite near to Cape Bon.[342] The air on deck is chilly. After Rounds, we sight Galita,[343] and in the afternoon, heavy rain. I delve into Winston Churchill’s World Crisis.[344] There is a bridge-drive tonight, but I do not care to play, and read about the Battle of the Marne[345] instead. It is blowing hard again: perhaps really rough weather lies ahead.’
‘Wednesday 23 November 1932:
A lovely morning with a fresh breeze, so different from the terrible heat of the Red Sea. We shall be off Algiers by noon. All day the coast of North Africa is visible like a smudge on the skyline. In the afternoon there is a treasure hunt. Then a glorious evening of bright starlight.’
‘Thursday 24 November 1932:
A glorious day of warm sun, hardly any breeze, and all around us calm blue waters. We bask, all morning. By teatime, it has turned a little chilly. Gibraltar is just up ahead, and the light holds as we pass the Rock and feel our bows begin to lift to the steady swell of the Atlantic.’
‘Friday 25 November 1932:
I wake early and go up on deck. We are approaching Cape St Vincent[346] whose brilliant lighthouse beam comes sweeping round, flashing its warning through the morning mists. The long dark outline of the headland is plainly visible. After breakfast, the Cape has faded away to the south-east and we alter course northward. Back on deck for Ship’s Rounds, it is very cold. At noon, an extraordinary sight: thousands of sea-gulls wheeling and screaming above a shoal of fish, the birds continually diving from about 30 feet clean below the surface and do not come up for quite five seconds. Never before have I seen gulls do this. All day the ship pitches heavily, but not unpleasantly, in the Atlantic swell, with the coast of Portugal a black line on the horizon.’
‘Saturday 26 November 1932:
I wake with a sore throat and slight cold, the result of standing on the Fore Deck for an hour during Ship’s Rounds. I am on watch duty today, the middle watch again ― 12 to 4, both a.m. and p.m.
At noon we passed Cape Finisterre and entered the dreaded Bay of Biscay. The day is cold and misty and the sea decidedly choppy. I spend an unpleasant night on watch duty. The wind whistles round us, and the ship pitches and rolls and it is very cold. During my rounds I make my way to the bows. It is eerie to stand here, in a heavy wind, with the open sea ahead, and look back at the great bulk of the ship towering above in the semi-darkness. I am glad to turn in at 4 a.m.’
‘Sunday 27 November 1932:
A terrible day of great seas hammering against the ship hour after hour. A storm in the Bay of Biscay is not the pleasantest thing, but even so I manage to take a few photographs from various points on deck. There were few at lunch, and no doubt there will be fewer still at dinner. We shall be in Southampton Water by this time tomorrow.’
‘Monday 28 November 1932:
What a night. Just after midnight we run into even worse weather. For the first time in my life I begin to feel seasick, but a walk round the decks does the trick. The morning dawns glorious and clear with sunlight sparkling on a moderately calm sea. It is extraordinary how the swell has subsided in such a short time. At eleven a.m. we sight Portland Bill, and gradually the English coastline begins to take shape. A moment for a small celebration ― a beer, I think. Then lunch, the Needles and Southampton Water, where we spend the night between two oil refineries and a fog-horn, the latter in fine working order ... But we survive even this ...’
‘Tuesday 29 November 1932:
... and in the morning I walk down the gangway and on to English soil.’
Then London and that ‘super dinner at the Ritz’ with Jerry Pearse, perhaps?
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Preface to Series 3
Three settled years in England, at Catterick and Bordon camps, followed ― three years which saw him, as Captain of Royal Signals rugger XV, playing Trials for Yorkshire and the Army, and also playing golf for the Corps. 1935 was spent in Aldershot with the First Divisional Signals, under the immensely popular Lieutenant Colonel R. E. Barker. The combination of Barker’s inspired leadership and teaching, plus a summer at Bordon working with the delightful Brigadier P. J. Mackesy,[347] who teased the life out of him, made this another of Patrick’s happiest years.
Series 3: 1933–35 Colchester, Catterick, Aldershot and Bordon
On his return, Patrick went straight up to Edinburgh for two months’ leave. Things were not as they had been. Hilda had left and was working in England, the family house had gone, and his mother was alone in the new flat and in poor health. In February he found himself back with the home Battalion of his regiment at Catterick. ‘There was plenty of work to be done and I also managed to get in several days’ hunting with the local pack. I was quite near Edinburgh, where I had many relatives, but my week-ends, when not spent in Yorkshire, were more likely to find me in London.’ At some point he may have been a member of the Bunch of Feathers, a night club in Chelsea with one of the best floors in Town, where one drank “pink Plymouths” and smoked cigarettes.
The February 1933 edition of the Royal Corps of Signals magazine The Wire included under “Corps News ― Officers : Moves” on page 3:
‘Lieut C.P.S. Denholm-Young from India to Catterick (S.T.C.)’
indicating his transfer to the Staff Training College.
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His duties brought him south for a week in mid April.
82. To Margaret Denholm-Young
19 April 1933 Colchester
Dearest Mother,
I arrived here on Friday,[348] and go on to Aldershot to-morrow.
We played Rugger at Shoeburyness yesterday ― winning 21–0; and we play the Sappers tomorrow on the big ground at Aldershot.
I will be driving back to Catterick on Saturday 25th. I shall be quite glad to settle down quietly at Catterick again after all this running about.
This is rather a nice place. We had dinner in Ipswich[349] last night.
Much love
Pat.
P.S. The mug arrived and I think it is very nice indeed. The Rogers like it![350]
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Then in June a social week-end in London with the Yules.
83. To Margaret Denholm-Young
u.d. Sunday [between 25 May and 10 June 1933]
Tudor Court Hotel
58–66 Cromwell Road
South Kensington SW7
Dearest Mother,
I am in London this week-end staying with Colonel and Mrs Yule. They have just got back on leave from India.
I saw the Royal Tournament at Olympia[351] yesterday, and it is an excellent show this year; our own part in it being particularly good. The King[352] sent a personal message of congratulation to our fellows.
There is a heat wave on here just now. It was 83º in the Park this morning, but I’m afraid I don’t feel the heat. I am wearing a thick winter suit, even now. Such is the result of service in the East![353]
Tell Hilda I had dinner in Loughborough on Friday (a friend drove me South.) We called in at the Hospital,[354] to see the Matron. She was very pleased, and sent her love to Hilda. We stayed the night at Northampton.
I leave for Catterick tomorrow morning.
Much love,
Pat.
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In the summer of 1933, while Hilda was doing locum jobs in the north of England at Doncaster, Rotherham and Barnsley, Patrick was taking his six weeks’ annual leave from 30 July to 10 September ― starting with a week’s climbing on Skye (whose Cuillins are Britain’s only Alpine-standard peaks). ‘A friend and I took a car over and used to drive miles up into the hills each day before starting to walk. We climbed many of the Cuillins ― you get a grand view from the tops ― and we were very taken with the sight of the outer Isles.’
84. To Margaret Denholm-Young
27 July 1933 Portree Hotel
Isle of Skye
Dearest Mother,
I got your letter this evening.
We leave for Stornoway to-morrow morning, arrive there at 7·30 pm. We leave there at 11·0 pm on Sunday and reach Fort William that night. It will depend on the weather whether we make Edinburgh on Tuesday or Wednesday, as we mean to climb Ben Nevis[355] if it is fine. We may quite well arrive on Tuesday, but I’ll wire you on Tuesday from Fort William.
By the way, the reason I gave Capt Holland[356] for not wanting to go to Austria was that I did not want to leave the country as you had not been too well. (Actually the best reason was that I thought it too expensive) But he doesn’t know that; so please take it that the reason for not going abroad was that I did not want to be too far away from home. Actually it is partly true, for you haven’t been any to well since I have been home. I know you are better now, but as far as Capt Holland is concerned, that was the reason. So if he asks if you are better, say you are feeling much better than you were the last time I was home.
We have climbed Quiraing,[357] The Storr[358] and Bruach na Frithe;[359] so we haven’t done too badly.
Much love,
Pat
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They then moved on to the Outer Hebrides ― and a rather hilarious hotel. ‘We left the car at the Kyle of Lochalsh for three days and took the steamer to Stornaway in the Outer Hebrides. A very bare place, with hardly any trees. We stayed in a fairly big hotel on the water-front, where you all eat at one table. The sort of place where the waitress says:“Dinner’s at half past seven, but it’ll no’ be ready then.” ’
85. To Margaret Denholm-Young
Sunday 20 August [1933] Catterick
Dearest Mother,
Thanks for the letter. Please don’t go spending much on my birthday. But if those Kiplings are really not expensive, I would very much like the one with the short story of “The City of Dreadful Night” in it.[360] I don’t remember which it is, but I think it is Debits & Credits. But any other would be very welcome, as I have none but his verse at the moment and the Soldier’s Three[361] you gave me last year.
My leave is up on the 10th September, so I’m afraid I won’t get away till the 2nd. Could you possibly come to Catterick Bridge on the 1st by bus, or to Darlington by train, and I know the Rogers will put you up for the night. I will meet either train or bus, if you can tell me when you arrive. Then we could go on to London on Saturday afternoon, 2nd Sept. It would thus save two days if you could manage as far as here on the 1st.
Now about the other end of my leave. A very great friend of mine, Stephenson[362] by name, has asked me to finish my leave with him, ie after the 6th till the 10th when Aunt Elsie can’t have me. He is rather short of cash at the moment, and asked me if I could bring him back here when we both come back on the 10th. As I will be staying with him, I couldn’t very well say no. So would you mind very much if I send you home by train, when you want to come home[?] Only you must please let me pay the fare.
As a matter of fact you would be tired out if I took you as far as York, for it would take about six hours to get there, and you would then have another 5½ hours in the train.
You will enjoy the run down from here, and I hope you won’t feel too tired, as it will take us about 8 hours.
I will be able to show you Catterick on the Friday afternoon, if you can leave Edinburgh in the morning, and get here in the early afternoon.
Do you really mind about going back? I really can’t very well refuse Stephenson, as I am staying with him. You’d like him awfully, he’s a most charming fellow; a bit like Edward to look at.
When we are in Town we can go to the Shop, Aldershot, Fleet and places like that.
It sounds as if Uncle Archie[363] really is ill this time. I’ve had lots of business to sign from the office assuming Joint Trusteeship with Mr McVittie over the Trust.
Much love
Pat.
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86. To Margaret Denholm-Young
24 September 1933 [a Sunday] Catterick
Dearest Mother,
I’m so sorry to be so long in writing, but I really have been very busy.
As it happened, I was on a Board on Tuesday and could not get in to Darlington; so it all turned out for the best.
We had lovely weather for our travels. We had lunch at Bulford on the Friday, and spent that night with Capt Turner,[364] an old friend from Bulford, on his Houseboat at Christchurch, near Bournemouth. Next day we went to the Shop, having lunch with Mrs Yule in Fleet on the way. We had a very good time at the Shop, and got back to Catterick on Sunday night.
I am playing Rugger for Catterick Garrison on Wednesday next. It is a match against Middlesborough at Middlesborough, and is to be used as a Trial for Yorkshire. You will probably see it in the papers. It is nice to play in First Class Rugger once again.
I’m so glad you enjoyed your holiday, and are feeling fit.
Mrs Rogers will be delighted to have the baby clothes. If you send to me, I’ll take them down to Richmond.
Much love,
Pat.
{added in pencil: report in “Scotsman”. “Signals” Aldershot, Essex, & Salisbury Plain[365]}
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Meanwhile, up at Broomrigg, another otter-hunting season was ending.
‘2 October 1933 p. 5 The Scotsman
Otterhunting
Dumfriesshire Pack
Successful Season Ends
The Dumfriesshire pack of otterhounds brought their season to a close on Friday with a meet at Cludenfoot, on the Nith.
Hounds began hunting at the beginning of May, and by the end of the first week they had accounted for what turned out to be one of their largest otters of the season ― namely, a dog otter of 24 lb. This first part of the season was confined to the Dumfriesshire streams, and in early June hounds were in Ayrshire and later they were in Roxburghshire, and highly successful hunts were witnessed by large crowds of followers both in Ayrshire and on the Tweed. A fortnight ago a combined meet of the Dumfriesshire and the English Northern Counties’ pack was arranged for the Tweed, each pack hunting day and day about for over a week. The Dumfriesshire hounds accounted for three otters and the English pack for two. From the beginning of the season till the close on Friday there was only an odd blank day.
On Friday, with the fixture at Cludenfoot hounds searched the banks up to Broomrig [sic] without finding traces of the game. On reaching Denholm Wood they picked up a drag, and carried it up the river for some distance until they found a very large otter. Getting the quarry afloat in a long, deep pool, they kept it in full cry without a check. Finally, the fame turned down the river, went under the railway bridge, and got to ground in a dense root. The terriers failed to move the game, and it was decided to draw off for home. The season proved to be a highly successful one, 32 large otters being accounted for.’
87. To Margaret Denholm-Young
14 October 1933 Catterick
Dearest Mother,
The Rogers’ baby has arrived, and you’ll be glad to hear it is a boy. The initials will be H.S.R. Hugh Stephen Rogers. I haven’t seen it yet, but I probably will tomorrow.
We go to Scarborough[366] on Wednesday to play Rugger, and to Harrogate[367] next Saturday. I have a Boxing show to run this week, combined with being on a Staff College Preparation Course Monday till Thursday, so I shall have a busy week.
We had a very hard game today, so I am going to bed early.
I think that is about all the news.
Much love,
Pat.
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For some reason, which may be connected to some slight evidence of a failed love affair in 1933, there is now a gap in Patrick’s letters, during which, a year later, on 30 November 1934, Margaret moved to a flat at 7 Merchiston Crescent, just the other side of the Colinton Road and a stone’s throw from Abbotsford Park.
88. To Margaret Denholm-Young
11 December [?1934] Typewritten Aldershot
Dearest Mother,
I have put in for the whole of January, so I expect that I shall arrive Home somewhere about the afternoon of the 1st or 2nd. Will that be all right?
Has Hilda got another job yet, I wonder. It will be nice if she is at Home during my stay, or at least in the Town. This is rather a nice Typewriter. It is an Imperial, not a Remington like I had in India. The makes are very much alike, but this one has the advantage of being British made throughout. So I intend to spend a good deal of time when on leave trying to finish the Novel that I started to write in India a couple of years ago.
I am afraid that I am out of Rugger for some pretty long time to come, if not for good. I played on Saturday last and am not aware of getting hurt at all, but yesterday afternoon I went lame quite suddenly, with no apparent reason. The Doctor tells me that it is a slightly displaced cartilage in the right knee. This often happens to Rugger players, and I am very lucky to have played for fifteen seasons without any knee trouble at all. I have had a very good innings. I have played for many good sides, I have Captained the Corps Side for two years, I have Captained Catterick Garrison; played in two Army Trial Fifteens, and finished up in the Aldershot Services team. So I can’t really say that I have not had a pretty good Rugger career. It may not prove to be so serious as these things always do at first, but I am not at all sure. I can walk about all right, and it doesn’t hurt much. But I am going to see the Surgical Specialist about it. Hilda will tell you that it isn’t anything to worry about, but it may, and probably will keep me out of any more Rugger.
We won the Boxing match the other night. I must stop now as I want to get this posted to-night.
Much love,
Pat
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89. To Margaret Denholm-Young
24 December 1934 [Typewritten] Aldershot
Dearest Mother,
Very many thanks for a very welcome gift. As a matter of fact, it will very nearly pay all of my fare Home. We can now get Army Concession rates for Third Class Tickets. This came in about a year ago; and it means that I can get Home to Edinburgh from Aldershot for £2/10/8 return. So you see that your Xmas present will pay practically all that; thank you ever so much.
I have had a great many cards this year. I sent one to Miss Reid[368] and got one back almost by return of post.
To-morrow will be a very busy day here. We start by going to the Sergeants Mess first, and then all Officers have to go round the Mens’ Christmas Dinners where the Sergeants all wait on them. This always takes an hour or two. And in the evening I am going to have dinner with the Yules. Both her daughters are home from school at the moment. The Colonel will be home from India sometime in March this year.
I find that I can’t get away from here until the morning of the 4th, as my Company Commander doesn’t get back from his leave until the 3rd. I shall probably travel by night on the Saturday, and get home sometime on the Sunday: but I will wire you nearer the time. I may wait to see the International Rugger Trial at Twickenham on the Saturday afternoon, and so travel up North by night. However, I’ll wait till nearer the time to decide.
I sent a story up to The Strand Magazine[369] over a week ago, but as yet I have had no reply. I think it was a good one this time.
Much Love, and many, many thanks for the Christmas present,
Pat.
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Early in 1935 Patrick applied to be posted to Aldershot, to join the First Divisional Signals and duly reported to Mons Barracks, Aldershot. He was part of a friendly unit, being properly instructed by a real professional with a gift for teaching: and was now developing a passionate interest in the work of the Signals Corps.
90. To Margaret Denholm-Young
16 May 1935 Aldershot
Dearest Mother,
Very many thanks for a very welcome gift.[370] It will certainly be most useful. Actually, you only write your own name on the back of a cheque when it is payable to yourself. In other words; writing on the back is a receipt for the cash. But it won’t matter in this case.
I go to Camp for a month on Monday, but letters will be forwarded from here. We are not going far away, just outside Farnham on the Hindhead road. Thursley,[371] the place is called.
I spent last week-end with Hilda; and a very pleasant place[372] it is too. [Plate 36] Right on the edge of Manchester with woods in the grounds.
Much love,
Pat.
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That summer Patrick re-registered on the Correspondence Course he had begun in the Autumn of 1931 in Rawalpindi,[373] presumably aborted by the attacks of dysentery, to prepare himself to take the Staff College Entrance Examination 2 years hence, in early 1937.
91. To Margaret Denholm-Young
26 May 1935 Aldershot
Dearest Mother,
Many happy returns of the day ― or rather of Sunday (to-day).
I have just got in from a game of golf at Camberley Heath. It is a glorious day and we have been out of Camp all day. I am going back for supper this evening.
I was let in for playing the piano at the Church Parade Service this morning, as nobody else could play; however, it sounded all right, and nobody laughed!
We have a big Signal Demonstration to the Staff College tomorrow morning. Tim will be there. We are putting up a mimic battle[374] on a valley for the benefit of the Staff College students.
We return to Aldershot on 12th June.
Much love
Pat
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In June 1935 Patrick took his Unit to Bordon Camp, Hants, to spend the summer as Signal Officer to the Third Infantry Brigade, the ‘Buffs’,[375] under the delightful Brigadier P. J. Mackesay, who pulled his leg mercilessly.
92. To Margaret Denholm-Young
? 18 June 1935 Aldershot
Dearest Mother,
So sorry to be late in writing this week
I was up in Newcastle over the weekend, with the Corps Athletic team, running against Durham University. We beat them pretty easily in the end. I stayed in the Catterick Mess for two nights, and it was nice to see all the old people again.
I played golf in the London Watsonian Club Summer Meeting yesterday and was lucky enough to win the McJerrow Bowl, a silver challenge cup to be held for a year. It was a cold wet day and not quite one for the best golf. But it was good fun, and I met a lot of old schoolfellows I had not seen since 1925.
I go to Bordon[376] on Thursday, so please address letters to the:
“Officers’ Mess
The Buffs
Bordon Camp
Hants”
Much love,
Pat.
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In August 1935 he was on leave in Arundel, Sussex.
93. To Margaret Denholm-Young
13 August 1935 Bordon
Dearest Mother,
I got back from Arundel, Sussex, on Sunday, after a really grand two weeks. Everyone was most awfully kind, and I thoroughly enjoyed every moment of it. The weather was just perfect.
I am taking Friday, Saturday & Sunday next off, and I shall go and stay with friends in London. I’ll try to see the Blores[377] this time.
Your Ill. London News[378] has gone by this post. I’m sorry it has been so long.
I’m glad Hilda has been kept on; I suspect “Cupid” is the real reason?
Much love
Pat
P.S. I’ll be up in October.
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94. To Margaret Denholm-Young
Tuesday [? late Aug 1935] Bordon
Dearest Mother,
I had rather a long & tiring day yesterday; but we can rest today & tomorrow before going out again on Thursday.
We start big Manoeuvres on Monday next, and we’ll be prowling round the countryside till the end of September.
Ref. your enquiry. I know Hilda is very much attracted to one of the chief doctors, but what his views are, I don’t know. I shouldn’t let Hilda guess you know. If anything happens, she’ll tell us.
I wonder if McElvie[379] has paid up yet. Do you know?
Must catch the post!
Much love
Pat
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That autumn, Major Rice of the Buffs[380] talked interestingly of his recent service in Nigeria, and by coincidence, the post of Commander of the Signal Training Centre of the Nigeria Regiment in Zaria,[381] Northern Nigeria, part of the Royal West African Frontier Force, was being vacated by a friend then on leave in England and visiting the Aldershot camp. Having taken soundings and obtained the blessing of Colonel Dick Barker, Patrick applied for it. A pleasant interview at the Colonial Office in London was successful, and he was appointed. ‘I went up to Scotland to stay with my mother, who was a little disturbed that I was going to such an unhealthy climate, but who also seemed to understand what a bad knock I had taken over my love affair [which had come adrift at the end of 1933] and how much a change might help.’
Nevertheless, this parting must have been an inexpressibly sad one for Margaret, who had been in poor health for some time, and may well have known that she would not see her son again.
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Preface to Hiatus
There are no surviving letters from Patrick for the 20 months (27 November 1935 to July 1937) of his secondment, again voluntary, to the Royal West African Frontier Force, Nigeria Regiment, or for the four years after his return, but his autobiographical memoirs do much to fill this hiatus.
Hiatus: Nigeria 1935–37
In the late Autumn of 1935, with his official secondment to the Royal West African Frontier Force due to start on 27 November, Patrick prepared for another tour abroad, including visits to regimental tailors Humphreys and Crook,[382] to organize, on the allowance awarded, the necessary kit[383] ― for Nigeria has a tropical hot climate, in the south that of the rainforest, and in the north that of savanna. The wet season is heavily humid, the dry season accompanied by a dusty wind, the Harmattan, that blows from the Sahara. Temperatures never fall below 64ºF, and can reach 111ºF. Then early in November he took the train to Liverpool docks to board the Elder Dempster liner Accra bound for Lagos. Hilda came from Manchester to see him off.
‘I thoroughly enjoyed that trip out to Lagos. There was a good crowd on board, many of whom seemed to know each other ― for the West African boats carried the same people to and fro. Though November, once we were through the Bay of Biscay it started to feel a good deal warmer and our first port of call was Funchal, Madeira. Here the sun was shining from a cloudless sky and we all went ashore for a few hours.’
‘Funchal was an intriguing place, with steeply sloping streets of round, smooth cobble stones. You climbed into what looked like a Swiss one-horse-open-sleigh, or giant sledge, and went bowling along over the cobbles at a brisk pace. The numerous wine shops were cool, pleasant places in the leafy shade where you could buy small casks of Madeira, each holding about two bottles. I bought one and we stood it on our table in the Dining Saloon. Back at the ship, we leaned over the rail and watched the bumboats[384]plying round us, each with two or three older men at the oars and doing the hard-selling, with a few with a small boy in bathing trunks. The older men would shout “Small Boy Dive” at us, then someone would throw a coin into the water, and the boy would dive for it. We slipped out of Funchal late that afternoon and as dusk fell the wooded mountains towering behind the small town, studied with little white houses, looked lovely. Soon the whole area was twinkling with lights.’
‘Our next call was at Las Palmas[385], where again we were allowed ashore. This flat, commercial city with its great oil tanks and modern boulevards wasn’t a patch on Funchal. I had a few drinks in a pub that was like an oriental palace and was glad to return to the ship.’
‘The next stop was Bathurst,[386] on the Gambia Coast. We arrived off this feverish-looking spot in the early hours, just as it grew light. I slipped on a dressing-gown and went up on deck and stood craning out over the rail, scanning the landfall with my field glasses, to get my first look at the Dark Continent.[387] The shoreline was mud-flats with palms sticking up against the sky and thick, tropical vegetation. The few houses looked simple, small and colourful. Life there was said to have its attractions, including excellent duck shooting and sailing. And the whole aspect was of a clean, well-kept countryside. I liked it. We lay offshore while several passengers disembarked into boats. One was a subaltern destined for the Gambia Company of the RWAFF, and I was much impressed by the smartness of the soldiers who manned the launch that came out to fetch him. So these were the men I was to soldier with for the next few years. I liked the look of their smiling black faces, gleaming white teeth, and spotless uniforms. I noticed that their faces all bore deep knife gashes and it was only later that I was told that these were the tribal marks always worn with adult pride by the young men of certain tribes. The ship sailed before breakfast and two days’ later entered the lovely land-locked harbour backed by mountains at Freetown, capital of Sierra Leone, where a group of us went ashore, aiming for the beach several miles distant where the bathing was said to be wonderful. Even so, the atmosphere was heavy and sultry ― my introduction to the humidity peculiar to the West Coast of Africa. Then Monrovia, capital of Liberia, but I did not go ashore. It was much too hot.’
‘I was sharing a cabin with Captain Western[388] of the Royal West Kent Regiment who was re-joining the Gold Coast Regiment in Accra in Ghana, after four and a half months of leave. We all got this leave between tours of duty lasting 18 months on the Coast. We needed it. It was a bad climate and it affected one’s ability to think clearly. After only a year in Nigeria, I found that I would forget even the name of my best friend. I even forgot my own name for seconds at a time. We called it being “end of tourish”, but we believed that there was some genuine reason for it. We used to say that we lived in some cosmic ray belt under the sun, affecting the brain. We all suffered. It may, of course, have been due to the 5 grains of quinine we all took daily to stave off the ever-present malaria. Nobody could avoid getting bitten by mosquitoes.’
‘Western was taking back with him a new Ford V-8 2-seater Sedan. As there was no pier at Accra, the only way to get this ashore was to disembark at Takoradi, where there was a new harbour and wharf, and then drive the remaining 200 miles along the coast road to Accra, where our ship was to call the following morning, and he suggested I and another friend might join him, spending one night in the Mess of the Gold Coast Regiment. Here was a grand chance to see something of the Gold Coast and I jumped at it.’
‘We left Takoradi about mid-day. The Ford had an outside Dickey Seat at the back, and I took this for the first 3 hours, with the hot tropical sun beating down on my back. My head was protected by one of those popular Bombay Bowlers. It wasn’t until the outbreak of war that we learnt that the stress on the wearing of the solar topee,[389] probably encouraged by old soldiers in India, had been so much nonsense. We of the Desert Armies didn’t find them necessary at all. A hat was of course essential, but it didn’t have to be made of cork. The roads were appalling. We drove through Secondee[390] and Cape Coast,[391] after which our route ran along through jungle country, of great trees towering overhead, rich foliage and dank depths. Not long after they had left Cape Coast, Western shouted “Look ― a Mamba!” and pulled the car up sharply. A snake with a jet-black, slimy skin, and a tough body as fat as my forearm, was wriggling its way across the road ahead. It must have been at least eight feet long. Moving slowly, it disappeared into the undergrowth on the right hand side. Western had stopped only just in time: “You don’t want to run over one of those”, he said. “If our wheels had touched him, he’d as likely as not have whipped up into your lap ― and you’d never have got to Accra at all.” I never saw another Mamba. I was lucky.’
‘Then, some fifty miles out, we took a wrong turning, but discovered our error after another fifteen, and, nothing else for it, turned round and retraced our route. After this, we made better progress, but it was a long and tiring ride. After what seemed an eternity I changed places with the other passenger and sat inside, and we eventually bumped our way into Accra in the late afternoon. It was still very hot. Everybody in this fast-developing and prosperous city ― the Gold Coast was growing rich ― appeared to be asleep. Later on, I borrowed some golf clubs and played nine holes with another fellow on the local course before it was time to have a bath and change for dinner. They did me very well that evening in the Gold Coast Regimental Mess: too well, perhaps, for I slept heavily. I would have been wiser to have slept with my pocket-book containing £8 under my pillow, as I had always done in India, instead of leaving it in the inside pocket of my dinner jacket on the back of a chair. In the morning, of course, it was gone, and I was left with about ten shillings in loose change, all of which was needed to pay a surf boat manned by twelve native oarsmen to row me out to the Accra, lying a mile or so offshore. So when I reboarded, I had nothing in the world but a two shilling piece ― four thousand miles from home. Later I went down to the barber to buy toothpaste with this sole remaining coin, and discovered that even that was no good ― it was South African. First the Captain, then the Bar Steward, then two or three of the passengers came up and said how sorry they were to hear about this, and one and all offered to help. A Political Officer from Southern Nigeria cashed me a cheque for £9 and this served me through to Zaria. But the whole thing was an unpleasant experience that cost me about £40,[392] and taught me a lesson I never forgot. It also showed me how friendly the West African Europeans were. A year later I discovered that my cheque had never been cashed. I wrote to the man, who turned out to have lost my cheque, so I sent him another. But he clearly wasn’t at all worried about it.’
‘It was very hot indeed as we steamed into the beautiful harbour at Lagos. We disembarked and three of us were invited to lunch by one of the Regimental Staff Officers stationed there. We hired a taxi to his bungalow and our driver was a cheerful youth who immediately offered to let me drive. I had never before driven a car with such acceleration. I was quite a thrill. Ye Gods, it was hot. Our shirts stuck to our sweat-soaked bodies. India had been hot enough, but this high humidity was hard to bear.’
‘Lagos seemed a busy city, but primitive and not at all what I had expected. It was quite unlike Bombay. There were no beautiful shops, no huge hotels, no lovely and ancient monuments, not even any statues. Rather, it resembled a cowboy town in the deep West, with its shabby, ramshackle buildings and small emporia, most without glass in their windows. There was only one good hotel, the Grand. Later, after many months up North, I was to revisit Lagos and stay at the Grand, where I enjoyed drinking my mid-morning bottle of champagne, but on first acquaintance it did appear to me to be a bit down-at-heel. It wasn’t of course, but it did look that way to a stranger just out from home. Our Staff Officer entertained us in his very comfortable bungalow with a cool verandah overlooking the harbour, with a cooling breeze coming into the dining room from his well-kept garden. In the evening our host drove us to the station to catch the Ocean Mail[393] for Kano, some 600 miles north-east. Those Nigerian trains were excellent. The carriages were huge, the compartments wide, and the dining car service good. The only trouble was the appalling dust that permeated everything, even your spongebag. Through the windows one could see nothing but what in India would have been called dense jungle. Here they referred to it as “bush”. Everything off the beaten track was “bush”. In India, if you were away from your station, the women would discuss for hours on end where you were and whom you might have taken with you. In Nigeria, should you be absent for any reason, you were said to have “gone to bush”. That was all there was to it: nobody was in the least curious.’
‘The journey took all of two days. Later, the Resident [394]at Zaria told me that thirty years earlier, and before the railway, this same journey had taken him six weeks. Our train rattled along all the next day, never averaging anything much over 20 m.p.h. because of the many sharp bends, and stopping at every station, where the driver and guard would get down from their cab, walk all the way back along the train, grinning broadly, and shaking hands with all their many friends. Trains almost never ran to time, but nobody worried. It was one of the endearing little ways of the country that I found so attractive. Time meant absolutely nothing. We crossed the broad Niger at Jebba and for the last hundred miles or so the country became much more open. By the time we got to Zaria, at nine the following morning, it was clear to me that I was to live in an agricultural district where most people were farmers.’
‘The journey took us up through Ilorin, Ibadan and on to Jebba and Kaduna, and we pulled into Zaria 36 hours later. At the train stopped at the long platform a tall, lean-looking man with a bronzed face came forward. My new Staff Officer. We exchanged greetings and I followed him through the crowd of natives to the luggage van, where he gave instructions, engaged about ten carriers to load it on a waiting lorry, and led the way out to his car, a Ford V-8 with a truck body ― ideal, he explained, for bad roads and getting stuck in sand. Then we drove off through the Cantonment, a spacious, open area where each house, accompanied by its grass-roofed boys’ hut, stood in its own compound. There were one or two shops ― “the canteens”, my companion explained. “They never stock anything anyone wants, though. They only exist for the cotton: trading in the wants of Europeans isn’t really their show. So you have to order anything special out from home.” ’
‘His sitting-room was equipped with drinks and a gramophone. Beyond was a bedroom, the bed draped in a white mosquito net. On the walls were heads of game: evidently Jackson was a shot. He shouted for his boy. “Baturi” came the reply from somewhere in the back regions.
“Kao abinchi; sabon baturi ya zo.”
I asked what he had said.
“I told the boy you had arrived and to bring food for you.”
A youth in long white trousers and a red cummerbund appeared with food and over breakfast I asked about Hausa.
“It’s a spoken language, not a written one,” he explained. “The best way to learn it is to have a ‘Mallum’ (a native teacher) instruct you in the groundwork, then get as many different natives as possible to come along and talk. Send for boys from out-lying villages to come in during the evenings and talk to them about everything under the sun. .... I could lay on Mallum Ali for you. He’s not a bad fellow, but be warned, he’ll try and borrow money from you. ... Money and women are the only real powers in the land ...” ’
‘My own house was next door and similar ― square, with a corrugated roof covered with thick grass and a narrow verandah round three sides. Inside, were three rooms and a bathroom, furnished with the essentials. A native boy appeared and bowed to the ground before me.
“This is the Boy I have engaged for you,” the Staff Officer said. “His name is Jibrin Kano (which means he comes from Kano) and in fact he speaks a little English. Jibrin,” he said, turning to the boy, “get the new Master’s things off the lorry and start to unpack. The Master has already had breakfast, with me.”
“Yes, Sah.”
I had arrived. ’
He had. More or less as his secondment was being announced at home:
‘Royal Corps of Signals:
Lt. C. P. S. Denholm-Young is secd. for service under the Colonial Office 27 Nov 1935’
[London Gazette 13 December 1935, issue 34231, p. 8038]
‘I took to Zaria at once. There was a Club with a polo ground, tennis courts and a nine-hole golf course. There were shops and one large store owned by the United Africa Company. A church of somewhat Scottish design, the law courts and the local authority premises, a medical officer’s building and an avenue of bungalows made up the European quarter. A little way to the South lay the native township, not unlike the towns in Northern India. Out to the East there were about a dozen mud-walled, grass-roofed houses where the Officers of the Nigeria Regiment lived, and had their Mess. Beyond these were dozens of little round huts housing the soldiers and their families ― for most were married.’
‘The Garrison comprised an Infantry Battalion of the Nigeria Regiment, the Depot, the Light Battery of Artillery, and the Signal Training Centre which I was eventually to change into a fighting unit and to rename the Signal Company. I was destined to command this Signal Training Centre, but first I had to serve my apprenticeship in the country under a senior infantry subaltern who knew it well and could speak the language. I could hardly expect to get command myself until I could speak to the soldiers and knew something about them and their ways. Hausa wasn’t all that difficult, and I did manage to pass the exam in about eight months. This qualified me for local promotion to Captain.’ [395]
‘I loved the life in Nigeria. It was all so different to what I had experienced in India. Everyone was grown up about differences of colour and creed, and nobody stopped you from making friends all over the place. A cheerful atmosphere pervaded the place and no-one seemed to stand on ceremony. The Regiment was chiefly recruited from the (Muslim) Hausa Tribe, those grand northern people with their bright, open faces and easy smiles. They were for the most part from farming stock, but only too willing to fight if need be. They always looked you straight in the eye, and they feared no man. Their greeting was not symbolic of a servile race, for they would raise their right hand with the fist tightly clenched, high above their head ― to show that they held no weapon. “Sannu, Zake!” was their salutation to a white man known to them: ‘Hail, Lion, greetings to you!’ while Hausamen of the far north give you their bent-arm and clenched fist salute.[396] They had a highly developed sense of fun, and would roar with jolly laughter if you said anything even mildly amusing, and loved you for ever if you strolled into their huts, peeped under the pot lids and patted their children. I loved those cheerful, brave people ― and their men made first-class soldiers.’
‘The Signal Company didn’t have many Hausas, for fluent English was deemed essential for work with telegraphy sets. Thus the only satisfactory solution was to enlist Yoruba tribesmen from the south, near Lagos. This was unfortunate, because the Yorubas, when I knew them, were quite unsuited to the soldier’s role. The Yoruba is not a fighting man by nature. The men I had to command, though possessed of many good qualities, would undoubtedly have made better office clerks or tradesmen or men of business than fighting men. True, they were technical tradesmen while they served in the Signal Company, and not expected to fight offensively, but only in defence of their HQ if attacked by an enemy (as often happened later on in bush warfare, say, in Burma). But then any technical soldier had to be able to defend himself. I personally would have preferred that we Europeans should all learn their language, and that the Signal Company should have then been recruited entirely from the Hausa tribe. But I had, of course, to accept the position as I found it.’
‘The Headquarters of the Regiment were at Kaduna, the northern seat of government, and there were two brigades, one stationed in the north and the other in the south. In the north, I had wireless stations with Signal detachments at Sokoto, Kano, Kaduna, Zaria and Maidugarirom Lake Chad. I ran wireless periods on a daily programme, when official messages were transmitted in accordance with a strictly controlled timetable. In most cases, these were the only communications we had, other than Railway Telegraphs for emergencies. There was a postal service, but letters were slow to reach outlying bush stations like Maidugari and Sokoto.’
‘We carried out the usual individual technical training, company training and larger regimental and formation exercises. There were also periodical officers’ tactical exercises without troops (TEWTS). Once we were inspected for a whole week by the Inspector General of the KAR [?] and RWAFF. Quite an occasion. The Governor-General also spent a week in Zaria during my tour. I lent Sir Bernard Bourdillon, a large man, my sturdiest pony “Carrier” to provide “HE” with a decent game of polo.’
‘The great attraction of my own particular job was twofold. It gave me the opportunity to visit all my far-flung wireless detachments, and thus see far more of the area than most officers managed to do in a single tour ― it was a fascinating country and I came to love it dearly. And it brought home to me the absolute necessity of knowing my job, since I was the senior Royal Signals officer on the whole of the West Coast of Africa at that time. [Plates 37 and 38] With no one to turn to, I just had to get on with it ― and how I blessed Dick Barker for all his wise and thorough teaching at Aldershot.’
‘It was a wonderful life. Zaria had a good Club, one of the few brick buildings on the station, with its own golf course where I played several times a week, and tennis courts. Occasionally I went out shooting[397], though I never enjoyed this much. Killing wild creatures had never appealed to me. Polo was available on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays and I bought a pony and began to play. Life was cheap. Ponies were cheap, and after three months I already owned four. We all saw to it that nobody was allowed to ask too much for any horse, so polo remained within the means of all (quite unlike in India where money could always buy the finest ponies). In Nigeria it was the most skillful trainer who became the best player: and so it should be. I was too heavy to be much good, but my best pony, “Carrier”, was a lovely Arab that won five steeplechases and a Handy Hunter trial for me. And I particularly enjoyed the evenings. The day’s work done, there was much to entertain in Zaria. The Club had a billiard table offering snooker after the light had faded. Or friends and I would sit outside on my verandah, talking, while music from the gramophone worked by the Boys in the background drifted out under the stars.’
All this was a far cry from London where on 20 January 1936 King George V died and was succeeded by his son Edward VIII. Through the following summer and autumn the newspapers carried reports about the royal romance and the rising tide of feeling in the nation at large about Mrs Simpson; and finally the shattering news of the abdication on 11 December 1936 in favour of his brother, who would be crowned George VI.
‘I had been in Nigeria for about six months when I found I would have to go to Maidugari, the small station about 600 miles north-west from Zaria on bad roads, and about 80 miles south-west from Lake Chad, which was itself getting on for Central Africa. With my camping gear and one Boy in the back, I set out early one morning. The route was by way of Kaduna, then up to Jos, the mining centre some 4000 feet up on the plateau in the mountainous region to the North East where the Fulani tribe live. Their fair-skinned women are among the most beautiful in the country. There were also “pagan”[398] villages as far as Potiscum. It was well after dark when they arrived in Jos, and the Rest House was already full. Where could he put up? Remembering a miner who had stayed in Zaria some weeks previously and with whom I had played a game of golf, I asked for his house and drove there in some trepidation. Surely the man would hardly throw me out at this time of night? Leaving my car in the drive, I made my way round to the garden front, where I found a drinks party in progres. Stepping into the light, I found my host, explained about the Rest House, and was invited to stay the night.’
‘The next morning I set out once more. The first 20 miles took me along the Bauchi Plateau as far as the start of the Panshano Pass, with its magnificent view. Ahead of me, the road twisted and wound steeply down through trees to the sun-scorched plain below. This plain stretched away, in a haze of heat, as far as the eye could see, deep into Central Africa ― much as that view from Mitchni Kandaro Piquet on the Khyber had stretched deep into the plains of Afghanistan.’
‘Around noon I ran into Bauchi and stopped to call on the District Officer, whom I had met on the boat out from England. I found him very busy, trying a criminal case and not free to entertain me, but he sent me across to his wife for a welcome glass of cold beer. I did not linger long. The road ran on across the dead flat plain, and it was not until the village of Darazo that things began to go wrong. I first noticed a smell of burning, which I discounted thinking it came from the bush. The natives often set fire to portions of the bush, to obtain certain salts for culinary purposes. When the smell took on the flavour of burning rubber, I stopped to investigate. Clouds of smoke issued from under the floorboards. Ripping these up, I discovered to my dismay that the battery had been touching the clutch pedal and that one entire terminal had been gutted. I was now without a starter ― and, much worse out here, ― without lights and with no moon. I thought hard. I had barely time to reach Potiscum Rest House before dark, but it was worth a try. If I failed, I was in for a night by the roadside, in elephant country, with many leopards about. Tying up the battery so that it would not short again, I climbed back in and set off. The roads were appalling, but with some breakneck driving I made it, and found a couple of fellows I knew, to boot. One was a Sanitary Inspector, travelling the same road in order to fumigate all Rest Houses suspected of Yellow Fever. There had been one or two cases among the natives, but so far no European had succumbed. We spent a pleasant evening : ate a meal out in the compound and then sat on out there under the stars, smoking our pipes and talking of home and plans for our next leave. (As often as not, this leave is actually spent in some dull hotel in Brighton or London, but nothing stops this ever-hopeful romancing.)’
‘The next morning, I left on the last stage to Maidugari ― nothing but bush all the way ― and had not gone 20 miles when my radiator broke. The rubber pipe leading to the cylinder head from the radiator had burst, and there was nothing for it but to bind it up with all the bandages in my medicine chest and pour the last of my drinking water in as well. This left a prospect of 150 miles in the high heat of mid-day with nothing to drink, but there was no choice. I could have kicked myself when, not long afterwards, I met a lorry (few and far between on this road) which gave me a can of water for my car but which was not fit to drink. On I went, through Damaturo, and all was well until I was 54 miles from Maidugari. I was driving along, thinking of nothing in particular, when the Boy suddenly shouted:
“Duba hagu! Baba Damisa” (“Look, a big leopard to the left!”)
Sure enough, just on the edge of the bush scrub, stood one of the largest leopards I had ever seen. The car was doing about 30 m.p.h., so we were on it before I could slacken speed. The animal seemed curious and, turning, trotted alongside, some 20 yards away. Never taking my eyes from the leopard, I spoke softly to my steward boy, who was sitting beside me: “Quick, Jibrin!, the rifle, get it out from the back seat!”, while I gradually slowed the car, and came to a stop. Full of the thrill of the hunt ― what a trophy! ― I took the gun, and loaded with trembling fingers. The great leopard just stood there, staring at us, his little ears perked forward in open curiosity. Then I made my mistake. Instead of shooting through the window, I got out of the car, and as I did so, the leopard turned and slunk off into the bush. Cursing to myself, I waited for several minutes, but there was no further sign. Just as well, perhaps, for he was a beautiful creature. Clearly, it would be madness to try to follow it, so, unwillingly, I returned to the car and drove on.’
‘It was late afternoon when I ran into Maidugari ― and if ever there was a place where, as Kipling wrote, ‘the rails ran out in sand-rift’[399] this was it ― and received the final shock of a journey which could hardly be called dull. I found the house of the man with whom I was to stay the next three nights, and, just being wakened to his afternoon tea, he listened to my account of the journey. “Ah well, you won’t find it quite so easy getting back, as we are all in quarantine at the moment. The doctor died of Yellow Fever yesterday morning.” This was bad news, as Yellow Jack, in which you vomited yourself to death, was then fatal.
“Heavens! Will I have to stay on here, then?”
“Oh no. If there is no other case in the next two days, you’ll be all right to leave. Have some tea...” ’
‘I enjoyed that stay in Maidugari. There was much work to be done, but my host and I spent some very pleasant evenings with the other Europeans on the station, and as there were no further cases of Yellow Fever, I was eventually free to leave as planned. All went well as far as Potiscum. I actually arrived there early, but did not feel like driving any further, so I stopped at the Rest House, which was empty this time, and slept for the rest of the afternoon. When it was cooler, I went for a walk, and returned for a solitary dinner and a pipe in the peace of the compound. Years later I looked back on that night as the most solitary I ever spent. Deep in the heart of West Africa, 150 miles from the nearest white man, with nobody to talk to, not a single soul.’
‘Next morning, I set off early, meaning to do the run to Jos in one go. But I had hardly gone 30 miles when my right-hand front spring broke. All five leaves had sheared and the nearest garage at Jos, 200 miles away. This looked bad. Then I suddenly remembered what a lorry driver had once told me in a pub at home. Sending the Boy to cut down a living branch from a tree, I jacked up the front wheel, and trimmed the branch with my knife. Then I sent the Boy off again to buy some native rope from a nearby village. With this I lashed the branch under the broken spring to act as a splint. It made the steering very heavy, but it worked and we limped into Bauchi just before dark. A friend there put me up for the night and in the afternoon of the next day I finally made Jos, where I managed to find a spare spring in a scrap heap in one of the canteens ― Good old Sir William: spares all over the world! ― and the remainder of the run back to Zaria was uneventful.’
Promotion to the temporary rank of Captain with effect from 4 August 1936 was encouraging. In the British Army between the wars, a subaltern in the Infantry could expect to wait 15 years for his captaincy; in the young Signals Corps, the average wait was eleven years. Patrick had done it in nine. The public announcement appeared four months’ later:
‘Lt. C. P. S. Denholm-Young, R. Signals, is granted the temp. rank of Capt. whilst empld. with the R.W.A.F.F. 4 August 1936.’
(The London Gazette 27 November 1936, p. 7645 Issue 34344)
‘I travelled about a great deal during the winter of 1936/1937 and although the roads were often more like cart tracks, it was possible to cover about 150 miles in a day in my ancient Morris Cowley Saloon (my predecessor had run a three-litre Bentley) ― and on that trip to Maidugari I had once done more than 300. Now I did the 250 miles from Zaria to Sokoto on the southern fringe of the Saraha, and where there are gardens[400] almost as lovely and well laid out as the Shalimar and Nishat Bagh on the shores of the Dal Lake in Kashmir.’
‘And my travels took me also to Kano, where stands the largest Modammedan mosque[401] in Africa, and where the camel caravans still assembled for the long journey to Katsina and out across the Saraha by way of Agades, Tamanrasset, In Salah, El Golea, and on, sometimes, to Algiers. Some of us in the Nigeria Regiment used to go home on leave this way. A party would buy a new lorry in Nigeria, fit it out for the journey across the desert, and then sell it in Algiers. It was a hard, tough business and I never did it myself. I was told by a friend that at Tamanrasset there was an inn built in the solid rock and that inside there was … a fully stocked cocktail bar!’
Not long before Christmas a telegram from home was put into Patrick’s hands, and he knew at once what it must contain. The small buff slip said simply: ‘Mother died today. Much love, Hilda’. Margaret Denholm-Young had died on 16 December 1936 in Edinburgh. This had implications. His mother’s death meant that Patrick now inherited, from his father and through her, the Denholm-Young family portraits and furniture and the Broomrigg silver. As soon as Margaret’s Will had been proved, arrangements had to be made about this; and presumably Hilda, acting on her brother’s instructions, put everything into storage for him with Coopers of Edinburgh. Later, on one of his leaves before sailing for the Middle East in 1942, he appears to have had second thoughts about the silver and moved it, for greater safety, to his bank. Everything was left thus while, after the War and marriage and children, he continued to live in Army quarters. It was not until he left the Army in 1950 and bought their first house, that he could at last withdraw all his family belongings from storage and from the bank vaults and from No. 10 Morningside Place and keep them with him.
The notice of Patrick’s promotion published on 27 November 1936 had given the wrong date, and a replacement notice was issued three months’ later:
‘Memoranda.
Lt. C. P. S. Denholm-Young , R. Signals, is granted the temp. rank of Capt. whilst empld. with the R.W.A.F.F. 25 July 1936 (substituted for notif. in the Gazette of 27 November 1936.)’
(The London Gazette 2 March 1937, p. 1414)
‘I worked hard at the language and for the Staff College exam, though this was difficult in the great heat of the Nigerian hot season, when sleep at night was all but impossible. In the end I took the exam at Kaduna in the Spring of 1937. I had consulted the I.G.[402]as to the wisdom of studying for my second try, if I failed this first time, on the West Coast of Africa. The I.G. agreed, but was kind enough to say that if I didn’t make it in the end, I could always come back to Nigeria if I so desired. And I would have done just that if the War had not broken out.’
‘I had about three weeks of local leave to come immediately after sitting the Staff College exam, so, having travelled widely inside the country on duty, I decided to look at the coast from a boat. I went by train down to Lagos, where I waited two or three days in the Grand Hotel till the German ship Wahehe[403] of the Woermann Line[404] arrived in the harbour. She was running somewhat late, but as it was the captain’s last voyage of 37 years at sea, it wasn’t surprising. He threw a party at every port of call. It was wonderful! I had a large cabin to myself, and we called at Port Harcourt, some miles up the river,[405] where I got bitten almost to death by mosquitoes as big as young dive bombers. Then on to Calabar, Douala, Tikko, Kribi, and finally to Santa Isobel on Fernando Po.[406] The Wahehe was a friendly little ship. Even the Captain played each night in the small orchestra in the Smoke Room, and there was iced beer on draught in the Bar. We sailed to within three degrees of the Equator at Kribi, where we lay off the low steaming coastline for two whole days. I lay in my cabin, stripped of all but my shorts, enduring the appalling humidity. I was drenched with sweat for most of that voyage, but it was tremendous fun for all that. I was entirely alone: at my table there was the young German doctor, a cheerful Greek, a Dane, a Swede and a Frenchman. In the end, by mutual consent we all spoke French. I went ashore at Calabar and spent that day with the Battalion of the Nigeria Regiment stationed there, for I had several friends in their Mess.’
‘One of my worst memories of Nigeria was of breaking a wisdom tooth on a bit of ox-tail and of driving down in the old Morris Cowley to Kaduna and the nearest dentist, half a day’s journey to the south. He started by confessing that his supply of anaesthetics had gone bad on him and that the new ones hadn’t yet arrived. “I’ll give you an injection if you insist,” he said, “but it won’t make any difference.” He did and it didn’t. He tried again, and I fought him off with some success. “What about some brandy?” I asked hopefully. He tried again, then fetched the brandy. We both had some. It took ages. In the end he finished up sitting astride my knees with me half out of the chair and yelling my head off. But the tooth came out.’
‘All too soon [July 1937] my tour came to an end and I packed my things for the return journey to England. I was to sail in the Accra again, and Western was to join me at Takoradi. As the Ocean Mail Train drew out of Zaria, the buglers of the Fifth Battalion sounded that lovely, haunting call, the “Hausa Farewell” only played when an officer of the Regiment was leaving for the last time. It took me several miles to get over it. I was to be honoured once more by this singularly beautiful valediction: when, as the Accra slowly passed the promontory called Kashmir Point, outside Lagos, at the entrance to the great harbour, from the lone bugler of the Regiment who stood there, it came to me again, carried on the off-shore breeze.’
Meanwhile, that same summer of 1937, someone as yet unknown to Patrick was holidaying with friends in Czechoslovakia and Southern Germany. One Rachel Kitching, the 20-year-old daughter of a Yorkshire country doctor, whose ancestors had bred hunters in the North Riding, and his wife whose family were in the professions and the Diplomatic Service, had been invited to join Mr and Mrs Arthur Lupton on a trip to look at the high art of Prague and Munich, and visit mad King Ludwig’s palaces in Bavaria. The party were curious about the Nazi rallies then going on, and attended one at which they found themselves standing within a few feet of Hitler. Rachel sent an uninhibited postcard home, describing him as ‘clearly a madman’.
*****
‘On my return, I spent my four and a half months’ leave in the summer and autumn of 1937 partly in Scotland, partly in England and partly in France. My pleasures were simple enough ― beer, and the good company that goes with it; golf, and fishing our rivers and lochs for trout and salmon. You could still stay in a fairly good hotel for three guineas a week, petrol was 1/3d a gallon, and a suit made in Savile Row cost 14 guineas. So, having bought a car and looked up Hilda in Liverpool, early July saw me crossing the border into Scotland for some golf on my native soil. I had all the time in the world, and decided on a whim to make a detour through Dumfries and take a look at our old home. For the Denholm-Youngs had lived in Dumfries for over 400 years. It was my great grandfather, who, unable to afford to keep it up, had finally been forced to sell it all, house, land, farms, the lot, exactly 100 years ago, in 1838. And I had never seen it, so turning left at Gretna, I drove along the Solway, made enquiries at Dumfries and took the road to the village of Holywood, three miles out on the far side. Broomrigg, a solid-looking mansion standing well back, was not hard to find. I felt reticent about calling on the owner, the now elderly Thomas McMicking,[407] so instead, merely stopped the car at a point that gave a good view and got out and sat on the low wall and smoked a pipe. We had lived there and farmed those acres and here I was, the last of the line. My father had always hoped that one day I might be able to buy it back. I got up and stretched. For a long minute I still stood there, in the summer sunlight, gazing across at the old house in its peaceful setting. “Some day, perhaps. You never know,” I murmured, as I knocked out my pipe, got back into the car and turned towards Edinburgh.’
In August he drove south again, put the car on the ferry and pottered round North West France staying in country inns, where he must have enjoyed speaking French again, and fishing the rivers, until returning, perhaps to the Thames Valley, to spend the last weeks of his leave playing more golf and looking up old friends. ‘During this, the most care-free holiday I ever had the pleasure to experience, I met a great many people from all walks of life. Yet very few seemed to be anxious about the possibility of war. They regarded Hitler as a public nuisance, “but war couldn’t possibly happen here … Have another beer?” I think women, particularly those with children, were perhaps more apprehensive.’
Aldershot, Liverpool, York 1938–9
Following the standard four months’ repatriation leave, Patrick was back on home duty as from 30 October 1937:
‘Royal Corps of Signals:
Lt. C. P. S. Denholm-Young is rest. to the estabt. 30th Oct. 1937.’ (The London Gazette 29 Oct. 1937, p. 6702)
‘I was posted to Aldershot, back to Mons Barracks, but this time to the Army Corps Signals, the unit which was to provide the communications from the 1st Corps HQ to its Divisions and back to its Army HQ. I stayed with that unit for the whole of 1938. It was a good one, morale was high and the C.O. was a first-class soldier of the Barker type. But I was most uneasy about our equipment. Our sets were old-fashioned, our training ideas seemed based on the last war not the next, and the sheer lack of offensive weapons made me wonder how our armoured divisions or infantry could acquit themselves well against the bristling machine guns and heavy tanks of the German army. For it was the sheer fire power of the German army, and its greater range, that worried me, and others, then. We all recognised that it could not be long now. Hitler had to be stopped, and therefore war, in our opinion, was inevitable. So as the storm clouds gathered ominously over Europe we of my generation extracted as much fun out of life, in our spare time, as we could.’
‘Then came Munich [September 1938]. We dug trenches in the playing fields of Aldershot. We prepared Passive Air Defence Schemes. I packed up my spare belongings ― my pictures, books and silver[408] ― and left them with a married friend at Fleet.[409] We in the Expeditionary Force designate believed that the mobilization order would be issued at any moment, and I didn’t think there would be time to get my things into store. I had to become mobile, and quickly. The days and weeks slipped by and still there was no war. My Colonel thumped the table and told us that while this particular crisis had passed, there would be another. So we went on training. For the first time in 20 years the Regular Army started to study War Establishments (as opposed to Peace Establishments on which all our Units up till then had been based). The heat was on.’
‘Then, quite out of the blue, I went down with Typhoid.[410] God knows how I picked this up.[411] It was a most unpleasant experience. They carted me off to the Cambridge Hospital[412]where I lay with a high fever for 21 days. Typhoid saps your strength, and I became so weak that the first time I was allowed out of bed, I fell flat on the floor, unable to stand up unaided. I was discharged to recuperate at the Officers’ Convalescent Home at Osborne House,[413] Cowes, on the Isle of Wight. Army regulations forbade me to make use of the hospital telephone, so I had to hobble unsteadily, in the chill of November, to a public call box outside the gates to ring for a taxi to take me to Aldershot town centre. Then I had to drive myself to Portsmouth to catch the ferry. I made it to Osborne, just, and soon started to feel better, not least because it had a private nine-hole golf-course. By Christmas I was back at work, but more than two stones lighter.’
‘Early in 1939 I and five other young Captains were posted to become Adjutants to Anti-Aircraft Divisional Signal Units being hurriedly formed by the Territorial Army to provide artillery defence against the expected German bombers. I was sent to Liverpool. The Unit there was to provide the communications for the 4th Anti-Aircraft Division. The Divisional HQ was in Chester and the Brigades were in Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham and Cardiff. The Signal Unit was to have its own H.Q. in Liverpool, along with one Company. When I arrived there were only two men in the Unit, the C.O.[414] and the Quartermaster. The former was a Liverpool lawyer, the latter a regular. My first job was to go to Divisional HQ to borrow indents with which to indent for indents. An “indent” is an Army form used for ordering equipment, arms, ammunition, food, furniture, clothing. No Quartermaster will ever issue anything without an indent duly signed by the proper authority and quoting the relevant War Office letter or other official document.’
‘I had four hectic months building up this unit from scratch. Recruiting went on simultaneously in Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham and Cardiff. Training was done in the evenings ― for these were all Territorials, with civilian day-jobs. I travelled round those widely separated companies, and wrestled with the mountains of paperwork in the office as best I could. It was sheer slavery. I lived in an unfurnished two-bedroomed flat I had found in the West Derby neighbourhood,[415] but I saw very little of it. Liverpool was an awful place in those days: it emptied every night at half past seven, to become bleak and devoid of social life.[416] But worst of all, I didn’t care for my C.O. ― few did (and four years later I heard that he had died by his own hand). Inevitably, we had a row. My superiors intervened and posted me back to the Regular Army ― to Northern Command H.Q. at York. I packed my bags, sent my furniture to join the rest in store in Edinburgh, and set out for York to be Staff Office to the Chief Signal Officer, who was none other than ― Colonel Dick Barker.’
‘The work turned out to be even harder than in Liverpool. The Army at home was preparing for war, in grim earnest. I never got back to the old City Arms Hotel, where I was living so comfortably, much before 9 p.m. I loved my Chief dearly, but he would start on a fresh problem at 7.30 p.m. Life was little else but grinding hard work, but with such a Chief I never grudged a minute of it.’
‘Late in August[417] I went down to Maidenhead for a long week-end’s leave at the Bel and the Dragon Inn[418] at Cookham, on the Thames, a small country pub I knew well. The weather was glorious and I spent my mornings rowing upstream for several miles, then tying up and doing the Times’ crossword. Then back to the pub for lunch, and out again on the river in the afternoon. After tea, a hot bath and I was ready for the evening, exploring the best pubs for miles around, most of which I knew, in my Morris Eight, all thoughts of war far from my mind. It was the last week-end but one of peace and the world was never to be the same again.’
‘Then I hurried back to York. At half past ten on 3 September I was struggling with a Wireless Frequency Schedule when Colonel Barker came into my room and asked what I was doing. “I’m trying to get this schedule finished in peace, Sir,” I replied, grinning up at him. Half an hour later, the Air Raid sirens sounded, and we were at War.’
The Professional Soldier: War
The Phoney War 1939–40: The Staff College 1941
During July 1939, as Europe was poised on the outbreak of war, Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain appointed General Sir Archibald Wavell,[419] to establish and head a new British Army command based in Cairo, the Middle East Command, to control and co-ordinate all the land forces in Egypt, Transjordan and Cyprus (plus British Somaliland, Aden and Iraq in the event of war), crucial gateway to the oilfields of the Middle East. Wavell arrived in Egypt on 2 August, with the enormous brief to liaise with all the Ambassadors, High Commissioners and Governors General in what Artemis Cooper[420] terms ‘that enormous parish’, and ‘co-ordinate Britain’s battle plans with those of her allies over an area that stretched from Syria to Ethiopia, and from the Western Desert to Baghdad.’ He was ‘to concentrate on building up the defences of the Delta and the Western Desert, without in any way provoking the Italians.’[421]
Lieutenant-General Sir Henry Maitland Wilson (informally known as ‘Jumbo’) had already arrived to take up his appointment as General Officer Commanding British Troops in Egypt, with the brief to ‘prepare plans for the invasion of Libya and build up the defences of Egypt, particularly Alexandria. He also had to prepare for the reception of an army of fifteen divisions, which would mean providing accommodation for some 300,000 men. Throughout that winter he worked tirelessly ... Workshops and amunition depots had to be constructed, where they could make use of the railway and the Sweet-Water Canal.[422] New roads, airfields and lines of communication had to be built, pipes laid to take Nile water into the desert, and water-purifying plants installed to treat it. Training schools, permanent base camps, canteens, and field hospitals had to be organised. The unloading, handling and storage of cargo had to be drastically increased, and Egypt and Palestine were combed for desert-worthy vehicles, particularly trucks. Tanks designed for muddy European fields were found to seize up in the desert, their tracks torn bythe rocky ground, their air-filters choked with sand.’[423] Actual troops, from India, New Zealand, England Australia, would not start arriving until the New Year.
Meanwhile, at home, the following winter was shrouded in gloom literally and metaphorically: the country was groping through the blackout every night and through a fog of uncertainty and speculation. Life’s focus had narrowed down to the insecurities of the present, and all else was secondary and swept aside. The following Spring, Patrick was despatched to Northern France to do a month’s intensive reconnaissance on communications systems there, ahead of the arrival of the 3rd Army H.Q., due to cross in the early summer.
‘The very air was full of rumours in those early days of war. We at Northern Command Headquarters knew well enough that the Expeditionary Force had crossed the Channel safely and was taking up its positions on the left flank of the French ― but that was all. The days passed and still no air raids. Our work went on as usual, equipping and training the mobilized armies for their tasks once they had crossed into France. For we in the Regular Army believed that this war would be fought on the old battlefields of Flanders where the BEF had taken its stand, and all our planning was for a decisive battle in that theatre.’
‘Winter 1939 and York was shrouded in the blackout. You groped your way along the streets and the crowded pubs were havens of light and escape from overwork and uncertainty. I had to go to London on several occasions, to visit branches of the War Office, but I did not enjoy these trips. London too was plunged into darkness at night. You made your way with difficulty along the crowded pavements till you believed you had reached the doorway you sought, only to bump your head against a wall of sandbags that loomed suddenly. Christmas came and I slipped away to Maidenhead, to spend it among my many old friends, but when I got there, I discovered only a few remained ― the rest had joined up and scattered. My favourite places were crowded, but with strangers now. The Riviera, Skindles, The Bear, The Ferry, The Bel and the Dragon ― all were just as I had known them, but there was scarcely a face I recognised and I missed those whom, for the most part, I was never to see again. I didn’t enjoy that break. I ought to have known better and gone to relatives or stayed in York. Wartime is a lonely business when you have no fixed home. Then early in 1940 I began to take notice of a very pretty blonde A.T.S.[424] officer who frequently passed my office window and caused a lot of heads to turn. One day I happened to mention her to the Camp Commandant over a beer. “Oh, that’s Rachel. [Plate 39] She works in my office, but she’s far too good for what I can give her to do.” My heart missed a beat. “I could do with a really good secretary myself,” I said. “Well, I’ll send her along.” That afternoon this beautiful girl arrived in my office carrying her portable typewriter. She saluted me smartly for the first (and last) time and handed me an envelope. “From the Camp Commandant, Sir” she said, as she studied the wall above my head. I opened it. The note read “Herewith one blonde. What are you going to do with her?” Three weeks later I was posted to 3rd Army Signals in London.’
Decades later, Rachel was to say that this man of considerable charm whom she had so liked, but who was immediately posted away and did not reappear for another six years, had been a delightfully optimistic and cheerful character ― not at all the thin, nervy person whom she had met again, and married, in 1946. Meanwhile, Hilda accepted a post in the Kent Area Health Authority Community Medical Service, which she was to hold until retirement, and went to live in Farningham, near Dartford.
‘In April my C.O., a Lieutenant Colonel Cameron-Webb[425] whom I had known and liked for years, sent for me one day and told me he was sending me to France on a month’s attachment to the B.E.F. The 3rd Army H.Q. was to cross in the early summer and we were to be their Signal Unit. My brief was the widest I had ever had ― to report to the Signal-Officer-in-Chief at Arras, where I would be given a car and a driver, and to endeavour to visit every H.Q. throughout the whole Force and bring back the fullest possible information on the communications system and methods employed.’
‘I was well accustomed to travelling alone, so I set off by train for Southampton and embarked on a small, grey ship already crammed with soldiers. We pulled out into the Solent for the night, and I fervently hoped we would not be bombed. I cannot swim and have always had a private horror of being drowned at sea. The next morning we set out across the Channel, in line ahead of ships, and escorted by several destroyers of the Royal Navy. At Le Havre we entrained for Arras. It was a lousy journey, and took all of 24 hours, stopping at every station and at many places with no station at all.’
‘I was met by a young officer from GHQ Signals who drove me to the Unit H.Q. in a village four kilometres west of Arras. Here I was very much at home, for I knew most of the officers, and in particular the Adjutant, who had been one of my best friends before the War. I found a room in the village, [no doubt making use of his French once more] settled in and was taken the next morning to see the Signal Officer-in-Chief. I had known Brigadier Chenevix-Trench[426] at Catterick, and now he was very good to me. I was to spend the first ten days or so with GHQ Signals, and then start off on my visits. He told me where the various H.Q.s were located, and encouraged me to take a run down to see the 51st Highland Division, then in the Maginot Line beyond Metz. “See everything you possibly can,” he told me, “then go back and do all you can for the New Armies. We’ll need them, I can assure you.” And so it was.’
‘The memories of those days at GHQ are clear indeed. I saw the lay-out in Arras, but I also visited units in places whose names had reverberated down the years ever since the First World War ― Bethune, Lille, Douai, Tourconing, Valenciennes, Cambrai, Le Cateau and a host of others. In the evenings I discovered that even the best champagne cost the equivalent of half a crown, and that those who had been in France for several months had drunk so much they were heartily tired of it. One morning I set out with my driver for St Quentin and distant Rheims, where I spent a night. The next day I drove out to Chateau Thierry, the H.Q. of the Advanced Air Striking Force under Air Marshal Barratt. This was a bit of a side-track from my main mission, suggested by Colonel Morgan, the Air Formation Signals Chief Signal Officer whom I had met in Rheims over dinner. I was fascinated by the communications lay-out at Thierry, but I had to press on, for I was bound for the Maginot Line. So early next day, the young Captain lent to me by a local Signal Unit as my driver, set out from Rheims (where, to tell the truth, we had spent quite some time having a look at the underground champagne cellars that extended for miles) into the rolling farmland that stretched as far as Verdun, where we stopped for coffee. Then on towards the lovely city of Metz and pine trees and the rushing waters of the river[427]and the hills. After lunch and a bottle of Moselle, we pressed on eastwards. Here we found our first real evidence of the war ― guns, tanks, lorries and men in position everywhere. All the gun emplacements were carefully covered with camouflage nets, and overhead a Hurricane was in the very act of tackling a Messerschmidt, but this exciting little skirmish was indecisive. Finally, we reached the H.Q. of the famous 51st Highland Division where I had tea ― and Glen Grant ― with many old friends in the Divisional Signals Mess, well below ground, for we were now at the western end of the Maginot Line. They were a Territorial Unit, and a very fine one too. Little did we guess that within a month that fine Division would be taken prisoner at St Valerie,[428] and that I would be given command of the duplicate Highland Divisional Signals which was to carry on the old name across the Western Desert and back into France once more, but this time on the winning side. Meanwhile, after one of the finest dinners I had ever eaten in France, at an inn called Le Coq Hardi in Verdun,[429] I dropped my companion at Rheims and began the long ride back to Arras, arriving shortly after 2 a.m. Dead on 7 a.m., Hitler bombed all the airfields in Northern France. The noise woke me, and I had a grandstand view from my farmhouse billet on the edge of the local airfield. There were only about ten aircraft, and they didn’t stay long, but they made quite a mess of the runways. Nobody was killed, but our officers’ latrine was blown sky-high by a direct hit. Most inconsiderate.’
‘The French villagers didn’t seem unduly worried. I suppose their land had been fought over so many times in the past hundred years that they were simply resigned to the inevitable. Furthermore, the tides of refugees had not yet started to flow along their roads. That was a horror still to come. But the balloon had gone up all right. The War had started, and the advanced units of the B.E.F. were racing forward into Belgium. Things were starting to hum. I asked the C.O. of G.H.Q. Signals, who had been my host for several weeks, if he would let me stay on as one of his officers. He agreed, but the Signal Officer-in-Chief would have none of it. “Sorry,” he said, “You've done your job out here and you know the set-up now. Off you go, back home, and get down to training those New Armies.” It was useless to argue, but I could see that he was right. So I packed my valise and suitcase and left Arras. But I didn’t know that this was to be the last train out. At Rouen there was a four to five hour wait for a train on to Le Havre, so I found myself a cinema and sank gratefully into a comfortable seat. It was amazing that any cinema was open at such a time, but there was and, utterly tired out, I slept. Suddenly, I awoke. Someone was shaking my arm. A friend, a T.A. Major, who had been on the train from Arras, had seen me go into the cinema and had taken the trouble to come and find me with the news ―– the last train was leaving in ten minutes. Dazed with sleep, I stumbled out after him. It was still early afternoon, and there was a good deal of anti-aircraft firing going on, and I could hear bombs exploding in the middle distance. “Come on,” my friend shouted, ‘I’ve got a car here.” We piled in. How the hell did you know?” I asked, as we were driven at high speed to the railway station. “My cousin’s the R.T.O.[430]” he replied. “We’d better hurry.” We caught that train.’
‘At Le Havre we were hustled aboard a small Channel steamer already crammed with British troops and almost at once it slid out into the Seine Estuary, engines throbbing, as we headed, quite unescorted, for the open sea. I didn’t enjoy that crossing. We zig-zagged at top speed all the way, and at first I stood on deck and watched the anti-aircraft shells bursting high above Le Havre. Thankfully, we were not attacked. Late in the evening, we reached Southampton and I took a train for London, only to find that my Unit had been moved out to Canterbury for the defence of London against the expected invasion.’
Following the resignation of Neville Chamberlain on 10 May 1940, Winston Churchill, aged 65, became Prime Minister.
‘The next two weeks were spent with my company of teleprinter operators, all split into detachments of half a dozen or so, and not one of us armed with more than a rifle and five rounds of ammunition. There was no more ammunition available ―– and our job was to guard bridges and other points of tactical importance. A German parachute attack was expected at any moment, and we were perfectly happy to try and deal with it ― but what use were we, so poorly armed, against the machine guns and automatic rifles of the highly-trained German troops? The strange thing was our cheerfulness. We just didn’t entertain the possibility of defeat. Then, apparently, someone at the War Office came to their senses and we were withdrawn to the West of London, to Egham, where we were to be reformed into No. 2 H.Q. Signals, a highly technical unit.’
On 13 May Winston Churchill gave his first major speech as Prime Minister to the House of Commons, begging leave to report the formation of an all-party coalition government, resolved to fight “one of the greatest battles in history, ... and ... to wage war, by sea, land and air, with all our might and with all the strength that God can give us; to wage war against a monstrous tyranny, never surpassed in the dark, lamentable catalogue of human crime” and for which he had “nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.” Many members were visibly moved, and the speech was at once recognised as historic. Extracts were later read by the newsreader of that evening’s BBC radio news broadcast. One of the best analyses of the form of this extraordinary act of leadership ― its shaping by a strong historical imagination, its massive architecture and its linguistic tone and timbre ― is to be found in Isaiah Berlin’s fine essay ‘Mr Churchill in 1940’,[431] in which Berlin likens these vivid, larger than life orations ― “formal”, “public”, “Ciceronian” ― to epic poetry. Like epic poetry, they were a kind of national story, an account of heroic action and struggle, full of tragic possibilities.
‘Daily, hourly, we waited for the anticipated invasion, yet it never developed. Rumours were rife, and it was hard to find out what the real situation was. After about two weeks, my C.O. sent for me and told me I was to leave the next morning to join the 38th Welsh Divisional Signals on the Wirral Peninsula ― to be Second-in-Command. I was getting tired of this game of being moved from Unit to Unit, but this was definitely promotion. So I again packed my valise and caught a train for Liverpool, where a car met me and took me to Ashfield Hall, a large and somewhat dilapidated country mansion[432] standing in pleasant grounds about half way between Chester and Birkenhead.’
On 4th June Winston Churchill delivered a second major speech in the House of Commons, reporting the success of the Germans in overrunning Holland, Belgium and Northern France, and rallying this nation to fight on alone, if necessary. Again, later that evening, extracts were read out by the BBC newsreader to a nation gathered round the wireless to listen spellbound to rolling perorations, largely couched in words of Anglo-Saxon origin, that have since become legendary. “We shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.”
On 10 June 1940 Italy entered the war between Germany and the Allies (so as to be able to sit at the peace table) by declaring hostilities on Britain and France. Italy controlled Libya (as the two colonies of Cyrenaica and Tripolitania), next door to British-controlled Egypt and Suez.
One week later, on 18 June, and a month before the start of the Battle of Britain, Churchill delivered a third ringing oration in the Commons, with, this time, a marked Christian content. Indeed the final section of typescript was laid out in blank verse, echo of the Old Testament Psalm format.
“... the Battle of Britain is about to begin. Upon this battle depends the survival of Christian civilisation. Upon it depends our own British life, and the long continuity of our institutions and Empire. The whole fury and might of the enemy must very soon be turned on us. Hitler knows that he will have to break us in this island or lose the war. If we can stand up to him, all Europe may be freed and the life of the world may move forward into broad, sunlit uplands. But if we fail, then the whole world, including the United States, including all that we have known and cared for, will sink into the abyss of a new dark age made more sinister, and perhaps more protracted, by the lights of perverted science. Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves, that if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say, This was their finest hour.” This speech was subsequently repeated in full by the Prime Minister himself as a live broadcast later that same evening.
‘I can’t say I enjoyed the next six months. The Division was a duplicate one of the Territorial Army, and the Signal Unit was only very partially trained or equipped. The C.O. was not really up to the job, and in any case was away on a course when I joined, and didn’t appear at all for my first month. The Germans were bombing Liverpool pretty well every night, and it was impossible to get much uninterrupted sleep. Everyone hated it. I rarely met another Regular soldier. Meanwhile, I did my best to hasten on with the training of my ill-prepared Signal Unit. “The Bosche[433] are half-way up the Cliffs of Dover, and still you chaps aren’t ready” was how I attempted to instil urgency into these young soldiers’ minds.’
On 9 September 1940, Marshal Graziani with his Tenth Italian Army invaded Egypt, thus initiating the war in North Africa. Whereupon, General Wavell despatched Major-General Eric Dorman-Smith,[434] a highly able and imaginative military strategist, to the HQ of the Western Desert Force under the command of Lieutenant-General Richard O’Connor,[435] to take part in the planning of a counter-attack. In early September large numbers of British reinforcements arrived in Egypt, and Operation Compass, largely based on Dorman-Smith’s ideas, fresh, often unorthodox and based on the indirect approach, opened on 8 December 1940. British and Commonwealth troops in Egypt totalled approximately 36,000; the Italians had nearly five times as many, and hundreds more tanks, and the support of a much larger air force. Nevertheless, thanks to the soundness of the British plan, and to a new and utterly top-secret tool, Ultra,[436]signals intelligence produced by the code-breaking systems developed at the Government Code and Cypher School, Bletchley Park, which, combined with Dorman-Smith’s flair for interpreting the often random items of information gleaned, gave the British high command advance access to Rommel’s intentions, by 23 December O’Connor had pushed the Italians back out of Egypt, and taken 24,000 of them as prisoners. Parties were thrown in Cairo to celebrate.
Meanwhile, in Liverpool: ‘The C.O. returned, but was then posted away somewhere else and his place was taken by a very brilliant young Lieutenant-Colonel I had known long ago at the Signal Training Centre at Catterick. Francis Curtis[437] had one of the finest military brains I was ever to encounter. He injected fresh life into that Unit, and I was beginning to enjoy being there when he told me I was to go off to the Camberley Staff College in January 1941. I had been given a place on War Course No. 5.’
‘This was tremendous fun. I lived out at Minley Manor, near Fleet, and overlooking the Hartford Bridge Flats (and what would become in December 1944 Blackbush Airport). There were about 50 of us out there, while the other 150 had rooms in the main buildings. For the most part, we worked at Minley, and a bus took us across to Camberley for lectures in the Rawlinson Hall. To be called upon to speak in “Rawlinson” was referred to as “losing your Rawlinson virginity.” I lost mine talking about, of all things, the use of carrier pigeons in the Mirpur Riots[438] in Northern India in 1932! I was the only officer then at the Staff College with any practical experience of these birds on active service.’
In North Africa, after a short pause, early in the New Year the offensive had resumed; O’Connor captured Bardia, forged on to take Tobruk, and by 7 February had cut off the Italians’ escape south of Benghazi. Artemis Cooper sums it up beautifully: ‘The exhilarating gallop across the desert, which the men of Western Desert Force had dubbed “The Benghazi Handicap,” was over.’[439] On 6 February 1941, just as the exhausted Italians were on the point of capitulation, Hitler put General Erwin Rommel at the head of a Deutsches Afrika Korps, and despatched them to Tripoli to reinforce the Axis position.
Meanwhile, at Camberley ‘We had to work extremely hard, spending our days for the most part on long exercises out in the country, learning the military uses of ground and the art of preparing a Fire Plan. We worked in syndicates under an instructor, and were trained to be G, A or Q Staff Officers at the H.Q. of an armoured or infantry division or brigade. On one occasion my own syndicate was engaged in a hectic discussion on some technical point, right on the edge of the airfield at Odiham, Hants, when quite without any warning a German bomber swooped down out of the low clouds and opened up on us with his machine guns. We scattered and dropped flat, furious at this unwarranted interruption of our studies. Hadn’t the Bosche any respect for the Camberley Staff College? Apparently not. Luckily, no one was hurt.’
‘The special lectures were truly marvellous. The Prime Minister couldn’t make it while I was there, but we were addressed by many of the great men of the early days of the War. Generals, Air Marshals, statesmen, administrators and industrialists ― and we listened keenly to all they had to say.’
‘Many of our nights were made hideous by the noise of German bombers passing overhead on their way to London, and sometimes they dropped their bombs a long way short of this objective and unpleasantly close to us. We did manage to go up to London occasionally at the week-ends, and two of our number were in the Café de Paris when it received a direct hit down a ventilation shaft and ‘Snake Hips’ Johnson was killed at his piano. The Churchill broadcasts[440] did much to sustain our morale and I listened to several of these while sitting in the Ante-Room at Minley Manor.’
‘The course was intensive, but I found it a pleasant interlude to be, for once, without any personal responsibility for the comings and goings of others. It was like University life and we made the most of the opportunities. We had been withdrawn from the War and freed from all other distractions in order to study our profession in great depth, instructed by some of the best of the younger military brains. I enjoyed it all immensely, and was truly sorry when it came to an end in May. We were all assembled in Rawlinson Hall for an end-of-course address from the Commandant and I distinctly remember that there was an air raid on at the time, though no bombs fell near the College. “Well, gentlemen,” he concluded, “You will find your envelopes waiting for you on the hall table as you go out. Good-bye and good luck.” I found mine and tore it open. I was to be a Brigade Major at a Signal Training Centre in North Wales.’
In North Africa, on 24 March 1941, just as all available British forces in the desert were being diverted to deal with the Axis invasion of Greece, Rommel, the wily and resourceful ‘Desert Fox’, wasted no time in launching his offensive, and on 13 April, having driven the Allies out of Libya, he laid siege to the port of Tobruk. Artemis Cooper describes what happened: ‘He spent nine days trying to force his way in until blinding sandstorms, heavy tank losses and the death of two of his most effective commanders obliged him to let up ...’ and he was ‘forced to leave the best harbour in eastern Cyrenaica in British hands.’[441]
Brigade Major: May/June 1941
‘No. 2 Signal Training Centre at Prestatyn was an anticlimax after the Staff College. I was a Brigade Major, but only at the H.Q. of a duplicate of the Catterick Signal Training Centre and where the Commanding Officers of the Training Battalions were peace-time regulars of the old school, called out of their retirement to handle the simple individual training of the recruits for the New Citizen Armies. Someone had to do this, and it was right that the Brigade Major should be young and properly Staff Trained, but it was irksome, as I had hoped for a chance of seeing active service. War was an opportunity for all young Regulars to gain experience and earn promotion ― and I feared that at Prestatyn I was in danger of getting left behind in the race for distinction.’ [442]
‘The Commandant had been my C.O. at Bulford in 1930,[443] when I had spent the summer at Exeter with the 3rd Field Brigade RA. Under him, I pretty well had my own way when it came to organising the training. But it was a case of marking time, and I longed to be posted to a fighting unit. I got on very well with my chief, whom I had always liked, and as it was the height of the summer, we often played a round of golf after tea. There wasn’t much sleep to be had, however, since the Prestatyn Holiday Camp where we were stationed was in the path of the German bombers which swept in from the sea every night on their way to Liverpool and its docks, just across the Mersey Estuary. On the whole I found life at Prestatyn pretty tedious. The whole place was staffed by elderly officers or Post Office employees called in from busy civilian jobs to teach young soldiers, and there was no social life. I had a car, but petrol was rationed and I seldom took it further than the local country pubs. Then, after a couple of months, a signal came out of the blue: I was to report the next day too a holding unit in Huddersfield, and take over a newly-formed Signal Unit in the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel. I packed my bags, sold my car to the Commandant, as I knew my new Unit was ready for overseas, and left.’
‘The next morning it was a great thrill to fix the star of the Half-Colonel in my shoulder strap under the Major’s crown. I had not been told what sort of Unit I was to command. I only knew that it was to be called B Force Signals. (Much later I was to learn that it was, in fact, a Corps H.Q. Signals, and it was taken prisoner at Tobruk.) I spent a week in a state of mystery and frustration, and was finally told that my Unit, whatever it was, would be going overseas very shortly, and that I should therefore take the relevant embarkation leave. I had no permanent home, so I slipped away to Edinburgh to stay with an elderly and almost bedridden aunt,[444] and to find such enjoyment as I could in the old grey city of my childhood. It was July and I had hoped to play a lot of golf at my father’s old club of Mortonhall on the Braid Hills and revisit some familiar pubs in the city. But my luck was out. In some pain, I had to see a dentist for a ruptured and septic antrum[445]. Luckily my sister was available on the telephone and she put me in touch with a young Edinburgh doctor who dosed me with the then wonder-drug M&B 693, which worked like a charm. But I was still pretty shaky when the time came to return to my Unit. The night before I left, the Chief Signal Officer of Scottish Command[446] telephoned me to say he had heard I was about to join him in Scotland. I pressed him for details ― he was a very old friend ― but he wouldn’t say any more. So I went back to Huddersfield with a dawning hope: could it be that I might be getting command of the new 51st Highland Divisional Signals? I scarcely dared to think about it, for this was a famous crack Division.’
On 15 June 1941 Wavell launched Operation Battleaxe [whose strategy was strongly opposed by Dorman-Smith] to defeat the Axis forces in Libya and relieve the port of Tobuk. A four-day battle ended in a defeat for the British, largely the result of lack of training and preparation, and on 1 July Churchill replaced Wavell as theatre commander with General Sir Claude Auchinleck[447] (informally known as ‘The Auk’) who set about reorganising the Allied forces into the British Eighth Army.
95. To Hilda Denholm-Young
26 July 1941 [PO Telegram] Leeds
Come prepared to dance please bring my black patent leather boots and spurs from wooden case.
Pat.
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‘But the miracle had happened, and in a very strange way, the whole truth of which I didn’t learn till long after the War. Apparently, several very senior Major Generals and Brigadiers were dining together at the Army and Navy Club ― the Rag, as we all called it ― and among them was my old C.O. during my days in India in 1932, and the subject of the 51st Division came up. Evidently, it wasn’t quite clear what the Divisional Commander wanted for this job, or who, but it had to be a Scot. Nothing else would do ― not for Major-General Douglas Wimberley,[448] late of the Cameron Highlanders. He was so enthusiastic about the men of Scotland that he was said to sleep in tartan pyjamas! Only Scotsmen could be posted to the 51st Highland Division. None others need apply. And my old C.O. suggested my name. “But he’s far too junior,” they had all chimed. Nevertheless, as a Scotsman and PSC,[449] I got the job.’
51st Highland Division 1941
‘I was handed my official posting, a teleprinter message from the War Office, and back to Scotland I went. Only this time my train steamed on across the Forth and Tay Bridges and so to Aberdeen, where I took a local line right across the north of Scotland to Elgin. Here I was met by the Territorial Colonel I was to replace, and we drove together to the bridge across the Spey at Craigellachie and on to Dufftown where my Unit was stationed ― that is to say, the H.Q. and the Company which served the H.Q. of the Division. The other companies were controlled from the Unit H.Q. but their sections were out with their Artillery Regiments, the Artillery H.Q. and also with their Infantry Brigade H.Q. ― all over the place. The next morning I drove back to Craigellachie, and the large house, until recently the property of a Scottish newspaper owner, which was now the H.Q. of the Highland Division.’
‘Major-General Douglas Wimberley stood about six feet four and wore the thin, drainpipe trews of the Cameron Highlanders. For the General was a Regular of that famous regiment and one of the finest leaders that the Scottish Highland forces threw up during the 1939–45 War. He was exceedingly forthright, but his obvious enthusiasm and abundant energy were infectious, and I was soon to find out that “The General” as we called him was both loved and respected, and not a little feared, by every officer and man of that wonderful Division.’
‘I was given my brief ― to produce the best Signal Unit in the army and as quickly as possible. Nothing less would be good enough. I said I’d do my best, and I did. I got down to it at once. I looked closely at the Headquarters of the Unit stationed in Dufftown, and had to travel far and fast to visit the then four Brigades, each with their Signal Sections, and the Artillery and Engineer Units of the Division. The 51st was scattered across the whole of the north east of Scotland from the Black Isle north of Inverness to Aboyne on Deeside west of Aberdeen. I decided that some of the officers and N.C.O.s would have to be changed, but not many, for it was already a fine unit in embryo. But the dead wood had to be cut out, ruthlessly. I travelled several times to Edinburgh, where the Chief Signal Officer of Scottish Command was an old friend of Catterick days. Here I pleaded and cajolled and wangled until I got the few officers and men that I badly needed, together with those items of technical equipment for which the Division could no longer wait. Things were in short supply, but the 51st was famous, and General Wimberley’s name worked wonders. My Unit was so widely scattered that it was rarely possible to gather my officers and senior N.C.O.s together for any organised lectures, or otherwise train them collectively very often. So I had to devise some other method of getting across to them the many details of modern Signal Practice and Procedure ― for techniques were constantly changing and equipment was quickly obsolete. I evolved a system of Training Instructions, whereby I set down on paper principles of procedure and tactics of modern warfare that I myself had so recently learnt at Camberley. Then, having issued these to all concerned, I travelled round my far-flung Unit, doing my best to see that all had been properly understood. It was no easy task, and in the end I managed to get the Artillery and Infantry Commanders to agree to my calling in all officers and senior N.C.O.s to Glenrinnes Lodge at Dufftown for a whole week, while I ran a course of lectures myself personally. This was, of course, modelled on the Officers’ Training Month which we used to carry out every March under Colonel Dick Barker, in 1st Divisional Signals at Aldershot long before the War. It worked and when we landed up in battle, in the Western Desert, we all reaped the benefit of these centralised days of training under the C.O. personally.’
‘The Division was, in fact, a duplicate of the original 51st Highland Division which had been taken prisoner at St Valéry.[450] One Brigade, 154 Infantry Brigade, had escaped, and on this as a foundation, the new 9th Division had been formed. But the traditions of the Highland Division were too precious to be lost, and so the duplicate 9th Division took over the old name and number, and the great 51st was re-born. In the 1914–18 War the Germans had called us “The Ladies from Hell”, fearing us above all others. In the Western Desert, in Sicily and again in France, those Germans’ sons had no reason to think differently.’
‘That Autumn of 1941 was the hardest work I had yet known. However, my Divisional Signals was a good one (the Inspector of Signals paid us a visit and told the General he would shortly have the best Signal Unit in any Division of the Army), I was in my beloved Scotland, and the Highland Division was justly famous. Furthermore, there was no horrible fear, lying in bed, listening for that irregular pulsing of the aircraft engines which we had come to recognise as those of enemy planes, and no unpleasant thudding of German bombs, for there were no air raids. We carried out innumerable exercises in that wonderful stretch of country between Inverness and Aberdeen. I had spent many a holiday there in my youth, but never before had I got to know its mountains, its rivers and its glens quite so well.’
‘Morale reached a high peak during a substantial visit from our Royal Colonel-in-Chief, H.R.H. The Princess Royal.[451] We took enormous care to arrange every detail of that day. General Wimberley (Divisional Commander), Brigadier Wheeler[452] (Chief Signal Officer, Scottish Command), Brigadier Willan[453] (Inspector of Signals from the War Office) and I met the royal car on the bridge over the Spey at Craigellachie, some five miles from Dufftown. Since I was the C.O. of the Regiment that our Royal visitor had come to inspect, it was I who rode beside the Princess in her car for that last five miles of her journey. I had already met her on several previous occasions and she was, as always, charming. The whole day went like clockwork. We had morning coffee at the Officers’ Mess, a lovely Scottish shooting lodge at the southern entrance to Glen Rinnies, and here several officers were presented to H.R.H. Then a thorough inspection of the Signal Unit H.Q., in the precincts of the Glendullan Distillery, followed by lunch at Glen Rinnies House. In the afternoon, the cavalcade moved across the hills back to Craigellachie to allow the Princess to see the Signals personnel at work in the Signal Office of Divisional H.Q. Our visitor departed mid-afternoon, her car escorted by two of our Despatch Riders until she was over the Drumochter Pass and well out on the road to Perth and the South. The personal interest she had shown did a great deal to stimulate what was already a fine Signal Unit.’
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As Lieut. Colonel, Commanding 51st Highland Division Signals, Patrick received the following, dated 10 October 1941, from Major-General Douglas Wimberley MC:
“My Dear Denholm-Young
The Inspector of Signals, on leaving, has been most complimentary about all that he saw of the troops under your command. He was rash enough to prophesy to me that if you went on at the present rate of progress you would have about the best Signals in any Division of the Army by next Spring.
I would like to congratulate you all, and I am, of course, delighted to hear that our Divisional Signals are now well on the way towards reaching the standard always expected of the Highland Division, i.e., second to none.
Yours
Douglas Wimberley”
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Series 4: 1941–1942 The Western Desert: ‘Quite a Party’
‘Men were not made to flourish here,
They shroud their heads and fly ―
Save one, who stares into the sun
With sky-blue British eye,
Who stares into the zenith sun
And smiles and feels not pain,
Blood-cooled by Calvin, mist and bog,
And summers in the rain.’
From: ‘Scot in the Desert’ by Laurie Lee (1914–1997)
Preface to Series 4
Patrick was now entering upon the central drama of his life, his five and a half months in the Western Desert, participating in the Eighth Army’s victorious battle at El Alamein in the Autumn of 1942, and the ensuing 1500 mile pursuit of Rommel’s Afrikakorps across the sands of Libya ― that set the church bells ringing throughout the UK and turned the whole fortune of the Second World War.
It was indeed Quite a Party. Everyone was there at that great gathering of the clans in the desert. Everyone knew each other. The eyes of the world were on them and the sense of excitement was palpable ― as was the stomach-churning apprehension.
The demands on every man ― on Sappers clearing lanes through the deadly minefields, on infantry marching down those lanes into the hail of gunfire, on officers who must lead, and on the high command responsible for decision-making and the outcome ― were full-on and relentless. Danger, urgency, living on adrenalin, is exhilarating for a while, but eventually exhausting. It was an intense, high-octane world fuelled by friendship and focus on a common purpose. The elements were harsh: cold nights, days of shimmering desert heat and glare, and endless, endless sand. There was little respite (leave was exceptional) and precious little rest, and the only privacy was the personal slit-trench where some, including Patrick, found release in writing poetry. The food was monotonous, there was too little water, and relaxation was limited to conversation, alcohol, old newspapers, writing home, and listening to the wireless. Singing in the ranks was common, and Patrick later recalled how he used to raise his head from the papers he was reading to listen to the light echo coming across the sands after dark, the lilt of popular lyrics rising into the air from the slit trenches where the men lay singing. And all the time, at all levels, a determined cheeriness of speech, catchy and moving. The consolations were the thrill of being at the heart of great events, magnificent esprit de corps and community of purpose, friendship, news from home (always too infrequent), and not having to bother about life’s trivia.
Once the action started, with a steep rise in tension, there was added to all this the thunderous, mind-numbing, nerve-shattering, noise that permanently damaged the hearing and nearly drove men crazy, and the shock of witnessing such haunting horrors of butchery and mutilation, and of loss, that went too deep to be talked about for decades afterwards: it was a man’s world, and its tragic brutalities would long be held in the male silence that fell over it.
Patrick embarked on all this as a senior officer, highly trained, experienced in Army life at home and abroad. His was not a combat role, but one of service and command and as Lieutenant Colonel commanding the Signals Unit of a crack division, he had status and authority reflected in the staff car, the driver, and the batman,[454] who came with it ― rather different from those days in 1931 of doing one’s stint as Quartermaster in Rawalpindi. Now, he would have the heavy and sole responsibility for an entire service operation ― reliable communications; and a large part of his routine would be travelling all over the Divisional front line visiting other units and commanders, checking on the signals function and laying on everything that was needed. His whole career had been a training for this. He now knew how to take full command of a unit and answer personally for its success or failure, and he knew how to do this in conditions of aggressive heat and discomfort, because he had already held exactly this role, in 1935–1937, as the senior Royal Signals officer on the whole of the West African coast. He was an essential part of a cohort of his own kin, surrounded by friends, with the tremendous bond of shared endeavour. They were preparing to go into action. Morale was high. And lying quietly at the back of his mind was an idea and a hope of something to look forward to after the war: the thought of buying back Broomrigg and settling there, as a writer and active member of the community in which lay all his deepest roots.
These five and a half months were the acid test, of not only his abilities and strength but of all that he had learnt and could bring to the role. He had ten days’ leave, five of them, including his first flight, for an urgent medical consultation. For the rest, it was round-the-clock work and ever-present drama. Yet in his letters he plays much of it down with characteristic matter-of-factness: for instance, surviving the fall of a fighter plane, ‘an incandescent mass of fire crashing towards the ground,’ just 100 yards ahead of his car,[455] and being unofficially reported killed.[456] What comes through now, in the mature officer, is the breadth of vision about the army of his day, and an ability to perceive the pity of war, expressed in an empathy with those under his command. He genuinely cared about the wellbeing of his men, sympathised with their problems, and understood their point of view. He was always good with subordinates, and this was the arena in which it really showed.
Somehow, mysteriously, too, he seems to have managed through it all not to lose that other element, the old Church of Scotland faith laid down at the deepest level in his northern childhood. Despite the horrors of all that he was to see and hear in battle, this did, miraculously, survive, to re-emerge, actively, in his last years.
The Letters from the Western Desert:
These are mostly airgraphs or air letter cards, handwritten on the knee in a slit-trench. Pens and ink were precious, and breakages and spills were tiresome. Nor were such time-lapse conversations easy to conduct. When the Second Battle of Alamein opened on 23 October 1942, mails from England were taking a month. Longer delays are indicated (in parenthesis). Inevitably, as exchanges slipped out of sequence, and responses lagged and then arrived (like buses) in a bunch, so dialogues got stuck, and old news was repeated, like a stylus caught in a groove. It is not easy, to continue speaking into a vacuum, and these letters give a vivid impression of ‘crossed’ wires and of the intense frustration of waiting for a reply. Cleverly, Hilda numbered hers, and Patrick’s replies, so that they both knew when something had gone astray.
The tone, at times peremptory, (the shorthand of the senior officer who has forgotten that he is not speaking to his batman!), and, in the weeks following the Battle of Alamein, increasingly impatient, edgy and tactless, is eloquent index of reaction to prolongued strain. Hilda would have understood this, one feels. As she would also have understood the hobbling effect of censorship. From March to December 1942 letters were all still censored. The effort of having to create them out of nothing when so much of enormous import was going on but could not be mentioned comes through as an eternal irritation, and the inevitable resort to trivia gives a ‘flat’ note, and an unintentional and misleading bathos. Then, suddenly, after Christmas, the controls were lifted, and Patrick’s whole tone takes off. His letter of 10 February 1943, a long and admirably clear and concise account of his experience in the Western Desert, is the star of Series 4.
Additional material
The background contextual material that informs the headnotes in the battle section draws specifically on Patrick’s own first-hand accounts, his collection of unpublished sketches, and his published record ― a grown-up account of a very grown-up experience ― Men of Alamein, his ‘... attempt to recapture something of the spirit of adventure which permeated ... the Eighth Army ... the spirit of comradeship and the will to win...’, written in the months that followed the battle and published locally in Cairo in September 1943. As he said: ‘Practically everything narrated in this book actually happened. It does not pretend to be history, but nevertheless it is true.’
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On 18 November 1941 General Auchinleck, Commander-in-Chief, Middle East theatre, launched the Eighth Army under Lieutenant General Sir Alan Cunningham (to be replaced ten days’ later by Major General Neil Ritchie) in its first action, Operation Crusader, a six week campaign, based on the strategy drawn up by Dorman-Smith, that opened with a surprise attack from Mersa Matruh, relieved Tobruk on 10 December, and drove the Axis forces back to El-Agheila, thus achieving the first major Allied victory of the Second World War. However, Rommel retaliated, and slowly began to drive the Allies back yet again, out of Libya and into Egypt.
Meanwhile, up in the North of Scotland: ‘We trained hard all that winter and there was much snow to contend with and long distances for me to travel visiting our Brigades. Then in the early Spring we were visited by General Paget,[457] Commander-in-Chief, Home Forces. Major General Leslie Phillips,[458] Signal Officer-in-Chief, came with him, and also Brigadier Wheeler. The heat was on. Many questions were asked and answered and we were all tremendously intrigued to see all these senior figures meeting in our midst and in the utmost secrecy. For instance, the young Captain in charge of the Signal Office at Divisional H.Q. was astonished when the Commander-in-Chief bounced out of the General’s room upstairs and asked if he could speak to the Prime Minister on a ‘scrambled’ telephone line. He couldn’t. However, later on, we came to understand what all this had been about. A Division from Scotland was to be sent out to the Middle East Theatre of War, to reinforce the Eighth Army ― and the question was, which one? The answer was formulated in the mountains around Craigellachie: the 51st Highland Division was to go to the Western Desert: but nobody disclosed this to us until long after we were at sea. Even later, I was to hear of another dinner at the Rag at which a General in Signals gave his view that the best way to end the Desert War would be to ship the Highland Division out to Suez, turn it to face home, and let it rip! (Which, after all, was exactly what did happen, give or take a little.)’
In January 1942, in North Africa, Rommel launched a surpise counter-attack from El-Agheila, and drove the Eighth Army back to Gazala ― and a stalemate set in as both sides regrouped, reinforced and reorganized. For instance, in the coming months, combined Commonwealth forces in the desert began to be up to some very clever manoeuvres, code-named Operation Bertram, ‘a gigantic bluff’[459] based on decoys and deception to confuse the enemy. False signs of activity were created in the south, to deflect attention from real silent preparations in the north. So, 20 miles of dummy water pipeline, complete with dummy pump houses and dummy storage reservoirs, were openly laid in the south; while in the northern sector, thousands of dummy tanks and lorries and guns were placed in the forward area and kept there, in the same immobile configuration from week to week, so that from the air they looked exactly like a static long-term storage area of ‘out of use’ equipment. Moreover, amongst all this, cleverly hidden under camouflage nets, were vast dumps of real supplies (petrol, oil, engineer stores). Meanwhile, 300 M4 Sherman tanks were hastily shipped out from the U.S.A.
For the first time, the stress of highly pressurised work can be heard in Patrick’s letters. Nevertheless, he found time to send Hilda a present of 130 cigarettes[460] and for a hasty meeting in London.
96. To Hilda Denholm-Young
?16 March 1942 51 Highland Division Signals
Dear Hilda,
Sorry, but I’ve had to postpone my leave for about three weeks. As far as I can tell, I’ll manage to get off pretty early in April. I can pretty well promise that I’ll take a run over to see you on Sat 4 Apr ― for I have to go to London about that time. So you can count on me visiting you on Sat 4 or Sun 5 Apr ― without fail. ...
Love
Pat
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97. To Hilda Denholm-Young
19 March 1942 [No address]
Aren’t you a lucky girl!
Pat.
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On 26 May, Rommel launched Operation Venezia, and the British high command, taking the advice of its officers of the old cavalry school with out-of-date notions, and ignoring counter-advice from Auchinleck and Dorman-Smith, suffered a series of defeats.
98. To Hilda Denholm-Young
28 May 1942 51 Highland Division Signals,
Dear Hilda,
I can get to town this Saturday, but I must be back that night. Can you meet me somewhere early in the afternoon? I suggest you meet me in the Ladies’ Room of the Army and Navy Club in Pall Mall, opposite St James’[s] Palace, and 100 yards nearer Trafalgar Square. I am a member now. The hall porter will tell you where to go. I’ll be there from 3∙0 pm onwards.
I’ve had two letters from your pal Beryl Grote. They are very charming letters, and she’s a very nice girl. But I wish she’d not be quite so outspoken about things! She is obviously infatuated with someone, but I must say it’s a nuisance. She’s not my type; and I’m not proposing to get married at all in any case. So drop her a hint that I’m a confirmed bachelor ― for heaven’s sake!
I’ll try to phone you today about Saturday.
Love
Pat
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‘We didn’t have long to wait, and then came the somewhat complicated movement by road to the Aldershot area, where the Division was to mobilize on to a full war footing. We were there, in all, about six weeks, drawing stores and getting fully fitted out to leave the country.’ General Montgomery’[461] [then running South-Eastern Command, overseeing the defence of Kent, Sussex and Surrey] ‘visited us there at the end of May.’ And on 1 June ‘we were inspected by T.M. The King and Queen,’ [462] who had come to say goodbye. ‘They went round the whole Division and I met them at the Sunningdale H.Q. of one of the Infantry Brigades (in fact, the one which had escaped from St Valéry at the time of Dunkirk). For five wonderful minutes I had the King all to myself, and introduced the officers and men of my Signal Unit working with this particular Brigade, and he spoke to several of the men who had fought in that action in France. One thing stands out in my memory: throughout those five minutes, the King never once faltered in his speech ― and there was never any question as to who was in charge of the proceedings: he was. Yet no one could have shown more interest, nor given more personal consideration to each man he met, than he did. The Queen, too, was delightful, and when the royal car left, we all felt the very personal nature of the encounter we had shared that afternoon.’ As their Majesties left, over 100 pipers, assembled on the Command Sports Ground, played Retreat.
99. To Hilda Denholm-Young
13 June 192 Aldershot
Dear Hilda,
Thanks for yours. In case I don’t manage to see you, my address had better now be as above till further notice. Don’t expect to hear from me for quite a bit!
If you’re ever short of cash, McVittie has £400 in War Loan for me.
I’ll write when I can,
Love
Pat
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100. To Hilda Denholm-Young
14 June 1942 Aldershot
Dear Hilda,
That letter in the case, addressed to a Dr Williams (I think), was signed by Lawrence O’Shaun[?n]essy in France in May 1940. He looked at my wrist, and wrote that letter to a doctor friend of his, and advised me to go and see him when I could. I have never done so, but will some day, if I ever get the chance. So you might hang on to it for me.
I’m afraid I just can’t manage to get to Town, as I am too busy here.
Love,
____________________________________________________
In Transit
‘A day or so later I was seeing off the various Signals Sections by their respective trains on their long journey to the Clyde, to embark on many different ships for a destination still unknown. Finally it was the turn of the Divisional H.Q. and of my own Unit, and in the late afternoon of 16 June 1942 I found myself in a coupé of a troop train pulling out of Aldershot station yard. I knew we were bound for Glasgow and hoped our route would not mean lingering long in the London area: I didn’t relish being bombed in a train. After travelling for 24 hours, we reached Glasgow and lost no time in going aboard the S.S. Stratheden,[463] a P&O liner of some 23,000 tons ― more than twice the size of the old troopship H.M.T. Lancashire that had taken me out to India in 1931.’
The transfer, according to a strict timetable, of entire army divisions, with all their equipment and firepower, by sea out to the Middle East was a monumental logistical victory in itself. The 51st Highland Division then embarking on Clydeside, at Liverpool and at Southampton consisted of four companies of Royal Engineers, a Royal Corps of Signals Divisional Unit, three Infantry brigades (each consisting of three battalions of Highland Regiments), three Royal Artillery Field Regiments, an Anti-Tank Regiment, and a Light Anti-Aircraft Regiment. Their associated equipment comprised tanks (a concept invented by the British in WW1), Bofors anti-tank guns on carriers, hundreds of thousands of mortar shells in their brass cases, mines, rifles and bayonets, signal cabling, wireless sets, field ambulances and medical stores. These were supported by Royal Army Service Corps workshops ― consisting of three Field Ambulances (the only unit that included women) plus a Field Hygiene section, and three Royal Ordnance workshops. In addition, were a Provost company (military police), a Postal unit, a Field Security section and a Reconnaissance unit.
‘I saw my troops aboard, but there was no opportunity to visit any of the other ships that made up our convoy, so I went to find my cabin. Only one deck down, it was a four-berth affair with a large bathroom, which I and my second-in-command, Major James Cochran,[464] had to ourselves for the next eight weeks. I was dog tired, too exhausted that night even to worry about a German air raid on the Glasgow Docks, and slept the sleep of the dead ― and woke the next morning to find that the ship had moved out to the broad waters near Greenock, where we were to remain for yet another day while the rest of our convoy was assembling. I saw Helensburgh through my field glasses and could almost pick out my uncle’s house.[465] I could not know then, but heard several months later, that he had died the previous evening, as we set sail for the Middle East.’
On 21 June came the, to the British, devastating news of the fall of Tobruk, giving Rommel, instantly promoted to Field Marshal, the advantage of that sea-port. Exhilarated by success and determined to reach the Nile Delta, Rommel immediately started eastwards, driving his troops furiously hard and always keeping to a southerly arc to avoid the coastal minefields.
Meanwhile, in South-West Scotland, the three sections of the 51st Highland Division were being brought together in a high state of readiness to form a full convoy of 22 ships which duly sailed from the Clyde, under escort of eight destroyers, on 22 June 1942. The voyage took eight weeks, with arrival in Suez on Thursday 14 August. From now on all letters sent home were stamped ‘On Active Service’ and ‘Passed by Censor No. ...’.
‘For the first five ― most anxious ― nights at sea, all ranks were ordered to sleep in their battledress,[466] with their life jackets to hand. We had to run the gauntlet of the Inner Submarine Zone, plus that ever-present menace of those long-range Fokker-Woolf bombers that the Germans used when raiding the sea lanes of our Western Approaches. We had the old battleship H.M.S. Malaya[467]to escort us and a small screen of destroyers. Moreover, there were anti-aircraft guns and gun-crews positioned on every troop ship ― our own had several.’
On 24 June, Rommel’s Panzerarmee Afrika crossed the border into Egypt. At which point, Auchinleck himself took back from Ritchie the command of the Eighth Army, reinstated Dorman-Smith as his Chief of Staff, and together they revised all current plans, decided to employ delaying tactics and withdraw the Allied forces from Mersa Matruh to the much better-placed El Alamein (a railway halt some 150 miles away, on a narrow neck of desert 40 miles wide between the impassable salt marshes of the Quattara Depression to the south and the Mediterranean to the north), thereby considerably limiting the width of the front they would have to mine and defend, as they awaited Rommel’s arrival. The people of Alexandria, a mere 60 miles away, went into a state of panic over-reaction that became known as ‘The Flap’. In fact, the Germans, having realised that their trucks would sink into the the Quattara, were sending their engineers ‘climbing down to it and poking sticks into the surface’[468] trying to find a way to cross it.’ Until they succeeded, they were stuck.
Out in the Atlantic, steaming south, the men of the Highland Division were busily occupied. ‘We all used our spare time for the purposes of study. The Officers worked in syndicates, and the other ranks did technical training in small groups. I led one of them and it was hard work. Then we were set to study Desert Warfare ― the Bagnold Sun Compass,[469] the configuration of the North African coast, and techniques quite different from anything we had previously studied ― and at long last the cat was out of the bag. We had to get accustomed to the ideas that slit trenches[470] provided no cover from raiding enemy aircraft and that there was considerable protection to be had from dispersal on the ground, especially when that ground was not sand but solid rock.’
This, not on the syllabus at the Staff College in 1941, was presumably only now being formulated, based on the conditions in North Africa. Slit trenches would need improvised reinforcement, and every man would be issued with half a sheet of corrugated iron (which had to be carried by the marching ranks, with endless cursing and swearing, but which saved countless lives). The ranks were in fact magnificently fit, not least because they did so much marching and digging of latrines, slit-trenches and underground bunkers. Dispersal would be key. This would be warfare based on small units, no bigger than the 30-man platoon, on the driving and parking of vehicles (an even more important target) at strictly never less than 200 yards apart, on leaving gaps in all formations on the move. If under air attack, always run away from your vehicle, fast. Manoeuvrability was similarly vital. It must be possible to pack up and move all operations at short notice, and to service small units of fighting troops right up on the front line, day and night, with not only ammmunition but also hot food and drink, so catering was organised in small teams, based around the army lorry and the portable dixie. Improvisation ― making all possible use of the local terrain and conditions ― was central. The smallest hill and shallowest depression, dunes and desert scrub, could provide concealment, walls could be built from sandbags, noise, which travels so clearly in the desert, and lights, could be minimized, with troops, in special rubber-soled boots, ordered to march in silence in the dark. All troops were also taught, during this high-intensity training on board ship, how to navigate from the stars. All men must have been ordered to report in full Desert kit, lightweight khaki drill shorts or slacks with buckles of brass, long-sleeved Aertex shirts with rank chevrons in white, khaki socks, desert boots and khaki helmets. The paler shade of khaki drill was more suited to desert or semi-desert regions than the dark khaki serge used in Battle dress. It was at this point that the kilt, traditional dress of the Scottish regiments made from seven yards of tartan, was deemed unsuitable for modern warfare, and each soldier (except the pipers who continued to march kilted into battle) was required to hand his in. However, the famous khaki felted wool Tam O’Shanter or ‘balmoral bonnet’ was retained.
‘Meanwhile, the sun beat down on our convoy from a cloudless sky and it got steadily warmer’ and Patrick found time to write home to his Aunt, now the head of the family, at 10 Morningside Place, Edinburgh.
101. To Adah Denholm-Young[471]
29 June 1942 [In Transit]
Dear Aunt Adah,
There isn’t much I am allowed to tell you. But we are shortly stopping at a Port of Call,[472] and will be able to post letters home. I can’t tell you if it is far too hot, or unpleasantly cold, for that would give a clue to our position. But, wherever we are, the weather is excellent, and the sea calm.
Food on this ship is really good. Lots of butter, marmalade, oranges, apples and sugar! Even cigarettes are only 1/3d for 50! No tax is payable on board ship ― this is why everything is so cheap. It’s a grand ship and quite the most comfortable I have ever been on.
Hilda is expecting to be called up at any time now. I hope she gets her wish and becomes a woman doctor in the W.A.F.F.[473] (Women’s Air Force). She may not, of course, be released at all from her present job.
I’ll write again when I get the chance.
Much love,
Pat.
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Two days later, at 3 a.m.on 1 July 1942, the Axis forces (Germany and Italy) under Rommel, intent on their goal of control of the Suez Canal and the oilfields of Persia, reached the Allied forces’ new position up near the Egyptian coast and attempted to smash their way right through the Eighth Army to reach the Nile Delta, Cairo and Alexandria, thus initiating the First Battle of El Alamein. They failed. The Allied line held and ‘by 5 July Rommel knew for certain that he would not reach Alexandria.’[474] The Flap was over, but only for now. Clearly a far bigger, final effort would yet be needed to rout the Axis forces, and to this end, on 31 July, Auchinleck called off the Allied offensive, to enable the Eighth Army to re-group and re-supply.
Meanwhile, the Stratheden convoy pressed on. ‘There was a long halt at Freetown[475] where the harbour was large enough to accommodate our entire convoy, and where we were allowed to relax the blackout restrictions for two whole nights. I was one of the few on board who had been there before, and I could see many new buildings that had risen since 1937. But it was terribly hot, and it was a relief to get going again with some breeze once more coming into the cabins through the scoops.’
102. To Hilda Denholm-Young
18 Jul 1942 [received 19 October] [In transit]
Dear Hilda,
I am getting tired of the sea, but the day after tomorrow we are due at our next Port of Call;[476] so we’ll get a chance to stretch our legs. We expect a few days ashore in a camp, to get a little exercise before continuing our journey to wherever we are supposed to be going!
The last two days have been pretty bad, and the saloons are pretty well empty. This means tha[t] the more hardened travellers get a decent chance to sit down!
Dennis[477] isn’t on my ship, but I saw him at our last Port of Call. He is fit and apparently enjoying himself very much. He has a Padre in his cabin, along with three others, so he ought to be kept out of mischief!
There is little one can say in a letter, as I can’t say where we are, or where we are going ― even if I knew myself!
The days pass very quickly, for I keep my troops hard at it all day up till tea-time with normal training, and lectures on all sorts of subjects like the History of Japan, the Geography of the Middle East, the History of India, the outline of Finance and Banking, and such-like. It keeps their thoughts occupied; and the days pass quickly. I also make the young officers write essays. Some are very good, but others are just too appalling! There is a good library aboard, and I brought a library of 130 books for my own troops. I bought up 130 7/6d books for 1/6 each in a shop in Piccadilly. It has been well worth it.
Brigadier Barker[478] is now in Edinburgh. I believe his family are there with him. He is Chief Signal Officer, Scottish Command. I’m sorry we left Scotland before he went there. It would have been fun being with him again!
I hope your pal Beryl Grote wasn’t too peeved at the letter I wrote her. She was very kind to write at all, but I really don’t want any entanglements, thanks very much! I told her that when I settled down and stopped wandering about this world, Lord Nelson would come down from his column and the lions would roar! And he seems pretty firmly planted up there just now!
I don’t expect I’ll get any letters from home for a good many weeks yet. Probably not till about October. So don’t expect any answers at least before Christmas!
Love,
Pat
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‘The Stratheden was the Commodore’s flagship and therefore carried the Headquarters of the Division. She was as steady as a rock, even in quite high winds, and remarkably comfortable. The Dining Saloon was five decks down, but the fact that it was air-conditioned made up, in some measure, for the additional danger. Had we been hit by a torpedo during a meal sitting, I doubt if many of us would have got back on deck. Even so, it was a long journey (eight weeks in all) and by the time we rounded the Cape, we were heartily sick of being cooped up on board. Here the convoy split into two, one half heading for Simonstown, the other (ours) for Durban.’
The Stratheden alone called briefly in at Cape Town to disembark General Wimberley and his most senior command staff (which did not include Patrick), who all immediately flew north, ‘disguised’ in civilian clothes, to Cairo, for Commanders-in-Chief of all Divisions were now being intensively briefed behind the scenes on the strategic plans for the coming action. The ship then resumed its course, to catch up her half of the convoy, at Durban.
‘Durban was great fun and we were there for four days and nights. There was no blackout, but again it was appallingly hot. No matter: we spent most of our time ashore. We took the troops for route marches in the mornings, and were all given shore leave for the afternoons and evenings. Three of us had sets of golf clubs with us on board.[479] All were packed carefully in a large wooden packing case marked: “SIGNAL STORES: HANDLE WITH CARE.” So Major James Cochran and I played several rounds on the Durban Country Club course[480] and enjoyed wonderful lunches on the verandah of this Dutch-style building with its wide view of the harbour and out to the Indian Ocean. James was a scratch golfer at his home course in Stirling and a three-handicap man at St Andrew’s, where he was a member of the Royal and Ancient, so he was a hard challenge, but he was always great fun to play with. The people of Durban were kindness itself and did all in their power to make our stay a pleasant one. I happened to need a tooth filled ― it had been playing up during our voyage ― so I saw a local dentist, high in a huge modern block of flats in the city centre. He did the job absolutely painlessly and refused to accept any payment. “It’s one way I can help you blokes” was all he said. The old members of the Club, too, were hospitality itself. They all seemed to hail from Scotland and kept asking about people at home and plying us with good, pre-War whisky.’
103. To Hilda Denholm-Young
21 July 1942 Airgraph [In Transit]
Dear Hilda,
We are at a Port of Call[481] and I expect this will reach you long before any letters. I have already posted two letters, one from here and one from another place. The sea has been pretty good to us, on the whole, but it is pleasant to get ashore for some exercise at last. I am off for a game of golf this afternoon.
Dennis is very fit, and thrilled to be far away from home for the first time!
I shall be glad when we reach our destination ― wherever that may be! As life on a ship is all very well, but I miss the exercise on shore.
Food at this place is plentiful and cheap. A really good dinner only costs 4/- to 5/6d.
You might drop a line to Aunt Adah and Reggie Saunders[482] to tell them you’ve heard from me by airgraph and that I’m reported to be fit and well.
I’ll write again at the next opportunity.
Love,
Pat.
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‘All too soon this pleasant respite was over and the convoy was steaming away northwards up the Indian Ocean to Aden, where we stopped for a few hours before the final dash, unescorted, up the Red Sea.’
104. To Hilda Denholm-Young
3 August 1942 [Rec. 12 November] [In Transit]
Dear Hilda,
We are still at sea, so there still is very little one can say.
We got ashore at the last place[483] we called at. It was very pleasant getting to the Pictures again, and being able to shop. You could buy anything without coupons, and the shops were full of things, just like peacetime. Fountain pens, chocolates, food ― nothing was scarce, except razors!
I had two games of golf, and we had a good deal of route-marching to keep us fit. It all made a very pleasant interlude in a very long and boring journey.
Even now, we don’t know exactly where we are, or where we are going.
I’ve written to McVittie[484] telling him I want him to invest another £100 in War Bonds. This means that he now holds certificates of mine to the value of £500, all in War Stock. So if he can ever cough up the £500 I have invested in his business, there is £1000 towards Broomrig [sic] ! I have asked both him and Uncle Frank Grant[485] to let me know if they know anything about the jobs of Chief Constables of a County. There is a man on this ship who was recently Chief Constable of Northamptonshire. He is a pretty good nitwit; and even he says the job is nothing in itself. Many retired army officers get this kind of employment; and more often in their own home county. His pay was £1500 a year; but counties vary considerably. It would be fun to be Chief Constable of Dumfriesshire, and live at Broomrig [sic]! And as far as I can see, it is not outside the bounds of possibility. Anyway, it’s worth looking into after the War.
When I can give you a more permanent address ― although this A.P.O. number is really quite sufficient, ― I suggest you send me any news by Airgraph. It is only 3d a page, and takes a far shorter time than ordinary letters. I don’t expect you’ll get this much before the end of October, or so. ...
Love
Pat.
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On 5th August Winston Churchill, on his way to Moscow, arrived in Egypt, went up to the front, and by the evening of 6th had made some rapid decisions. The Middle East Command role would be split into two, with Lieutenant-General Harold Alexander[486] replacing Auchinleck in Cairo, and Lieutenant General William Gott,[487] taking command in the field. Gott was promptly killed in a plane crash on his way up to the front, and Churchill was obliged to summon Lieutenant-General Bernard Montgomery to be Commander-in-Chief, Eighth Army.
The latter was a not uncontroversial choice. Deeply affected by the shock of his wife’s sudden death five years earlier, in 1937, and fiercely opinionated and outspoken, Montgomery was not the easiest of men. In 1927–1928, for instance, as Deputy Assistant Adjutant General at the Staff College, Camberley, he and Eric Dorman-Smith, then a student, had developed a sharp mutual hostility. An utterly dedicated soldier, he expected the same quality in others, and the role of his G.1. was especially demanding. Patrick used, wryly, to quote Montgomery: “Essential to have a first-class G.1. and work him like hell; when he burns out, what to do? Get another G.1., of course!” He had a decided philosophy, recorded in his Memoirs. ‘To succeed, a Commander-in-Chief must ensure from the beginning a very firm grip on his military machine ... If a conference of his subordinates is ... necessary, it will be for the purpose of giving orders. ... A conference of subordinates to collect ideas is the resort of a weak commander’ and ‘I have always held the view that ... (t)he real strength of an army is ... far greater than the sum total of its parts; that extra strength is provided by morale, fighting spirit, mutual confidence between the leaders and the led ... The morale of the soldier is the greatest single factor in war ...’[488] To this end, a leader must be seen to be amongst his troops and instantly recognisable to them (hence the famous signature black beret). In a General very much in the modern mould, who believed in leading from the front, such dedication was exhilarating and could inspire a heady optimism.
Montgomery duly arrived in Cairo on 12 August and set about preparing to take up his new appointment. He chose his senior staff, inspected the Eighth Army HQ, studied the topography of the Western Desert, and considered his forces. He decided that the Eighth Army needed a reserve corps of three or four divisions ‘strong in armour, well-equipped and well trained’ (the future 30 Corps), and also realised that general morale had to be raised ― ‘the troops had their tails down and there was no confidence in the higher command’.[489] Advised that Rommel would probably make one last attempt to reach Cairo and the Suez Canal, probably from the south, he made his plan. This was to hold both the Ruweisat and Alam Halfa Ridges, so as to enable preparations to continue for a single huge offensive under a full moon ― the (second) Battle of Alamein. On 15 August he officially assumed command of the Eighth Army.
Others were also gathering on the scene. ‘We were now coming within range of enemy fighters and bombers, so the Stratheden, no longer protected, surged up the Red Sea at a full 23 knots. We duly arrived at Suez in the dawn of 12 August ― but not for the Grouse Shooting; and the great ship had to be cleared and away again before darkness fell. The risks of a night attack from the air were too great. It was hectic, but we made it, and that night I slept in my small tent on the edge of the Tehag Transit Camp[490] in the Eastern Desert of the Sinai Peninsula, thankful that the Egyptian nights were much cooler than those I had endured on the Indian plains at that time of year.
We waited a few days for the remainder of the Division to arrive, and, finding Tehag somewhat tedious, I drove into Cairo to make my number with the Signal Officer-in-Chief, Major-General Penny[491] at G.H.Q. Middle East, in a place called Grey Pillars[492] in a residential part of the city. I wanted to discuss problems of local supplies of Signal equipment and the drawing of technical vehicles. The whole emphasis was to promote ‘desert worthiness’ in all newcomers to the Middle East as quickly as possible. So we drew our Middle East vehicles, all painted yellow, and changed our equipment to come into line with the Middle East scales of establishments.’ While in Cairo, Patrick probably took the opportunity to visit the Gazeira Country Club,[493] register as a Temporary Member, and deposit his golf clubs for safe keeping. ‘Then one morning [19 August] a call went round all Officers at the H.Q. of the Division to assemble in the camp cinema at Tehag, a wood and canvas building of somewhat doubtful strength.’
‘The General [Wimberley] entered with the Commander-in-Chief, General Alexander, and he was followed by none other than the familiar figure of the Prime Minister himself, Winston Churchill, wearing his famous battle-dress suit and smoking an enormous cigar. I was lucky, for I was sitting right in the middle of the front row, so I heard him speak to us from about ten feet away. He set down the Bombay Bowler he had been holding on a bench, took the cigar out of his mouth, and began. His short speech was clearly unrehearsed. He faced us and said that he was glad of this opportunity of saying a few words to the officers of this famous Division; then he seemed to hesitate, gathering his words. “We all know,” he went on, “of the well-known exploits of your wonderful regiments in the last War ― and we will follow with interest ― and pride your own future fortunes when you move out ― as you surely soon will ― out beyond the ancient city of Cairo and into the Western Desert where ― you will stand between that great historic Egyptian city and ― the dark hoards of the invader.” As he spoke, as he felt his way forward, the rhythm of his words grew apace and his voice grew stronger, carrying across to us his determination to come to grips with this enemy ― and his implacable will to destroy it utterly. He shook hands with every one of us and then hastened away to the West to visit the formations farther along the North African coast who were then in actual contact with the enemy.’
‘Next came the news of the arrival of General Montgomery and the anticipation of a big German attack ― for Rommel was said to be on the move (and to have booked a room at Shepheard’s Hotel[494]). Our Division was hurriedly moved to the South of Cairo, to a site on the Mena Road, near the Pyramids, and we took up our positions to withstand an attack from either north-west or west. Afterwards, we called this particular operation the “Defence of the Mena Drain.” It was quite a flap while it lasted, but it didn’t stop us from having several very pleasant meals in the eating-houses of Cairo, where the rich food was a great joy after months of severe rationing. The attack did, in fact, develop, but the line held. Montgomery had won the critical battle of Alam el Halfa [31 August – 6 September], and Rommel had been forced to withdraw. So we reeled in our field telephone cables, packed up our things and prepared to move out into the Western Desert.[495] I remember standing beside my car, not far from the Great Pyramid, and looking out to the West across flat sands to the horizon, turned to my companion, Brigadier Walton,[496] who had experience of war in the desert, and murmuring: “I wonder how far that goes.” He laughed. “Two thousand miles,” he replied, “quite a long walk!” ’
‘I was told to send James Cochran on ahead to make contact with the 44th (Home Counties) Division at Alam el Halfa, while I completed the drawing of equipment and vehicles before the move of our main body out from the Delta. Then at last I got away and moved ahead in my car to meet James at the junction where the roads to Cairo, Alexandria and Alamein meet. It was here that General Montgomery had met General de Guingand,[497] his Chief-of-Staff, when first he had arrived to take over command of the Eighth Army.’
_________________________________________________________
He writes here from that Tehag Transit Camp near Tel-el-Kebir.
105. To Hilda Denholm-Young
15 August 1942 Airgraph
51st HDS, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
I cabled you two days ago, and will be interested to know when you get it. Col. Walton, now a Brigadier, is once again my chief in a manner of speaking. He sends his regards to you. Pat Yorke,[498] whom we imagined killed, was a prisoner but recently managed to escape. I haven’t seen him, but he is alive and well.
Victor Holland[499] is also well, and I am lunching today with Ralph Bagnold, whom I think you met.
All is well, except a couple of thousand million flies and sand-flies! Any old papers you can manage to pass on will always be welcome; also Ever-Ready Razor Blades.
Tell Aunt Adah and McVittie I have arrived safely.
Love,
Pat.
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His next letter is written from the British Army tented camp on the Mena Road near the huge Egyptian temple that overlooks the Pyramids at Giza, to which the Division had been hurriedly moved on approximately 26 August.
106. To Hilda Denholm-Young
3 September 1942 Air Mail Letter Card
51st HDS, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
You will find that this is the most satisfactory form of writing. The Post Office will advise you about it. It is called an Air Mail Letter Card.
I can’t tell you where we are, but the address conjures up pictures of sand and flies! Both are correct ― in enormous quantities!
I had lunch with Brigadier Walton the other week. He is very fit indeed, and was asking for you very kindly.
I have been seeing an enormous number of old friends ever since I came out here.
The things we all want out here are letters, papers and more letters. Apart from these, we have few desires. The life we lead is simple in the extreme; but continues to be even more busy than ever before!
I suppose that someday I’ll get a nice easy job, with nothing to do! But that time has yet to come!
I see Brig. Mackmeeking[500] is here. He and his sister own Broomrig. I’ll have a talk to him when I get an opportunity.
I just missed seeing Victor Holland the other day; perhaps I’ll get a chance before long to see him. I haven’t spoken to him since Aug 1939!
Thanks for the E.F.M.[501] telegram. I got it on 28 Aug ― a few days early for Birthday Greetings!
Sorry to hear about Uncle Archie,[502] but I think it was in the nature of a relief to all concerned. How has Aunt Adah reacted, I wonder?
I suppose we now pay ½ the Dr [?Jack] interest?[503] I’ll send some more money home to the R. Bank in Edinburgh; but I think there’s plenty there. Anyhow, I’ve got £500 invested in War Bonds, and McVittie holds the vouchers for them. If he needs to, he can overdraw on my account on the security of this £500. But I don’t think he’ll need to.
I’ve yet had no letters whatsoever since I left England, so there should be a good few for me somewhere or other!
Life out here isn’t too bad. It’s exciting at times, and boring at others. I miss my daily bath most of all; but we’re so busy there isn’t time to get bored.
Love,
Pat.
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On Tuesday 8 September (Patrick’s 36th birthday) the Highland Division moved out to the Western Desert (their HD insignia on signs along their advance routes would henceforth earn them the nickname of ‘Highway Decorators’) and spent several weeks in a Reserve Area preparing for the Alamein battle and getting used to life in the sands. That a major campaign was projected was clear, but no dates or details had been issued. Montgomery, determined to do things his own way and in his own time, wasn’t going to be rushed by political pressure to start his action until he was absolutely ready. His idea was, having deliberately misled the enemy into expecting an assault from the south, to launch a surprise attack in the north. This tactic was not original to Montgomery. In it must be read an important echo of Dorman-Smith’s ‘indirect approach’, striking the enemy when and where he least expected it, ideas influenced in their turn by those of Basil Liddell Hart,[504] whose 1929 book The Strategy of Indirect Approach maintained that ‘the Commander should try to imbalance his opponent by taking the indirect approach, attacking the enemy where he least expects it.’ Other key elements that contributed to the ultimate success at Alamein were the accent on the highest quality military Intelligence (Ultra), those tank reinforcements from the U.S.A., and superior British air power represented by Spitfires and Kittyhawks. One more highly significant point in all this, and what might almost be called the beauty of it, was that, unlike many Middle Eastern theatres of war since then, this one involved no nearby concentrations of civilians. The co-lateral damage from that point of view was minimal.
‘Our Brigades took up their positions, each within barbed wire ‘boxes’, and with minefields to give them added protection. I and my H.Q. Signals lived beside the H.Q. of the Division, also in a box, and exactly where the H.Q. of the 44th Division had fought the battle of Alam el Halfa. The next two weeks were spent in intense preparations for the coming battle,’ including full-scale attack exercises at night, ‘and we had officers of the 44th attached to us to teach us the ways of the desert. This was a fine idea, for there was much local knowledge to be learned.’
Life in the desert now began in earnest. This was a harsh, metallic world of tanks and machine guns and lorries ― especially lorries, hundreds and hundreds of them, the standard British Army workhorse ― and of ammunition stores, of barbed wire and cable, stored on vast drums, and of petrol cans, fiercely guarded when full, improvised as cooking stoves[505] when empty, and finally discarded in great rusting dumps. Consequently, it was a world that smelled of petrol fumes, and vibrated day and night to the rev and roar of the combustion engine. The noise, from those lorry engines, from tank engines, from metal tank tracks, from aircraft overhead ― was relentless And beneath it all, the sand, fine, gritty sand, that abraded the hands and lodged in the teeth and stung the eyes as it blew like dust on the hot, fierce, desert wind from the south, the Khamseen, (cousin to the Harmattan) with that other menace, flies. ‘The desert fly, musca sorbens, is a smaller and much more aggressive insect than musca domestica, the common European housefly’[506] and was an ever-present tormenting menace. (Flies also occur in the Red Sea, where they congregate in great swarms like thick black mats over corals and algae that lie close to the water’s surface, a phenomenon Patrick may well have seen.) Dark glasses were needed as much against these flies as against the glare of the coastal light and the sun.[507] The daytime temperatures were warm but not unpleasant at this time of the year, but could drop pretty low at night, and morning brought the shock of heavy dew. That was the only natural moisture other than the sea. After fuel, water was the most precious commodity, and its shortage the most trying aspect of life for the fighting forces. Each man’s ration was just one gallon a day, for everything. Many resorted to sucking sweets to ease the ‘mouth as dry as a bucket of sand.’ Such minimal water for washing was something which Patrick, a deeply fastidious man who was accustomed to the ‘bath at seven, dinner at eight’ routine, found absolutely hateful.[508] Only surgeons about to operate were permitted to take showers, so sea-bathing became not just a relaxation but an essential matter of personal hygiene. Uniform, damp with sweat, had to be worn for days together until lulls in action allowed the men to wash their clothes (and batmen the clothes of their officers) in the sea and spread them out to dry in the sun. Food was plentiful, but pratically everything was tinned and the diet was monotonous: tinned bacon, tinned bully beef,[509] tinned potatoes, tinned fruit, tinned jam, tinned cheese, biscuits,[510] dried eggs, and with tinned condensed milk. The lack of fresh fruit and vegetables was compensated for by a daily ascorbic acid tablet issued to all. Officers took all their meals in improvised Messes where they ate off crockery and were waited on by orderlies; troops cooked for themselves in small groups gathered round vehicles, frying rations and brewing tea over the standard camp stove, and eating out of individual mess tins. Each man was also issued with 50 cigarettes a week (though Patrick may have drawn tobacco for his pipe instead). The only private space was the slit-trench ― an oblong hole dug by each soldier or pair of soliders (for the ranks often shared them), or by batmen for their officers, in the sand, with a canvas bivouac stretched over for privacy, and beneath that the sheet of corrugated iron, for protection from tank movements, artillery fire and air raids – for storage of personal belongings and for sleep. My father lived in such trenches for months in the Western Desert, and on one memorable occasion awoke to find himself ‘well on the way to being water-logged.’ [Letter 122].
In a practically all-male world, where concentration on an enormous shared purpose meant that most were too busy to think about much else anyway, emotional sustenance was found in the loyalty of comrades, and the result was many fine friendships, strong enough to engender acts of heroism on the field, and often cruelly cut short, leading to grievous private loss long remembered, or to last on into later life, as a bond forged in an unforgettable crucible.
Patrick meanwhile spent much of this period some 25 miles further west ― alone (but for his driver) because his work was so sensitive ― planning the Divisional communications system for the battle; driving up and down what would be the main tank clearances ― tracks marked every hundred yards or so with little mounds of stones, each with a steel pole in the middle bearing a metal plate cut into the shape of a specific emblem, a crescent moon for Moon Track, and others for Star, Sun, Boat, Bottle, Hut and Quattara ― reckoning the hundreds of miles of cable that would have to be laid, buried where possible and referred to as a ‘bury’, otherwise snaking alongside the edges of these lanes, inevitably vulnerable to the vicious metal tank-tracks. Local maps of the desert were hopelessly inaccurate, so he needed to see the terrain himself. His units would be widely scattered and distances in the desert were huge. For this he relied on his 20-years of technical experience, some very sound mathematics, his compass and (as a fail-safe) that ability to navigate by the stars.
His daily routine was to be woken at first light, when the desert was flushed rose-red, by his Batman ― ‘Half past six, Sir. Stand-To[511] in half an hour’ ― who brought water for washing and shaving; this was done beside his trench, as others did likewise; then the short walk, passing on his way many of the Staff offices ― big lorries covered with scrim[512] and camouflage and fitted out for men to work in them, with slit-trenches alongside, to serve as funk-holes when enemy planes came over ― to the Divisional Mess, a large hole, covered with thick canvas so as to allow a decent light in the evenings, essential as none of the Divisional staff ever finished work before dark, and well lined with sand-bags. ‘The result was something in the nature of an elephant house.’ A flight of steps led down to the entrance, in front of which hung a blanket. Ducking under this, he went in and took his place at the table being laid by the Mess factotum who put a plate of porridge in front of him. The tea was tainted: ‘Sorry Sir. All the drinking water’s the same today, salty.’ Others would enter, ordering perhaps eggs and bacon, and talk of the day’s work would contain much light cheerful teasing: ‘Of course, I’ll let you know tonight. Meanwhile, I must be off. I’m a working girl and there’s lots of floors to scrub.’ After breakfast, Patrick always made a point of calling in on his own Unit’s Officers’ Mess, this one a canvas shelter erected in the sand with the Mess lorry at the back where the cooks prepared the food. Here, over a cup of tea, talk with his own officers was highly technical. Then on to the Signal Office, for updates, and finally to his own office, two more holes in the ground, into which their two office lorries had been driven, and the clerks worked in and around one, while he and his Adjutant shared the other. It was a hot place, and when the wind blew the tables and papers got covered with a fine dusting of sand. It could get hotter still: there might at any time be a flurry and a race for the slit-trenches if a flock of German fighters came over, releasing their ‘eggs’ ― or, with luck, if they were looking for some other place, simply fly on Westwards at a great height. However, they rarely put in an appearance when the Spitfires were about. After assessing the latest information and orders, he made the necessary rapid decisions, and briefed his Adjutant. Then, met by his driver and jeep[513] with a full tank of fuel, a spare can in the back, and some bully beef sandwiches or tinned rations, he would set out up one of the main tank tracks to spend hours in the warmest part of the day covering the main areas of the battlefield, back and forth, carefully making his calculations. Olivia Manning[514] catches the quality of the noonday heat and light in her 1977 novel The Danger Tree: ‘the dazzling, swimming nothingness of the desert horizon’, and the ‘[s]ilver mirage’ that ... stretched ‘like water over the track’ ... from which ‘oddly elongated rocks and stones stood up like wading birds’.[515] They drove large distances, sometimes running into a sand-cloud so thick that it obscured the sun, sometimes having to get out and run when enemy planes suddenly roared up from the horizon, and always careful never to run out of petrol. On the way back, perhaps an urgent visit to one of the senior commanders in yet another office, a three-ton lorry with canvas side-tents let down on either side; then finally back to his own desk and more work there until after dark, when he would stretch his shoulders and go in search of a drink. ‘Sherry, gin and lime, or whisky, Sir.’ He ordered a whisky (no water) and glanced at the papers, eager for news from home. Then dinner (roasted bully beef, tinned potatoes, and plates of tinned fruit) and conversation with friends ― the best part of the day and its only relaxation ― before making his way, using a compass in the waste of sand and looming vehicle shapes, beneath stars that were ‘too many and too bright, ... like eyes ... staring down’,[516] back to his slit-trench and bed. To sleep and then begin again the next day, for the pressure was on and his plans had to be ready on time.
107. To Hilda Denholm-Young
8 September 1942 Air Mail Letter Card
51st HDS, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
There is really no news! I expect you have seen in the papers that we’ve taught Rommel a lesson![517]
Life is just sand and flies! I really don’t know which I hate the worst!
I have seen Brigadier McMeeking[518] and he was most charming about Broomrig. He agrees that he ought to sell it to us after the War. But of course we can do nothing till after the War.
I hope you can read this, but I am writing under somewhat trying conditions of sweat and sand!
One great joy of this part of the world is the number of old friends I am constantly meeting.
You might get as many people as possible to write to me Air Mail, as letters are the most precious thing out here!
Apart from your postcard and cable, I have had no mail since I left on 17 June!
All is well out here, but we do all want news from home.
Love
Pat.
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108. To Hilda Denholm-Young
18 September 1942 Air Mail Letter Card
51st HDS, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
I got a letter from you dated late June, also one from Aunt Adah dated about 26 June. I suggest you use the normal Air Mail. It’s a few months quicker!
Aunt Adah doesn’t seem to be too overcome about Uncle Archie. I expect her brain is a bit too old to take it in sufficiently to overworry about it!
Life out here is pretty well the same as usual. I live in a hole in the ground, [Plate 40[519]] like everybody else! The War came a trifle nearer to me that [than] I would personally have chosen last Wednesday, when a fighter plane was shot down about 100 yards ahead of my car![520] All very unpleasant and messy!
I’d give quite a lot for a decent bath!
I had a chat with Brigadier Macmicking[sic] the other day. He is perfectly agreeable to discuss selling Broomrig after the War, but agrees that it is quite hopeless to do anything at the present time.
Dennis is very well. The youth inhabits another hole in the ground about 2 miles away. He has been lucky and is on 4 days’ leave at the moment.
I hope this war doesn’t go on for ever! I’m tired of being dirty and uncomfortable!
As you will have seen in the papers, we had Churchill out here recently. I was introduced and shook hands with him. He was looking extremely fit, and spoke to us very well indeed.
Life isn’t entirely unpleasant out here, and has its compensations.
Do get people to write ― Air Mail. Letters are the greatest thing out here!
Love,
Pat.
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109. To Hilda Denholm-Young
23 September 1942 Air Mail Letter Card
51st HDS, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
Not much news. I think I told you Brigadier Walton (late Colonel, York) sent his regards to you.
Pat Yorke escaped, and is now in these parts as a Major & doing very well.
I got bored the other day and tried firing my pistol at a bottle stood on a box someone had left lying around. After a first attempt, I gave it up. A friend examined the box and found it full of bombs! I seem to live a charmed life!
Did Uncle Archie leave us bills to pay? I wonder! I suppose we have to pay ½ the Dr Jack interest each now. Tell McVittie just to cash in on my account at the bank when required.
Life here is boring for long periods, and sometimes exciting for short ones!
No more news now.
Love
Pat
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110. To Hilda Denholm-Young
23 September 1942 Airgraph
51st HDS, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
Thanks for several letters. Sorry to hear about Jim Traill.[521] My cable was to tell you Pat Yorke had escaped, and is here as a Major and doing very well. Brigadier Walton is here also, and sends his regards to you.
I’m glad you heard from Wilkes.[522] He is a pleasant person to talk to and has more than the ordinary intelligence!
I suppose McVittie invested £200 for me on the Burrs[523] paying up? I’ve got £750 in War Bonds, then with McVittie. I don’t suppose McElvie will cough up that £750!
Aunt Adah seems to have taken Uncle Archie’s death pretty well.
All well out here, but life is a trifle busy, rowdy and definitely dirty! I’d give a lot for a decent bath!
Give Reggie[524] and his mother my love when you go to Maidenhead.
Love,
Pat
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111. To Hilda Denholm-Young
27 September 1942 Airgraph
51st HDS, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
Letters 1, 2, 3, 4, and 6 all received. No 5 of Loch Lomond not yet to hand. Did the Burrs die? I expect McVittie added another £10 and bought me £200 of Defence Bonds. Am I right?
Yes, you might as well deal with my letters. It would take ages for me to reply to any, and I never get either time or inclination to write out here. Life is pretty well All Work and No Play out here. Sand, flies and miles and miles of absolutely nothing!! One good thing about it is the great number of old friends I have met out here.
What is Aunt Ella[525] going to do now? She ought just to stay on where she is. She’s far too old to change her way of living now. How has Aunt Adah taken it? I expect she isn’t too friendly disposed towards Aunt Ella!
Glad you heard from W.[526] Why don’t you follow that one up[?] The attraction was quite mutual!
Too hot to write any more.
Love,
Pat.
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“No doubt Paddy writes you regularly giving you any news. Of course I see him quite often and he is well in spite of the fact that he works too hard. … Since starting this note I have seen Paddy who managed to talk to me while working at a merry hell speed. He sends his love.”
(Extract from letter of 4 October 1942
from Dennis to Hilda)
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112. To Hilda Denholm-Young
9 October 1942 Airgraph
51st HDS, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
Having dropped two fountain pens in the sand, I can hardly write at all now! I seem to have received all your letters etc, except No 6, 7 and 8, though I seem to remember getting a cable early in September, which was probably No 7. The latest is No 9, dated 8 Sep 42.
Yes, I heard about Col Dodd.[527] ...
No thanks ― no time for card games etc. I sleep if I can get a spare moment ― which is never!
Sorry to hear about Isobel Woodburn.[528] I thought she was in Italy.
Yes, do open any letters for me, but don’t pay any bills except clubs, as I should have no outstanding bills whatsoever.
Life here is very hectic, but rather fun. I snatched 2 days in civilisation last week and stayed with David Bastin.[529] I also saw Col Cameron Webb.[530] You met at supper 2 years ago at Cricketers’ Hotel, Bagshot.
Why not buy Aunt Adah’s car and store it till after the War in her garage? It might be worth it.
Love
Pat
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On 10 October Major-General Douglas Wimberley wrote to Patrick as follows:
“My Dear Denholm-Young, The Inspector of Signals, on leaving, has been most complimentary about ll that he saw of the troops under your command. He was rash enough to prophesy to me that if you went on at the present rate of progress you would have about the best Signals in any Division of the Army by next Spring. I would like to congratulate you all, and I am, of course, delighted to hear that our Divisional Signals are now well on the way towards reaching the standard always expected of the Highland Division, i.e. second to none. Yours, Douglas Wimberley”
____________________________________________________
113. To Hilda Denholm-Young
[?]13 October 1942 [Rec. 16 December] Christmas letter card
‘So far … and yet so near in our hearts as we wish you a Merry Christmas … Greetings from the Middle East’ with accompanying ‘Xmas Greetings’ envelop
Dear Hilda,
This is the Soldiers’ Xmas Card from the Middle East. I only hope that next Christmas I may be at home once again. It would be fun to spend it in Broomrig [sic] House!
Personally, I think that we will have won this war before Christmas 1943. I hope so, anyhow.
Love,
Pat
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114. To Hilda Denholm-Young
16October 1942 Airgraph
51st HDS, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
No more letters from you since I last wrote, but I had an airgraph of the local “ [?number]” from Aunt Adah a couple of days ago.
Am keeping remarkably fit considering the living conditions and hours of work ― the busiest ever! Still, I like hard work!
I’ve met a lot more old friends lately ― of Catterick days in 1927/8, but I doubt if you ever met any of them.
You might tell McVittie not to invest another £100 for me until I have at least £150 lying idle in the Bank in Edinburgh. That, I estimate, won’t be till about 1st January 42. But I should now have £700 in War Bonds with McVittie. If I’m most unlucky, don’t forget McVittie holds my life insurance, which is worth about £600 to you!
I’d give a great deal for a bath! One gets a trifle smelly without one for weeks at a time!
Love,
Pat.
____________________________________________________
Just before the full moon, in the final phase of Operation Bertram, all the dummy ordnance was stealthily replaced, under cover of darkness, with the real thing, 2,000 guns and 1,000 tanks, enough to sustain a 12-day battle, silently moved up into the forward position. Montgomery’s Eighth Army (220,000 men and 1029 tanks) was ready. The success of the (Second) Battle of El Alamein ― and as the turning-point in the Second World War it was one of the great battles of the 20th Century ― would be due in part to sheer weight of firepower (those American tanks were crucial) and men, to the clever tactics of camouflage and decoy by which dummy cardboard tanks and fake pipelines diverted the enemy on wild goose chases and waste of ammunition; and to good intelligence transmitted by efficient signals arrangements. There was tremendous personal bravery. Clearing lanes through minefields for tanks was one of the most dangerous jobs, greatly aided by the use, for the first time, of the Polish mine detector developed in Scotland in 1941. Likewise, the laying of cable lines, such as the Northern bury, and keeping them ‘through,’ was constantly bedevilled by a shifting battle action that meant new lines at short notice, and metal tank tracks that cut them to pieces, and required unending surveillance and repair work in darkness and daylight under lethally dangerous conditions. The heroic work of the Despatch Riders, carrying essential packages and papers, such as orders that had to be received in writing, often travelling alone and over tremendous distances in their jeeps, was equally heroic.
‘Then came the morning when Montgomery asked all officers in the Division down to rank of Lieutenant Colonel to come in to a battle conference. Slit trenches had been dug for us, and before he started, our own General told us how we were to disperse to these trenches in the event of being attacked by enemy fighters before the conference was over. Then Montgomery began. He had a blackboard on which were hung certain simple diagrams; and he outlined to us exactly what, in his view, was going to happen during the coming attack ― which was to be launched beyond El Alamein at the next full moon. He spoke of his plans to hoodwink the enemy by using dummy vehicles and guns away to the south, while the real weight of his attack was to be from the north. He was absolutely clear as to how this battle would develop and who was going to win. There was no doubt about anything. Consequently, we had no doubts either. This was just the leadership we needed to turn the tide in our favour, and we all left that conference exceedingly impressed. Many of us had met this dynamic little man with his extremely definite ideas before, while we were mobilizing at Aldershot, for he had been Commander-in-Chief of South Eastern Command. Now he was here, with us. Here in the Western Desert, where the British Army had had to retreat so often. In fact, we called this particular battle area the ‘Benghazi Handicap’ for it usually ran in both directions, depending on whether we were advancing or retreating. Not this time. This time we had General Montgomery to run the show and turn retreat into victory at last. It had, in fact, become known throughout the Eighth Army that one of the first things this new General had done was to order all plans for a retreat to the Delta to be destroyed. “Burn the lot” he had said. “If we don’t stay here alive, then we’ll stay here dead. But we’ll stay here.” So we did.’
On 21 October the plan was relayed down to all levels. For it was active policy that every man in the Eighth Army should be sent into battle fully briefed about what was happening. Soldiers are not robots. During the night of 22/23 October the following Highland Division strength would move forward and take up their position, just west of Alamein Station: anti-tank guns, all Royal Artillery and HD machine guns, mortars, Bren carriers with reserve ammunition and tools, Royal Engineers’ stores (mines), Royal Corps of Signals stores (cables and wireless sets), and medical stores. All Commanders to be at the head of their troops, with the Company Pipers in front, ready for the order to advance. Zero hour was 2200 on 23 October. The battle itself would consist of three main movements: the ‘Break-in’, the ‘Crumbling’ and the ‘Break-out’. The Break-in was to open with a massive artillery bombardment after which, on a night of full moonlight, two infantry divisions, including the 51st Highlanders, would advance, one in the north and the other in the south, through German minefields. Once they reached the first of these ‘Devil’s gardens’, the lighter footfall of men was deemed less likely to trip the anti-tank mines than the weight of Sherman tanks and six-pounder anti-tank guns. Hence the code-name Operation Lightfoot. Behind them, would come the mine sweepers, the Sappers, whose job it was to clear a passage, five miles long and 24 feet wide, for the armoured divisions, the tanks and artillery tractors, lined up in single formation. The Crumbling, the crippling of the enemy’s strength, would be a much longer, slower business, a hard and bloody killing match, a real ‘dog-fight’ to prepare the way for the Break-Out, or Operation Supercharge, a monster final blow aimed at destroying supply routes and aerodromes etc. and so smashing the enemy’s entire operation.
‘The preparations for the battle were hectic, though everything ran according to a well-organised plan. When the time came, we all moved forward out of our minefield area at Alam el Halfa and took up positions just beyond El Alamein, that single-line railway station in the middle of nowhere. The main headquarters of our Division was located in deep concrete dugouts close behind the coast road, but the Tactical H.Q. was almost two miles further west and some way to the south, well into the desert itself.’
‘23 October 1942 was a hot day, even for Northern Egypt in that month, and the 51st Highland H.Q. were lucky indeed to be established on the high ground overlooking the sea. Away to the west lay the ridge that marked the last outpost of the Eighth Army’s front. Beyond this lay the foremost minefield. Early that morning the whole desert was twinkling with the lights of hundreds of small fires ― the men cooking breakfast in petrol tins. To the south, and making three straight lines running from east to west, were the tracks known to us as ‘Sun’, ‘Moon’ and ‘Star’ that had all been cleared of mines by the Sappers with infinite care. Along these tracks would rumble the hundreds of tanks which were to be loosed through the gaps which the Infantry Divisions were to open up across the minefields and on into the enemy lines. Never before in the history of warfare had such an enormous armoured force been conceived. No one doubted that those formations would eventually break through the enemy lines ― but how long it would take was a different matter.’
On 23 October the Commander-in-Chief’s Order of the Day took the form of a Personal Message to every member of the Eighth Army, one of several issued by General Montgomery during the Desert Campaign of 1942–1943. Production of these letters would have been highly organised. The text would have been written out by the General at his desk in his office (on a lorry in the M.E.F. H.Q.) and handed to an Adjutant, whose responsibility it was to get it telegraphed to Cairo as a ‘Top Priority’ rushed job, for typesetting and printing, and flown back to the Desert within hours, to the Admininstrative Services H.Q. perhaps, from which baled batches were then sent out by lorry to the Regimental H.Q.s, for senior officers to read out, and distribute, to the troops. Such printing for H.M. forces had all been done in the early part of the War by H.M.S.O., but by 1942 there were facilities close to the Middle East theatre, and these particular jobs may have been done in Cairo or possibly Bari. By this time paper quality was poor and these letters, produced in print-runs of perhaps a quarter of a million, were on a thin, recycled pale khaki A4. The waste afterwards ― being bowled by the breeze over the sands, half buried beneath the wheels of lorries, flapping desultorily from miles of barbed wire, to say nothing of an eventual use as lavatory paper ― must have been enormous. Some, like my father, would have kept their copy, but many, many would not.
23 October 1942
Personal Message from the Army Commander:
1 ― When I assumed command of the Eighth Army I said that the mandate was to destroy ROMMEL and his Army, and that it would be done as soon as we were ready.
2 ― We are ready NOW.
The battle which is now about to begin will be one of the decisive battles of history. It will be the turning point of the war. The eyes of the whole world will be on us, watching anxiously which way the battle will swing.
We can give them their answer at once, “It will swing our way.”
3 ― We have first-class equipment; good tanks; good anti-tank guns; plenty of artillery and plenty of ammunition; and we are backed up by the finest air striking force in the world.
All that is necessary is that each one of us, every officer and man, should enter this battle with the determination to see it through ― to fight and to kill ― and finally, to win.
If we all do this there can be only one result ― together we will hit the enemy for “six,” right out of North Africa.
4 ― The sooner we win this battle, which will be the turning point of this war, the sooner we shall all get back home to our families.
5 ― Therefore, let every officer and man enter the battle with a stout heart, and with the determination to do his duty so long as he has breath in his body.
AND LET NO MAN SURRENDER SO LONG AS HE IS UNWOUNDED AND CAN FIGHT.
Let us all pray that “the Lord mighty in battle” will give us the victory.
B. L. Montgomery
Lieutenant General, G.O.C.-in-C., Eighth Army
This letter is superbly crafted for its purpose as a rallying cry at the opening of a battle. Its use of words such as “we”, “together” and “duty” makes it a direct descendent of Henry V’s “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers” speech before the Battle of Agincourt on 25 October 1415, and of Nelson’s “England expects that every man will do his duty” before the Battle of Trafalgar on 21 October 1805. Such language gives that vital personal touch that reaches the ordinary man in the ranks, making him feel that the High Command knows and understands the life of a mere foot-soldier, will be sharing with him the coming ordeal, including the longing for home and family, and is speaking to him directly. The greatest commanders of history have all realised this fact, that the most effective authority is that which marches alongside its men, seeing and sharing their efforts and hardships; and the final note of Christian prayer sets the stamp of righteousness on the whole, that ‘proper sense of religious truth’ in which Montgomery profoundly believed.[531] And it worked, for it inspired, as did those legendary forerunners, tremendous, unforgettable loyalty.
For many hours ahead, the Battle Headquarters of the Highland Division was a hive of activity until at last everything was ready. Montgomery’s plan demanded at every level an extraordinary attention to detail: for example, each infantryman marching up to and through the minefields would have ‘a pack between his shoulder blades and each pack was painted with a white cross, a marker for the man behind.’[532] At 7 p.m., as a hot meal of beef and carrots was being issued to the troops from three cooks’ trucks, the senior command, of which Patrick was by far the youngest, met over their meal in ‘A’ Mess. ‘It was a strange dinner, for we talked of every subject under the sun, except the battle due to start in three hours’ time. It was too near. Instead, we reverted to the banter and cross-talk of the peacetime mess-table.’ Then at dusk the Regimental Padre took a service on the sands, and as the light fell and all was still, hymn-singing and prayers were the only sounds to be heard on the light wind. The moon rose and ‘later I listened to a piper playing “Hieland Laddie” and the old tune caught me by the throat. The martial music of Scotland was preparing her sons for the battle, and our own General’s Order of the Day had gone out through the whole Division as “Scotland for ever, and Second to None.’’ ’
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Battle 23 October – 4 November 1942
The cannons’ bloodshot eyes
Blinked out their murderous message
Through the night,
And the soaring Very[533] lights
Climbed up to peer
At spectator stars.
And the thump of guns
Found fearful echo in the frenzied
Beating of the heart.
‘Night Barrage, Western Desert’
by W. G. Holloway (19..–19..)
Although himself not part of the Infantry troop advance, Patrick later described it with graphic clarity:
‘Men were gathered in little groups, talking. Officers flitted here and there, seeing that all the hundred and one details of preparation were complete. Sitting among the Infantry platoons, a small party of Sappers with their curious-looking ‘Warming pans’, long sticks with a round electrical device at the end to detect the presence of enemy mines. The Sapper sergeant was arranging some reels of white tape, carried by three of his men. This tape was to be used to mark the edges of the gaps which his party were to clear.’
‘Then came the order to fall in. The men got to their feet and formed into single files of sections. ... They filed out from the small depression they had been resting in and on into the open desert. As yet there were no guns firing, for the barrage was not due to begin until ten o’clock. By that time the leading infantry would be through our own mine-field and crossing the Start Line several hundred of yards beyond. There were no shells coming over from the direction of the German lines. The enemy had not yet spotted anything amiss. It was an eerie sight, these columns of infantrymen steadily walking forward across the sands under the brilliant tropical moon, with hardly a sound to give them away. Two lights ahead denoted the first gap, which was in the British minefield. These had been placed on the outer edges, with a small notice-board beneath ‘Gap No. 1 / 2’ Other small lights marked other such gaps. The lines of white tape were also now clearly visible. These marked the limits of safe ground. The minefield was about fifty yards long. In the air overhead, the familiar hiss and whine as shells landed, the crash of the explosion sounding appallingly loud in the silence. Another and another came over, but still the men plodded steadily forward. They were in full view of the enemy, but his foremost line was still a couple of miles away, so observation in that deceptive moonlight could not be any too good. At one minute to ten they would approach a white line on the ground which would tell them they were crossing the Start Line. The Battle of Alamein had begun.’
The opening barrage of the thirteen-day Second Battle of El Alamein began by the light of a full moon at 2200 hours, with the release of 530,000 shells from the massed ranges of guns.
‘Suddenly there was a brilliant flash, lighting up the whole sky, followed by a rumble as of a great thunderstorm. Ahead of the advancing troops a line of fire broke out all along the enemy front. Crash after crash burst into the stillness of the night as, from the sea in the north to the Quattara Depression in the south, the guns of the Eighth Army pumped their shells into the forward positions of the enemy in the greatest barrage the British Army had attempted since the War of 1914–18. Away in front, brilliant flashes flickered from right to left and back again. The noise was deafening. The whole earth seemed to shake and heave to the tune of this terrible orchestra. The infantrymen continued to walk forward, but in a kind of stupor. This noise deadened the senses; it was stupendous.’
The Times of London reported on a ‘Barrage Like an Earthquake, ... like the awakening of a sleeping giant ... as earth and sky suddenly rocked. The guns lit the whole horizon ... with a majestic semicircle of pulsing flame. You could feel driven air like gusts of wind stirring your body as they blasted away.’ [534]
The Highlanders began their advance at 2255 hours to the strains of “Hieland Laddie”. ‘Bofors guns[535]stuttered away, firing tracer shells low into the desert night, and indicating to the infantry the direction of their advance. Each company of the Highland Division moved forward into action, with its piper playing his bagpipes, the skirl plainly audible above the noise of the guns and the screaming of enemy shells,’ in a terrible steady forward pacing. The blood was up, each had the company of his own around him, and ‘there was no place quite as safe as right up behind your own barrage.’ On they went, ‘walking across the sands into the teeth of murderous machine-gun fire,’ up to and beyond the barbed wire at the entrance to the minefields ― the shells coming whistling overhead and bursting all around, men sinking to the ground, quivering, to left and right as bullets found their targets. One of the worst parts was having to go on and leave them: ‘even if your own brother was hit, you had no right to stop behind to give him and hand.’ The medical orderlies would come and do that. Meanwhile, stretcher-bearers, ‘grey as ghosts in the dusty distance,’[536] bent over other injured and dying. It was wise not to look: ‘some wounds are best not seen by those who have not yet been hit.’ Another was hearing the hysterical screaming of a man who had lost his nerve, to be pulled back together by his sergeant. For the officers leading the advance, the command role meant that any one of them must be ready to take over from his superior, should he fall, at any moment. ‘Battle is like that. You never can tell when the call will come. Finally, that glimpse of field-grey[537] ahead, the long-sought enemy, at which whole platoons surged forward with their bayonets glistening in the moonlight.’ The M.O.s and stretcher-bearers were everywhere in the heat of fire, as was the Padre, attending the dying. It was medieval. ‘The following morning, I walked across a part of the battlefield over which the Argylls had passed and came upon the body of a young piper. He was lying, dead, across the barbed wire, his pipes still in his mouth.’
This was only the beginning. As the days passed, and the strategy, changing from hour to hour, drew on the different divisions, the waves of action came and went. In battle everything became intense. The noise from any tank barrage going on was thunderous, ground-shaking, with flashes from the guns, when this occurred at night, lighting up the sky. When the barrage was all around, the sound of shells exploding so close was enough to drive men crazy. When others, such as the Australians or the New Zealanders, were going into action and the barrage opened up over on their part of the horizon, work still went on through those clamorous nights, preparing for the next wave. The air was full of activity: raiding parties of enemy Stukas [538]could suddenly roar in out of nowhere, dropping a rain of machine-gun fire, to which the anti-aircraft guns replied with a fusilade, the whole sounding ‘like the rivetting shop of some ship-building yard’ and ambulance planes were constantly flying the most serious casualties back to the base hospitals in Alexandria or Cairo. ‘It spoke volumes for the morale of the Eighth Army that when a man was hit his one worry was that he might not get back to his own unit. As far as was humanly possible, men were sent back to the unit from whence they had come. A man fights all the better for being amongst his friends.’ As the hours passed, a grim legacy began to reveal itself: along the tank lanes, and out on the sands, visible in the shimmering heat of the Egyptian afternoon, and as shadowy hulks in the flickering chiaroscouro of the dark, lay the smoking incinerators of wrecked planes, tanks and lorries, reeking of burnt flesh, smouldering rubber, and petrol fumes, where the remains of men lay entombed in twisted metal. Manning catches this in an image of unforgettable horror: ‘A man was standing in one of the [tank] turrets, motionless, as though unaware of Simon’s approach. Simon stopped at a few yards’ distance to observe the figure, then saw it was not a man. It was a man-shaped cinder that faced him with white and perfect teeth set in a charred black skull.’[539] Some of the worst explosions occurred when a shell hit a fully-loaded fuel lorry, which would go up like an inferno, flames climbing to the stars. Here and there, crosses marked hastily-dug graves among the spent shell-cases and petrol cans, or indicated those who lay buried in their slit-trenches, suffocated by their own tanks driving over them at night, unawares. Even worse, as Manning records, were the mass graves near the Dressing Stations, sickly-smelling and marked out by the flies that hung over them ‘like a shroud of black’.[540]
For the Signals Colonel, battle meant sustaining a combined service and command role, on perpetual maximum alert. Patrick had hardly any sleep during the battle and could not undress for more than 14 consecutive nights, for his Unit was on duty round the clock. His personal responsibility ― to his Divisional high command for their whole Signals operation ― was relentless. This buck stopped with him. He had done his forward planning with great care, had his system laid out and working, and a full complement of staff running his base Unit and out in the field, but in the fast-moving, ever-changing situation of battle there were inevitably endless changes of plan, endless new demands and always emergencies ― and he, ultimately, had to make it all work. He was expert in an exacting technical field, trained to a high standard, responsible for a great deal of equipment, including wireless vehicles, that had to function properly, and with a full understanding of the role and responsibilities of his men, his patrol units, linemen, drivers, despatch riders: and those thirteen days must have been days of non-stop decision-making, formulating and issuing orders, clear and concise (anything that was not understood and resulted in a muddle or an accident would be his fault) and liaising with superiors.
Keeping abreast of things was hard. ‘Telephone lines were continually being broken by artillery fire, and by the tracks of tanks and other armoured vehicles. Wireless sets failed, or were destroyed by Stuka raids. Both men and sets had to be found from somewhere to replace them.’ He spent his time ‘between visiting every unit in the far-flung Division,’ driving up the main tank lanes passing the stream of ambulances, palely visible and going at a careful less-than-walking pace, coming back from the front on their way to the Main Dressing Station, and his office, ‘near to the Divisional Staff where’ in urgent meetings, in bunker offices with walls covered with chirograph pencillings, he ‘could get red-hot information as to how the battle was progressing. Every move meant additional telephone lines to some unit, and more wireless detachments to be moved here and there to meet extra requirements.’ He had to think on his feet, to decide which of his hundreds of wireless stations, [Plates 50–53] if shelled, were worth repairing, and where new cables could be laid. The most difficult emergency was the loss of linemen when a big show was about to open ― such as the attack staged by Australians up near the sea, with the Highland Division guns lending a hand. ‘Linemen were hard to replace. You didn’t train a skilled lineman in a day. It took months of careful teaching before these fellows could go out alone under fire.’ Desert jaundice[541] took a further toll, creating yet more staffing headaches. All this while getting out a whole new set of line plans for the party starting tomorrow night: he would be there into the small hours on that, finally falling on to his camp-bed, fully clothed, too exhausted even to glance at the eternal beauty of the moon reflected in the calm waters of the Mediterranean.
In the event, Operation Lightfoot had only limited success. The lead tanks, once in the minefields, stirred up so much dust that visibility was negligible and led to monster traffic jams. Separate operations from the south and north achieved likewise only limited success. The second stage, the Crumbling, began on 24 October. For this, at sunrise the 51st Highland Division was at the centre of the four-division-wide northern push, between the Australian 9th and the 2nd New Zealand, with the 1st South African beyond them. The objective was to halt the 21st Panzer Division and some Italian units, and clear a way through the minefields for the forthcoming third stage. Hours later, the German high command lost its leader in the field, General Georg Stumme, to a heart attack. He was replaced temporarily by Major-General Ritter von Thoma,[542]who co-ordinated counter-attacks against the advancing British infantry. Meanwhile Rommel, who had been on sick leave for jaundice since early September, was summoned from his sanatorium and sent immediately to Africa, where he arrived on the evening of 25 October, to resume command of the AfrikaKorps that night.
That same evening, meanwhile, Patrick was tuning into the BBC to hear how he and his Division were all doing (!), and the following day he found a moment to write two letters from his slit-trench:
115. To Hilda Denholm-Young
26 October 1942 Airgraph
51st HDS, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
I listened to the B.B.C. last night, and I heard the announcer state that we[543] were out here in this battle. I can’t, of course, tell you anything about it ― and in any case you will know the result about three weeks before you will get this airgraph. However, it certainly is exciting! We are doing awfully well, and after it is all over, perhaps the Gods will be kind and we’ll have a bath and go to sleep!
I haven’t seen Dennis for a couple of days, but I believe he is all right.
Pat Yorke isn’t very far away, and I hope to get a chance to see him before very long. Life is a trifle busier than usual at the moment!
I still think that another person snoring is far more difficult to sleep through than an artillery barrage ― strange, but true!
Tell Aunt Adah you’ve heard from me and that I’ll write to her as soon as I can get the chance.
Love,
Pat.
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116. To Hilda Denholm-Young
26 October 1942 Air Letter
51st HDS, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
Time, and battle, rolls on. It seems like a couple of years since this Party started, although it is in fact only three days.
You will have seen by the papers that the show started last Friday.[544] I have had a whole heap of press correspondents clustering round wanting to know all about the Battle ― as if I could tell them!
I hear that Dennis is all right so far, and has done very well. My own boys have done great work, and my employer is very pleased.
Goodness knows how long this Party will last, but when it is eventually over I’m off for a good bath and a real good sleep!
Mails are taking just about a complete month to reach us out here, and I expect they will take much the same time to get home.
I’ve heard quite a lot from Aunt Adah, but it is chiefly about the weather and the Hotchkisses.[545]
Why haven’t you joined up as a lady doctor in the RAF[?] I’m sure you’d like it; and you’d meet a lot of decent people. I thought you were about to do so some months ago.
Col Yule has squared up that guarantee of £100 and notified McVittie. So that’s all right.
I’m finding a Thermos flask of hot tea an excellent thing in the “long winter evenings”. I managed to buy a Chinese one in Cairo. Cairo was rather pleasant, but a trifle expensive. A few good hotels, and some shops. That’s all. Alexandria is much nicer. It is cooler, cleaner and much healthier.
We spent about three[546] weeks in camp at the [illegible word] of the Pyramids at Mena,[547] outside Cairo. Handy for the cinema![548]
We came out here on my birthday,[549] and I’ve been back for a bath only once since then! I have to make do with a wash in a basin once a day. But it’s remarkable how dirty you don’t get in the Western Desert.
That’s all for just now.
Love
Pat
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There were many such attacks, each one eating a little bit more into the enemy line. Each one meant a few more minefields located and cleared. Each one brought its own quota of German and Italian prisoners [looking horribly under-fed, Patrick noticed]. But it was slow work. ‘Every day all men on that grim battlefield hoped that at long last the Armour would be able to break through, but many were the bitter disappointments which had to be borne before that actually happened. It would have been suicidal for the tanks to get through those thickly sown minefields unless the way had been properly prepared by the Infantry and Engineers. It was a period of wearing down, a gradual crumbling of the enemy’s positions. Only first class troops could have stood up to the strain.’
The dog-fight continued. Though the Allied advance was bogged down, the British defeated von Thoma’s assaults and the first major tank engagement of the battle took place. Meanwhile, the Highlanders were being readied for a further advance, and this may have been the moment when an official press photograph [Plate 45] was taken of a senior planning meeting. On the night of the 26/27 October, in a scene of great carnage, as RAF spitfires fought off Stuka’s above them, the 51st Highland Division took part in action at the Kidney Feature. Then, during 29–31 October, the Battle was stalled, at a standstill. Meanwhile, Montgomery had been reorganising his front line in preparation for a big attack.
117. To Hilda Denholm-Young
31 October 1942 [Rec. 16 December) Christmas letter card
Dear Hilda,
Your No 11 and 13 received. No trace as yet of No 12 or Xmas parcel. No doubt they’ll turn up all right. I’m a little tired of living like a mole, but doubtless our turn will eventually come for better quarters in better parts of the country! As you see, this battle has already lasted a week, and is still as they say “going strong”.
Work doesn’t get any less, but life is at least bearable, if a trifle unpleasant! Dennis is [sic] still all right when I last heard of him.
My chaps have done awfully well, and I’ve recommended one officer for a Military Cross. I gather that he will probably get it. He did gallant work mending telephone cables under shell fire.
We are doing very well indeed.
Love
Pat.
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The final stage of the battle, Montgomery’s big advance code-named Operation Supercharge, was launched on the night of 1 November. The object was to destroy the enemy armour and thus break through the last part of the German defences. It was essentially the New Zealanders’ show, their 2nd Division, augmented by infantry from the Durham, the 51st and the Royal Sussex, supported by tanks, being the main initial thrust, to clear a path through the mines for the 1st Armoured Division following behind. The action opened with a seven-hour aerial bombardment, followed by a four and a half hour artillery barrage of some 15,000 shells. The assault brigades, the Durham on the right and the Highlanders on the left, went forward, followed by the armoured brigades, but a break-through was not achieved. However, significantly, the action succeeded in destroying most of Rommel’s tanks in that sector.
118. To Hilda Denholm-Young
1 November 1942 Air Letter
51st HDS, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
This Battle still goes on, and we are well into its second week now. It might be a lot worse, as far as personal comfort goes!
My boys have done, and are doing, extremely well. I’m sure they can keep it up for just as long as is required.
We all feel that we are clearing up this part of Africa once and for all. I don’t think the Germans have a hope of being able to stop us this time.
I had hoped to be able to visit Dennis this afternoon, but I’m off up the line on another job, so I don’t expect I’ll get time now to go today.
I spoke to Pat Yorke on the telephone yesterday. He sounds almost awake, and his wife is OK.
Later.
Just got back. Have heard that Dennis is all right.
We all hope this party won’t last very much longer now, and that we’ll get back to civilisation for baths and bed!
You might tell the illustrious family that I just haven’t got the time to write just now, but I greatly appreciate letters.
I’ve had one from Monty[550] and one from Willie Cousin.[551] Both steeped in Victorian tea party and garden vocabulary! Still, it was nice of them to write at all.
That’s all I have time for just now. I’ll write again when I get the chance.
Love
Pat
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On 2 November Rommel signalled to Hitler that “the army’s strength was so exhausted” that it faced annihilation. The order came back (in a message intercepted by the Allies) was to stand fast. Meanwhile, the Desert Air Force continued to apply huge pressure. On 3 November in what was its biggest day of the battle, it flew 1208 sorties dropping 359 tons of bombs. ‘There in the early morning sun, roaring flat out towards the West at about 500 feet, came a whole squadron of the latest type of Spitfires. Overhead they went, with their pale coloured fusilages glittering in the sunlight.’
On the night of 4/5 November the Highlanders were involved in ‘a show over towards the Daba Track, where, on arrival, it became obvious that the enemy had gone. There was no answering fire from the sandy hills ahead, and no shells came over to impede the advancing infantry. All night long the tanks of the Armoured Division streaming through, to range far and wide behind the German lines. They were through at last. The static part of the Battle was finished. The mobile part was about to begin.’ Now, as the Armoured Division were finally free to create havoc and destruction all along the enemy lines of communication, the Highland Division overnight found themselves out of it all, as General Wimberley sent Patrick on ahead to Daba, a small village on the coast road [Plate 54] near the sea, to look for a good place to leaguer[552] his Divisional HQ.
Patrick summarised the battle experience decades later.
‘After a gap of some 40 years what remains to me of those 13 days and nights of the Battle of Alamein? The extreme noise of the artillery barrage that pounded away throughout the nights; the utter silence in the very early mornings when the guns ceased for a while; the Stuka raids with their screaming bombs thudding into the sand, and the heartening sight of our own bombers, sunlit, high up in the blue, heading westwards to harry the enemy’s airfields and lines of communication. Many shells landed quite close, but we scarcely noticed these, unless they were extremely near, in the general noise and clatter of tank tracks and the unending clouds of dust that obscured one’s vision. The result was that we were inclined to live for the moment in a much foreshortened world, from which the mind automatically excluded the broader canvas, unless it was essential to the job in hand. My own chief preoccupations were how to keep my signal telephone cables intact, and how to keep myself informed as to the progress of the battle and the precise locations of the various formations and units ― an almost impossible task. I remember standing beside General Wimberley at an exciting point when he was talking to one of his young liaison officers, a.k.a. Motor Contact Officers. ‘Go to the Argylls,’ said the General, ‘Find their leading man, and come back and tell me exactly where he is. This is the classic command. At Waterloo, Wellington used his superbly mounted A.D.C.s to maintain contact with his subordinate commanders throughout. It was where the fox-hunting squires, adept at riding across country, taking their own line and carrying a photographic picture of the lie of the land in the mind’s eye, came into their own. And so it was in the sands of the Western Desert. Liaison Officers had been trained to understand how the Brigade and Battalion Commanders would be likely to control their troops, and in what formations they would send them into action, and they knew the range and fire-power of the various weapons. It was hard for the Commander to tell a young man to go out into the battle ahead and find someone; and it was hard for the young man who had to undertake such a dangerous mission. It crossed my mind that it was also hard for the ‘foremost man’ out there in the dusty distance, possibly pinned down by some German machine gun, or uncertain as to the direction in which he should next move.’
‘This continual necessity of finding out the exact position of the men and their leaders was part of the strain of high command. The modern General has to be well forward, leaving such matters as ammunition supplies and reinforcements to his staff back at his main H.Q. He himself is based at the Tactical H.Q., a small affair, and goes out in his small vehicle, or tank, or even aircraft, to view the battlefield and keep full control in his own hands.’
‘This, above all else, is the essential difference between the First and Second World Wars. From all accounts, I get the impression that the troops in the trenches of France and Flanders rarely, if ever, saw their Divisional, Corps or Army Commanders in person; whereas in the Western Desert, the Divisional Commanders were always up with the leading battalions and even companies. In fact, some Generals got out in front of their own leading troops. In my own case, I saw the Army Commander and the Corps Commander on many, many occasions, and I am certain that this brought tremendous confidence to the rank and file who also saw them in their midst. All knew instinctively that generals who were up with the fighting troops could hardly not know the situation as it really was, and were consequently unlikely to make bad mistakes. Such commanders were known, respected and loved.’
‘The Signallers of the Highland Division did a grand job. In particular, the linesman’s daily task was never easy and many a man could be called a hero for going out to locate a break in a field telephone cable and repair it. It is a frightening thing to have to do, alone and under shell fire. But many a young man did it, and without complaint. It was their job. Some got killed.’
‘Montgomery visited us on a number of occasions. His thin, spare figure in a khaki jersey and drill slacks, with his famous black beret and binoculars and his demeanour that never looked anything but quietly confident ― all this became a familiar sight to us throughout the Desert battles.’
‘On the 13th day the armour at last broke through, following a successful infantry attack on a ridge, and then raced flat out for Daba on the coast road, and during that night and the following day our Division was pulled into reserve not far from the sea. The Battle of Alamein was over.’
The (Second) Battle of El Alamein ended on Wednesday 4 November 1942. And at home Winston Churchill ordered that all church bells be run across the nation, bells that had not been heard since 1940. His speech on 10 November at the Lord Mayor’s Luncheon at the Mansion House in London included his now famous lines: “This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”
In the end, the Allies’ victory was all but total. Axis casualties of 37,000 amounted to over 30% of their total force. Allied casualties of 13,500 were by comparison a remarkably small proportion of their total force. Hitler reacted by sending massive reinforcements to the Axis forces in the Desert, and the Eighth Army began its 1500 miles chase after Rommel’s German forces across the Western Desert, via Tobruk, Benghazi, Agedabia and the Battles of Mersa Brega, Agheila, Sirte, Wadi Zem Zem, Misurata and Homs.
Meanwhile, Patrick’s eyes were giving trouble and he was in considerable pain. The glare of the desert sun, too much reading of official papers in the poor light of holes in the ground, and some recent blast damage to his face had all conspired to produce constant headaches and drastically reduced vision in his left eye. Faulty eyesight could mean his days in the Regular army were numbered, and above all he did not want to be discharged. So he hung on, as the Highland Division moved on from Daba westwards by road in easy stages, through Mersa Matruh and Sidi Barrani, and through his own three precious days’ leave in Alexandria around 13 November.
Patrick may have already seen Alexandria, the coastal port three hours’ drive north-west of Cairo. If not, he had been told about it and liked the sound of it. To Artemis Cooper, ‘Cairo was an Islamic city, which looked to the East’, while ‘Alexandria was Greek-Levantine and faced the Mediterranean.’[553] Its great monument was its lighthouse, the 450-feet-high Pharos guarding the mouth of the eastern harbour and one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, completed in 247 BC by the Ptolemaic Kingdom and standing, in part, until 1480, when it was replaced by a Citadel. The silhouette, of palm trees and minarets, suggested Cairo, as did the blue street lamps and the trams and horse-drawn gharries[554] with their old-fashioned oil-lamps; but the air that blew off the sea and along the great curving sea-front and wide Grande Corniche was fresh and clean. Here, the culture, between the Wars, had been more chic and sophisticated than that of Cairo. Then, the town had been ‘full of Europeans with marvellous, old-fashioned manners, gentlemen’s clubs for Europeans only, high teas in the late afternoons, and terrific night-clubbing late into the night. Men wore white linen suits, ladies carried fans.’[555] In 1942, and in spite of the long row of kidney-shaped barrage balloons hanging over it, the town with its sea-breeze and excellent bathing and good hotels, was still a resort: and mid-November, onset of the short, pleasantly warm Egyptian winter, was the ideal month. One stayed at the Hotel Cecil, on the Grande Corniche. Built to the designs of Italian architect Guissepe Alessandro Loria in 1929, this was another privately-owned and solidly comfortable establishment. Somerset Maugham had stayed there, and Churchill also. On arrival, Patrick would have checked in, reflected in gilt-edged mirrors behind the tall palms in the vestibule, and hurried upstairs, one thought in his mind ― to sink immediately into the inexpressible and utter bliss of a very deep, hot bath. Then, dressing in his only remaining clean clothes (battledress) and thankfully packing everything else he had with him off to the hotel laundry, downstairs to his first decent dinner for months, perhaps duck or pigeon shot in the surrounding marshes and reed-beds. During the next two days, unable to read much, he doubtless took himself off to the Alexandria Sporting Club, established in 1890 in the centre of the city and one of the oldest in Egypt, hired a set of clubs and played a couple of rounds of golf on the flat, tree-lined 18 hole course.
In spite of this brief break, on his return Patrick’s eyes were still no better. A week later, on approximately 20 November, the Division reached El Adem where they paused for three days. One or two went to take a look at nearby Tobruk, with its little land-locked harbour where lay a hospital ship and a couple of destroyers. The town ‘looked for all the world like one of those pictures of scarred French towns in the middle of WW1, all gaiety and laughter gone out of it.’
119. To Hilda Denholm-Young
20 November 1942 Airgraph
51st HDS, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
Haven’t time to record all letters by numbers, as they arrive all in any order; but the only ones between 1 and 14 which I have not yet got appear to be 8 and 12.
It’s getting a trifle chilly at nights out here now. There isn’t much to say and I expect you will have seen in the papers far more about the battle than we know ourselves. I’d like to see any newspapers you can get about the battle. The most interesting will be about Oct 28 – Nov 5th. I think the Scotsman headlines will be good. Perhaps Aunt Adah or the Cousins would post me that fortnight’s newspapers. I’m sure they hoard them!
Just got back from 3 days’ leave.[556] It was good to have a decent bath and a comfortable bed once again!
Love
Pat.
____________________________________________________
120. To Hilda Denholm-Young
[?] November 1942 [Rec. 16 November) PO Night Letter Telegram
Overseas
SELF AND DENNIS ALIVE AND KICKING
TELL YULE 17 MOUNT PARK CRESCENT
RECEIVED YOUR NUMBER THIRTEEN
PAT YOUNG
____________________________________________________
A cable dated 24 November to Hilda from Lieutenant Dennis Lees reports: ‘ALL WELL AND SAFE…’
____________________________________________________
On 23 November the Division moved on again, out across the green rolling plains of the Northern uplands of Cyrenaica dotted with small white Italian farms, passing through Martuba and Maraua and Magrun.
121. To Hilda Denholm-Young
4 December 1942 Air Letter Card
51st HDS, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
I’ve forgotten when I last wrote to you, but I have recently been travelling so far and so fast that I have had no opportunity to post a letter, even if I had time to write it!
You will have seen in the newspapers how we have been doing. It has certainly been a great experience; but I am feeling that I would rather like a short period in the fleshpots![557] I hope we’ll get the chance of a decent bath and bed after this campaign is over.
Dennis has done well, but I haven’t seen him for about three weeks.
I managed to get three days’ leave in a big city[558] about three weeks ago. I must say it was grand to have a hot bath and sleep in a real bed between sheets, and in four walls!
We all hope that this party will be over before the end of this year. I feel pretty confident that it will.
Had a letter from Victor Holland today. He is still in India. They sent him back there a short time ago. I hear he has got fat and pompous!
Haven’t had any other letters for ages; but I expect we have been covering the ground far too fast for any to get a chance to make up on us!
Any press cuttings on the Battle of Egypt would be welcome! Go to see the film, “The Battle of Egypt”.[559] I expect you’ll see me in it. I was filmed without a hat talking to my General and another colonel right up at a forward headquarters in the middle of the early battle at Alamein.[560] I expect it would come out all right.
No more news now. I’m keeping pretty fit, if a trifle tired!
Love,
Pat.
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At the beginning of December the Division drove forward to Agedabia, some ten miles east of Mersa Brega. It would be ten days before they moved on again, and Patrick decided to see the Regimental M.O. about his eyes. Reassured that it was probably only a matter of new lenses, he was referred to an ophthalmologist in Cairo. A car would take him to Benghazi, for a plane to Egypt, and he could be there and back in five days.
On Monday 7 December Patrick did the six-hour flight, in a Lockheed Hudson monoplane, which, once it had cleared the hills, came down, to ‘skim over the surface of the ground like a gigantic swallow: “For safety”, the pilot explained, “Any lurking Junkers 88 would find it very difficult to see us from up above if we keep low.” ’ He agreed to make a special detour to fly across the battlefield of El Alamein, and there below Patrick could see thousands of small holes in the ground where the men had dug themselves in. They flew on towards the greenery of the Nile delta which stretches 150 miles east-west along the Mediterraean and 99 miles north-south. Olivia Manning, who lived in Cairo 1941–42, describes it graphically as a flat, lush land of oblong fields of black earth divided by water channels and producing ‘crops so green the foliage was like green light’ ― vegetables, flax, beans, barley, tobacco, cotton, and, between the crops, fruit trees ― mangoes, pomegranates, banana palms, date palms.[561] Seen from above, this bright productive patchwork, with that swallow shadow moving over it, must have looked peaceful, timeless, Biblical almost. Down on the ground, it was quiet, the only sounds the cries of water birds, the occasional splash of a turtle, crocodile or hippo and the churn of water wheels turned by slow-trudging buffalo. Now and then a camel, lifting its ‘proud, world-weary head’ might be seen ‘planting its soft, splayed feet into the sandy road.’[562]
Cairo, ‘a land of delight, peopled by head waiters and pretty girls on dance floors’, was coming into view, and they put down at Almaza. A waiting lorry took them all into the city centre and Patrick to the Continental Hotel ― where once again, despite a nagging apprehension about the medical appointment ahead, he could relax at last in another deep bath, before going down to the Bar, to find it full of fellow officers, wounded or evacuated as sick, and eager for news from the front. A wonderfully civilized evening of dinner and a cabaret followed. The next day he saw Dr Hyla Bristow Stallard, who prescribed new lenses, which were ready in time for him to fly back to the desert on Friday 11 December.
122. To Hilda Denholm-Young
12 December 1942 Air Letter Card
51st HDS, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
Thanks for several letters and a set of chessmen. I can’t quite remember, but I think I have all up to No 19 except a parcel. But parcels always take ages. I think No 8 is the only missing one in your series, but I’m sure it won’t matter.
If you go to: -
P.R.3. Branch
War Office
London
(Public Relations)
and ask if you can have copies of Photograph No E 19362, I’ll write it again, E 19362, you’ll see a good one of me, my General, G.S.O.1.[563] and one of my Captains called Fraser.[564] It was taken in the middle of the battle of Alamein. I can’t get a copy out here, as the negatives are all in London; but they tell me that if you apply and say your brother is the central figure, they’ll let you have copies. I’d like two please, but you’d better keep them for me till I get back.[565]
I got away for five days this week to get new spectacles. I was lucky to see Dr H. B. Stallard,[566] who they say is an excellent occulist. He says my eyes are O.K. I went and came back by aeroplane! I’d never been up before, so over 6 hours for the first flight was quite a long one! I must say I quite enjoyed it.
It was grand to have a bath and sleep in a decent bed once more! It was an awful anticlimax to wake up this morning in my hole in the ground to find it well on the way to being water-logged!
I got one of my officers the M.C. and one of the men an M.M. [567] a good show indeed.
There’s nothing I really need now, except the occasional “VALET” razor blade.
Love
Pat
____________________________________________________
‘The expected battle at Mersa Brega never developed. For a couple of weeks, all concerned had been busying themselves preparing for the big attack. Infantry patrols were sent out every night to find out as much as they could about the dispositions of the enemy.’ Patrick may well have taken part in some of these, for he clearly had first-hand experience of that supremely frightening thing, mortar-shelling at close range. ‘They make a dreadful ‘crack’ as they land, and every single one is coming straight for you, or so it feels.’ ‘Lying in a slit in the ground, when they start shelling you with mortar fire, when you’ll be greeted with a hail of bullets if you as much as show your head above the level of the earth,’ was a lonely business. Finally, ‘on the night before the advance was due to begin, patrols were sent out as usual. They crawled as far as they had ever been, but could not manage to draw any fire from the enemy posts in No Man’s Land. In the early hours of the morning, when their reports were consolidated, it became obvious what had happened. The enemy had withdrawn, and the village was untenanted.’ Immediate pursuit was impossible because of the excellent job the Germans had made of mining the road and surrounding country. ‘For days on end the Engineers laboured at lifting these mines, at considerable cost in men,’ and the Highlanders had to wait.
123. To Hilda Denholm-Young
18 December 1942 Airgraph
51st HDS, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
P.C. No 21 received, also No 20. No 8 appears to be about the only one missing. I don’t think No 15 or 16 have yet fetched up, but I can’t remember. Newspapers are the thing we really like to get.
You will see by the papers that we have come quite a long way! One good thing is that the countryside where we are now is a lot nicer than the place where we started from. There is less dust, and quite an odd spot of greenery ― now and then. It gets very cold at nights, but is quite pleasant during the day.
I’d give a lot for a quart of English beer! I saw Dennis the other day. He is very fit, but, like us all, has lost a lot of weight. I’m down to 14 stone in my clothes ― and I came out here 15 stone 10 lbs! It’s all for the best, and I feel remarkably fit, if a little weary. The lack of variety makes one a trifle depressed at times; but it’s remarkable how cheerful everyone is. Had letters from W R Cooper[568] & Evelyn Brown;[569] also fatuous if friendly efforts from Willie C.[570]
Love
Pat
____________________________________________________
Around 21 December the Division moved on again, with the New Zealanders and the 7th Armoured Division, to Agheila.
124. To Hilda Denholm-Young
22 December 1942 Airgraph
51st HDS, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
Got your cable today. It was dated 7 Dec 42. Perhaps it was meant to be 17th Dec. It seems to have taken a long time if it really is 7th Dec! ...
Things continue to go quite well with us, but work doesn’t get any the less! After the War is over I’m determined to get a few months’ leave.
It gets very cold at nights now, but is perfectly lovely during the daytime. Cash position is £750 in War Bonds at home and about £100 in the Royal Bank, and about £50 in Barclay’s Bank, Cairo.
I hear pretty often from Aunt Adah. She seems to be as well as ever, if a trifle deaf.[571]
No real news now. Haven’t seen anything of Pat Yorke, but I did speak to him once over the telephone. His wife & [?kid] are both well.
Love for Xmas,
Pat
____________________________________________________
Agheila, and a halt, coincided with Christmas and a welcome lift to the spirits. Everything possible was laid on for the troops: a football match, Christmas dinner with ‘turkey, goose, ham, plum-pudding and cake,’ a bottle of beer and 20 cigarettes each, and a precious consignment of mail. Officers did the rounds before their own dinner in the HQ Mess, followed by the Royal Toast, coffee, a performance by one of the pipers and an Eightsome, before all foregathered for the Divisional Concert Party, given from a stage rigged up in the middle of four large lorries, a speech from the Corps Commander, and finally Auld Lang Syne.
125. To Hilda Denholm-Young
28 December 1942 Air Letter Card
51st HDS, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
Not much in the way of news just now. We have come far from where we started from, as you probably know.
By the way, one is now allowed to tell of personal experiences in letters home. Mine aren’t really very exciting. In the early stages of the battle I spent my time mostly underground, or in a small car (Jeep) hurrying to see someone else in another hole in the ground elsewhere.
The barrage of guns on the 23rd of October at Alamein was stupendous. I spent a few nights in front of most of them, and behind our infantry. The noise was pretty loud!
I suppose I’ve been shelled a bit, bombed a bit and machine-gunned a bit. But it’s all far worse in anticipation than when it actually happens! I didn’t like being shelled at dinner one night! But they didn’t come nearer than about 100 yards, so all was well. I spent one memorable night with a small column behind the German Lines; but they didn’t retreat our way, so I got away with it that time!
On the whole, after the initial two weeks of solid slogging at Alamein, it hasn’t been at all too bad. In fact, I’ve rather enjoyed the whole show. I’ve kept very fit, apart from a few Desert Sores on my hands ― we all get them more or less. A lot of people get jaundice, but I’ve escaped that, so far! Food gets monotonous ― Bully beef & biscuits! But we did get Pork, Goose, Turkey & cake for Xmas. All I really want now is a bath and a decent bed between four walls.
We all feel that this African show will be over pretty soon now. I hope so indeed, for I’m a wee bit tired of the Desert! I’d like to see a few hills and trees for a change.
Love,
Pat
____________________________________________________
‘The Highlanders remained in the vicinity of El Agheila until after the New Year. There were the traditional celebrations of Hogmanay, but only for a few hours. Hard exercises were the order of the day: there was much stern fighting ahead. Rommel was preparing a position in the area beyond the Wadi Chemir, the rugged strip of country west of the village of Buerat, inland from the coast.’
Patrick was enormously busy, for General Montgomery paid a flying visit to the 51st Highland Division Signals Unit, at Agheila, before the advance into Tripoli. Knowing how important this was going to be, Patrick must have given his camera to his driver or to some adjutant to record it, then carefully kept the film and had it developed later, probably in Cairo. Letters 135 and 136 enclosed the resulting set of 13 black and white photographs. [Plates 46–53]
126. To Hilda Denholm-Young
2 January 1943 Airgraph
51st HDS, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
I’ve got your 22 and 23, but I can’t remember any numbers which have not arrived.
I had a letter from Kitty asking me to “come and see them soon”. As if I could just pop home whenever I felt like it! I only wish I could! ...
I don’t expect there will ever be much left of Aunt C’s[572] money. Death duties at 50% will soon eat that up! I told McVittie to invest another £100 for me in War Bonds. That makes a total of £850∙00 in all, so far.
The Russians appear to be doing extremely well. It will all go towards finishing this war in 1943. I hope it does end soon; and then we’d be able to have a bath!
Love,
Pat
____________________________________________________
127. To Hilda Denholm-Young
6 January 1943 [Rec. 2 March 1943] Air Letter Card
51st HDS, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
... I’ve told McVittie to invest another £100 in War Bonds for me. This makes a total of £850 in all. I mean to go on till I have got £1000 invested, and I’ll stop there for a bit.
I haven’t seen Dennis for a couple of weeks, but he seems all right. He’s lost a lot of weight ― but so have we all. I’ve lost just on 2 stone since I left the ship on August 12th. I suppose it’s all for the best. I’ve kept very fit personally, but a great many people have been going sick with jaundice. It appears to be more or less an epidemic throughout the world, as we hear that people at home are getting it as well. It doesn’t seem to have any after effects, but is merely unpleasant at the time.
I must say that what with the Russians doing so well, the R.A.F. bombing of Germany, and our own victories out here, it does look as if the War with Germany might well come to an end quite suddenly before so very long now. I hope so.
I don’t think I shall ever want to take a holiday by the seaside again! I’ve seen enough sand to last me a lifetime!
We had Pork and Plum Pudding for Xmas ― a change from the eternal Bully Beef and Biscuits!
Love,
Pat
____________________________________________________
Around 10 January 1943, the Highland Division was on the move again, up the line towards Sirte where the forward troops were in contact with Rommel’s retreating forces. Passing underneath the giant Marble Arch beside its huge airfield, the Division took up position in the Wadi Uesca, with little time to prepare for the Battle of the Wadi Zem Zem, ‘a desolate stretch of desert like a lost sea somewhere on the moon,’ away to the north-west, where the enemy were now dug in. Another awe-inspiring opening barrage, with shells bursting in their hundreds. ‘From right to left and back again, like a firework display, the fearful flashes danced before the eyes of the advancing infantry.’ More grisley hand-to-hand fighting as ‘both sides fought with the grim determination of mad-men, impaling each other on the points of their bayonets.’ Then all of a sudden, the enemy were running for their lives. It was another victory.
Now the chase was on, pursuing the fast-retreating enemy in the direction of Misurata, Homs and Tripoli. ‘General Montgomery had grounded one of the other Army Corps, and our own had been given their transport to enable us to get as far as Tripoli, for the Eighth Army could not be supplied at that distance unless the port of Tripoli could be captured.’
On 12 January 1943 General Montgomery issued yet another of his Personal Messages to the Eighth Army:
Personal Message from the Army Commander
To be read out to All Troops
1. The leading units of Eighth Army are now only about 200 miles from TRIPOLI. The enemy is between us and that port, hoping to hold us off.
2. THE EIGHTH ARMY IS GOING TO TRIPOLI.
3. Tripoli is the only town in the Italian Empire overseas still remaining in their possession. Therefore we will take it from them; they will then have no overseas Empire.
The enemy will try to stop us. But if each one of us, whether front-line soldier, or officer or man whose duty is performed in some other sphere, puts his whole heart and soul into this next contest ― then nothing can stop us.
Nothing has stopped us since the battle of Egypt began on 23rd October, 1942. Nothing will stop us now.
Some must stay back to begin with, but we will all be in the hunt eventually.
4. ON TO TRIPOLI!
Our families and friends in the home country will be thrilled when they hear we have captured that place.
B. L. Montgomery
General, G.O.C.-in C., Eighth Army
___________________________________________________
The Highland Division, moving along, often by night, a careful two miles inland from the Coast Road, that had been so well and truly mined by the enemy, was continually vulnerable to ambush by German fighter planes, and one shocking casualty was Patrick’s immediate superior, and old friend from their days at the Shop, Chief Signal Officer Colonel David Smyth.[573]
Having travelled all night, in the dawn of 20 January, four miles west of Homs,[574]the Highlanders discovered the enemy encamped in a hill fort. The Battalion Headquarters were quickly established, and an attack scheduled for three in the afternoon. ‘It was a beautiful day, the sun shining brilliantly in a clear sky of tropical blue.’ Far away to the right slept the Roman ruins of Leptis Magna. ‘It was a bloody fight to gain that fort. When night came down on the battle-field, it found the Highlanders in sole occupation of what they had been pleased to name “Edinburgh Castle” ’
Early the next morning, they were on the road again, across the intervening hills, where there was a nasty little battle. It was tough, slow going: the retreating enemy were blowing up every possible bridge and culvert in their wake, and the Highland Engineers had to sweat furiously to repair them enough to allow their own tanks and vehicles through. These men might easily have given up: ‘they had all fought a long battle at Homs and for 48 hours had little water and less food. And yet they kept at it and dug like beavers wherever they were required. Some were dead beat, but they never gave in till the last deviation had been completed’ and it was finally possible for the tanks and lorries to come streaming down on to the plains of Tripolitania.
At five in the morning on 23 January 1943 the first armoured cars of the Highland Division, including the jeep of one of Patrick’s captains, followed by his own, entered the city of Tripoli. They ‘found it a place of the dead.’
128. To Hilda Denholm-Young
26 January 1943 Air Letter Card
51st HDS, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
We are now allowed to say where we are, so I can tell you that I am now in TRIPOLI.[575] We have come nearly 1500 miles since Alamein. It has been a long chase across the Western Desert, and it’s a great relief to see a house once again, and to be in cultivated country with a decent amount of green trees.
The last battle[576] was much more fun, as it was a running fight, and moving fast[.] I had hoped to be the first Signals Officer into Tripoli, but I was beaten to it by one of my Captains! But I was the second anyhow! We did very well, once again. Now we have our Pipe Bands playing every evening in the City Square. It’s a grand sight! The Division has done awfully well!
I hadn’t many adventures this time. Once I was out alone at night, near Misurata,[577] and got mixed up in a German ambush. But apart from crawling around on my stomach, I didn’t see much excitement. I got shelled a bit during the later periods near Homs,[578] but nothing to speak of. My Unit did awfully well once again.
I expect to be moving to another job almost any day now, and I expect it will be in Cairo. But I’ll let you have my new address by cable when the time comes.
I was reported killed, quite unofficially, the other day. But don’t believe it if you hear it. It was my Chief Signal Officer, not me!
I am very fit, and am managing to get a bit of a rest now ― about time too!
I believe the job I may go to will be with Col Cameron-Webb. You dined with him at the Cricketers Hotel, Bagshot a couple of years ago. He is a grand person.
No more news now.
Love,
Pat
P.S. Take “Picture Post”, my photo will be in it in the Square of Tripoli!
____________________________________________________
129. To Hilda Denholm-Young
27 January 1943 Empire Social Telegram
Overseas[579]
ALL WELL AND SAFE.
BEST WISHES TO ALL AT HOME.
FONDEST LOVE.
DENHOLM YOUNG
____________________________________________________
Series 5: 1943-44 Cairo A Written Record
Preface to Series 5:
‘His coat is a crust of desert dust
And he comes from Alamein.’
From: ‘Mother Get Up, Unbar the Door’
by Charles Causley (1917–2003)
Shortly before the end of January 1943, Patrick suddenly received new orders. ‘I had only been in Tripoli a matter of days when a signal came for me to hand over my Unit to my Second-in-Command and board a plane for G.H.Q. Cairo where I was required to take over command of a G.H.Q. Signal Unit then being formed for the First Army. It was an order from the Signal Officer-in-Chief, G.H.Q. Middle East, based on the facts that I had plenty of battle experience with an infantry division and was, at that stage of the war, one of the few Signals Commanding Officers who had been through the Camberley Staff College. So I handed over in a couple of hours, said goodbye to the General, and left for Tripoli airfield. I felt sad to be leaving my friends in the Highland Division, but to depart quietly and suddenly was quite the best way of making such a break. As my aircraft set course for distant Cairo it felt exactly like flying backwards through time.’
By a strange throw of the dice, Patrick, to what must have been his lasting regret, therefore missed by mere days Winston Churchill’s visit to Libya formally to thank the men of the Eighth Army, to address the troops and to take the salute (with tears pouring down his face) at a victory parade through the streets of Tripoli on 4 February. Sir Alan Brooke, Chief of the Imperial General Staff, who accompanied Churchill, records in his War Diaries that the Highland Division, all beautifully turned out, marched past with a bagpipe band playing, in ‘quite one of the most impressive sights I have ever seen.’[580]
Instead, once again, Patrick flew in six hours over terrain it had taken the Eighth Army three months to march and drive across, and was again met by a staff car and driven, this time, straight to M.E.F. HQ, ‘the nerve-centre of the war in the Middle East’, which by then had outgrown Grey Pillars and occupied ‘an entire neighbourhood in Garden City, surrounded by check points and coiled barbed wire’,[581] and to his quarters for the next three months (until May, when he moved into a flat).
The Cairo in which Patrick spent fifteen months was a sand-coloured city of dusty main thoroughfares with their equally dusty palm trees and street lamps painted blue, clamorous with the noise of trams, other motor vehicles and horse-drawn gharries. Before the War it had been one of the most cosmopolitan and liberal places in the Middle East, with a smart, rich set based on the royals (King Fuad 1, Sultan then King from 1917 and succeeded in 1936 by the 16-year-old Farouk), the embassies, Shepheard’s Hotel and the Gezira sporting club, and a left-bank culture of writers and artists, including Lawrence Durrell[582] and Olivia Manning, centred on the University and the Anglo-Egyptian Union. Now, in 1943, it still was all of this, but as a concentrated clearing house for forces and all the paraphernalia of war, it was also fuller and more international. Army trucks and lorries ground their way through at all hours, depots and barracks had sprung up overnight, and the battles in the Western Desert had brought a whole administrative cadre of uniformed personnel, officers who lived in flats and requisitioned houses, walked to and from their desk-jobs morning and evening, and went by gharry to bars and restaurants and nightclubs, such as the famous, open-air Extase, after dark; plus the thousands of other ranks, of all colours and nationalities, either passing through on their way to or from the front, or convalescing or on leave or just killing time.
Standing at the narrow opening of the Delta, the city is bisected by the Nile, arriving from its 4,160 mile journey from Lake Victoria. Olivia Manning describes it as: ‘the wide, grey-silver river moving with the slow lurch and swell of a snake between banks of grey and yellow mud ... the white triangular sails of the feluccas[583] tilting in the wind.’[584] On its western bank, ten miles out beyond the suburbs and the scented bean fields, on the edge of the desert, stand the Pyramids, visible at dawn and then not again until dusk when they suddenly re-materialise out of the heat haze and ‘come into view as triangles of black no bigger than a thumb-nail.’[585] Of the various islands in the river, the middle one and the greenest, Gezira Island, had then many great houses, once grand and now becoming dilapidated but still run by retinues of servants, and, at its southern end, the Gezira sports club, with its spacious polo grounds, golf course, cricket fields, race course and lido. On the east bank was the select and prosperous residential quarter, Garden City, home of the palaces and embassies, with their large, leafy, jasmine-scented gardens full of sycamores, date palms and mangoes, set along quiet streets, tree-lined with tamarisk. Out beyond the modern centre lay the old town, flat-roofed, the spicey atmosphere of its backstreets, full of white-robed figures, mixed with the sweet, rancid reek of human ordure rotting on waste ground. Above, kites floated, slowly scanning the roof terraces, where the poor stacked their rubbish, and through the day the air was filled with ‘the long, wailing notes of the muezzins from the hundreds of minarets calling the faithful to prayer.’
That January, the winter weather was unusually stormy and wet and cold, and typhoid was on the increase: but for Patrick it was enough to be returning to normal life. After half a year of living under canvas or in a hole in the ground, he was now surrounded by the solid walls of a comfortable house, by blessed peace and quiet at night, and (for the moment) an equally blessed absence of sand. Here were normal supplies of water, it was possible to sleep, and to bathe, and there was a full complement of the usual servants behind the scenes. His room, a ‘very luxurious bed-sitting room,’ with, surely, a comfortable armchair in which to sit and read, a writing table, a dining table on which meals were served, table lamps and soft furnishings, was ‘heaven’ after the desert. Each morning he would join the ‘river of khaki uniforms as they walked briskly to work and presented their passes to the guards.’[586] Work was demanding and the hours long, but once he had shut the door on his office for the day, the civilised pleasures of the capital were at his disposal. He was not inclined to join the fashionable ‘gossip column’ set, and would not have considered himself in any way qualified to mix with the intellectual circle, but Cairo was also so full of young Forces personnel that, as usual, he seldom walked into a bar, restaurant or night club without spotting someone he knew. The place was an oasis in the desert of war and deprivation: there was plenty to eat and drink; people were smart; there were lots of pretty women; there was laughter and music and dancing. And for any spare time at the week-ends there was the Gezira Club, with its splendid amenities ― the perfect place in which to spend a pleasant hour reading the latest English papers or having a drink with a friend, and, on Sunday afternoons, playing a round of golf with his own clubs that had awaited him there for months. Patrick would have liked to have played at least twice a week, and would doubtless have loved to have played polo, too, but there was just too much work, and he had to settle for what could be managed.
He threw himself into work, as usual, but he also knew that he had a once-in-a-lifetime story to tell that he must get down on paper while it was still fresh in his mind. So, as soon as he had mastered his immensely demanding new job, which took about a month, he got down to writing again, in March 1943, and each evening, on returning after dinner, tapped away on his typewriter until it was late.
The Letters from Cairo:
From Cairo, Patrick continued to write weekly to Hilda, as ever. Most of these letters concern his writing of Men of Alamein during February, March and April 1943 and instructions to her about getting it published in England. Postal delays rendered them repetitive and therefore only the best are included here (with further excisions indicated by the ellipsis). In the event, the manuscript was accepted by Schindler of Cairo, and published locally in August 1943.
130. To Hilda Denholm-Young
31 January 1943 Air Letter Card
GHQ, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
As I told you, I was expecting a change. I was phoned at 10∙0 pm a few nights ago in TRIPOLI and told to catch an aeroplane miles away at 7∙15 the next morning! However, I’d been expecting it, so I got away all right. I am now a G.S.O.1. at G.H-Q. doing “bell-boy” to the Signal Officer in Chief![587]
I was very sorry to leave the 51st, but I’d had quite enough of that type of work ― and I feel I’ve just about earned my turn to live in the fleshpots! It’s expensive, but I’m enjoying sleeping in a bed, working in a real house, eating something other than bully and biscuits, and having a bath!
I think I will enjoy this work, and its really good experience. ...
No real news now.
Love
Pat.
____________________________________________________
‘I spent about a week in Cairo busily assembling an entirely new Signal Unit for the First Army attack on the Germans on the North African Coast from west to east. Every day I saw off detachments of troops and equipment leaving by air for Algiers. It was back-breaking work to get them all correctly sorted out and ready for their task.’
131. To Hilda Denholm-Young
3 February 1943 P.O. Telegram
Overseas
ALIVE AND WELL THOUGH UNOFFICIALLY REPORTED DEFUNCT
ADDRESS NOW NAME RANK XI BRANCH G.H.Q.M.E.
BACK ON GILDED STAFF
PAT YOUNG
____________________________________________________
‘Then, quite unexpectedly, a signal came from the other end of the Mediterranean to say that another Lieutenant-Colonel with Post Office experience and specialist knowledge of the heavy machinery that would be used had become available on the spot and that I wasn’t needed after all. This was a blow. I had handed over my wonderful Highland Divisional Signals in Tripoli, and had now lost my new Unit before I had brought it into being. The Deputy Signal Officer-in-Chief, Brigadier Nicholls, told me I was now required to remain at G.H.Q. Middle East as G.S.O.1. Plans in the Signal Branch. I wasn’t overjoyed, because I had no experience of planning, save for exercises at the Staff College. However, Lieutenant Colonels at a G.H.Q. of a theatre of war are two-a-penny, and it wouldn’t do to grumble. In the event, I did this job for a week at the most, and then the Brigadier suggested I might swap places with the G.S.O.1. of his own branch and stay in Cairo as the senior staff officer in the Signal Officer-in-Chief’s department. This suited me down to the ground. I was Staff College trained, and battle-experienced, and could work at this G.H.Q. of the Middle East Theatre of War and learn how the wheels went round. It would be an excellent addition to my professional career.’
‘I remained there for 15 months, an unusually long stay for wartime. It was fascinating work, but dreadfully hard and tiring. The pressure never relented and I never remember getting away from the office before 8 o’clock at night. Then, I admit, I would enjoy the remainder of the evening, getting to know all the good eating and drinking houses in the city ― Shepheards, the Continental,[588] Semiramis, the Metropolitan and a host of smaller restaurants like the St James, or ‘Jimmy’s’ as we called it. Apart from this there was precious little let-up from work, but I did manage, once a week, on Sunday afternoons, to play a round of golf at the Gazeira Club beside the Nile.’
132. To Hilda Denholm-Young
8 February 1943 Airgraph
GHQ, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
Above is my new address, but I expect you will have had it already in my cable. Had an airgraph No 30 from you the other day. I’ll try to keep a list of those I receive from now on.
Golf balls are impossible to get out here. I signed a release order for 8 boxes in favour of the Professional at Swinley Forest Golf Club, near Bagshot, last June. He needed this to get a supply from the factory. I left before he got them in. If you can contact him and buy two or perhaps three boxes for me, I’d be very pleased. If you can, get 4, and keep 2 for me and post 2 out to me here. McVittie will give you a cheque for them if you ask him. They’ll be difficult to get even after the War, so a reserve of 2 boxes would help a lot on my first leave! Do what you can!
Life is pleasant here, but I’m having a devil of a time trying to absorb a new job. I’ll know it in about one month from now! But I do live in a house now, and can have a daily bath ― quite a pleasant change after the Western Desert.
Love
Pat.
____________________________________________________
133. To Hilda Denholm-Young
9 February 1943 [Rec. 8 April 1943]
GHQ, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
Please keep these photos[589] for me. They are all of General Montgomery’s visit to my Unit in the Desert, at New Year, just before our last advance to Tripoli.
You’ll recognise the General (Douglas Wimberley) and James Cochran.[590] He is now Lt Col and rules in my place!
I’ll send some others in another envelope.
Love
Pat
____________________________________________________
After months of imposed silence, Patrick can finally tell the story of his eight months in North Africa. His seven-page account of 10 February 1943 is hand-written without a single correction. It is the work of someone completely on top of his brief, and thinking very clearly.
134. To Hilda Denholm-Young
10 February 1943 [Rec. 8 April 1943]
GHQ, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
I am hoping at last to have a little time to get on with a little writing. We are now allowed to tell of our own personal experiences, so I hope to try to piece my own together in the form of a book.
Briefly, after we landed out here last August, we did a couple of weeks in a Rest Camp near Tel-el-Kebir, waiting for our transport to arrive. Then there was the flap about Rommel advancing on Cairo, so we moved in and took up our new abode quite near the Pyramids at Mena. I was very busy organising the Signal jobs for the outer defence of Cairo.
The flap died down, and we very soon moved up to the Desert. For about 6 weeks, we were in a Reserve Area practising for the Alamein Battle. It was rather fun, and got us all used to life in the Desert. Towards the end of this period, I spent a good deal of my own time up in front, some 25 miles further West, planning our telephones and whatnot for the Battle of Alamein. It was all so hush hush that I had to do all the work pretty well by myself.
Then the time came for us to move up and we went up just West of Alamein Station.
I shall never forget the 23rd. I spent the day visiting the Infantry and Artillery seeing that all their needs were satisfied right up to the last minute.
Then, at 10∙0 pm the barrage started; and it really was pretty terrific. My dugout[591] just shook for the solid seven hours it lasted.
Then, for about ten days, I spent my time moving round the whole Divisional Front ― fixing up the hundred and one things that cropped up. There was a good deal of shelling, and about four Stuka raids daily. You soon get accustomed to Stukas!
We felt that the Armoured Boys were never going to get through; and then, after 13 days of hammer and tongs, they did get through.
We got left behind, and the battle passed on from us. We settled down at Daba,[592] on the Coast to consolidate and do a bit of maintenance.
After a week,[593] I got away to Alexandria for three days. I had never expected to have a bath again, and it was a great joy!
When I got back, I found we had moved on 30 miles. In another two days we set out for Tobruk.[594] It was rather fun, as we slept in a different place each night. We passed through Sidi Barrani,[595] and Mersa Matruh.[596] Then out to Bolbun, where I made a detour to climb the Helfia Pass.[597] There is a lovely view of the whole coast from the top of the Pass.
I spent two days outside Tobruk, and then moved on alone to Benghazi. It took me three days pretty hard going. I stayed two days South of Benghazi and then moved on to Agedabia[598] where we were for about three weeks. Here we laid on the battle of Mersa Brega,[599] and finally moved on to Agheila, where we stopped for Christmas and the New Year.
Early in January, I went on through Marble Arch[600] to Nofilia,[601] Sultari and Sirte, where we started to prepare for the last push.
I had a hectic few days preparing for the battle of the Wadi Zem Zem, at the Wadi Chebir. It’s a horrible part of the Desert ― all flat and hard as a rock. When an aeroplane comes along, you feel like a fly on a drum!
The Coast Road from Sirte to Buerat was very risky, as German Messerschmitt fighters[602] had a habit of zooming up and down it shooting up cars. I was lucky again, but Col David Smyth,[603] my Chief Signal Officer was killed. He was at the Shop with me. I was just 6 months too junior to get the job, and another friend was promoted to fill the vacancy.
We went on eventually, and chased the Bosch up the coast to Misurata. I had an adventure near Crispi,[604] South of Misurata, when I was wakened in my car at 1∙0 am by a somewhat frightened Political Officer who said he’d been ambushed six miles ahead. I formed my little band of technicians and clerks (!) into a square, and went on myself in a borrowed armoured car to see what was what. (Heart in boots!). About five miles further on I did a bit of Boy-Scout crawling, but couldn’t make out what language the dusky shapes in the darkness were speaking. I decided it wasn’t English, so I made what is known as a “strategic withdrawal” to my own chaps. We watched all night, but nothing happened. We moved on to Misurata a[t] first light. The ambush was quite genuine, for I’d found quite a few chaps dead or about to be!
After a couple of days between Misurata and Zleston, we moved up just east of Homs. Here they shelled us with 205mm guns (8 inch), and it wasn’t at all nice! I chewed sand several times!
We had a bit of a scrap west of Homs, and then started the chase to Tripoli. I got there in my jeep early on the morning of 23 Jan, to find it a city of the dead, with odd bangs going off at intervals. We took up our residence a few miles outside, and went on living in holes in the ground ― just so as not to get soft.
After a week, I got a phone message one night to catch the plane for Cairo at 7∙15 the next morning. So I came back here in 6 hours over the Desert which had taken us exactly three months to cover! Can’t say I like flying! But I wasn’t sick!
So there’s the outline of my story. War hasn’t changed a bit; it is still “moments of intense fright followed by long periods of boredom” or work ― work in my case.
It was very hard work. A Signal C.O. can never say his job is over. But it was great fun, and I have the satisfaction of feeling that it was a job well done. The General has written me a very nice letter [605]saying how pleased he was with my Unit throughout the battle.
So here I am, back on the Gilded Staff! It is a good job, but, of course, means hard work. It is very similar to my job in York, but on a very much larger scale. I live in a very nice house, and have my meals in my very luxurious bed sitting-room. It is just heaven after the Desert.
I enjoyed life in the Desert, and was very fit there; but for the meantime I am well content to be here, for a change.
What the next job will be depends on how I do here, but I hope it will be promotion! ― it may well mean this!
If any of your friends ― or Willie Cousin ― can buy a few golf balls against my return, please ask them to do so. They are going to be very scarce. Up to 6 dozen would be welcome, but only 2 out here.
Love,
Pat.
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135. To Hilda Denholm-Young
24 February 1943 Air Letter Card
GHQ, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
Haven’t had much time for writing lately, but things are easing off now.
This job was awful hard work learning the ropes, but I have a grand boss and a good crowd of helpers, so it’s getting a lot easier. I even played a whole round of golf the other day; and I hope to be able to get away for a week’s leave next month! This will be the first for a whole year ― since my Embarkation Leave last March! ...
Colonel Cameron-Webb is now a Brigadier!
No real news now.
Love,
Pat
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136. To Hilda Denholm-Young
5 March 1943 [Rec. 19 May 1943]
GHQ, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
I agree it probably isn’t worth while sending golf balls by Airmail. So I suggest you send off some by ordinary mail. The important thing is to try to lay in a stock of two or three dozen at home, as there will be a great shortage after the War is over, for some considerable time. I have only managed to play three times since I got back from the Desert, so I don’t think I would use very many out here in any case.
Goodness knows when this War is going to end, but I’ve a feeling that by the time this year is finished we should be within sight of the end. The world is getting pretty fed up with War, and nothing but War. All I hope is that I can get home soon after it is over, and not have to stay on out here indefinitely. We obviously can’t all expect to get home at once, but we naturally all hope to be among the lucky ones.
Life here is pretty hectic, and I don’t have much time to get out at all ― even for exercise.
Have you seen the film “Desert Victory”? I’m told it’s on in London just now, and is coming out to Cairo soon.[606] I expect I’ll be in it in several places. Let me know if you manage to see it.
There are a few other photos I’d like to get from P.R.3. War Office, London:-
E 21703
Gen Wimberley and Maj. [?Gl] Urquhart.[607]
E 21582
Gen Monty taking the surrender of Tripoli.
E 21589
Gen Monty entering Tripoli.
E 19369
Capt McMillan[608] & Hogg[609] interrogating P.W. at Alamein.
E19362
Myself & Gen Wimberley at Alamein.
I’d like a framed one of this, if it is possible to get one. It is quite my best memento of the Battle.
Edward Nanywynn breezed in yesterday. He is very fit, and sent his love to you. ...
I haven’t heard from Dennis for some time, but I left him up in the Desert. He is fit, but, like all of us, a trifle thin.
No more news now.
Love,
Pat
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On 5 March 1943 Dennis Lees wrote to Hilda from ‘In the Field’: ‘Dear old Paddy, as you will know, has left the Div for higher & better things and is back to civilisation once more. God! But I envy him with all my heart. I am tired ― dead tired of bully beef & stew and a hole in the ground, but like all true soldiers my complaints are only very temporary ones ―’; and on 10 March Hilda received a note from Major H. C. Sinclair,[610] R.C.S., saying ‘Dear Miss Denholm-Young, I am on a short visit to London from Cairo and your Brother asked me if I would just let you know that he is well. As you have already have learned, he has left his Field Unit and is now the Senior Staff Officer to the Signal Officer-in-Chief in Cairo. There is very little else I can tell you except that when I saw him last he was looking no different from when I first met in him in 1936.’
‘And I did have my moments. For instance, the time when my chief went off to visit the Eighth Army and was away for several days longer than he had planned. This left me in full charge of G.H.Q. Cairo, and for almost two weeks I was the Signal Officer-in-Chief in all but name. It was a grand experience and one I enjoyed immensely.’
137. To Hilda Denholm-Young
21 March 1943 Air Letter Card
GHQ, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
GSO1 is short for “General Staff Officer, First Grade”. In other words, a staff appointment in the top class! i.e. snobs. Another way of putting [it] would be “the bloke who does all the work”.
I saw “Desert Victory” yesterday. Have you seen it? For about ten seconds, I feature in it, talking to my General. It gives the impression that this was taken in the preparatory stages. This is quite wrong, as this particular scene was filmed about the 8th day of the battle, at the forward H.Q. of a New Zealand Brigade. It was most unpleasant at that time, as we were being shelled quite a lot.
It’s a good film, and really does give one an idea of what it was like. The sound effects of the artillery barrage really are pretty well what it was like in fact ― only on the film it only lasts a few minutes, while in practice it lasted for 8 and 10 hours at a time!
I get letters regularly, all right, but I’ve yet to receive any parcels from home. If you’ve ever sent magazines, I’m afraid I’ve never received them. Parcels are rather apt to go astray.
Life is pretty busy here just now, as my chief is away and I’m occupying the chair.
No more news now.
Love
Pat
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Having more or less mastered his very demanding new job, Patrick now felt able to embark on writing an account of his part in the Desert Campaign. The instinct to record it all must have been a sound one, for it may have served a real emotional need ― to externalise, record and make sense of some of the great mass of event he had just lived through. He wrote it at great speed, and the business of getting it published put him under a whole new load of pressure, not good for him after so strenuous a year. However, the success he achieved gave him ‘a new lease of life’.
138. To Hilda Denholm-Young
30 March 1943 Air Letter Card
GHQ, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
Your letters keep arriving perfectly allright, but I doubt if parcels ever really fetch up at this end. You speak of having sent magazines at times, but I don’t think that any of them have ever reached here. The postal service appears to be very much better now, and last week I got two letters from Edinburgh which only took 7 days to reach me. ...
My Regimental Sgt Major, of the 51st, was killed last week, I’m sorry to say. I haven’t heard from Dennis for about three weeks; but as he has been in this last battle, I’m not surprised!
It is starting to get a little warmer here now, but not before its time. It has been very cold lately. It’s an effort not to eat too much here ― there’s so much food to be had! I played Brigadier Walton at golf the other day. He is very fit and happy.
You might occasionally send me a “Weekly Times”, and an occasional “Autocar”. I see most of the other papers at the Club here. ...
Love,
Pat
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139. To Hilda Denholm-Young
5 April 1943 Air Letter Card
GHQ, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
I am about half way through a book I am writing, all about the Battle of Alamein. I am calling it “Men of Alamein”, and I don’t think it will be too bad. I’ll have it passed by the “Public Relations” Branch here first, and then I’ll send you two copies of the manuscript. I suggest you take it to RALPH PINKER;[611] he is a literary agent who advertises in the Writers’ and Artists’ Year Book, and is almost certainly in the telephone directory. I’ve sent him things before ― unsuccessfully! This book has the virtue of being true, and I’m pretty certain that as it is TOPICAL, and written by a chap who actually fought in the battle, it should have a pretty decent chance of being published. I’d only do it on a Contract basis, and McVittie has the Power of Attorney to sign for me. I’ll finish it about the middle of May, and will send it to you by air. If it is published, I want it to be under the pen-name of “SIGNALLER”, but I don’t mind my own name appearing underneath, in brackets. I think you’ll agree when you read it that it’s a distinct advance on anything I’ve written yet. I’ve got two stories up for publication[612] out here already. So I’m not wasting my time! Life is a little less hectic just now, so I’m writing as hard as I can.
No news from Dennis for several weeks, but I think he is all right.
Love
Pat
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In an airgraph of 20 April to Dennis Lees, Adah Denholm-Young writes ‘I heard from Pat lately, he is wonderfully comfortable but he misses his old friends.’
___________________________________________________
Outside, in the streets, summer had arrived. All light reflected off stone and glass became a hard white glare that bleached away colour, and the air, now of furnace heat, shimmered in dazzling mirages. Clothing, soon sweat-soaked, stuck clammily to the skin. From noon, the working world took a siesta (though, knowing him, it is more than possible that Patrick did not) and ‘labourers and beggars lay in a sort of sun syncope’.[613] Mad dogs and Englishmen sat eating cream cakes and drinking white wine in the sunken café garden at Groppi’s, where the sun ‘poured down through the cloth of the umbrellas like molten brass.’[614] From dawn till dusk, domestic interiors were shuttered, and meals were taken by artificial light. The sunsets were legendary, as was ‘the dazzling night sky’ and ‘the moonlight that lay over the buildings like liquid silver.’[615] With the soaring temperatures had come, too, that wretched Khamseen, thick with sand and dust and depositing a grey film on trees and buildings alike. Durrell describes its arrival in nearby Alexandria, ‘invading everything, appearing as if by magic in clothes long locked away ... (i)n the locks of doors, beneath fingernails. The harsh sobbing air dries the membranes of throats and noses, and makes eyes raw with the configurations of conjunctivitis.’[616] Likewise, the big kites, that always floated over the capital looking for carrion, were more numerous. Lord Killearn, the British Ambassador, enraged when ‘they stole his golf balls’[617] mistaking them for eggs, took pot shots at them from the Gezira. There, the lido was once again crowded every afternoon with officers swimming up and down the sparkling pool and admiring the ‘Gezira lovelies’ in their glamorous bathing dresses, while safragis (club servants) threaded their way through the crowd with trays of iced coffee or fresh lime juice; and at sundown more safragis could be seen moving slowly over the courts and greens, spraying the grass with Nile water.[618]
140. To Hilda Denholm-Young
11 May 1943 Air Letter Card
GHQ, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
A friend is bringing you a copy of my book, “Men of Alamein”, by aeroplane. You ought to get it by the end of this week!
I have enclosed a letter giving you all necessary directions, and the name of an agent[619] to take it to. If he is not available, go to “Ralph Pinker”. He is in the telephone book.
I have seen a firm called “Schindler”[620] in Cairo; they published the book by an RAF officer[621] called “They Flew Through Sand”. It sold 12,500 copies, out here, and ran to four editions! I am negotiating with them for sales in the Middle East only. So you can negotiate for me ― through the agent ― for all other World, and Movie, Rights. It ought to sell well in London, Scotland and America. “Schindler” thinks it will sell well, but can’t tell me for a few days whether he can accept it for publication. I’ll cable you if they sign a contract. Royalties is the only basis I will agree to. But it is essential to hurry it up, as it is essentially a topical book about the 8th Army & Alamein.
Do your best, and cable me at once if a publisher signs an agreement with the agent. I’ll agree to anything sensible, if I stand to make a little money.
Love,
Pat
P.S. I’m in a small flat by myself now! Still no news of Dennis, I fear.
____________________________________________________
141. To Hilda Denholm-Young
27 May 1943 Airgraph
GHQ, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
I’ve just received a largish parcel of magazines: Spheres[622], The Listener, Posts[623] etc. I don’t know if they are from you or Kenny.[624] If not from you, please thank Kenny.
It’s beastly hot here now,[625] but it gets quite pleasantly cool at nights.
You might cable me if you got the manuscript all right, and say whether you located the agent. If you can’t locate the agent, I should just take it to a publisher like Hodder and Stoughton or Hutchinson. Only don’t do any business except on a “Royalty” basis.
The publishers out here are drawing up an agreement, and I’ll send you the terms of this when it is signed. I hope this will be almost any day now. Jack Macnamara[626] had a good literary agent, but I’d prefer you to go to the first one I mentioned in my letter. It’s customary, by the way, for publishers to pay £25–£50 advance of royalties as soon as any agreement is signed, but the agent will look after all that. Cable me as soon as you have any news. One [illegible word] here says that if it is properly advertised it should sell a quarter of a million copies! I hope so!
Love
Pat
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142. To Hilda Denholm-Young
3 June 1943 Night Letter Telegram
Overseas Serving Officer
WITHHOLD MANUSCRIPT
HAVE SIGNED CONTRACT WITH SCHINDLER
PUBLISHERS EGYPT WORLD RIGHT
DO NO BUSINESS
WRITING
LOVE
DENHOLM YOUNG
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143. To Hilda Denholm-Young
4 June 1943 Air Letter Card
GHQ, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
Please thank Willie Cousin & Isobel Hotchkiss for letters. Willie sent razor blades which were very welcome.
I cabled you last night, and I hope you got it in time. The facts are that I could not get the publisher here to take on the job unless he got World Rights. He is to publish here within 2 months, doing 3000 copies for the 1st edition. Then, if it’s a success, he will send copies home to a Glasgow publisher he liaises with, and also three others, for publication in the UK. He will do the same in U.S.A.[627] It costs me nothing! I get 10% on every copy sold; that’s 10% on the retail price. Prices are to be 8/- and 12/6. The cheaper will be thick paper covered, and the 12/6 edition will be a really nice book. For Foreign Publications (ie UK or USA) I am to get 50% of what the publisher gets.
So on the whole it’s far better than giving it to an agent at home! I do hope this won’t mean you having to eat humble pie to anyone; but I should imagine that you have hardly had time to fix up any definite business. I hope so. Anyhow, it was far too good a chance to miss. I am on the spot and can read my own proofs. Also I can keep in very close touch with the publisher. It will be out about the 4th of August, and we’ll get copies home to a UK publisher by the end of August. I’ll send you a few copies by the same means as I sent the manuscript. Hang on to the manuscript. It may be valuable some day. Royalties are to be paid to me every three months, and I should get over £100 the first few weeks! The publisher’s name is R. SCHINDLER, CAIRO.
You might tell the odd person that I am definitely publishing a book out here in August, and that it will be on sale in the UK about Christmas. The cost will be about 8/- and 12/6, the more expensive being by far the nicest. I hope to publish under my own name this time, and I am going to ask permission to do so.
I have already completed 1/3rd of a second book, all about the same people as in “MEN OF ALAMEIN”, and I’m calling it “DESERT SOLDIER”.
They say that if you manage to get 5 books published, your name is made; so I’m working as hard as I can in my spare time, such as it is. I feel that now I have had my first success, I must press on while I have got the chance. I’ll never get an opportunity like this again, and there’s nothing I want to do more than retire after the War and start writing seriously. But I’d never even consider this unless I’d published at least five books, and knew I was on a firm wicket.
I hope you didn’t get too involved with agents and publishers, and I expect things hadn’t got past the official reader’s stage. Let me know what happened, but if by bad luck there was a tentative agreement, then we’ll have to plead distance and delays in mails, and I must stand by this Egyptian contract. However, I’m pretty sure my cable will have been in time to avoid any unpleasant complications.
Life is still awfully busy, but it certainly is fun, and this success has given me a new lease of life.
Still lots of omelettes! I fry myself one of 4 eggs almost every night!!![628]
Love
Pat
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144. To Hilda Denholm-Young
11 June 1943 Airgraph
GHQ, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
Thanks for your No 54. I gather you enjoyed your stay with the Yules. I have had letters from the Colonel and Kitty[629] by the same posts.
You have not yet let me know if you received my cable about the book in time before you got involved with agents elsewhere. Please let me have an early cable or airgraph to say all is well.
The printers[630] are busy setting up the type just now, so I should get the proofs to go through before long. Claire [sic] Hollingworth,[631] the woman reporter of considerable fame, has read it and thinks it is quite good. So there’s quite an even chance on pretty decent sales, especially in Scotland.
I’m about half-way through the second novel ― calling it “Desert Soldier”.
Love,
Pat
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145. To Hilda Denholm-Young
27 June 1943 Air Letter Card
GHQ, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
Thanks for several bundles of magazines. These are most welcome. The Listener, Postand Illustrated [632]are the best.
The book should be out by the end of July. ...
The second book, “Desert Warrior”, has passed the Censor, and is now with the publishers, but I don’t know yet if they’ll sign a contract. If they do, I’ll let them have it, as paper seems very short in England. I might as well get decent sales out here while I can! They can always re-publish in England after the War.
It is very hot here now, though quite pleasant in the very early morning. I hope to get ten days’ leave in the beginning of August, and I intend to go to a nice pub[633] by the seaside at Alexandria ― just to eat, sleep and read!
I’ve heard nothing from Dennis, but I have all his kit here in my office.
I see we are to get two medals![634] Well, well.
Love
Pat
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146. To Hilda Denholm-Young
6 July 1943 Air Letter Card
GHQ, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
... I’m going off to Alexandria on the 30th for a week’s leave. I’m to have 10 days, and I certainly feel like it. Life is really far too busy just now. I do wish this war would end and we could all get a decent rest. It isn’t natural to work full blast all day every day in the week, for year and years! Still, we do get excellent food here, that’s the great thing.
Love
Pat
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147. To Hilda Denholm-Young
14 July 1943 Air Letter Card
GHQ, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
Please send the copy of the manuscript of “Men of Alamein” to:-
H. L. HAYWARD[635] ESQ.
Editor-in-Chief
Allied Newspapers Ltd
Kelmsley House
London W.C.
Say that this is sent by instruction of Miss Clare Hollingsworth [sic] in Cairo. Alter the name on the title to read “Peter Edmondston”. The Editor-in-Chief is going to offer for the serial rights, so please send the manuscript to him right away. You can say, if you like, that I don’t really mind using my own name, but NOT preceded by any Rank, ...
Life is just frantically busy. Paper is just feet deep. I can’t believe it’s all necessary!
Love
Pat
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148. To Hilda Denholm-Young
22 July 1943 Airgraph
GHQ, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
Publication day draws near, ...
Work here is just absurd! Long hours and tons of paper ― but little of both are really necessary! I only wish the War would end and I could get a rest. For I feel sure I won’t get one before it does! My leave fell through, as my Boss has to be away at that time!
Love
Pat
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149. To Hilda Denholm-Young
26 July 1943 Air Letter Card
GHQ, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
... My General has had to go away on a tour, so my leave has had to be cancelled! However, the weather might be cooler later on, and I would prefer to stay in Cairo till the book comes out, just to be on the spot for last-minute alterations. ...
It’s pretty hot here just now, and very sticky in the afternoons. Still, it ought to get cooler in another couple of months! There’s one cinema[636] here that is air conditioned, so it’s the coolest place in Cairo! Still, there are several restaurants on the roofs of hotels where you can have a pleasantly cool meal!
I’ll send you a couple of copies of the book, when it’s out.
Love,
Pat
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150. To Hilda Denholm-Young
9 August 1943 Air Letter Card
GHQ, M.E.F.
Dear Hilda,
... The finished article ought to be on the market by Sep 1st, and the Press get an issue some eight days earlier. So I shall have to attend a “coming out” cocktail party in the publisher’s office somewhere about 25th August! ...
I had to cancel my leave, but there’s just a chance I may get away to Alexandria after all on Sat 14th till the 23rd. I hope so. I could do with a break!
It is pretty hot here just now, but it is always cool at night, which is a blessing.
The publishers have taken the second book, but won’t sign a Contract till we see how the first one sells. Very sensible! ...
Love,
Pat
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Men of Alamein was published by R. Schindler in Cairo in September 1943. [Plate 55]
There is no further mention of the second book, which the publishers did not in the event publish. He did retrieve the original MSS, which still exists. It is not known whether Patrick ever tried to get it published in England after the war.
Two months later, while still at GHQ, Middle East, Egypt, Patrick received a handwritten air letter from Major-General Douglas Wimberley, Staff College, Camberly, who wrote, on 16 October :
“My dear Denholm
Thank you so very much for your copy of your book & your inscription which I shall value very much too ― I never stopped reading your book after I had taken it up till I finished it ― I fear it interfered for a few hours with my other duties! I enjoyed it a lot, & it brought back so many memories that it will be a pleasant companion to have all one’s life ― it is much more than that though, it will, I feel, bring home more than ever to the people of Scotland what they owe to our Jocks, & so you deserve not mere thanks from me, but thanks from all H.D. men for what you have done in putting your story of life in the H.D. across in an interesting and amusing way & giving such a true picture of life in Div Signals. I was so glad too, that you did not go in much for that awful “school” of the last war ― that always wrote about “excreta & filth”, but gave a true & balanced picture of war as a whole ― though you were a wee bit out in your minefield technicalities! I have written direct to Cairo to get two copies sent to my young in Tasmania ― I’m quite certain that your book will have a big sale in Scotland ― & I hope will be well reviewed in the Scotsman, Glasgow Herald etc ― are you looking after that side ― copies should go to all the Scots papers I think ― including small papers in H.D. areas ― there are dozens of them.
Suggest you send copies to Aberdeen Press & Journal ― Inverness Courier and Oban Times etc. If they review well you will sell many copies to parents and wives of H.D. folk, which helps morale. I might be able to help about this, if you want it. Again so many thanks. Glad to see Alec Fraser got his M.C. today.
Yrs
[?Aye]
Douglas Wimberley
____________________________________________________
Decades later, Patrick wrote: ‘I re-visited the battlefield myself one year afterwards, and it was still bleak and dusty as hell!’
‘Then, once I had to pay a quick visit to the H.Q. of the 9th Army, then training, for mountain warfare, in the hills above Beirut. This was a most interesting journey, as it took me by car from Cairo out across the Eastern Desert to Palestine, and on to Haifa and Beirut. The climb up from the latter, into the mountains around Ali, on the road to Damascus, was one of my best memories of the whole war. The view looking back across the Mediterranean to distant Cyprus, with the hot sun beating down on us, was superb. I stayed one night at the King David[637] in Jerusalem, only a very short time before the room I had slept in was blown to smithereens. The road from Jerusalem to Beersheba and on through El Auja and out across the desert to Ismaliya is not one of the most pleasant in that part of the world. In fact, the whole of the Eastern Desert looks parched and arid, and in no way compares with the Western Desert to which I had become accustomed and which did, after a while become less forbidding than this wilderness. All in all, I was lucky, for at least in this job I was able to sleep safely. But perhaps it was just this fact that spurred us on to even harder work, for, out of the actual fighting, many of us had a feeling of guilt at not being with so many of our friends who were still in danger.’
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Series 6: 1944–1945 Sicily, Italy, Greece.
Preface to Series 6
In January 1944 Patrick was awarded the bronze Oak Leaf Emblem issued by command of the King to members of His Majesty’s Forces who had been Mentioned in Despatches … ‘for brave conduct … in the Middle East,’ announced in the London Gazette of 13 January 1944, p. 263.
Then in April 1944, after 15 months at GHQ, MEF, Patrick was promoted to full Colonel and posted to Sicily, and then the Italian mainland as Chief Signal Officer, in charge of the Lines of Communication Signals behind the Eighth Army [Plate 56]. He loved the work and he loved Italy, especially Florence. But the strain of the recent relentless work was beginning to tell and his health began to give way, first with an ulcer. Posted on to a less demanding role in Athens, and undertaking a most dramatic journey, he spent six weeks there, now increasingly troubled with back pain, was recalled to Italy and became seriously ill on board ship crossing to Naples. In due course, apparently back in reasonable working order, he returned to G.H.Q. in Caserta, and was sent north again to rejoin No. 1 District. But his ulcer had other ideas and the Army medical staff finally decided that Patrick had had enough, and should be returned home.
Again, virtually no letters from this period have survived, but Patrick’s autobiographical accounts give a graphic impression.
‘Then, once more, out of the blue, came a posting order for me to be promoted to Full Colonel and to move on to Sicily as the Chief Signal Officer of No. 1 District on the Lines of Communication. So, once again, I packed my bags [not forgetting to retrieve his golf clubs from the Gazeira, no doubt] and boarded a plane, this time for Tripoli, Tunis and Catania. I enjoyed my term of office with No. 1 District under Major General Heydeman,[638] and with it I moved from Catania to Reggio and on to Naples, Rome, Foligno and finally to Perugia in the North. My job was to look after the Lines of Communication Signals behind the Eighth Army, and I did a tremendous amount of travelling up and down the length and breadth of Italy. Technically, it was fascinating. For I had to work alongside the Italian Post Office engineers, as we were both attempting to reinstall the civil communications network which the Army and RAF both needed to use, as well as the field communication system.’
‘Then, early in 1945, I developed a stomach ulcer and had to spend some time in hospital. On my discharge from medical care, I was deemed not fit enough to return to a full-time role at No. 1 District H.Q. and I was sent off to Greece, arriving in Athens during the insurgency there when there was shooting in the streets and you never knew who was your enemy and who your friend. It was rather like France in the Spring of 1940, when you didn’t know who was in the Fifth Column and who was not. On my journey to Athens I had to stay for a couple of nights in a transit hotel in Bari, overlooking its semi-circular harbour on the Adriatic, awaiting my orders to join a ship leaving Taranto[639] for Piraeus.[640] I had only just arrived, and been shown up to my room, and thought I might as well go down to the hotel bar for a drink. So I left my room and started to walk along the corridor towards the stairs. Just as I was exactly between two windows overlooking the sea, there was a terrific explosion outside and all the glass on the front of the building came pouring in, just like a waterfall. I thought a bomb had fallen in the hotel entrance, but it wasn’t a bomb. An ammunition ship had been blown up at the other end of the harbour, about a mile away. I was told that the only man to escape alive was the Mate, ashore at the time having his hair cut! I went straight back to my room to assess the damage. The bath was full to the top with broken glass and the wall beside my bed was stuck from floor to ceiling with long slivers, for all the world as if a giant had been playing darts with long glass daggers. It would have been a nasty way to die, had I been seconds later leaving. Later, I drove round the docks and saw a number of cars squashed flat against the inner sea wall, but of the ammunition ship itself there wasn’t a trace.’
‘During the Alamein battle, when I hadn’t dived quite fast enough into a slit trench during a Stuka raid, I had hurt my back, which had given me a great deal of pain from then on, and it got worse when I arrived in Greece. I carried on for six weeks in Athens, at which point I was unexpectedly wanted back in Italy again, and left on a boat bound for Naples. This was when my back became serious ― locked solid ― and I was unable to move at all. On board, they injected me with morphia and, when the ship arrived at Taranto, the disembarked me by slinging me over the side in a net hammock attacked to a crane. I was whistled off to the Military Hospital with a suspected broken back. Here I was kept in a straight-jacket and had to lie for several days on a door laid flat on a bed, unable to turn over or sit up. It was absolute agony. I was the most senior officer present, and the C.O. used to visit my bedside and say: ‘I’m sorry, Sir, but I’m quite sure that you have fractured your spine, though it doesn’t show up on the X-ray.’ The pain was quite dreadful and I was constantly being sick, which only made matters worse. Then, after several more X-ray sessions that didn’t prove anything, I started to get better, and after about ten days, I walked out, cured. It wasn’t until years later that I realised it must have been a badly slipped disc, something I have often suffered from, intermittently, ever since.’
‘In due course I got back to G.H.Q. in Caserta[641] and they sent me north again[642] to re-join No. 1 District. But my erstwhile ulcer wouldn’t leave me alone and the doctors decided that it was time for me to be sent back to the UK. My old friend the D.D.M.S.[643] lent me an ambulance for the journey south, and as we ran into Rome we heard the hooters sounding for the end of the War in Europe.[644] We drove on and two or three days later I embarked at Naples on the Norwegian ship Bergensfiord and landed at Renfrew after a very pleasant fortnight at sea. I duly reported to the War Office and was sent off on leave. My War was over.’
____________________________________________________
In April Patrick was promoted to full Colonel.
A letter to ?his aunt in Edinburgh includes his handwritten text of a few lines he had written in Sicily:
151. To ? Adah Denholm-Young
12 August 1944 Fragment of Air Letter Card
… country. I have seen Naples, Rome, Perugia, Orvieto, Assisi and Ancona. Assisi, the home of St. Francis, is a lovely little place perched on a beautiful hillside. It’s all a great change after the never-ending sands of the Western Desert!
SICILY
“Lovely cliffs of Taormina
Jutting eastwards to the sea,
Stately buildings of Palermo,
Marble roof and cypress tree.
Narrow seaway at Messina,
Greek remains at Syracuse,
Age-old opera at Catania
Stately mansion of the Muse.
Roadway leading up Mount Etna
Up through villages of green,
Sandy shores of Agrigento,
Colours which you’ve never seen
Any other place in Europe
Save in Sicily the green.
Looking round at all your people,
Badly fed and poorly clothed,
God alone knows how you did it
In the wondrous days of old.”
I’ve written a small book of “Desert Verses and Others”, and I’m having it published out here.[645] I’ll send you a copy when it’s finished.
It looks as if the War will soon be over. I hope so, and we’ll all be able to come home. It’s two and a half years now since I was in Scotland!
Much love,
Your affectionate
Pat
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On 24 October 1944 a friend was killed in Italy, Major T. A. Marsh M.C., XX Lancashire Fusiliers C.M.F., the young leader whose courage Patrick celebrates in his poem dated 28 December 1944.
...For when the stretcher-bearers came
To render aid to those who fell,
They found him, shattered and alone;
But all the trumpets sounded
As he passed into his own.
That same month Patrick wrote his poem ‘Dead German Youth’, later selected for inclusion in the Salamander Trust anthology volume of World War II poetry (Shepheard-Walwyn, London, 1980):
He lay there, mutilated and forlorn,
Save that his face was woundless, and his hair
Drooped forward and caressed his boyish brow.
He looked so tired, as if his life had been
Too full of pain and anguish to endure,
And like a weary child who tires of play
He lay there, waiting for decay.
I feel no anger towards you, German boy,
Whom war has driven down the path of pain.
Would God we could have met in peace
And laughed and talked with tankards full of beer,
For I would rather hear your youthful mirth
At stories which I often loved to tell
Than stand here looking down at you
So terrible, so quiet and so still.
In December 1944 another ‘well loved friend’ died, Colonel J. R. J. Macnamara M.P., of The London Irish Rifles, C.M.F., to whose legacy Patrick wrote a poem dated 3 January 1945.
... May you then rest content, my well-loved
friend,
For you have left behind one lesson true,
That man should learn to love his brother man,
And study well what others wish to do.
____________________________________________________
Series 7: 1945–1947 Catterick, Burma
Preface to Series 7
At the beginning of 1945, on return from his leave, Patrick was duly awarded the OBE and posted back to Yorkshire and Catterick Camp. This decoration was in addition to his five campaign medals (the 1939-1945 Star, the Africa Star, with clasp 8th Army, the Italy Star, the Defence Medal and the 1939-1945 War Medal), and two Mentions in Despatches.
However, just as he was settling back into life in Yorkshire, that young A.T.S. officer who had so attracted him was planning to leave it. Unsettled by the long strain of waiting for news of her unofficial fiancé, a bomber pilot reported missing at the end of 1940 and eventually presumed dead, the failure of Patrick to reappear, and the lack of anyone else on the horizon, Rachel Kitching had decided to apply for an overseas vacancy. Consequently, on 6 June 1945 the A.T.S. Commandant at Northern Command, York had been notified by teleprinter message that Junior Commander Rachel Kitching, who had trained before the War not only as a dispenser but also as a shorthand secretary, had been selected for the vacancy of Personal Assistant to the Assistant Chief of Staff, South East Asia Command Headquarters in Ceylon. 14 days’ leave was granted for preparations, which must include inoculation against Yellow Fever, after which she was to report at 12 Radnor Place, Bayswater, London W2 on 22 June en route for a plane for Colombo. The small group of fellow passengers on that very long flight included one Captain Geoffrey Chandler (1922–2014) of the 60th Rifles whose father, like hers, had been a physician at St Barthomomew’s Hospital, London, and who, to her delight, carried a copy of Pride and Prejudice in his pocket. What he did not divulge was that he was in fact a member of Force 133 in the Special Operations Executive. The reason he gave for being on the flight at all must therefore have been a cover for the real one.
SEACHQ, formed in August 1943 to assume overall strategic command of all air, sea and land operations in the Far East theatre, was based in a large, traditional building high above the lake in Kandy, the island’s second city at 1,600 feet in the central Hill Country. The Hotel Suisse, with its air of an old-fashioned English preparatory school, was reminiscent of the world of Somerset Maugham. Having settled in, Rachel reported to the Camp Commandant on 3 September 1945 and was issued with SEACHQ Identity Pass No. 002671.
Ceylon, utterly new and strange, with its lush, subtropical, vegetation, dazzling light and exotic colour, was a world away from the mists of autumn in Yorkshire; as was the sharply sophisticated culture of the Command Camp. The pace of the work was fast-moving, setting as much as following the course of events, and much of it was top secret. The staff comprised mainly senior officers, competent and hand-picked, and the atmosphere was one of casual confidence. A little too casual indeed: the work and the setting, the afternoon beach parties, the sundowners mixed with fresh lime juice in the early evening, and the non-stop night-life, all encouraged what had become a highly promiscuous culture. Through the ‘winter’ months of 1945–46, Rachel gradually became uneasily aware that her colleagues on station, many of them with husbands and wives at home in England, were all having affairs with each other (and especially with the WRENS), that everyone knew what was going on, and that nobody cared.
Meanwhile, the work ― and she was at the very heart of it ― was demanding and fascinating. Preparations were rapidly being made for Earl Mountbatten to receive the formal surrender of the Japanese to SEAC a few days later, on 12 September 1945, and one morning General Browning,[646] the Chief of Staff (with the splendid telephone extension 100), rang through to the Secretaries’ office to ask for someone to take down an urgent report. Rachel, who was free, presented herself, was invited to sit, and took down his lucid dictation. It was a continuation of Minute 229/1, Part IV of the Instructions and Seating Plan for the Signing of Surrender Ceremony on 12th September 1945. Part IV, top secret, was the Conference Procedure. Returning to her desk, she transcribed her classic Pitman’s shorthand notes into a foolscap page and a half of single-spaced typewritten Minute, and submitted the result for General Browning’s inspection. Presumably a single strike (i.e. typed just once, without any false starts or spoiled attempts consigned to the waste-paper basket), it is a clean text with not a single erasure, the only additions a couple of changes to the wording, doubtless the author’s subsequent second thoughts, in ink in Rachel’s hand. A short while later, General Browning appeared in the Secretaries’ Office, and thanked her, in front of her colleagues, for a ‘completely word-perfect piece of work.’ What no one knew was that Rachel, a person with a mind of her own, had recognised the significance of the subject-matter, and had taken one extra carbon copy, which she kept, and which I still have. (Ed.)
Eventually, crippled by homesickness, Rachel decided to apply to break her posting and ask to be repatriated. Though unpopular, her request was granted, and she was given a sea-passage home: an interval that would have been an unblemished pleasure had she not had all her jewellery, some of it old family pieces, stolen on board during their passage through the Red Sea.
Back in York, in the early summer of 1946, Patrick and Rachel met again and were married on 16 July at Kirk Deighton, near Wetherby [Plate 57]. Within weeks, he received a new posting, to Burma. The journey out there proved to be a disaster, his plane crash-landing in the Hoogli and putting him in hospital with concussion. Nor, it transpired, was there a job waiting for him, after all. The War Office had been guilty of some rather unprofessional conduct, and Patrick’s disillusion with the post-War Army began here. The fact that he and Rachel were obliged, on his return, to move, as one posting followed another, eight times in the next four years rather added to this.
Again, an absence of letters is compensated for by some lively accounts in Patrick’s autobiographical writings:
____________________________________________________
In June 1945 Patrick was awarded the OBE ‘for gallant or distinguished services in Italy’, announced in the London Gazette of 28 June.
‘The KING has been graciously pleased to give orders for the following promotions in, and appointments to, the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire, in recognition of gallant and distinguished services in Italy:- …
To be Additional Officers of the Military Division of the said Most Excellent Order:- …
Col (temporary) C. P. S. Denholm-Young (37063), Royal Corps of Signals (Edinburgh)’
As an officer abroad on active service, and unable to receive his decoration in person, he received a personal letter from the King from Buckingham Palace:
“I greatly regret that I am unable to give you personally the award which you have so well earned. I now send it to you with my congratulations and my best wishes for your future happiness.
George R.I.”
In July 1945 Patrick was awarded the bronze Oak Leaf Emblem issued by command of the King to members of His Majesty’s Forces who had been Mentioned in Despatches … for brave conduct … in Italy , announced in the London Gazette of 19 July, Issue 37184, page 3728.
‘The War Office then gave me command of a Training Regiment stationed at Whitby on the North Yorkshire coast, but this soon moved to Catterick Camp. However, I found the work uninspiring after the constant excitement of the War years. Furthermore, the chances of further promotion seemed to me bleak now that the Old Guard, resistant to change, were once again settling into power at the topmost levels.’
‘Meanwhile, in Catterick, quite by accident I met Rachel Kitching again. In six weeks we were engaged and in another six, on 16 July 1946 we were married in the pretty parish church of All Saints, Kirk Deighton, near Wetherby. My Second-in-Command attended ― in his pocket an order posting me to Burma, but to his eternal credit he didn’t spoil our honeymoon by telling me about it then. He waited until I got back to the office.’ The honeymoon was a leisurely holiday in the Thames Valley where Patrick showed Rachel all his old haunts, from two of which they sent a postcard to Adah.
152. To Adah Denholm-Young
23 July 1946 Postcard Henley-on-Thames
Dear Aunt Adah,
We had a lovely lunch here. We are enjoying a perfect time, and the weather is being very kind to us.
Susan is in great spirits. We move on to Oxford today, where we are to see “Kenny”.
We return home to Wetherby next Monday.
Love from us both,
Pat and Susan
___________________________________________________
153. To Adah Denholm-Young
27 July 1946 Postcard of Tewkesbury (postmark: Chester)
We have just arrived here from Broadway. We have had a lovely time & are feeling rather sad that our honeymoon is nearly over. We go back to Wetherby for 2 nights on Monday, & then to Catterick on Aug. 1st. Pat is in terrific form & sends his love.
Lots from me
Susan
__________________________________________________
‘So that Autumn I boarded a B.O.A.C. flying boat at Poole bound for Rangoon where I was to be G.S.O.1. to the Chief Signal Officer[647] ― who, incidentally, I had known all my life. Except that our aircraft didn’t get to Rangoon. Instead, after three abortive attempts to come down on a choppy sea, we had a very bumpy landing in the dark at Karachi with some damage to the aircraft. We changed planes into another flying boat, this time with an Indian crew, and flew on through the night right across India to Calcutta where the cloud level was very low and the River Hoogli was in full flood. As we came in to land, at about 100 m.p.h., an invisible under-water obstacle, that no one could have foreseen, stripped off our nearside float, and we spun through a right angle. I regained consciousness to find myself in an empty plane with water up to my armpits. Dazed and giddy, I managed to scramble over the tangled wreckage of the flight deck and out through some sort of trapdoor on to the roof, where I found a captain in the Canadian ATS clinging to the radio mast. I grabbed her by the collar of her tunic and lowered her so that she was able to drop into a launch that had come alongside to take us off. I never recalled much more of that crash ― and never flew again ― but I was collected by some kind cousins of my wife who were in business in Calcutta[648]and the next day they saw me off on a boat bound for Rangoon. So I got there in the end, but suffering from delayed concussion and after about three days was carted off to hospital where I remained for some weeks before being shipped back home in a very crowded hospital ship. My last memory of Rangoon is of standing in a shop on my last day, trying to buy some silk for my wife, while stray bullets from some sniper came whanging into the wooden counter beside my legs. I left the shop in reasonably dignified haste.’
‘Back in the UK, having attended a Medical Board, I was allowed to return to my quarter in Catterick where my wife was still working. It was nearly ten weeks later when the War Office found me something else to do. Meanwhile, I learned the truth about my recent posting. For on arriving there, I had discovered that there was, in fact, no job for me, and never had been. While I had been in the air, travelling out there, a signal had been sent to Singapore offering to send me on there if there was a suitable vacancy. There wasn’t. It was not until later, and via the bush telegraph, that I learnt the real reason I had been posted from Catterick to Burma was that a Very Senior Person, and keen amateur actor, wanted a certain other Lieutenant Colonel posted to Catterick so that he too could act in the Garrison Theatre. So ― even though I was recently married ― I was moved (not without drama) to make room for this arrangement.’
‘The War Office next sent me to attend a course at the Senior Officers’ School near Erlstoke, Devizes. This was fun, but something of an anticlimax after the Camberley Staff College and an exciting War. At the end of it, I was posted back to Yorkshire to command the Royal Signals Depot Regiment, which I did for the next three years. [Plate 58] It was the longest time in one place since my years at Bulford Camp in 1928-30.’
Rachel gave birth to their first child, [the Editor], in Harrogate in 1947. [Plate 59]
154. To Adah Denholm-Young
29 September 1947
Dalham House
Headington
York
Dear Aunt Adah,
Susan had a lovely baby girl (8 lbs) yesterday evening at 6.30 pm. Susan is very well, and the doctor says she was very, very good about it.
The baby has dark hair, and is a really lovely little thing. It was yelling the house down when I saw it at about 9∙0 pm!
If you write to Susan, please address her:–
The Imperial Nursing Home
Rutland Road
Harrogate
Yorks
She will be in there for at least 2 weeks; meantime I will live in my Mess.
We all three send our love,
Pat, Susan and Wee Sally[649] (short for Serena)
That same year, Patrick’s short collection of sketches and stories, of which one, number 5, is a sequel to his experiences at the Battle of El Alamein, was published in Whitby as Will You Take My Torch?
Two years later, a second daughter, Geraldine, was born, also in Harrogate [Plate 60]. And Patrick’s rank of Temporary Lieutenant Colonel was converted to Lieutenant Colonel in 1949, and confirmed in The London Gazette 4 October 1949, p. 4724:
‘Royal Corps of Signals
The undermentioned Majs to be Lt.-Cols:-
CPSD-Y OBE (37063) 2 January 1949’
‘Meanwhile, the War Office had one further card to play. They posted me to Malaya. I was then 43 and wasn’t at all keen to take my young wife and children out to that turbulent country. Nor indeed was I anxious to return once again to the tropics with the gastric problems caused by the stomach ulcer in Italy five years earlier. The promotion situation, too, looked pretty blocked and I couldn’t see much chance of promotion to Brigadier for many years ahead. The level of retired pay wasn’t good, nor was there much prospect of its improving.’ Patrick learnt later that he ‘had missed by just three months, the Terminal Grant about to be brought in and about which nobody at the War Office had thought to tell me in time. So it was that I came to look about for new employment in civil life. I wanted above all to establish a settled home for my family, and I myself was tired of travelling the world. I managed to get two interviews, and each produced an offer, and I chose the Outward Bound Trust which was then starting to run schools for the adventure training of the young, using the difficulties and dangers of the sea and mountains to inculcate character building in young men of 17–19. This seemed right up my street and I resigned from the Army in 1950 (on a pension of £499 p.a.) and moved to Cumbria to be the Bursar of the Mountain School in Eskdale.’
The London Gazette 20 June 1950, p. 3168:
‘Lt-Col C. P. S. Denholm-Young OBE retires on ret. Pay 18 June 1950, and is granted to hon. rank of Col.’
____________________________________________________
Afterword
Patrick’s resignation from the Army was as much a reflection of what he was leaving as of his own judgement. He had long held sound views on what must happen to the Army ― how it must learn to change to survive. He suffered considerably because of its refusal to adapt and develop before the Second World War, and after it, and his resignation was a casualty of the same rigidity.
The post-War world was not easy for those emerging from careers as Regulars in the forces, and Patrick, leaving the Army in 1950 at the age of 44, faced much change. Marriage, a young family (their third child, Piers Anthony, [Plate 61] was born in 1951) and a career in civil life transformed his day-to-day existence and altered his perspectives with a tremendous suddenness. The greatest adjustment was, of course, to the loss of that solid, familiar, institutional environment that the Army had provided him with for a quarter of a century. He rose to the new challenges with all his customary energy and cheerful courage, but there was undoubtedly a subtle, deep-seated corrosion that damaged him.
Patrick characteristically threw himself into civil life, where his famous drive was to take him through not one, but two, further careers. He and Rachel wanted to educate their children privately, and, with no capital behind him, this would depend on his earnings. It also meant that, unable to raise the resources and to risk beginning a new and untried career in writing, he had to give up those ideas and hopes of buying back Broomrigg. So, sadly, the chance passed, and his life moved on to a different trajectory. The house and estate changed hands in 1951 (Commander Weir) and again in 2007, when it beame the property of the present owners.
Meanwhile, he spent the next 21 years as a senior executive in the charitable, employment and industrial sectors, followed by more than ten years post-retirement as a professional genealogist. Initially, he was with the Outward Bound Trust[650] for five years. The family loved the life in West Cumbria and Piers Anthony was born there. At the same time Patrick qualified, by correspondence course, as Fellow of the Institute of Chartered Secretaries and Administators. When the Trust moved him to be its General Secretary in London, serving under the Chairmanship of Lord Tedder[651] and a most distinguished Council that included Lieutenant-General ‘Boy’ Browning and Field Mashal Sir Gerald Templer,[652] the family moved south to Hampshire.
But the salary was poor, and Patrick eventually left to start his own consultancy and registered employment agency, preparing and placing [in all, about 800] officers retiring early from the forces into civil life, for at that time many thousands were being axed comparatively young as a consequence of reductions in all three services. ‘I spent a great deal of time going round commercial and industrial firms, talking to Directors and Personnel Managers, to find out exactly what sort of men they wanted’ and began to detect ‘an unexpected problem ― in the shape of the army pension. Potential employers knew that the services paid pensions to retiring regular officers, and many clearly resented what they saw as a bonus paid by themselves out of their income tax, and invariably sought to deduct it from any proposed salary. They did not accept that successive governments had repeatedly asserted that a public service pension is deferred pay and taken into account when remunerations were fixed. (When I retired from the Army, no retired officer under 60 could draw any increase in his pension, and I had to wait 17 years before becoming eligible to draw the rate in force when I reached 60. What miner, docker, postman or railwayman would agree to a wage increase for which he must wait 17 years before drawing it?) They also maintained that it would take an officer a very long time to make himself useful in a civil context. My answer was that when war had broken out, civilians had found it necessary to learn jobs in the services pretty quickly, which they did magnificently, with help and encouragement from the Regulars. So now, when we regulars were seeking employment because our service careers had come to an abrupt halt, might these same civilian employers return the compliment? Many regular officers did, of course, integrate successfully into civilian firms, and went on to do exceedingly well.’
When, in 1957, the Re-Settlement Board got going, Patrick’s consultancy melted away more or less overnight, and he accepted the offer of the post of General Secretary to one of the larger charities, again based in London. It was hard work: he ‘had to serve eleven different committees, whose membership totalled 83, most of them women who did not always see eye to eye with each other. Writing endless minutes was a most wearisome task.’
‘In the end, it wore me down and when the opportunity came my way, I took on the roles of General Manager, and eventually Managing Director, of a new and fast-growing poultry group of companies in East Anglia, and moved my family to Norwich. The work, essentially problem-solving in a vibrant and growing young industry, was fascinating and I stayed there through eleven exciting and very happy years and managed to increase the throughput by 300%.’ But again it would seem that his army career was, ironically, putting him at a disadvantage. As MD he received the same salary, plus a small Director’s fee, as he had drawn as General Manager, and no retirement pension ― and believed that the reason was (once again) that his employers knew he received an army pension. A more confident, thrusting character might have taken this up with them, but I think my father’s innate lack of confidence re-surfaced on leaving the Army, and this, and his gentlemanly code of behaviour, prevented him from taking a stand.
Patrick saw two of his children obtain university degrees. In 1970, I graduated in English from London, and in 1973 Piers graduated in Zoology from Oxford and began to train for the teaching qualification Cert. Ed. Meanwhile, in 1971 Patrick coped with the double blow of cancer surgery and retirement by taking up genealogy. ‘Quite by accident, in Great Yarmouth, I met a genealogist who was giving up his practice and looking for someone to take it on. I had long been interested in the subject, ever since my late uncle, Sir Francis Grant, for many years the Lord Lyon King of Arms of Scotland, had introduced me to it while I was still a schoolboy. I joined the London Society of Genealogists, advertised in the Genealogists’ Magazine, and specialised in East Anglian searches. In three years I had built up a considerable concern.’
In 1972 Geraldine was beginning to be ill with what would eventually be diagnosed as a schizo-affective disorder. Five years of consultations and treatment as in- and out-patient slowly produced an improvement that enabled her gradually to resume work and a social life, and eventually to marry, in 1977, the son of an Army Lieutenant Colonel at the Larkhill School of Gunnery. But her condition was fragile and in early 1978 Patrick and Rachel moved to Oxford to be nearer to them, and to Piers, now reading for a DPhil. Working from a seat in Duke Humfry’s Library in the Bodleian, Patrick set about new genealogical researches in Oxfordshire. Piers graduated DPhil. in 1979 and began teaching in the schools sector. In 1981 Geraldine’s condition deteriorated again, and she was admitted to hospital where, on 17 December 1981, she attempted to discharge herself and was killed by a Sherpa van skidding on the icy road in front of the hospital gates. She was just 32. In 1982 I married in London, and nine months later my husband suffered a fatal heart attack. Neither Geraldine nor I had had children.
Patrick and Rachel soldiered on through what was a heartbreakingly sad time for them. They stayed in Oxford for a further two years, then, in June 1984 they moved to Warwick to be closer to Piers, then a member of the Jesus Fellowship Church, a.k.a. The Jesus Army, and based in Coventry. During 1987 Patrick was immensely heartened by an approach from Tom Donovan, specialist military publisher, keen to republish Men of Alamein, which duly appeared in the UK that year. But Patrick’s health was beginning to fail and they were not happy in Warwick, and in April 1989 they moved back to Oxford, where Patrick died two years’ later on 22 February 1991 aged 83. A Memorial Service was held for him in Oxford on 23 October 1991 ― the 49th Anniversary of the Battle of El Alamein.
Patrick never ceased to be a Scot: Scotland was always his oldest loyalty. Likewise, he was always an officer, unfailingly able to take command of any situation at no notice. When, aged 19, I was pursued down a deserted side road by a strange man with, apparently, a gun at my back, and managed to break away and ran straight home to my father, he had the police on the scene in minutes and an ID parade organised for the next day. On another occasion, woken in the small hours by the sound of the house opposite ablaze, Patrick (followed by Piers) went straight over to see if anyone was in. He used a garden chair to smash the glass back door and shouted in, but the blaze was too fierce for any response to have been audible. In fact the house was empty, but Piers recalls being very struck by his father’s presence of mind and dramatic action. Always able to take charge, Patrick never ever pulled rank, and seldom talked of his War record. That was the past, and he looked forward. There was always much to be done and life was busy. It was only in his last years that too much loss ― a daughter, his work, his old friends, his hobbies and lastly his health ― saw his life finally running into the sand.
*****
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Appendix 1:
‘In the Shadow of the Himalayas’
“An emerald set in pearls”
Patrick Denholm-Young
Thus have the poets named the country of Kashmir, that beautiful land of mountains, lakes and rivers which lies between Northern India and Central Asia, between Afghanistan and Tibet.
When you have spent many moons in the sweltering plains of India, and when, at long last, your turn has come for leave, the mountains of Kashmir, with their cooling breezes wafted down from the eternal snows of the Himalayas, beckon irresistibly.
Rawalpindi is the usual “jumping-off” place. It is the nearest railway station to Srinagar, the capital of Kashmir, two hundred odd miles away. From Rawalpindi, numerous agencies run cars to and from Srinagar, the cost of the car varying with the demand. At the height of the season it will be as much as Rs. 100, while, if trade is bad, it may be as little as Rs. 40. For those who are not too well endowed with this world’s goods, it is possible to get a seat in the mail lorry for Rs. 25. As “Sahibs” invariably get the front seat beside the driver, this is by no means a bad method of travelling. The writer has travelled this way, and was very glad to do so ― as his motor bicycle broke down miles from anywhere! It is quite comfortable, and luggage can be sent on by another lorry very cheaply; only, the mail takes two days, whereas a private car can cover the whole distance in one.
The road from Rawalpindi to Murree, thirty-seven miles away, is somewhat hilly. In fact, it rises 5500 feet in the last seventeen miles! Even if there were no police speed limit of 15 m.p.h., it would be difficult enough to exceed this, going up at any rate. Nearing Murree the tropical vegetation is left behind, and scenery of an almost Scottish character is met. Great pine-trees reach their majestic heads towards the deep blue sky, and the sweet scent of resin brings back memories of the Highlands.
Murree is a quaint little place. It is best described as a Swiss village. Houses and log huts perched on precipitous hillsides, and the huge pine-trees all round, help the illusion.
It seems almost a waste to have climbed up to 7000 feet, for, during the next thirty miles, we drop down to 2000 feet, to cross the river Jhelum at Kohala. Kohala is an exceedingly dirty little village. It is, however, an important place, being the last outpost of British India. Once across the bridge, and we are in the State of Kashmir.
From Kohala, through Domel where the Customs post is, and through Chinari to Baramulla, the road twists and turns, following the gorge of the river Jhelum through the Pir Panjal Mountains. It is a very dangerous road during the rains, being built on a very steep hillside. It is invariably blocked by land-slides for days at a time during wet weather, and many bridges have a nasty habit of getting washed away just before you want to cross them.
Baramulla is the last village in the Pass, and the final thirty miles to Srinagar is through the beautiful Vale of Kashmir on a welcome straight road.
Srinagar itself is reminiscent of London in its formation. It is built on either side of the river Jhelum, a river about the width of the Thames, over which are numerous bridges. The native city is down river, the European portion of the town well above it. Up river, a multitude of houseboats line both banks, and many people live in them all the year round. A great many Service people retire to this place; and they might do much worse ― there being no income tax!
The old city is most interesting, especially when the caravans arrive from Central Asia, as they do in June. These caravans, bringing silks, skins and brass goods, meet at Leh, sixteen marches away, and then come down to Srinagar to barter their goods.
It is at these times that a knowledge of the language is more than useful, in order to speak to these most interesting people. They are full of humour and most willing to talk about themselves, their country, and the hundred and one trivial things that make up their existence. Human nature is much the same the whole world over! The majority are not amassing vast wealth, but merely earning the right to live in peace and security.
Just above the Club a canal gives entrance into the famous Dal Lake with its wonderful floating gardens. Everywhere are houseboats with their attendant cookboats. A houseboat is really very comfortable, consisting of two or three bedrooms, according to size, each with its own little bathroom, a dining-room and a sitting-room. A portion of the roof is flat, with a stairway leading up to it, and this makes an excellent verandah on which to sleep during the hot weather. The Dal Lake is really a collection of lakes, and round their shores are the famous gardens, the Nasim, Nishat and the Shalimar. These were the gardens of the Moghul Emperors. The Nishat was the Empresses’ private garden, while the Shalimar belonged to the Emperor. It is rather wonderful to be paddled round this Dal Lake in a “Shikara,” a flat-bottomed boat, in the mystic light of a full moon. Those sentimentally inclined, beware!
Leading from this wonderful Vale of Kashmir are numerous valleys, such as the Lyddar and the Sind. Up these valleys splendid trout-fishing is to be had; while the beauty of the flowers is one of the wonders of the world. If golf is the object of the holiday, Srinagar is not good. Gulmarg, thirty miles away, and 9300 feet up, is the finest course in India. There are, in fact, two eighteen-hole courses, and with their fresh grass greens they are a golfer’s paradise after the usual “browns” of the Plains.
The view from Gulmarg is magnificent, the Peak of Nanga Parbat being visible on a clear day. The majestic symmetry of this peak makes it the most beautiful mountain in the world.
The Watsonian, Vol.xxviii, No. 1 (December 1931), pp. 19–22.
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Appendix 2:
‘Edinburgh from the Braid Hills’
By J. R. Edmonston[653]
Leave the city of Edinburgh by the road leading to the south, skirting the western slopes of the Braid Hills; turn aside at the tram terminus and follow the winding roadway up to the club house of the famous Municipal Golf Course. Leave the car here and climb still farther until you reach the flagstaff on the knoll above the club house, and before you stretches one of the finest views in all the world.
Right at your feet lies the grey metropolis of the north, the modern Athens set upon its seven hills. Stone buildings interspersed with greenery cover the slopes which stretch as far as the Firth of Forth, great terraces stepping down to the sea.
In the centre of this ocean of grey stands the city fortress, the ancient Castle. Solid and sombre, it remains unchanging throughout the passing years as an emblem of the endurance of the Scottish race; while all around it, as far as the eye can see, church spires raise their lofty pinnacles.
Westwards, just visible over the shoulder of Craiglockhart Hill, a cantilever of the Forth Bridge makes the onlooker gasp with astonishment at the immensity of this feat of modern engineering. It seems almost unreal, this great mass of steel standing out gaunt and clear against the shining waters of the estuary. Farther west, the river twists and winds through the beautiful valley of the Forth, a silver ribbon laid on a carpet of greenery; again, in the far distance, the jagged peaks of the mountains of the Trossachs can just be discerned in the gathering mist. A little southward, and on the far horizon, Ben Lomond rears its massive head towards the sky.
Turning northwards, and looking across the smaller hills of Fife, the Ochil Mountains stand out clear and distinct against the dimmer suggestion of the great Cairn Gorms beyond. In the evening, the rays of the setting sun paint these Ochil Mountains with a purple glory right to their heather-clad tops, and the same rays cast a golden mantle over the waters of the Firth, until the many islands dotted about its surface gleam like “emeralds chased in gold.”[654]
Away to the east, the reclining lion of Arthur’s Seat keeps its eternal watch over the Ancient City, and over the Royal Palace of Holyrood at its feet. While, farther off, North Berwick Law, that home of the sea birds, stands bleak and lonely in the midst of the sea.
Southwards, towards the Borderlands, the heather-clad tops of the Lammermoor Hills present a rolling contrast to the jagged peaks of the north. Like a sea of purple heather, they stretch away into the distance until they appear to merge with the fleecy clouds.
Over this very spot on which we stand, Sir Walter Scott brought the English baron, Lord Marmion, and one can well understand, looking over this wondrous landscape, the feelings which prompted the squire, Fitz Eustace, to throw his cap in the air and shout:-
“Where’s the coward that would not dare
To fight for such a land!”[655]
The Autocar, April 22nd, 1932, p. 651.
(as part of its ‘Exploring Britain’ series)
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Appendix 3:
CHRONOLOGY 1906–1991
8 September 1906 Born 16 Abbotsford Park, Morningside,
Edinburgh
1912 Summer (aged 6) First ride on a motor cycle, Morningside.
1914 Summer (7) First ride in a motor car, at Ballater.
The family moved temporarily to rented accommodation in Balerno.
30 September 1915 (9) Admitted to George Watson’s College, Edinburgh. Ultimately captained the 1st XV.
In the summer holidays, played golf with his father at Mortonhall on the Braid Hills.
July 1923 (16) Passed Higher Education Scotland, Intermediate Certificate in English, Maths, Latin, French, Science and Drawing.
Spring 1924 (17) A legacy of £2000 from a great aunt, which would pay for his training (as did a similar sum for Hilda).
14 May 1924 The family moved to 9 Abbotsford Park.
June 1925 (18) Failed the Army Entrance Examination, but was successfully nominated to a cadetship by the Army Council.
July 1925 Passed Higher Education Scotland, Leaving Certificate in English, Maths, French and Science.
4 September 1925 (18) Entered the Royal Military Academy, Woolwich as Gentleman Cadet No. 11795.
Taught to ride in the Riding School.
29 January 1927 (20) Commissioned into the Royal Corps of Signals as Second Lieutenant, Land Forces, and ordered to report to the Signal Training Centre at Catterick Camp, Yorks. Courses in cable laying. And a riding course – six weeks of sheer delight.
A year later, had learnt to drive and acquired a Belsize-Bradshaw called ‘Chug’ and then a Talbot called ‘Benjamin’.
4 August Qualified as an Instructor of Signalling at the School of Signals, Catterick.
August 1928 (21) Bulford Camp, Salisbury Plain : 3rd Divisional Signals, as Subaltern
End Feb/Early In Cambridge for 2 weeks to help coach a
March 1929 (22) dozen undergraduates through the Certificate B Examination of the O.T.C.
29 January 1930 (23) Promoted to Lieut.
27 February Death of Ebenezer Denholm-Young
Summer At Exeter, with the 3rd Field Brigade, Royal Artillery.
Late Summer Notification of posting to India.
November (24) A superb day’s hunting on Salisbury Plain.
9 January 1931 Southampton. Embarked on SS Lancashire, for Bombay.
24 January Docked in Bombay. Two day journey across the Central Provinces on the Frontier Mail.
26 January Arrival Rawalpindi for breakfast at the Royal Signals Mess.
May Two months’ leave in Srinagar, Vale of Kashmir.
29 June Back to Rawalpindi and the ‘airless plains’. Bought a typewriter, taught himself how to use it, and settled down to serious writing.
October 1931(25) Sat written and oral examinations in Urdu.
?2-5 November Out commanding a Camp for three days 30 miles from Peshawar, near Taxila (where the water supply may have been tainted).
?11 November Admitted to the Military Hospital, Rawalpindi with Shiga Dysentery. It was five weeks before he could return to work.
December His article ‘In the Shadow of the Himalayas’ published in The Watsonian, Edinburgh.
Early March 1932 Hospitalised again, with a mild recurrence of Dysentery.
Early April Up to the Murree Hills, Kashmir, for the hot season.
22 April ‘Edinburgh from the Braid Hills’ published in The Autocar magazine.
16 May Death of Signalman Frank Cottam. His military funeral took place the following day.
2 September Left Murree for Peshawar, for a brief tour of the North West Frontier.
3 September Drove up the Khyber Pass to Landi Kotal, and saw the famous view across the North West Frontier into Afghanistan; and then back down the Pass and on to Peshawar, and the midnight train for Rawalpindi.
6-13 October 1932 (26) A final spell of leave to see the great sights of India. Jhelum/Lahore/Ambala/Amritsar/Agra, for the Taj Mahal, the Fort, the Jasmine Tower and Akbar’s Mausoleum/New Delhi
3 November Leaves Rawalpindi for the last time.
5 November Evening train from Jhansi for Bombay, a 3-day journey on the Great Indian Peninsular Railway across the Central Provinces.
8 November Sailed from Bombay in the HMT Lancashire
21 days at sea, including another boiling passage through the Red Sea.
29 November Disembarked at Southampton and drove up to Edinburgh for 2 months leave.
1933–1935 Three wonderful years of sport, captaining the Royal Signals rugger XV, playing in Trials for Yorkshire and the Army, and playing golf for the Corps.
Early February 1933 Reported back to the home Battalion of his regiment, the Signal Training Centre at Catterick Camp, Yorkshire.
May possibly have begun a love affair with a girl met at a tennis party in Darlington.
30 July – 10 September (27)Six weeks’ annual leave. Spent approximately a week climbing on Skye and visiting the Outer Hebrides.
The love affair, if there was one, ended in late 1933. There follows a gap of a year in his letters to Margaret.
Early 1935 (28) Applied to be posted to Aldershot, to join the First Divisional Signals, and duly reported to Mons Barracks, Aldershot. One of his happiest years. He was part of a friendly unit, being properly instructed by a real professional: and was now developing a passionate interest in the work of the Signals Corps.
Summer Re-registered on the Correspondence Course to prepare himself to take the Staff College Entrance Examination 2 years hence, in early 1937.
June Took his Unit to Bordon Camp, Hants, to spend the summer as Signal Officer to the Third Infantry Brigade.
London, for the Watsonian Club Summer Golf Meeting: won the McJerrow bowl.
August Appointed to join the Signal Training Centre of the Nigeria Regiment in Zaria, Northern Nigeria on secondment to the Royal West African Frontier Force, for service under the Colonial Office: from 27 November.
Early November (29) Sailed from Liverpool on Accra for Lagos. Disembarked at Takoradi, to drive to Accra for a night at the Gold Coast Regimental Mess, and re-embark for Lagos.
Took the Ocean Mail from Lagos to Kano, some 750 miles north-east.
1936–37 (29–30) Nigeria: as the senior Royal Signals officer on the whole of the West Coast of Africa at that time.
1936 Learnt Hausa ‘in about 8 months’.
Wrote to Hilda offering to stay in Nigeria for 6 years to be able to send Margaret £20 a month.
mid-June Drove up to Maidugari, 600 miles N-W from Zaria, and 80 miles from Lake Chad.
25 July Promoted to temporary rank of Captain while with R.W.A.F.F.
16 December (30) Death of Margaret Denholm-Young.
Spring 1937 Sat the Staff College Entrance Examination at Kaduna, but failed.
Was now the only scratch golfer in Nigeria.
Local leave, spent looking at the Nigerian coast from the sea, aboard the SS Wahehe cruising westwards along the coast to Fernando Po and Kribi, within 3º of the Equator. ‘Tremendous fun.’
July Home for good. Sailed from Lagos on the Accra again for Southampton.
Then 4½ months’ leave, spent in Scotland, pottering round North West France and finally the Thames Valley.
Late 1937 (31) Posted to Aldershot, Mons Barracks, to the Army Corps Signals – for a year.
Early Autumn Aldershot Military Hospital for 21 days with Typhoid fever, then Officers’ Convalescent Home at Osborne House, IOW.
29 January 1938 Promoted Captain.
Early 1939 (32) One of five posted to become Adjutants to Anti-Aircraft Divisional Signal Units being hurriedly formed by the TA to provide artillery defence against expected German bombers: was sent to Liverpool. Eventually fell out with his C.O. and was posted to Northern Command HQ at York.
New Year 1940 (33) Noticed A.T.S. officer, Rachel Kitching.
Posted to 3rd Army Signals, London.
A month’s attachment to the B.E.F. in Northern France ― to visit every HQ and bring back the fullest possible information on the communications system and methods. His tour took him right up to Metz, and the HQ of the famous 51st Highland Division on the western end of the Maginot Line. Back via Verdun, Rheims, Rouen (in a cinema, and just caught the last train out) for Le Havre.
Mid–1940 Six months at Ashfield Hall, near Birkenhead, as Second-in-Command, 38th Welsh Divisional Signals, the Wirral.
January–May 1941 (34) At the Staff College, Camberley, attending War Course No. 5. Graduated ‘PSC’.
June Promotion to Brigade Major, and posted to No. 2 Signal Training Centre, Prestatyn, North Wales.
July Promoted to Lieutenant Colonel, and posted to Huddersfield to take command of a newly-formed Signal Unit.
Brief period of Embarkation Leave in Edinburgh. A telephone call from the CSO of Scottish Command. It transpired, the Unit was 51st Highland Divisional Signals (51HD). Reported to Aberdeen.
Autumn (35) Inspection visit by Colonel-in-Chief, H.R.H. The Princess Royal.
Visit from the Commander-in-Chief, Home Forces and other very top brass. The decision was being made as to which Scottish Regiment would go to the Middle East.
51HD transferred to Aldershot for 6 weeks to mobilize on to a full war footing.
Inspection visit of T.M. The King and Queen.
17 June 1942 Embarkation on the Clyde as C.O. of 51HD Signals Unit.
18 June Sailed in the SS Stratheden, P&O liner for a destination as yet unknown: 8 weeks’ voyage with halts at Freetown and Durban, ending in a dash, unescorted, up the Red Sea. They made Suez in the dawn of Wednesday 12 August.
12 August Slept that night in a tent at Tehag Transit Camp near Tel-el-Kebir, in the Eastern Desert of the Sinai Peninsular.
12–26 August Two weeks’ wait there while 51HD assembled; took opportunity to drive into Cairo to see Major-General Penney at G.H.Q. Middle East.
All officers summoned to the Camp cinema to be addressed by General Alexander, then Winston Churchill.
26 August approx. A rumour that Rommel was advancing on Cairo; 51HD was hurriedly moved to a site on the Mena Road, near the Pyramids.
26 August – 8 September. Encamped at Mena for about 2 weeks.
8 September (36) 51HD moved out into the Western Desert to be encamped in a Reserve Area for about six weeks, practising for the Alamein battle. Spent much time reconnoitering the battlefields alone, planning his signals operation.
22 October 51HD moved up to take up their position just west of Alamein Station.
Mon 23 October 1942 22.55 pm: Opening barrage of the Second Battle of El Alamein.
Wed 4 November 1942 Culmination of the 13-day Battle of El Alamein.
The Battle passed on and 51HD remained behind, encamped at Daba on the coast, to consolidate and carry out essential maintenance. Having problems with his left eye.
18 November 51HD set out for Tobruk, passing through Sidi Barrani, Mersa Matruh. Climbed the Helfia Pass alone.
c. late November Three day journey alone to Benghazi.
early December 51HD spent three weeks at Agedabia, preparing to fight at Mersa Brega, a battle that never materialised.
?7 December Flew to Cairo for 5 days to see ophthalmologist Dr Hyla Bristow Stallard.
11 December Flew back to the Desert.
21 December approx. On to Agheila, for Christmas and New Year.
Early January 1943 Through Marble Arch to Nofilia, Sultari and Sirte where they started to prepare for the last push.
14/15/16 January Battle of the Wadi Zem Zem.
17/18 January Along the dangerous coast road from Sirte to Buerat, where he lost his Chief Signal Officer. Continued, chasing the Germans up the coast to Misurata.
19/20/21 January The Battle of Homs: a bloody fight to gain the hilltop fort.
22 January On the move, through ravines with smashed roads/bridges ― which the Sappers had to repair fast.
23 January After a 1500 mile chase across the Western Desert, entered Tripoli ahead of the 51HD. ‘Found it a place of the dead.’
27 January Orders to leave his 51HD Signals Unit in Tripoli, and join GHQ Middle East Force as G.S.O.1. to the Signal-Officer-in-Chief
3 February Churchill flew to Libya and addressed the
Eighth Army in a natural amphitheatre just outside Tripoli. ‘I am here to thank you on behalf of His Majesty’s Government of he British Isles and of all our friends the world over.’
February 1943 to At G.H.Q., M.E.F., Cairo.
April 1944 (36–37) At one point, had to visit the 9th Army near Beirut and drove out there through the bleak Eastern Desert, via Haifa and Jerusalem.
Began to write ‘Men of Alamein’.
Late March 1943 While his chief was away, was ‘occupying the chair’.
6 June Has now signed a contract with Schindler for ‘Men of Alamein’.
September (37) Men of Alamein published by R. Schindler, Cairo.
c. October ‘I re-visited the battlefield myself one year afterwards, and it was still bleak and dusty as hell!’
13 January 1944 Mentioned in Despatches ‘for gallant or meritorious action in the Middle East’
April Posted to Sicily and then the Italian mainland as Chief Signal Officer in charge of the Lines of Communication Signals behind the Eighth Army.
Official photographic portrait by Studio Cavalieri, Perugia.
Lived at the Hotel Subasio, Assisi, while it was his Signals HQ. Developing an ulcer, spent two weeks in the hospital ‘at the top of the town’ before going with a friend over to Orvieto and Lake Bolsena to camp and recuperate. Loved the work and Italy, but the ulcer necessitated transfer to less arduous work, in Athens.
In Bari, in transit for Greece, had a miraculous escape from the effects of an explosion (an ammunition ship) in the harbour.
In Athens, he developed back pain, but soldiered on, until unexpectedly recalled to Italy. On board ship to Naples this became incapacitating, and he was transferred to a military hospital in Taranto. Eventually, returned to Caserta, but the ulcer recurred, and it was decided he should return home. An ambulance to Naples, and the Bergensfiord bound for Renfrew. Reporting to the Home Office, he was sent on leave.
28 June 1945 (38) O.B.E. ‘for gallant or distinguished services in Italy’
19 July Mentioned in Despatches ‘for gallant or meritorious action in Italy’ and promoted full Colonel.
1945 Songs of Soldiers, published privately.
Early 1946 On return from leave, was posted back to Catterick Camp, Yorkshire.
6 June Meanwhile, Rachel Kitching was appointed to the post of Personal Assistant to the Assistant Chief of Staff, South East Asia Command Headquarters in Ceylon, and arrived there at the end of August. She was there for about seven months.
16 July 1946 (39) Marriage to Rachael Kitching.
1947 Will You Take My Torch? published privately.
28 September 1947 (41) Birth of Serena.
18 September 1949 (43) Birth of Geraldine Alyson.
18 June 1950 Retired from the Army as a full Colonel, with 5 WW2 campaign medals, 2 Mentions in Despatches and an O.B.E.
1950–1955 Bursar and Secretary to Outward Bound Trust Mountain Training School, Eskdale, West Cumbria; moved his family to Eskdale Green.
17 November 1951 (45) Birth of Piers Anthony.
1955 Almost lost Rachel during major cancer surgery.
1956 Transferred, by the Outward Bound Trust, to be General Secretary to its Council in London. Moved his family move to Liss, Hants.
9 January 1957 (50) Qualified FCCS, Fellow of the Corporation of Chartered Secretaries
1958–1961 (51–55) Secretary to Distressed Gentlefolks’ Aid Association, London.
29 May 1958 Further anxiety over Rachel, undergoing more cancer surgery.
1961 Appointed General Manager, and ultimately Managing Director, Pollastra Packers Ltd., Eye, Suffolk – and moved his family to Norwich.
October 1967 Serena up to University College London to read English.
April 1970 (63) Qualified FCIS, Fellow of the Chartered Institute of Secretaries.
19 August Major cancer surgery.
October Piers up to Queens’ College, Oxford to read zoology.
8 September 1971 (65) Retired and took up a third career as a genealogist.
Summer 1972 Geraldine admitted to the David Rice Hospital, Norwich: the start of a major breakdown
June 1974 Piers, having obtained a Cert. Ed., returned to Oxford to do a DPhil. in Ecology.
15 October 1977 (71) Marriage of Geraldine and Philip Price.
21 July 1978 Moved with Rachel to Oxford.
17 December 1981 (75) Death of Geraldine: hit by a van on an icy road outside Stone Hospital, Bucks.
15 July 1982 Marriage of Serena to Colin Moore.
29 June 1984 (77) Moved with Rachel to Warwick.
1987 (81) Men of Alamein republished by Spa Books in association with Tom Donovan Publishing Ltd
14 April 1989 (82) Moved with Rachel back to Oxford
Summer 1990 (83) 19 Sessions of Radiotherapy.
22 February 1991 (84) Death in Oxford.
Obituary Notice: The Journal of the Royal Signals Institution.
23 October 1991 Memorial Service in Oxford ― on the 49th anniversary of the Battle of El Alamein.
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Appendix 3:
THE DENHOLM-YOUNG GENEALOGY
Patrick Young burgess of the burgh of Dumfries, and surgeon, flourished there at the end of the 16th century. He married Jonet [sic] Drummond prior to 1562 and they had 5 children:
James
Isobel
Marjory
2 further daughters
James Young, surgeon and burgess of Dumfries. He married Grizzel Maxwell and they too had 5 children:
James, surgeon and burgess, seems to have died without issue.
John
Patrick
Margaret
Isobel
John Young of Guilliehill, burgess and Notary Public in Dumfries 1607–12. In 1612 acquired the 2 merkland of Broomrig and Foord, ancient ecclesiastical lands belonging to the Abbey of Holywood, and the fishing of Caving Kar. In 1615, gave his father a charter of the 40/- land of Gulliehill. By 1625 he was Sheriff Clerk of Edinburgh. Murdered in 1626 by Sir Robert Maxwell of Conheath and William and Robert his sons, and left no issue. In 1625 John Young had disposed of his lands of Guilliehill etc to his nephews, sons of his brother Patrick, surgeon, burgess, who married Helen Newall. Patrick and Helen had 7 children:
James Young of Broomrigg married Mariota Carruthers of
Rammerscales, daughter of John the Second Laird, in 1625. In 1626 he inherited Broomrigg. In 1648 he obtained further land at Broomrig. Jamed and Mariota died without issue.
John, who succeeded his uncle to the Guillyhill estate, was dead by 1657, and had two sons, John and James.
Robert (a surgeon) who inherited Auchenskeoch and other
estates with his brother Patrick
Patrick who inherited Auchenskeoch and other estates with his brother Robert
Isobel
Helen
Margaret
John Young of Guilliehill. His calling and the name of his wife are unknown. He was dead by 1657, leaving two sons:
John Young of Guilliehill
James Young of Stepfoord and Broomrigg left an only daughter.
John Young of Guilliehill (the third) married circa 1663 Mary Elliot. Two sons recorded:
James Young of Guilliehill, who succeeded his father.
Captain Gilbert Young of the Scots Brigade, who married
Elizabeth Dalzell, whose sister Nicolas [sic] married Wm Denholm.
James Young of Guilliehill. Married Sarah (b. 1677), third daughter of the Revd. William Veitch (1640–1722) minister of St Michael’s Dumfries by his wife Marion Fairley ‘of the ancient house of Braid’. James, possibly a merchant, was admitted burgess in 1712. In 1715 he was a Commissioner of Supply, and before his death in 1723 was Collector of Customs at Dumfries. They had 15 children:
John (who died without issue)
Gilbert (who died without issue)
Ebenezer who succeeded his father to Guilliehill in 1759, and
died 1776 unmarried)
James (who may have died young)
Samuel Young of Guilliehill, who succeeded his brother Ebenezer in 1776
George (of whom little is known)
Lewis
Augustus
William
David
Marion
Sarah
Elizabeth
Jean
Agnes
Ebenezer Young of Guilliehill (b. ?, died 1776)
Succeeded to the estate on the death of his father in 1723, and died unmarried in 1776, so the estate passed to his brother:
Dr Samuel Young of Guilliehill and Broomrigg (1701–82). In 1740 he married Sarah (????–????) widow of William Wyne, R.N. Collector of Customs, Antigua 1729 (who already had an only son, Madeira, (??–??) who died aged 11, and they had an only daughter, Sarah. Sometime practitioner of physic attending Colonel Cawcolt’s Regiment in Antigua and between 1753 and 1764 (aged 52–63) returned to practise as a surgeon in Dumfries, where he was admitted a burgess in 1764. He succeeded to the Broomrigg estate in 1776 on the death of his brother Ebenezer and lived at Guilliehill until his death (renting Broomrigg to his daughter:
Sarah
Sarah Young of Guilliehill and Broomrigg (1741–1824). In 1766 she married Captain William Denholm of the 63rd (West Suffolk) Regiment, second son of William Denholm of Birkbush bailie of Dumfries; the Regiment was engaged in the 1759 capture of Guadaloupe Grand-Terre, and was on active service in the West Indies till 1764. He retired in 1771. In 1776 they rented Broomrig from her father, and they both died there. They had 11 children:
William (b. 1767 and died young)
Samuel
Margaret (b. 1779 and married a Somerville)
Sarah (b. 1769)
Nicolas (b. 1770)
Jean (b. 1772)
Catharine (b. 1773 d. 10 June 1833)
May (b. 1775: m. 1801 Oswald Weir Esq)
Anne (b. 1776)
Elizabeth Denholm (b. 1780, d. 05/07/1865) married John
Hamilton Kennedy, (1759–1826), Writing Master and Teacher of French in Dumfries: two sons, Colonel John Hamilton Kennedy (1805–1865), Madras Native Infantry, and William Denholm Kennedy, (1813–1865) artist [also a daughter, Marion, who married a Duff?]
Lydia (b. 1781).
Samuel Denholm Young of Guiliehill and Broomrigg (1777–1854). Officer in the 21st Fusiliers. In 1803 he married Helen Goldie. Succeeded to the estate in 1824 on the death of his mother. He built considerable additions to Broomrigg but sold the whole estate in 1838 for reasons that are not recorded. 10 children:
William (b. 1814 and died in Australia leaving one son Oliver),
Archibald Goldie (b. 1816, d. 1893) Colonel, Madras Army,
H.E.I.C.S., twice married
Samuel (b. 1820, a Lieut. Colonel in the Madras Army)
Marion (b. 1804 and died 1897 unmarried)
Sarah (1806–48), later Mrs John Hamilton Kennedy: 4 daughters.
Helen Goldie (1808–40 unmarried)
Catherine (1810–82 unmarried)
Harriet R (1812–13)
Jane (1818–46 unmarried)
Elizabeth Stott (1823–48 unmarried)
Colonel Samuel Denholm Young of Guilliehill and Broomrig (1820–1910). A Lieut. Colonel in the Madras Army, with 26 years’ service in India. On leave 1839–40, his portrait was painted by Maxwell of Dumfries. Married, in 1850 in Cape Town, Margaret Jessie Adamson Miller, (19 Jan 1827 to 25 May 1912) daughter of Rev. E Miller, Principal of Chinsurah College near Calcutta. 10 children:
Mary Anna (b. 1851) who married Major Richard Hotchkis
Jane Eleanor (b. 1852) ‘Aunt Jeannie’, who died without issue
Catharine Denholm (b. 1853, d. 1940) ‘Aunt Kate’
Married Archibald F. Woodburn, I.C.S., one daughter
Jessie Helen (b. 1855, d. 05/06/1927 without issue) ‘Aunt Jessie’.
Adah Denholm (b. 1856, d. 19/06/54). Unmarried.
Ebenezer, W.S. (1857–1930) Married Jessie Woodburn ( …..),
daughter of Dr David Woodburn, H.E.I.C.S. (father of Sir John, Governor of Bengal) and sister to Sir John Woodburn, Governor of Bengal, then, on 7 June 1899, at St Stephen’s, South Lambeth, Margaret Logie Hamilton Edmondston (26/05/1865- 07/12/1936), daughter of the late David C Edmondston of Buness, Baltasound, Ordale, Shetland. At 16 Abbotsford Park, Edinburgh they had two children, Hilda Margaret (1903–99) and Clement Patrick Samuel (1906–91)
Archibald Goldie (1858–16/06/42), married Ella Agnes Agnew Wallace, solicitor. [‘Aunt Ella’]
John Denholm (1863 –1933) ‘Uncle Denholm’; brilliant mathematician; married Mira Phillips: 3 sons:
Eric John Denholm [“Tim”], Brigadier, OBE, DSO (twice, in Burma), MiD; Army number A1495: 13th Frontier Force Rifles (1900–??)
Noel, D. Litt (1903–75)
Edward Godfrey Denholm (1909-95) Revd.
Marion (b. 1864, d. 30/01/1946: married John W. Cousin, F.F.A, and produced 6 children including William George and David Ross
John Denholm-Young M.I.N.A. [Member of the Institute of Naval Architects] (1863–1933). A marine engineer. Died 18 January 1933, late of 33 Brompton Avenue, Liverpool.
Colonel Clement Patrick Samuel Denholm-Young (1906–91) married Rachel Estcourt Kitching in 1946 and they had 3 children, Serena, Geraldine Alyson and Piers Anthony.
Dr Piers Anthony Denholm-Young (1951–
__________________________________________________
Index
-----------------------
[1] From an unpublished novel by the author.
[2] Someone possessing the full municipal rights, or freedom, of a borough: usually suggestive of relatively high status or respectability.
[3] ‘land within the boundaries of’.
[4] The roots stabilize sandy soils on slopes, the hard wood can be used in veneering, the tough, flexible branches are employed in basket-weaving, thatching, and broom-making; the bark yields tannin for tanning and fibre for weaving, and a bitter flavouring for brewing beer, while the leaf tops are a winter fodder for sheep, and the leaves yield a green dye. Its medicinal properties, for slowing the heart and lowering blood-pressure, have been recognized since the eleventh century.
[5] Guilliehill, Over Broomrigg, Hardlawbank, Williamsfield, Charlesfield, Myerside, Gateside, etc.
[6] Archibald Campbell, 9th Earl (1629-85), of Inveraray Castle, colonel in the foot guards serving Charles II, and eventually tried for high treason and executed 1685 for his part in the Monmouth Rebellion, the attempt by James Monmouth, illegitimate son of Charles II and claimant to the throne, to overthrow James II who had succeeded on 6 Feb 1685. Monmouth and his supporters laid their plans during self-imposed exile in Holland, from whence Campbell landed with a small force in Scotland.
[7] Bailiff, i.e. the chief magistrate of an area, with functions equivalent to those of a sheriff.
[8] The estate then passed to the Trustees of John Airston of Greenhill, and was let to a series of tenants for the next 94 years until in 1932, its 623 acres including three good farms, were acquired by Thomas George McMicking and owned by his descendents until 1951, when it passed to the Weir family, and in 2007 to the present owners.
[9] Originally, the Signet was the private seal of the early Scottish Kings, and the Writers to the Signet were those authorised to supervise its use and, later, to act as clerks to the Courts. The earliest recorded use of the Signet was in 1369, and Writers were included as members of the College of Justice when it was established in 1532, but the Society of Writers did not take definite shape until 1594, when the King’s Secretary, as Keeper of the Signet, granted Commissions to a Deputy Keeper and eighteen other writers. Based in the Signet Library, on the South side of the Royal Mile, it continues today to promote the highest standards in legal services, and is one of the oldest professional bodies in the world.
[10] A public officer constituted by law to serve the public in non-contentious matters usually concerned with estates, deeds, powers-of-attorney, and foreign and international business. A notary’s main functions are to administer oaths, and witness and authenticate the execution of certain classes of documents, etc. Notaries public have existed in Scotland since the 13th century and developed as a distinct element of the Scottish legal profession. Whilst notaries in Scotland are always solicitors, the profession remains separate,and it is possible to be a solicitor, but not a notary. In Scotland, the duties and services provided by the notary are generally similar to those in England and Wales, although they are needed for some declarations in divorce matters for which they are not in England.
[11] The British encampment was situated near the Fort that housed the regimental offices. There was a small church at the corner of the parade ground, and the London Missionary Society had a school within the town where English was taught. The town principally manufactured cotton goods and fine muslins.
[12] Originating from the grant of Letters Patent to John Kempe and company, weavers, in 1331
[13] Henceforth, material quoted from Patrick’s autobiographical accounts appears here in single inverted commas and italics. Ed.
[14] Macadamisation was invented circa 1816 by a Scottish engineer and builder, John Loudon McAdam (1756-1836). The addition of coal tar was a process patented by Edgar Purnell Hooley in 1901). The result was the tarmacadamed road.
[15] Pneumonia has three forms, of which only one responds to antibiotics, another to a limited extent, and a third, the viral form, not at all.
[16] The six-mile Balerno Loop, a branch that left the main Edinburgh to Carstairs line at Slateford, was built by the Caledonian Railway, opened in 1874 and was in operation until 1968.
[17] On 3 January 1917 the Edinburgh to Glasgow express train collided with a stationary light engine in stormy weather near Ratho station, killing 12 people and badly injuring a further 46.
[18] Tyer’s electric train tablet system is a form of signalling for single line rails, first devised in GB in 1874 after the Thorpe rail accident in which 21 died. The basis of the system was a hard disk called a tablet, or token, used as a physical guarantee to the crew of exclusive right of way over the stretch of line ahead, and without which the train could not proceed.
[19] George Watson (1654–1723), merchant, banker and first accountant of the Bank of Scotland, left the bulk of his fortune, through his Will, to be administered by the Merchant Company of Edinburgh, to found a Hospital School for post-primary boarding education. George Watson’s Hospital opened in 1741 with 11 boys. In the 1860s, when the hospital school system fell out of public favour, the foundation was reformed, and reopened in 1870 as the fee-paying day establishment George Watson’s College for Boys in new premises on Archibald Place, between the Castle and the University, with playing fields at Myreside. The following year, the Merchant Company also established George Watson’s Ladies College in Melville House. In 1932 GWC for Boys moved to its present site on the Colinton Road, and was joined there by the Ladies’ College in 1974, when the two amalgamated. Former pupils include Rt Hon. Sir Malcolm Rifkind Q.C., M.P. and Rt. Hon. the Lord Steel of Aikwood, K.T., K.B.E., D.L.
[20] Patrick and Hilda’s great aunt Minnie Hamilton, widow of Dr Donald Hamilton, and daughter of Revd. Hamilton of Shetland.
[21] It is not clear how this was administered, but I imagine that Ebenezer D-Y, a solicitor and highly experienced in such matters, would have invested these sums on behalf of Hilda and Patrick and then paid all bills as they came in from Edinburgh University and from the Royal Academy Woolwich.
[22] Bishop of Rome and martyr c. 230 whose letter to the Corinthians includes: ‘So my dear friends, let us serve resolutely in the army of the Lord, never swerving from his unerring commands ...’
[23] James Ronald Edmonstone Charles(1875–955), later Lieut-General, Sir, K.C.B., C.M.G., D.S.O. Commandant of the RMA, Woolwich 1924–1926, Director of Military Operations and Intelligence at the War Office from 1926, Master-General of the Ordnance from 1931, Commandant of the Royal Engineers 1931–1945, Chief Royal Engineer 1940–1946.
[24] The R.M.A. Magazine, Vol.XXV. No. 100 (October, 1925), pp. 158― No. 100 (October, 1925), pp. 158–9.
[25] Kitty, Molly and Winnie Cook, who became her lifelong friends.
[26] From the French, sapeur, one who mines or saps. The non-commissioned officers and privates of the Engineers who built and repaired fortifications and constructed field works etc., were formerly known as the Royal Sappers and Miners until 1859, when they became the Royal Engineers. The Pioneer Corps, disbanded in 1993, did similar engineering work.
[27] Presumably the J. H. Hooper who, after Winchester, entered the R.M.A. as Gentleman Cadet in 1925.
[28] Perhaps a treatment used to restore the racquet’s polish.
[29] i.e. he may have had to quote an amount to the authorities and plumped for this.
[30] Clennell Percy Collingwood,(1908–19??), son of Brigadier-General Clennell William Collingwood, (1873–1960) C.M.G., D.S.O. of Bristol. After Clifton, Clennell entered the R.M.A. in 1925 and as ‘snookers’ he and Patrick shared a room on arrival. On passing out from the Academy, Collingwood was commissioned into the Royal Artillery.
[31] Kenneth M. Wright was admitted to the R.M.A. as a Cadet in 1924, and played rugger for Scotland as flanker, gaining his first gap in the Scotland v France match at Murrayfield on 19 January 1929.
[32] Stewart Brown (1907–1943), son of Mr and Mrs R. Stewart Brown of Edinburgh, was at Watson’s College 1916–1928, i.e. a year behind Patrick. After graduating in Medicine from Edinburgh in 1935, he joined the R.A.M.C. and served on the N. W. Frontier, and in Palestine and Egypt, before being posted, with the 51st Highland Division, to North Africa where he saw action throughout the Desert Campaign as far as Tunis. Promotion to Lieut.Colonel followed, and with it command of the City of London Unit in the Middle East. He was killed in action, that earned him a Mention in Despatches, at Salerno in September 1943.
[33] To take (a mechanism) from its framework.
[34] In fact, no relation, but an old friend of Margaret’s whom they called ‘Aunt’.
[35] William Donald McFadyean (1906–19??); a schoolfriend from Watson’s, which he entered in 1916, he went on to do a degree in civil engineering at the University of London.
[36] J. C. Smith: He went to the Shop from Watsons (see letter 12 August 1931).
[37] Coates , subsequently Major General....
[38] Don McFadyean: see Note 35.
[39] The tendency to premature baldness may well have been inherited from his father.
[40] Patrick may have begun to read the stylish magazine The Polo Monthly, price 1/-, published in the UK and abroad.
[41] Mr Thomas George Torrance McMicking (1853–1939) and his sister Miss McMicking were tenants at Broomrigg House from c. 1912 and proprietors from 1932. From the 1880s The Scotsman contained regular reports of local country sports ― otter hunting, fox-hunting, angling ― which, from the 1920s Patrick would have read.
[42] Paddy Nolan. Eventually commissioned as a Quartermaster, he did an excellent job in the 1939–1945 War.
[43] Later, after the 1939–1945 War, accepted as standard Mess Kit.
[44] Gramophones had been popular with soldiers since World War I, when troops discovered they could be taken into the trenches to help raise morale and pass the long hours of boredom, thereby giving sales a sudden, quite unexpected boost.
[45] The Aldershot Military Tattoo, an international annual event, was the premier military tattoo in the UK in the inter-war years. Before there was an Edinburgh Tattoo, Aldershot took the lead for sheer scale and spectacle, and continued until 2010. Between 1922 and 1939 the Aldershot Military Searchlight Tattoo was held at the Rushmoor Arena.
[46] A Division in the British Army numbers between 10,000 and 30,000 men.
[47] Stewart Brown (see Note 32), who had left Watson’s in July, would have been awaiting the results of his Higher Education Scotland Leaving Certificate examinations.
[48] Presumably, family friends.
[49] Saugor (Sagar) District, in the central Indian province of what is now Madhya Pradesh, was handed over to the British in 1818 and remained British, except for a brief period in 1857, until independence. From the early 20th century the handsome university town of Saugor had a sizeable British Army cantonment.
[50] This paragraph is presumably about a possible patent.
[51] The Riley Redwing, perhaps?
[52] Captain and Mrs Edward Nanney-Wynn, long-standing family friends and another old military family. Their son Edward (1907–1982) was a cadet at R.M.A. Sandhurst 1926–1927. He retired from the Army as Lieut. Colonel in 1950, and was subsequently Deputy Lord Lieutenant and High Sheriff of Merioneth, Assistant Chief Commissioner of the Welsh branch of the St John’s Ambulance and a Knight of St John.
[53] A farce by Ben Travers, first performed in London in 1927, as the fourth in the series of twelve Aldwych farces that ran 1923–1933.
[54] Sunday, since 6 October 1928 was a Saturday; i.e. this would seem to be all the same trip, though it is not entirely clear.
[55] Alas, these seem not to have survived.
[56] Andrew Nevile Usher (1909–1989) of the famous Scottish family, whisky distillers and responsible for the famous Usher Hall.
[57] Mother of Kitty and Molly. See Note 25.
[58] E. Gerald W. Pearse, ( ........), Royal Engineers. Wounded 1914–1919. Promoted Royal Corps of Signals Adjutant from December 1921.
[59] Lieut. Colonel Sir Peter Farquhar, Bart. D.S.O., O.B.E. was a distinguished MFH, associated with the Whaddon Chase Hunt, the Meynell, etc.
[60] This has since been rebuilt after a fire in 1972.
[61] Named in honour of William Pitt the Younger, who had been a student at Pembroke College, the Pitt Club, founded 1835, was originally a political association of Tory undergraduates, but had become, by 1870, the private dining club it is today, based in a fine Neoclassical clubhouse at 7a Jesus Lane. Its Oxford equivalent is the Gridiron.
[62] Victor Holland
[63] i.e. to Second Lieutenant.
[64] A training exercise, presumably; perhaps under canvas.
[65] Patrick’s first cousin Eric John Denholm Denholm-Young (sic) (always known as ‘Tim’) (1900–1966), eldest son of his father’s younger brother John Denholm Denholm-Young (1863–1933). EJD had a distinguished career in the Army, Frontier Force Rifles, and retired as a Brigadier,with D.S.O. twice. He is buried in the Kranji Military Cemetery, Singapore.
[66] An aunt perhaps?
[67] If so, he may have used the opportunity to mention his application for an overseas posting.
[68] Presumably a 23rd birthday present.
[69] A garrison town in south-east Wiltshire.
[70] Appendectomy in October 1928 following a bad fall on the rugger pitch, a cut that went septic and a septic throat, all of which resulted in two months’ sick leave and the loss of a stone in weight.
[71] By now he would have received all details of the posting to India, and had presumably told his parents.
[72] Charles James Seward Le-Cornu, O.B.E., M.C., (1887–1959) had been Chief Signal Officer, Western Command, and then, most recently, Chief Signal Officer, Shanghai Defence Force (China). He commanded 3rd Division Signals at Bulford 1929–1931. He would go on to be Chief Signal Officer, Eastern Command (India) and finally, 1934–1938, Signal-Officer-in-Chief, Army HQ, India. He retired in 1938, and was recalled in 1939 to be Commandant of the 2nd Signal Training Centre.
[73] The patent for a large Victorian musical instrument, not unlike an organ, played from a keyboard console, and whose notes are sounded by small explosions of flames of gas (propane) in tubes of different length.
[74] See letter 10 above
[75] L. T. Shawcross, who, after Eastbourne, entered the R.M.A. as Gentleman Caded in 1925.
[76] Dermot Lionel Hyde, who, after Wellington, entered the R.M.A. as Gentleman Cadet in 1925.
[77] An error for ‘Guilliehill’
[78] Also written as ‘Chicacole’
[79] Gordon-Wilson
[80] Major General William Samuel Anthony (1874–1943), Director-General, Army Veterinary Services 1929–1933.
[81] C. R. McVittie, the late Ebenezer’s partner at Messrs. Denholm-Young and McVittie, W.S. 15 Rutland Street, Edinburgh. CRM continued to be the Denholm-Young family lawyer for many years to come.
[82] See Note 41.
[83] Patrick used invented names to disguise real identities in this account
[84] Presumably in uniform, i.e. full Royal Corps of Signals Riding Kit.
[85] Hounds are always said to ‘speak’, ‘babble’ and ‘sing’,
[86] HMT Lancashire, 9542 gross tonnage, was built in 1914 by Harland & Wolff of Belfast (who also built Titanic), launched in 1917 and survived, mainly as a troopship, until 1966 when she was broken up. Her moment of glory came in 1944 when she landed troops at Juno beach on D-Day.
[87] Highly acclaimed 1930 British American war film directed by James Whale, based on the play of the same name by R. C. Sherriff. Based on WW1 trench warfare. It was remade in 1976 as ‘Aces High’. The cast included, as 2nd Lieut. Hibbert, the actor Anthony Bushell, who went on to direct Lawrence Olivier in Shakespeare’s Richard III, and who would, decades later, be a near neighbour and friend of Patrick and Rachel in Oxford.
[88] i.e. Saturday 10 January 1931.
[89] Which it did in 2005.
[90] J. B. Wintour, Photographic Dealer, 141 Bruntsfield Place, Edinburgh. This establishment, used by Patrick and Hilda, both keen photographers, for years, held a large stock of Kodak, Brownie and Ensign cameras. Postcard size enlargements cost 6d.
[91] Obscure. Perhaps Stewart Christie & Co. Ltd., traditional bespoke tailors of 63 Queen Street, Edinburgh. Possibly, Patrick had asked Hilda to get and send him some replacement black patent leather boots, to take spurs, for his Mess Kit, worn on all formal occasions and for dancing. See Note 340. Perhaps he had got a friend to photograph himself in full Mess Kit, including the old boots, and wanted a good print of this. Meanwhile, he has sent the same negative to Christie’s, who specialised in evening and highland dress, for them to obtain the right boots and send them out to him.
[92] The Battle of Cape St Vincent 14 February 1797 was one of the opening battles of the Anglo-Spanish (Peninsular) War (1796–1808) as part of the French Revolutionary wars. A British fleet, under Admiral Sir John Jervis, in HMS Victory, defeated a larger Spanish fleet, largely as a result of information gained for him by Commodore Horatio Nelson in HMS Minerve. Jervis’s plan was the forerunner of Nelson’s successful attack at Trafalgar in 1805. British casualties 300, Spanish 1000 and Nelson was made a C.B.
[93] The first words of “Home Thoughts, from the Sea” by Robert Browning (1812–1889): “Nobly, nobly Cape St Vincent to the North-west died away; Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay; Bluish ’mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay; In the dimmest North-east distance dawn’d Gibraltar grand and gray;...”
[94] A different paper with a slightly different heading, presumably a later stock, replacing the earlier peacetime stock saying ‘S.S.’
[95] Also known at the Fresh Water Canal, or the Sweet-Water Canal, this modern canal, completed 1863 to supply drinking water to the citizens of the area, runs from Port Said in the north to Suez in the south.
[96] i.e. Saturday 24 January 1931. The voyage had taken 15 days.
[97] J. S. Yule OBE (........) was restored to Establishment in March 1931, having formerly been Superintendent (Class Z), Signals Experimental Establishment, doing experimental radio work at a site on Woolwich Common, until 13 March.
[98] ‘That beautiful land of mountains, lakes and rivers which lies between Northern India and Central Asia, between Afghanistan and Tibet.’ (From ‘In the Shadow of the Himalayas,’ The Watsonian Vol. xxviii, No. 1. (December 1931), pp. 19–22.
[99] A tiny (5 square miles) volcanic island in the Strait of Mandeb at the southern entrance to the Red Sea, of the south western coast of Yemen. The British occupied it in 1857, and built a tall lighthouse there in 1861. British occupation continued until 1967, when it was handed over to The Yemen. Perhaps the lighthouse, echo of the Lighthouse of Alexandria, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, is why it was called the ‘Gates of Hell’?
[100] In fact, this was Rudyard Kipling’s term for the Island of Perim at the Southern entrance to the Red Sea.
[101] A slang term for the British Pith Helmet (a.k.a. the Solar Topee), the lightweight, cloth-covered helmet made of cork or ‘pith’ (a tissue layer in the stems of vascular plants such as Aeschynomene aspera, a swamp plant native to India and the Far East), to shade the head and face from the sun.
[102] Platanus orientalis, or Oriental Plane. Such trees, locally referred to as ‘chinar (sic) trees’ by Hindu/Urdu speakers, were often used for landscaping historic gardens. For example, four feature on an island, called Char Chinar, in the famous Dal Lake in Srinaga.
[103] Rawalpindi, at about 1000 feet above sea level on the huge flat plains of the Punjab, had been a permanent garrison of the British Army since 1851, and later the Headquarters of the Northern Command and the largest military garrison in British India. By 1900 it was the most important cantonment in the British Raj and could quarter six regiments.
[104] i.e. Monday 26 January 1931.
[105] Dermot Lionel Hyde. See Note 76.
[106] This 1929 Hitchcock thriller, based on the play of the same name by Charles Bennett, was made as a silent film, but also one of the earliest films made with sound, though few cinemas were then equipped to transmit sound. It became a critical and commercial hit.
[107] He means ‘PM’ of course.
[108] An Indian cavalry sport of ancient origin requiring equestrian skill-at-arms with edged weapons against ground targets, not unlike polo. The player, riding at full speed, tries to transfix and carry off on the point of his sword or lance a small ground target (or symbolic tent peg).
[109] Urdu, the language of Hindustan, and now the national language and lingua franca of Pakistan.
[110] The capital of Kohat district, in the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province. It has a military cantonment.
[111] Capital city of the North West Frontier Province, established 1901 by the British and dissolved 1955 following the creation in 1947 of an independent Pakistan.
[112] The mountain pass through a spur of the Safed Koh range (that links into the Hindu Kush system), connecting what was in 1931 the North West Frontier Province of British India with Afghanistan. As part of the ancient Silk Road, the Khyber is one of the oldest known passes in the world. For centuries, an important trade route between Central and South Asia, and a strategic military location. After WW1 the British built a heavily-engineered narrow-guage line up its length to Landi Kotal, and the Khyber Pass Railway opened in 1925.
[113] The summit of the Khyber Pass, on the Indian side, 3.1 miles from the border, with magnificent views into Afghanistan. This was the farthest west station of British rule in India. A formidable centre for smuggling, its bazaar was infamous.
[114] In the event, this tour didn’t materialise, but Patrick did such a tour on his own in September 1932 just before leaving India.
[115] Equivalent to about £42 then.
[116] His first cousin Eric John Denholm (sic) Denholm-Young. See Note 64.
[117] Area in which horses were put through the exercises of the manège.
[118] The nearest upland station to Rawalpindi was in the Murree Hills, 37 miles to the north, and 7000 feet up, in the foothills of the Himalayas, 163 miles by road from the Vale of Kashmir.
[119] See Note 76.
[120] Part of the Scottish Highland Games in the late eighteenth century, and part of the Olympic Games since 1900. The men’s hammer weighs 16 lbs.
[121] See Note 30.
[122] A city in the Ambala District of Haryana State, India, on the border of the state of Punjab, still on the plains, and with a large Indian army cantonment and an airstrip.
[123] i.e. hunting wild boar with a spear, while riding on horseback.
[124] Perhaps the ‘motor bike’ he refers to in Letter 30.
[125] His cousin (eldest son of his Aunt Marion), William George Cousin (1892–1970).
[126] Perhaps an Edinburgh friend of the family?
[127] Presumably the Stewart Browns. Patrick was smoking a pipe at this age.
[128] 9 Abbotsford Park, Morningside, Edinburgh.
[129] Presumably, the buyer: and see Letter 94 below.
[130] 7 Falcon Avenue, Morningside, Edinburgh
[131] The summer capital of the Indian state of Jammu and Kashmir, on the banks of the Jhelum, a tributary of the Indus, 200 miles from Rawalpindi and 6000 feet above sea level.
[132] It seems that the idea of a ground-floor flat had fallen through.
[133] Margaret’s cleaner, perhaps?
[134] Winston Leonard Spencer-Churchill (1874–1975) had already begun to make his mark by 1931. Sandhurst 1893–94 had been followed by six years’ Army service in Cuba, India, Egypt, the Sudan and South Africa. In 1900 he had followed his father’s example and entered politics, and like Lord Randolph soon held office: as Under Secretary of State for the Colonies 1905–08, as President of the Board of Trade 1908–10, as Home Secretary 1910–11, as First Lord of the Admiralty, when he was a very active moderniser and developed the tank 1911–15, as Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster 1915-17, as Minister of Munitions 1917–19, as Secretary of State for War and Secretary of State for Air 1919–21, as Secretary of State for the Colonies 1921–24, and Chancellor of the Exchequer 1924–29. (For the next ten years, he was out of office in the ‘wilderness’ and concentrating on his writings.)
[135] 1929 black-and-white American melodrama, the first of 8 films written by Sidney Howard for producer Samuel Goldwyn. Actor Ronald Coleman was nominated for an Academy Award for his performance.
[136] Obscure. Perhaps a family friend, who had given Margaret something for her new flat?
[137] Obscure.
[138] David Ross Cousin (1904–19??), younger son of Aunt Marion, and Patrick’s first cousin.
[139] A relative through the Veitch line: Sarah (b. 1677), third daughter of Revd. William Veitch (1640–1722) had married James Young of Guilliehill, my greatx5 grandfather (Ed.)
[140] Frank .... Cousin (19.........)
[141] The beautiful, fabled Dal Lake, with its floating gardens, and houseboats with their attendant cookboats, was then 30 square miles in extent. 70 years later, 50,000 people lived there, and it had shrunk by half, choked by slime-covered weed that thrives on man-made pollution by rubbish and sewage ― an ecological disaster. Since 1996, Green Kashmir has fought to save it.
[142] Major J… H… Lander, Royal Corps of Signals.
[143] i.e. World War 1, 1914–1918.
[144] His horse.
[145] Not a true aunt, but Ella Agnes Agnew nee Wallace, wife of Ebenezer’s younger brother, Archibald Goldie Denholm-Young (1858–1942).
[146] The DAK bungalow system of rest houses was peculiar to British India. From the 1830s the colony was administered by mobile rulers and public servants who travelled large distances, often alone and, in hot weather, mainly at night. They needed places to rest, and modest bungalows offering the basic accommodation of bedroom, bathroom, a servant and meals at moderate cost were built and maintained by the Colonial Government, usually under the direction of the local public works department, every 15–20 miles along the main roads in the countryside, a distance of about a day’s march.
[147] Literally ‘Meadow of Flowers’, Gulmarg is a hill-station nearly 8,800 feet above sea level, 30 miles from Srinagar in Baramulla District of Kashmir, within the Himalayas, and very close to the Line of Control between India and Pakistan. Famous for the beauty of its wild flowers, it has since become a famous holiday resort, especially for ski-ing.
[148] With reason. The Gulmarg course boasts the highest greens in the world.
[149] The wooden gondolas, rowed with unique spade-shaped oars, traditionally used on the Dal Lake and elsewhere in Kashmir. Like the Venetian version, they are a local cultural symbol, and are generally hired as transport, like taxis, but are also employed for fishing, or even, by the poor, to live in.
[150] Sir Francis James Grant K.C.V.O., LL.D., W.S., (1863–1953) Lord Lyon King of Arms 1929–1945. The Lord Lyon is the most junior of the great officers of State in Scotland, responsible for regulating heraldry in that country. He serves as judge of the Court of the Lord Lyon, the oldest heraldic court in the world still in daily operation. Margaret Denholm-Young’s sister was the first wife of Francis James Grant, W.S., when he was Rothesay Herald, and died before he became Albany Herald and then Lord Lyon.
[151] Presumably Stewart Brown (see Note 32), who was then reading Medicine at Edinburgh.
[152] The Kashmir course is the second oldest outside the U.K.
[153] A birthday present for Margaret.
[154] Bannu District, one of the 24 that make up the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province of Pakistan, and the District’s main city is Bannu. Although surrounded by rugged and dry mountains, the District is highly fertile, and some early English visitors referred to it as ‘paradise’.
[155] The capital of Balochistan province of Pakistan, situated in the north, close to the Afghan border, and an important military location, at 5,500 ft above sea level, Quetta is Pakistan’s only high-altitude major city. Lush and fertile, it is known as ‘The Fruit Garden of Balochistan’.
[156] Capital of Sialkot District, in the north-east of the Punjab province of Pakistan, at the foot of the Kashmir Hills.
[157] See Note 149.
[158] The first mention of what was to be a lifelong hobby. He wrote by hand, and the articles and stories sent off from Srinagar to magazine editors went, therefore, in manuscript. Others he took back to Rawalpindi for typing.
[159] Perhaps the Kashmir Times, the oldest English newspaper in Srinagar.
[160] Mass-circulation inexpensive ‘pulp’ fiction magazines were an American phenomenon, but there were a number of British ones published between the wars including Pall Mall magazine, The Novel magazine and The Story-teller and the fortnightly Harmsworth Red Magazine, stylish and innocent, which ran to 620 issues. Second WW paper shortages would have a serious impact on their production.
[161] The youngest of Ebenezer Denholm-Young’s five elder sisters. After the deaths of their father in 1910 and their mother in 1912, Adah continued to live with her unmarried sisters Jeannie and Jessie at 10 Morningside Place. She outlived all her nine siblings and died aged 98 in 1954. Her ‘approval’ may have been related to the sober mix of professions, with a strong Christian element.
[162] 26 May.
[163] A demi-lion rampant gules with sword in dexter paw proper: motto Robore Prudentia Praestat: Prudence Excels Strength
[164] See Letter 11.
[165] Presumably Mr and Mrs R. Stewart Brown, Stewart’s parents, of 11a Thirlestane Road, Edinburgh.
[166] See Letter 25.
[167] A narrow 40-mile-long gorge, and a strategic point on the ancient Silk Road. The Sind River rises in Machoi Glacier in the inner Himalayas and runs through green forests of pine and fir and alpine meadows, and is home to several different types of trout, especially the Brown Trout. The valley is the natural habitat of the Himalayan Black Bear, Brown Bear and Snow Leopard (the latter now very rare).
[168] The Sind Valley lies in the Ganderbal [sic] District of Kashmir.
[169] General Sir W James
[170] Dermot Lionel Hyde. see Note 76.
[171] Stewart Brown had obviously heeded the request for a letter.
[172] See Letters 10 and 11.
[173] Obscure. Possibly a family connection from whom a legacy might be forthcoming.
[174] Ebenezer’s younger brother, John Denholm (sic) Denholm-Young (1863–1933), was a brilliant mathematician and marine engineer and member of the Institute of Naval Architects.
[175] The famed cherry orchards of Kashmir are harvested from May to July. These must have been the peak of the crop.
[176] Kanpur, or Cawnpore as the British Raj renamed it, surrounded by the Ganges and the Pandu rivers, is the largest industrial city of Uttar Predesh. In the 19th century it became one of the most important garrisons in British India, with barracks and parade grounds for 7000 soldiers. During the 1857 Mutiny 900 British were besieged at Kanpur for 22 days and massacred by rebel Indian forces. 1931 saw the eruption of the Civil Disobedience Movement, which gave rise to widespread Hindu-Muslim riots.
[177] Stephen Saxby, of the old Shetland family.
[178] Access to Lhasa, literally the Place of the Gods, and home to the Dalai Lama for centuries, was long restricted. Lying in the centre of the Tibetan plateau, surrounded by the Himalayas, it is at,11,450 feet, one of the highest cities in the world.
[179] Another British magazine from the Harmsworth stable, this one started circa 1895 and was a weekly.
[180] The magazine of Patrick’s school, George Watson’s College, Edinburgh. His article, ‘In the Shadow of the Himalayas’, illustrated by his two black and white photographs of the Dal Lake and the Shalimar Gardens, was published in the Winter Term 1931 issue, Vol. xxviii, No. 1, pp. 19–22. [See Appendix 1.]
[181] See Note 113.
[182] Presumably, an expression, possibly derived from ‘tradesmen’s tokens’, a early substitute for small money, meaning some cash. A couple of ten shilling notes, perhaps?
[183] i.e. 25 June.
[184] i.e. 29 June.
[185] See Note 145.
[186] Obscure. A friend of Margaret’s.
[187] The Scottish equivalent of ‘Remember me’.
[188] Royal Deeside.
[189] Nanga Parbat, or ‘King of the Mountains, is the ninth highest mountain in the world, at 26,660 feet, and the western anchor of the Himalayas. It was first climbed in 1953.
[190] i.e. Monday 29 June 1931.
[191] Saxby.
[192] i.e. 29th June 1931.
[193] ‘The City of Dreadful Night’ is a long poem set in Victorian London by the Scottish poet James B. V. Thomson, published in 1880 in a book entitled The City of Dreadful Night and Other Poems. The title was re-used for a collection of stories by Rudyard Kipling published in 1887. The title story is a nightmarishly vivid little tale, a macabre journey through the old walled city of Victorian Lahore on a stiflingly hot night.
[194] Miliaria rubra, an itchy rash that can occur in conjunction with sweating.
[195] Sandfly or phlebotomus fever is contracted in tropical and sub-tropical regions. Transmitted by the bite of the female of a midge that frequents rubble, dunes and dugouts. In desert warfare it can express itself in epidemic proportions, laying out large numbers of men. It manifests as sudden high temperature, severe headache and malaise.
[196] See Letter 24.
[197] Mansehra (Hindi for ‘Flowers in abundance’) is the city of Mansehra District, Khyber-PaKhtunkhwa Province of Pakistan, and a major stop for tourists on the Karakorum Highway into China.
[198] Either a friend, or a relation by marriage: Isobel is a Denholm-Young family name.
[199] J. C. Smith. See Note
[200] See Note 72.
[201] Hill station in India’s Uttarakhand’s Nainital District, in the foothills of the Outer Himalayas.
[202] See Letter 32.
[203] Col. R. (‘Dick’) E. Barker
[204] The General Election on 27 October 1931, the first since the Great Depression, was an overwhelming landslide victory for the Conservatives under Stanley Baldwin.
[205] See Note 122.
[206] i.e. the reason that justifies making officers buy their own horses.
[207] Urdu Qualifying Examination, October 1931, Part II.– Written.
[208] This photo does not seem to have survived.
[209] This must be the Indus, Pakistan’s longest river (1,980 miles), which rises in Tibet and coming out of the hills between Peshawar and Rawalpindi. It is the key water resource for the breadbasket of the Punjab province.
[210] Miliaria rubra. See Note 194.
[211] Hendrie, Padre
[212] A market town in Ayrshire, Scotland.
[213] John Alexander:
[214] Jammu and Kashmir is the northernmost state of India. Mostly in the Himalayas, it shares a border with China. Jammu is its winter capital, Srinagar its summer one.
[215] See Note 122.
[216] A cantonment near the town of Nowshere in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa Province
[217] He probably meant small game: grey partridge, hare, duck, snipe, pheasant and jungle fowl, and excellent fishing. There was also big game, especially seven types of deer and herds of Indian antelope (black buck).
[218] At Camberley, seven miles from Aldershot, the hub of the military world.
[219] Hilda was now in the final year of her medical training at Edinburgh. She qualified M.B., Ch.B. (sic) in July 1932.
[220] Could this be a brother of Stewart?
[221] Also known as ‘Shiga’. The Shigellah bacterium causes dysentery and is usually transmitted in polluted water. In the UK it is a notifiable disease.
[222] Presumably Calomine Lotion, the mild astringent containing zinc oxide and ferric oxide.
[223] Presumably his Commanding Officer had informed her by air mail letter, or even a telegram.
[224] Rawlpindi Military Hospital, where he appears to have had his typewriter with him!
[225] i.e. Wednesday 11 November 1931.
[226] Messenger.
[227] His cousin, David Ross Cousin: see Note 138.
[228] From 20 May 1921 to 14 May 1924 the family had lived at 24 Conniston Drive, Edinburgh.
[229] See Note 203.
[230] i.e. by 16 December.
[231] The Portland Literary Agency in London.
[232] ??? Rogers a friend from Catterick
[233] Convalescent homes for soldiers, founded by Irishwoman Elizabeth Anne Sandes (1851–1934).
[234] Florence Emily Cassels, wife of Indian Army officer, General Sir Robert Cassels, G.C.B., G.C.S.I., D.S.O. (1876–1959). From 1930, he was General Officer Commanding-in-Chief, Northern Command, India, and from 1935 Commander-in-Chief, India. He retired in 1941.
[235] Sadly, none of these have survived.
[236] He seems to have settled on this as the title for his novel. The text, if he completed it, has not survived.
[237] Nan Cousin, David Cousin’s sister-in-law.
[238] Cousin.
[239] Was there another letter, now missing, written 16 January, in which Patrick first tells Margaret of his decision to apply for permission to return home early under the Exchange System?
[240] Obscure.
[241] A leading weekly literary magazine published between 1919 and 1954. Regular contributors included Winston Churchill, Somerset Maugham, Rebecca West, H. E. Bates and Arnold Bennett.
[242] The Hunt based on Wiltshire and Hampshire.
[243] Perhaps mentioned first in a (missing) letter of 16 January?
[244] Again, these do not seem to have survived.
[245] A title in India (and now Pakistan) which applies to powerful families of zamindars (feudal lords/barons, often acting as sovereign princes) of the village or town, a state-privileged status which is hereditary and has wide ranging governmental powers.
[246] The Scotsman and the ‘Green Dispatch’, the Saturday edition of the Edinburgh Evening Dispatch, containing that day’s sports reports, and printed on green paper.
[247] See Note 108.
[248] Brigadier Hubert Clementi-Smith D.S.O. (1878–1958), who held the post of Signal Officer in Chief, Army HQ, India, 1930–34.
[249] Possibly a mistake for 1932?
[250] On 1 February 1932 a Muslim revolt broke out in Mirpur in the Jammu district of Kashmir, with several nearby villages looted and burned, and British and Indian troops were sent to the aid of the police. Three rebels died.
[251] Intervening letters, again possibly from his Commanding Officer, had clearly told her that he had gone down with a second attack of Dysentery.
[252] This suggests a missing letter, written around 2 March.
[253] i.e. one’s horse.
[254] Upper Topa, three miles by road from Murree, 40 miles north west from Rawalpindi, in the Murree Hills of the Kashmir district. Until 1864 Murree was the Summer capital of the British Raj in Punjab Province, with Upper and Lower Topa forming, from 1850, a sanatorium and convalescence depot for British soldiers and their families to escape the summer heat of Indian plains.
[255] The small game included foxes and local breeds of pheasant.
[256] Possibly Molly Cook. See Note 25.
[257] Considered to be the first American pulp magazine, Argosy All-Story Weekly, as it became in 1920, continued until 1978.
[258] See Note 246. This paper often hit the streets half an hour after the matches had finished.
[259] From the French ‘Passe-partout’, passes everywhere, this is a border of card or similar material used to frame or mount a picture.
[260] Colonel Yule. See Note 97.
[261] See Note 90.
[262] He says ‘England’, but perhaps he really meant Scotland, where his father had died on 27 February 1930 in Edinburgh ― and where there would certainly have been the sound of gulls crying.
[263] i.e. 16 May.
[264] Signalman No. 2318895 Frank Cottam died at the British Military Hospital, Murree on Monday 16 May, Whit Monday, two weeks after surgery for acute appendicitis.
[265] A Despatch Rider.
[266] The Autocar, 22 April 1932, p. 651. (See Appendix 2)
[267] Must follow the letter of 15 May, because of the inclusion, in the draft novel, of a chapter based on his first military funeral.
[268] Snakes appear in the monsoon season. Four species are commonly found in the Punjab: Russel’s Viper, the Common Cobra, the Saw-scaled Viper and the Common Krait. Snakebite is a common cause of death in India.
[269] He may have been aiming at Pearson’s Weekly, the U.K. tabloid magazine published by C. A. Pearson Ltd. between 1890 and 1939 and containing science fiction and quirky short stories.
[270] He means joining a golf club.
[271] Kipling’s first collection of verse, published 1886. [Kipling loved Simla, first seen in the summer of 1883, and referred to time spent there as ‘pure joy’].
[272] A letter written and sent Air Mail by the next outward post, 24 May, could have reached Mr and Mrs Cottam in Sheffield by approximately 31 May.
[273] The Wire, July 1932, pp. 258–60 , with a photograph of Signalman Cottam on his dispatch rider’s motor cycle.
[274] 20 May 1910 at St George’s Chapel, Windsor.
[275] Rev. Paul Stirling, Army Chaplain?
[276] Henry Vollam Morton (1892–1979) journalist and travel writer published In Search of England in 1927 and In Search of Scotland in 1929.
[277] When presumably he would take one to give to Cottam’s parents.
[278] Presumably Hilda’s last letter, written as she was just about to sit her Final examinations, had simply consisted of a list of questions.
[279] About £350–400 in early 21st century terms.
[280] It would seem that officers returning home before the end of a posting were exchanged with another going out to replace them, and the two could negotiate a price for use of the unused return half of replacement officer’s trooper passage.
[281] His great friend from Bulford . See Note 58.
[282] Britain’s premier magazine of general interest and popular fiction, with its famous cover view looking eastwards up the Strand, was published monthly from 1891 to 1950. It handled many famous writers, and initiated with great success the story series, such as Conan Doyle’s ‘Adventures of Sherlock Holmes’ and Wodehouse’s Jeeves and Wooster stories.
[283] A town with a famous bridge across the Jhelum river, Kohala stands where the Punjab, Kashmir and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa boundaries meet.
[284] If Mr Cottam wrote his reply over the week-end of 4–5 June, and posted it by Air Mail, the earliest it could have reached Patrick was by the incoming mail of 14 June.
[285] F. E. Buller joined the staff at Woolwich in 1924 as Company Commander, a post he held till 1927.
[286] see Note 112.
[287] see Note 110.
[288] North and South Waziristan, part of the Federally Administered Tribal Areas, lay between the southern stretch of North West Frontier Province and Afghanistan, and immediately west of the Khyber. Tribal raiding into British ruled territory was a constant problem.
[289] Nanney-Wynne.
[290] C. W. Fladgate
[291] ?? Major Neale
[292] A motor dealer in Edinburgh? Or his bank manager, perhaps?
[293] The Royal Bank of Scotland, 3 Hope Street, Edinburgh.
[294] Perhaps the new Wilson Hospital which had opened at Mitcham, Surrey, in 1928.
[295] Sergeant Major Gradden
[296] A very successful American silent film made by RKO Radio Pictures in 1926 and directed by Herbert Brenon, the first of a series based on the novels by P. C. Wren.
[297] The region had long fascinated British gentlemen explorers. The Hon. Mountstuart Elphinstone’s 1815 Account of the Kingdom of Caubul and its Dependencies in Persia, Tartary, and India; comprising a View of the Afghaun Nation; and a History of the Dooraunee Monarchy was reviewed in John Murray’s prestigious Quarterly Review Vol XIV (Oct. 1815, & Jan. 1816) pp. 152-88:
‘... but the average heat of the year, Mr. Elphinstone says, does not reach that of India, nor the cold that of England. In the plain of Peshawer, surrounded by mountains, the thermometer stood, for several days, at 112º and 113º; but frost continued through the winter to the first week in March, when the peach and plum-trees began to blossom; the apple, quince, and mulberry-trees put forth in the same week; and before the end of the month they were in full foliage: early in April barley was in the ear, and was cut down in the first week in May. In summer, the heat is intolerable, except where it is mitigated by the wind from the Snowy Mountains … Of the tributary province of Cashmeer, … the inquiries made by Mr. Strachey enable us to add a short account of the shawl manufactory here, which is said to employ sixteen thousand looms. A shop, shed, or tent, has generally three working-people; and a remarkably fine shawl will occupy them a whole year or more, ... Of the best kind three people will work only about a quarter of an inch in a day: ...; ... The wool of the shawl-goat is imported from Tibet and other parts of Tartary ... Mr. Strachey thinks that the probable number of shawls manufactured at Cashmeer in one year may be about eighty thousand.’ (Article VIII).
This review, which would have interested Patrick, interests his daughter and editor, even more. For it would surely have been read by Jane Austen, whose novel Emma was reviewed by Sir Walter Scott in Article IX. The paragraphs about Kashmir Shawls would have amused her: for these shawls had become fashionable in her day, she had mentioned them in Mansfield Park, published a year earlier, on 9 May 1814, and this review nicely corroborates what she had said. Lady Bertram wanted ‘two shawls’ (Mansfield Park Vol II, ch. 13) and would certainly have ordered one ‘of the best kind’ made by at least ‘three working-people ...’
[298] Presumably Shawcross. See Note 75.
[299] He refers to this as a ‘bus’ in his letter. Perhaps this was their nickname for lorries.
[300] See Note 75.
[301] Mausoleum completed c. 1653 just south of the walled city of Agra, Uttar Pradesh, by Moghal Emperor Shah Jehan in memory of his third wife Mumtaz Mahal. The construction is of white marble.
[302] Built 1605–1613 at Sikandra, a suburb of the walled city of Agra, Uttar Pradesh, this mausoleum was begun by Moghal Emperor Akbar the Great (1555–1605) for himself, and completed by his son Jahangir. The construction is of deep red sandstone and white marble.
[303] The previous Friday would have been 2 September.
[304] Company Sergeant Major (the senior non-commissioned rank) Gradden.
[305] A coupé on the crack Frontier Mail was an end-of-carriage compartment with seats on one side only and convertible to sleeping berths, plus its own bathroom and lavatory and a meals service. [But no air conditioning, of course]. Ladies had their own such compartments.
[306] A city on the banks of the Indus, 50 miles from Rawalpindi.
[307] The five-span bridge at Attock, reconstructed 1925–1929, forms one of the most important strategic and commercial crossings on the Indus.
[308] see Note 216.
[309] see Note 75.
[310] Built by the Sikhs in 1823, this fort (whose name means Lonely Planet) to mark the western edge of their empire.
[311] Huge, foursquare, the home of the Khyber Rifles, recruited from Afridi tribesmen.
[312] For centuries, these Pashtun clans, particularly the Afridis and Afghan Shinwaris, have regarded the Pass as their own preserve and levied a toll on travellers for safe conduct.
[313] The ancient capital of Afghanistan.
[314] Guard post for small detachment of soldiers.
[315] See Note 86.
[316] In the event, he waited until after his return to the UK He was promoted to Captain in 1936.
[317] See Plate 33.
[318] i.e. October 1932.
[319] Wah garden, in the old village of Wah, near the garrison town of the same name, Punjab Province, is an elaborate Mughal creation of canals and waterfalls dating back to Emperor Akbar the Great (1542–1605).
[320] Nedou’s Hotel, built in 1880 by Michael Adam Nedou, a professional architect from Dubrovnik who happened to be in India to design and construct a palace for the Maharaja of Gujarat. A dignified and gracious building, facing Mall Road in one of the best neighbourhoods of Lahore (then known as ‘the Paris of the East’) the hotel was the first of what would become the oldest hotel chain in India. It was a popular haunt of army officers on leave, and T. E. Lawrence may have stayed there. It has since been replaced by the Avari Hotel.
[321] i.e. 5 October.
[322] i.e. 6 October.
[323] i.e. 7 October.
[324] Capital of the Punjab Province, and traditionally the cultural centre of Northern India. It is one of the most densely populated cities in the world.
[325] A Sikh temple or Gurdwara (the door or gateway to the guru) is the place of worship of the Sikh religion. A strict protocol governs visits to such places.
[326] i.e. 8 October.
[327] And home to the famous Golden Temple.
[328] Jalandhar is the oldest city in the Punjab province.
[329] i.e. 9 October.
[330] Ancient city in Uttar Pradesh and site of the beginning of the 1857 Mutiny.
[331] Laurie’s Hotel, Mahatma Gandhi Road, Agra, still exists. It too seems to have offered elegant British Raj hospitality in its drawing room, verandahs and gardens.
[332] The Cecil Hotel, managed (as was Laurie’s) by Robert Hotz, was large, with accommodation arranged as spacious suites, and a swimming pool. St Xavier’s School now stands on the site.
[333] Field Marshal Sir Philip Walhouse Chetwode, 1st Baron Chetwode, 7th Baronet of Oakley G.C.B., O.M., G.C.S.I., K.C.M.G., D.S.O. (1869–1950). A British Army officer who had seen action during the Second Boer War, during which he was present at the Siege of Ladysmith in December 1899. During WW1 he fought on the Western Front, at the First Battle Ypres, and then in the Sinai and Palestine Campaign, during which he led his corps in three major battles in 1917. After a series of senior military appointments including Adjutant-General to the Forces and then Commander in Chief Aldershot Command, he went on to be Chief of the General Staff in India in 1928, then Commander-in-Chief in India in 1930, and was much concerned with the modernisation and ‘Indianisation’ of the army in India.
[334] i.e. Thursday 3 November.
[335] An historic city in the extreme south of Uttar Pradesh.
[336] i.e. Saturday 5 November.
[337] There is no evidence to identify these.
[338] Probably, a large, oblong, solid wooden chest, with an inner tray, and exterior brass handles, marked ‘Denholm-Young Royal Signals’ on the lid, which would have held uniform, and which he kept for many years, with a tartan rug thrown over it, as a makeshift seat.
[339] A cylindrical cloth or leather case adapted for carrying the kit or outfit of a soldier, especially of a cavalryman or artilleryman. The term is from the French valise.
[340] So different from the fertile soils of the family’s roots in Dumfries and Galloway.
[341] A mosquito-borne tropical disease, also known as ‘breakbone fever’, caused by the dengue virus. Symptoms include fever, headache, muscle and joint pains and a skin rash similar to that of measles. The virus has five different types. There is still no commercially available vaccine, and since WW2 dengue has become a global problem.
[342] A peninsular in N. E. Tunisia, projecting into the Mediterranean towards Sicily. Cape Bon, the eastern terminus of the Saharan Atlas mountains, is a hilly, fertile region that supports citrus groves, vineyards and tobacco plantations. On 13 December 1941 one of the WW2 battles took place here, between the Italians and the Allies; and then, in May 1943, it was where the last German forces in North Africa surrendered to the Allies.
[343] The Galite Islands are a rocky group, of volcanic origin, situated 25 miles northwest of Cape Serrat, N. Tunisia.
[344] Winston Churchill’s account of the First World War, The World Crisis 1914–1918, published in 5 volumes between 1923 and 1931 by Thornton Butterworth in England and Scribner’s in America. The first American advances enabled him to purchase a new Rolls Royce in 1921. His six-volume account of the next war, The Second World War (Houghton Mifflin, 1948–1953) won him the 1953 Nobel Prize for Literature.
[345] WW1 battle of 5–12 September 1914 on the River Marne, near Paris. A victory for the Allies, it set the stage for four years of trench warfare on the Western Front.
[346] See note 92.
[347] Pierse Joseph Mackesy C.B., D.S.O., M.C. (1883–1956), later Major General.
[348] i.e. Friday 14 April.
[349] Perhaps at the Crown and Anchor Hotel, Westgate Street, with its fine Victorian Gothic stone facade designed by Thomas Cotman, nephew of the famous watercolourist. Just the sort of solid, traditional hotel that Patrick liked.
[350] Presumably a silver Christening mug, as was the custom.
[351] The 1933 Royal Tournament at Olympia was held from 25 May to 10 June.
[352] King George V ― who reigned till his death on 20 January 1936, when he was succeeded by his son Edward VIII.
[353] Exactly. Anyone who had recently endured the hell-fire heat of the Red Sea would find the English summer chilly.
[354] Hilda was a patient in Loughborough Hospital with fibrositis in October 1932 and the Matron must have become a friend.
[355] At 4,409 feet, the highest mountain in the British Isles.
[356] Captain Victor Holland
[357] ‘The Round Fold’ on the eastern face of Meall na Scuiramach in the Trotternish Ridge, Isle of Skye. It rises 1,781 feet.
[358] Another peak in the Trotternish Ridge, 2,359 feet high.
[359] One of the principal summits on the Black Cuillin ridge.
[360] See Note 193.
[361] Soldiers Three and Other Stories, published in 1899.
[362] There were two Stephenson brothers whom Patrick would have known at Watson’s College ― George, b. 1907, who left the school in 1923 and went into the building trade in Leeds, and Frederick, b. 1908, who left in 1925 and went into the Midland Bank in Wakefield. Perhaps it was Frederick, the exact contemporry, who became Patrick’s friend. (There were no Stephensons among the RMA intake of 1925 or 1926.)
[363] Archibald Goldie Denholm-Young (1858–1942), the elder of Ebenezer’s two younger brothers.
[364] Captain Turner (from Bulford days)
[365] Not found.
[366] 53 miles due east from Catterick on the coast.
[367] 26 miles due south from Catterick.
[368] Obscure.
[369] See Note 282.
[370] Margaret must have sent him a cheque.
[371] The parish of this small Surrey village was the site of Thursley Camp 1922–57 (renamed Tweedsmuir Camp from 1941). On 7 November 1942 it was bombed by the German Air Force.
[372] Hilda, who had chosen to specialise in Paediatrics, had taken a job at Booth Hall Infirmary for Children, Blackley, North Manchester. Opened in 1908 by Victorian philanthropist Humphrey Booth for the care of the poor in his fine, custom-built, pseudo-Georgian Hall, by 1929 it had 750 beds and was the third largest children’s hospital in the UK. Absorbed into the NHS in 1948, it is now part of the Royal Manchester Children’s Hospital.
[373] See Note 103.
[374] There was such a Royal Signals “battle” at Stockbridge, near Bulford in 1935, in which the 1st and 2nd Divisions came from the Aldershot direction.
[375] The Royal East Kent Regiment “The Buffs”, Third Regiment of Foot, one of the oldest regiments in the British Army, so called because originally issued with buff-coloured coats of soft leather, presumably quartered at Bordon which, from 1905, could house a complete infantry brigade. Their insignia, embossed on the notepaper Patrick is using, is a dragon.
[376] Hampshire town 13 miles from Aldershot.
[377] He means Bloores. See Note 48.
[378] In the absence of Margaret’s side of this correspondence, it is not easy to identify what it was in the ILN of summer 1935 that interested her enough to ask for a specific number, or (as I think more likely) to send him one and ask for it back. That of 1 June (the Summer Number) shows a photograph of the royal visit to Edinburgh on 27 May when the Duke and Duchess of Kent gave a Garden Party at the Palace of Holyroodhouse. Perhaps Margaret or some of her friends had attended.
[379] See Note 129.
[380] See Note 375.
[381] One of Nigeria’s largest traditional emirates (12,750 sq. miles). Its capital is Zaria city. A savanna area, producing cotton for export, tobacco, groundnuts, sugarcane, soya and ginger. The population is an ethnic mix, in which Muslin Hausa and Fulani people predominate.
[382] Patrick’s tailors were Humphreys and Crook, 3 Haymarket, SW1 and Huntsman, 11 Savile Row, W1 until well into his 50s.
[383] This was probably Desert kit: pale khaki drill (KD) shorts or slacks with long-sleeved Aertex shirt.
[384] A small boat used to ferry supplies out to ships lying offshore.
[385] Capital of Gran Canaria.
[386] In 1816 the British founded a trading post and base for suppressing the African slave trade on Banjul Island, which they renamed St Mary’s Island, and named the post after Henry Bathurst, Secretary of the British Colonial Office. Island and city reverted to their orignal name of Banjul in 1973.
[387] A phrase formerly used to describe Africa, especially sub-Saharan Africa.
[388] Captain Western
[389] See Note 101.
[390] Sekondi-Takoradi, a city comprised of the twin cities of Sekondi and Takoradi, and the capital of the Western Region of Ghana.
[391] Cape Coast, or Cabo Corso, city, fishing port and capital of the Central Region of South Ghana.
[392] Equivalent to about £232 in 2015.
[393] Built in the early 1900s on narrow-guage line, to carry the tin mined in Jos, and groundnuts and other commodities harvested across the north, down to Lagos. It plunges up, past the rock formations of the hills of the central belt, to the dusty plains of the North through a terrain lit only by the stars. Following Civil War in the 1960s, and a corruption fuelled by oil money that gripped the country, the line began its slow decades-long collapse, but was reopened in 2013.
[394] The diplomatic rank of Resident Minister (just below that of Envoy), representative of the British Government, head of mission and senior administrative officer responsible for maintaining law and order and good government. The term ‘Residency’ usually reflected the relatively low status of the state in question. Residents were appointed by the Colonial Governor of Nigeria, and were replaced by Provincial Commissioners from 1962. The Resident of Zaria Province in 1935 was Captain Abadie, also known to the Hausa of Zaria as Mai Jimina (‘the owner of an ostrich’).
[395] [He had thus earned his ‘third pip’ in 9 years rather than the standard 11. Ed.]
[396] From ‘Black Magic’, Patrick’s short story published in his Will You Take My Torch?, Whitby 1947.
[397] Patrick notes in ‘Black Magic’ that game included heads of waterbuck; while the rivers yielded tiger-fish.
[398] Hausa tribes that had never converted to Islam.
[399] From his poem, ‘The Feet of the Young Men’, 1897.
[400] Government Botanic Gardens established by Dr Moiser, principal Medical Officer, laid out in neat small species beds, and warmly praised in the Kew Bulletin 1921, p. 238.
[401] The Great Mosque of Kano, originally 15th century, and rebuilt in 19th century.
[402] Inspector General, perhaps?
[403] SS Wahehe, a cargo ship built 1922 and converted to a refrigerated cargo liner in 1934.
[404] Woermann linie AG of Hamburg, a German shipping line in operation 1885–1941, and one of the leading shipping companies to Africa.
[405] In the Niger delta.
[406] The volcanic mountainous island of Bioko in the Gulf of Guinea, named in 1472 ‘Formosa Flora’ (‘Beautiful Flower’) by the Portuguese navigator Fernao do Po, the first European to visit the place; in 1494 the Portuguese formally claimed the island, renamed it Fernao do Po, and developed its sugarcane crop and later slave-trading.
[407] See Note 41.
[408] Probably just small items he liked to have with him. The main family items were in store.
[409] Possibly the Yules.
[410] A bacterial infection contracted through contaminated food or water. Its chief symptom is a persistently high fever, and chronic exhaustion. It was treated in 1938 with antibiotics.
[411] On board ship off the coast of West Africa perhaps? In the Tropics, the food and water supplies on the Wahehe may not have been up to snuff?
[412] The Cambridge Hospital, Aldershot, one of the handful of large military hospitals in England in 1938.
[413] The private royal residence built 1845–51 by Thomas Cubitt for Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, with gardens, parkland and stables for 50 horses. In 1902 King Edward VII gave Osborne to the nation, and from 1904 until 1933 it was a convalescent home for officers. In 1986 the estate was taken over by English Heritage.
[414] Colonel Dodd . Died by his own hand.
[415] Flat D5, Eaton Grange, Eaton Road, West Derby.
[416] What precious spare time he had was spent hastily finishing the text of his autobiographical novel ‘The Empty Glass’.
[417] As evacuee children were starting to arrive at Broomrigg.
[418] Circa 1417, one of the oldest coaching inns in England.
[419] Archibald Percival Wavell (1883–1950), later Field-Marshal, First Earl, After service in the 2nd Boer War and the Great War, he served in the Second War, initially as Commander-in-Chief, Middle East, in which he led the British forces to victory over the Italians in Operation Compass in Egypt and Libya in December 1940, only to be defeated by the Germans in the Western Desert in April 1941, when he was replaced by Auchinleck; Wavell was then Commander-in-Chief, India, 1941–1943, after which he served as Viceroy until his retirement in 1947.
[420] The Hon. Alice Clare Antonia Opportune Beevor (1953– ), daughter of 2nd Viscount Norwich and grand-daughter of Lady Diana Cooper (1892–1986), is a British writer whose non-fiction works include Cairo in the War 1939–1945, John Murray 2013. These quotations are from pp.43–44.
[421] Cairo in the War 1939–1945, John Murray 2013, pp. 43–44.
[422] See Note 95.
[423] Cooper, op.cit. (Note 421), p. 44–45.
[424] Auxilliary Territorial Service, the women’s branch of the British Army during the Second World War. Formed on 9 September 1938, initially as a women’s voluntary service, it existed until 1 February 1949 when it merged with the Women’s Royal Army Corps. Women in the A.T.S. received two-thirds of the pay of male soldiers.
[425] John Hezseltine Cameron-Webb C.B.E. In Aldershot 1936 as Major.
[426] Chenevix-Trench, Ralph (1885–1974). He had been Chief Signal Officer, Western Command, India, 1927–1931.
[427] The cathedral city of Metz , also an historic garrison town, stands at the junction of the Moselle and the Seille rivers.
[428] May also be written as St. Valéry.
[429] For which he would doubtless also have chosen some some splendid French wine. Patrick, always a connoisseur of malt whisky, by now knew a fair amount about wine and had acquired a fine palate.
[430] Radio Telegraph Operator.
[431] Originally published as ‘Mr Churchill’ (review of Churchill’s 2nd vol. of war memoirs, Their Finest Hour),in Atlantic Monthly 184 no. 3 (September 1949), 35–44. I take my quotations from the version published in this country as Mr Churchill in 1940 (London, [1964], pp. 12, 13, 15, 21, 25.
[432] The property of the Lyon family.
[433] A slang term denoting ‘thick-head’ derived from the French portmanteau word alboche, acombination of Allemand (German) and caboche (head or cabbage). Also written as ‘Boche.’
[434] Dorman-Smith, Major-General Eric Edward,M.C. (1895–1969). Military strategist and tactician whose early appreciation of mechanisation and technology and inventiveness and lateral thinking made a significant contribution to the Western Desert campaigns of 1941–1942. Awarded the highest ever marks, 1000 out of 1000, in the Strategy paper of the Staff College entrance examination in 1927, he was commissioned in 1929 to write a textbook on military tactics, Infantry Section, Leaders’ Training which became an official Army handbook within two years. Wavell, under whom he served between the Wars, was particularly supportive. Dorman-Smith foresaw and promoted the replacement of the horse with the mechanised vehicle, desired a far greater use of intelligence derived from Ultra, favoured the use of the unorthodox, and above all advocated the indirect approach, attacking the enemy when and where he least exptected it. His dealings with people were less intelligent: arrogant and inclined to talk down to colleagues, he was difficult to get on with and made too many enemies.
[435] Richard Nugent O’Connor, K.T., G.C.B., G.B.E., D.S.O. and bar, M.C., (1889–1981), ultimately General. Field Commander for Operation Compass, in which his forces destroyed a much larger Italian army and let Hitler to send out his AfrikaKorps under Rommel. O’Connor was captured in 1941 and spent over two years in an Italian P.O.W. camp. He escaped and his next command was in Normandy during Operation Market Garden. In 1945 he was appointed General Officer in Command, Eastern, and then Northern, Command, India.
[436] Ultra: not one system but several ...
[437] Patrick was absolutely right in his estimate of the calibre of Francis Cockburn Curtis (1898–1986). 1939–1940, Instructor at the Staff College, Camberley; 1940–1941, Chief Signal Officer, 38th Division; 1941–1943 General Staff Officer 1, War Office; 1943–1944 Deputy Director Military Operations (H), War Office; 1945 Director of Post-Hostilities Plans, War Office; 1945–1948 Brigadier, General Staff Plans and Operations, Middle East Land Forces; 1948–1951 Director of European Inter-Allied Planning, War Office.
[438] See Note 250.
[439] op.cit. (Note 421), p.63.
[440] There were three in this period: the ‘House of Many Mansions’ broadcast on 20 January, then the edited ‘Blood, Toil, Tears and Sweat’ on 13 May, and ‘Be Ye Men of Valour’ on 19 May.
[441] op. cit. (Note 421), p. 69.
[442] It is indeed hard to see the reasoning behind this decision.
[443] This was Colonel Le-Cornu. See Note 72.
[444] Probably his Aunt Adah (see Note 160), at 10 Morningside Place.
[445] Rupture and sepsis of the maxillary (upper jaw) cavity.
[446] ?C. Wheeler. He later says the Chief Sig Officer of Scottish Command was ‘an old friend of Catterick days’
[447] Sir Claude John Eyre Auchinleck (1884–1981), ultimately Field Marshal, G.C.B. D.S.O., O.B.E. After an early career in India, rising to Commander-in-Chief of the Indian Army, was appointed Commander-in-Chief Middle East in July 1941, and later replaced during the Alamein campaign in 1942 by Alexander, then Gott, and finally Montgomery; Commander-in-Chief India from June 1943 until Partition in 1947, then Supreme Commander of all British forces remaining in India and Pakistan until late 1948.
[448] Major-General Douglas Neil Wimberley, (1896–1983) C.B., D.S.O., M.C.: from 11 June 1941 Commander 51st Highland Division, which he led through the Second Battle of El Alamein and across North Africa to Sicily. A career soldier, he became an officer in WW1 on the Western Front, and served in many parts of the British Empire in the Inter-War years. Born Inverness, the son of a Surgeon-Captain, after Wellington and Sandhurst, he was commissioned into the Queen’s Own Cameron Highanders. He attended the Staff College, Camberley in 1925, saw action on the North West Frontier in 1929 as brigade-major of the 1st Gurkha Brigade, and was given command of the 1st Cameron Highlanders in 1938.
[449] i.e. ‘Passed Staff College’.
[450] St Valéry-en-Caux, Somme, 12 June 1940.
[451] Victoria Alexandra Alice Mary, Princess Royal and Countess of Harewood (1897-1965), daughter of the future George V and Princess Mary of Teck, granddaughter of Edward VII and Queen Alexandra, and great-granddaughter of Queen Victoria. From 1935 Colonel-in-Chief, Royal Corps of Signals. From 1941, Honorary Controller-Commandant of the Auxilliary Territorial Service (later renamed The Women’s Royal Army Corps).
[452] C. Wheeler, Chief Signal Officer, Scottish Command.
[453] Robert Hugh Willan, D.S.O., M.C. (1882–1960), Colonel Commandant, The Royal Corps of Signals, 1934–1944.
[454] An army officer’s servant: literally, the man in charge of the bat-horse (from the French, cheval de bât, the horse that carries the baggage of military officers).
[455] See Letter 108, of 18 September 1942.
[456] See Letter 128, of 26 January 1943.
[457] Bernard Charles Tolver Paget, G.C.B., D.S.O., M.C. (1887–1961), ultimately General Sir Bernard Paget. This was another splendid career : 1940 Major General, General Staff, Home Forces, then Chief of Staff, Home Forces; 1941–1942 General Officer Commanding in Chief, South Eastern Command; 1943 Commander-in-Chief, Home Forces, then Commander-in-Chief, 21st Army Group; 1944–1946 Commander-in-Chief, Middle East Command.
[458] Leslie Gordon Phillips, K.B.E., C.B., M.C. (1892–1966), ultimately Major-General Sir Leslie Phillips. 1940–1941 Chief Signal Officer, Eastern Command; 1941–1943 Signal-Officer-in-Chief, Home Forces; 1943–1946 Director of Signals War Office, and retirement; 1946–1953 Colonel Commandant, The Royal Corps of Signals.
[459] Montgomery of Alamein, Memoirs, (London 1958), p. 110.
[460] A doctor, Hilda smoked, with no ill-effects, for much of her life ― and lived to be 98.
[461] Bernard Law Montgomery of Alamein (1887–1976), ultimately Field Marshal The Viscount, K.G., G.C.B., D.S.O., P.C. Born London, into an Anglo-Irish Ascendancy gentry family, the son of the Anglican vicar of St Mark’s Kennington who was later created Lord Bishop of Tasmania. After the family returned in 1901 Bernard attended St Paul’s, then Sandhurst, was commissioned into the 1st Battalion Royal Warwickshire and saw service in India. In WW1 he was awarded the D.S.O. for gallantry at Méteren in 1914, and saw action at Passchendaele. He finished the war as GSO1. After service with the British Army of the Rhine, he attended the Staff College in 1920, where later, 1926–1929, in the temporary rank of Lieut. Colonel, he was Deputy Assistant Adjutant General ― and married Elizabeth Carver in 1927. After service in Palestine, Egypt and India, and return home in June 1937, Elizabeth died suddenly of septicaemia following an infected insect bite and the amputation of a leg. At the outbreak of war in 1939 he was given South Eastern Command overseeing the defence of Kent, Sussex and Surrey, until in August 1942 he was appointed by Churchill to replace Gott as Commander of the Eighth Army in the Western Desert. He was to say, later: ‘of the many fine divisions that served under me in the Second World War, none were finer than the Highland Division’.
[462] King George V1 and Queen Elizabeth.
[463] S.S. Stratheden, one of four P&O passenger liners known as the ‘Stratheden Sisters’ on account of their buff funnels. This one was 23,722 gross tons, built 1938 by Vickers-Armstrong at Barrow-in-Furness and launched 10 June 1937 by the Duchess of Buccleuch. She took a total of 1,011 passengers. She was commissioned, as a troop-carrier, for the duration of the War, after which she worked on the UK/Australia run till 1963, and was finally broken up in 1969.
[464] Cochran, Jimmie
[465] Archibald Goldie Denholm-Young, 1858–1942, younger brother of Ebenezer, died on 16 June 1942.
[466] Distinguished from Desert kit by its different colour and weight. Battledress was made of serge rather than the lighter weight drill, and in a darker khaki: perhaps more hardwearing, and less likely to show the marks of sweat.
[467] H.M.S. Malaya, a 33,000 ton Queen Elizabeth-class battleship of the Royal Navy built by Armstrong-Whitworth on Tyneside in 1914, saw major action, with considerable damage, in the Battle of Jutland 1916, and was finally decommissioned 1944.
[468] Manning, op. cit. (Note 513) p. 139.
[469] A development of the original solar compass invented by the American William Austin Burt in 1836 as an alternative to the magnetic version’s susceptibility to iron-bearing minerals that could distort readings. A simpler version was then developed by Lt. Col. James Allanson and adopted in British India in 1938. Major Ralph Alger Bagnold (1896–1990), later Brigadier, O.B.E., F.R.S., a Royal Engineer educated at Malvern and the RMA Woolwich, fought in the trenches of WW1, had served for ten years between the wars in Cairo, where he became interested in deserts and from where he made regular expeditions into the Libyan sands, beoming ‘so adept in the techniques of desert driving and navigation, that he even managed to penetrate the Great Sand Sea: a vast range of powder-fine dunes, till then only traversible by camel.’ (Cairo in the War 1939–1945, p. 86). For this he developed his own version of the sun compass applicable especially to deserts (where there are large iron ore deposits) and resistant to motor vehicles, and afterwards wrote his Libyan Sands : Travels in a Dead World (1935). He also served on the North West Frontier. In June 1940, Bagnold was again in Cairo, and requested and was granted permission from Wavell to investigate desert warfare. His mobile desert scouting force became the British Army’s Long Range Desert Group. Bagnold is generally considered to be a pioneer of desert exploration using motor vehicles and his The Physics of Blown Sand and Desert Dunes (1941) is still a main reference work in the field.
[470] See Plate 40.
[471] See Note 160.
[472] Possibly Freetown, Sierra Leone, where the whole convoy halted for close to 48 hrs and then split in two halves, one bound for Simonstown, the other for Durban.
[473] He probably meant to write ‘W.A.A.F’ (Women’s Auxiliary Air Force).
[474] Cooper, op. cit. (Note 420), p. 205.
[475] Sierra Leone.
[476] Possibly Durban, where Patrick’s half convoy waited for 4 days. He did indeed get several rounds of golf at the Durban Country Club.
[477] A young cousin, Lieut. Walter Dennis Lees, 7/10 Battalion, Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders
[478] See Note 202.
[479] Perhaps only the very sane embark for war with a set of golf clubs in the hold! My father’s delightfully steady character had a fine sense of what really mattered in life. Ed.
[480] Durban Country Club, established 1922, with its Cape Dutch-style club-house completed in 1924. The golf course is landscaped with tropical palms and superb views out over the Indian Ocean.
[481] Durban, for four days.
[482] Probably another family friend.
[483] He must be referring to Durban again.
[484] See Note 80.
[485] See Note 149.
[486] Harold Rupert Leofric George Alexander, 1st Earl Alexander of Tunis K.G., G.C.B., O.M., G.C.M.G., C.S.I., D.S.O., M.C., C.D., P.C. (1891–1969). Born in London to aristocratic parents, after Harrow and Sandhurst, he received numerous honours and decorations for his military service in the First War. In the Second, he oversaw the final stages of the Allied evacuation from Dunkirk and then held high-ranking commands in Burma, North Africa and Italy, including Commander in Chief Middle East, Field Marshal, and Supreme Allied Commander Mediterranean. In 1946 he was appointed Governor-General of Canada.
[487] William Henry Ewart Gott, C.B., C.B.E., D.S.O. and Bar, M.C., (1897–1942), ultimately Lieut. General. Saw service in the First and Second Wars as an officer in the King’s Royal Rifle Corps. In August 1942, was appointed to succeed Claude Auchinleck as Commander of the Eighth Army, but on his way to take up this post he was killed in a plane crash. Montgomery was appointed in his place.
[488] op. cit. (Note 459), pp. 73–74.
[489] op. cit. (Note 459), p. 82
[490] El Tehag, near Tel-el-Kebir, about 60 miles from Cairo.
[491] (William) Ronald Campbell Penney, K.B.E., C.B., D.S.O., M.C. (1896–1964), ultimately Major-General Sir Ronald Penney. 1941–1943 Signal Officer-in-Chief, Middle East; 1943–1944 General Officer Commanding 1st Infantry Division, taking part in the Anzio landings; 1944–1945 Director of Military Intelligence at HQ Supreme Allied Command South-East Asia.
[492] Artemis Cooper refers to this as ‘a modern block of flats known as Grey Pillars at the southern end of Garden City’. op. cit. (Note 421), p. 130.
[493] Sporting and Country Club founded in 1882 on an island in the Nile, on land that was once part of the Khedivial Botanic Gardens, and formally opened in 1886. Originally the 150-acre site was for exclusive use by the British Army, whose officers were automatically enrolled, and by 1914 it boasted four polo grounds, two race courses, a 12-hole golf course beautifully landscaped with acacias and other tropical trees, six squash rackets courts, 13 tennis courts and eight croquet lawns. From 1935 there was also a lido. It still exists today.
[494] Famed for its grandeur and opulence, this English hotel was one of the most celebrated in the world from its founding in 1841. In WW1 it served as the British HQ in the Near East. Its famous terrace set with wicker chairs and tables had the same caché as the Ritz Lobby, and Joe, barman behind the Long Bar, knew everything and everyone. The hotel was destroyed in anti-British riots in 1952 and has since been superseded by a modern Egyptian version, on a site half a mile away from that of the original.
[495] This caravan of vehicles, from jeeps to tanks, moving across the sands, each with its dust cloud behind it, was to remind Patrick of those days, in 1914, of seeing similar dust clouds behind the first motor cars on the unsurfaced roads of Scotland.
[496] Probably George Hands Walton (1893–1976), ultimately Brigadier Sir George Walton. 1930–1936 Commanding Officer 50th Divisional Signals; 1937–1939 Deputy Chief Signal Officer, Northern Command; 1940–1941 Chief Signal Officer, Northern Command, then Chief Signal Officer X Corps; 1941–1942 Chief Signal Officer XIII Corps (North Africa); 1942–1943 Chief Signal Officer, British Troops in Egypt; 1943–1945 Director on Middle East Board, UK Commercial Corporation; 1950 Honorary Colonel 50th Divisional Signals.
[497] Francis (‘Freddie’) Wilfred de Guingand, K.B.E., C.B.E.,D.S.O. (1900–1979). Career soldier who, after Ampleforth and Sandhurst, joined the Prince of Wales’s Own West Yorkshire Regiment in 1919. In 1940 he was appointed to the Joint Planning Staff, GHQ Middle East (at the recommendation of Dorman-Smith), then Director of Military Intelligence, Middle East, then Brigadier General Staff (Operations) under Montgomery through the Second Battle of Alamein and across the Western Desert. A highly-strung, extremely intelligent and effective Staff Officer, not least because (unlike Montgomery and Dorman-Smith) he was by nature a consummate diplomat.
[498] A family friend.
[499] See Note 62.
[500] See Note 41.
[501] Expeditionary Force Message, a special-rate service between armed forces on active service in wartime and their families, introduced in 1914 and again in 1940. The WW2 rate was 2/6d for a minimum of 12 words.
[502] See Note 363.
[503] Obscure.
[504] Sir Basil Henry Liddell Hart (1895–1970), English soldier, military historian and military theorist. In 1914, as an officer in the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, he fought on the Western Front, was invalided out with concussion, and saw action again in 1916 at the Battle of the Somme. After WW1 he transferred to the Army Educational Corps and worked on a new edition of the Infantry Training Manual. In the mid-late 1920s he wrote a series of histories of major military figures, retired from the Army in 1927, and spent the rest of his career as theorist and writer. He favoured Britain’s historical tactic of leaving Continental battles to her allies and concentrating on naval supremacy. He was critical of the British change, in the Great War, to direct confrontation with Continental enemies through the use of large land armies, and promoted instead more manoeuvre warfare, taking the indirect approach to reach one’s objective.
[505] The troops cooked their meals on what they called a ‘Benghazi Burner’; an empty petrol can (usually 4 gallons) whose top half was pierced with holes, the bottom half being filled with sand. A dash of petrol was then stirred into the sand and ignited. A second such can, on the top, formed a cooking vessel.
[506] Cooper, op. cit. (Note 421), p. 114.
[507] Patrick had a pair that were the strongest I have ever seen. (Ed.)
[508] So much so that one of his very few comments to me decades later was to explain his instinctive recoil from the Italians ― ‘who never used lavatory paper in the Desert’. (Ed.)
[509] Bully beef (from Fr. bouilli, ‘boiled’), another name for salt-cured or corned beef cooked in gelatin and tinned. First produced on a large scale in Britain in the Industrial Revolution, using Irish beef. During WW2 Britain’s major supplier was Fray Bentos of Uruguay. The Army chefs and the troops invented various ways of cooking this. Also handed out once weekly to the troops were standard 22 oz tins of Army and Navy Meat and Vegetable Ration, bought by the British Army and Navy from various suppliers, e.g. Maconochie of Aberdeen, since the late 1800s for its fighting troops, and which had been the main staple in WW1.
[510] The equivalent of Naval ‘hard tack’, a 4 inch square, 1inch thick, hard biscuit, the consistency of a dog biscuit, that had to be gnawed rather than crunched. Some of the cooks soaked them overnight to make a kind of porridge the next morning.
[511] Short for ‘Stand-to-Arms’, the time of coming on duty.
[512] A thin canvas sheeting.
[513] The vehicle for Despatch Riders and officers for use in the thick, soft sands of the 1942/3 Desert Campaign had to be four-wheeled, and the British Army turned to the American jeep.
[514] Olivia Manning CBE (1908–1980) British novelist, poet, reviewer. The daughter of a naval officer, she spent her childhood in Portsmouth and Bangor, left school at 16, and decided at 20 that she wanted to be a writer. In 1939 she married R. D. Smith, a British Council lecturer whose postings took them to Rumania, Greece, Egypt and Palestine. They were in Egypt for just over a year, from April 1941 to July 1942, living in a flat in Cairo’s Garden City. After 3 years in Jerusalem, they returned to London in 1945. In 1975 she began The Danger Tree, published by Weidenfeld & Nicolson in 1977, and followed it with The Battle Lost and Won, written with Montgomery’s Memoirs at her elbow. This was published in 1977, and The Sum of Things completed The Levant Trilogy in 1980. Her powerful photographic memory and gift for figurative language enriched her style with strikingly apt metaphors and similes ― and it is these that I quote.
[515] The Levant Trilogy, (Penguin 1982), pp. 25, 126.
[516] Manning, op. cit., (Note 515), p. 120.
[517] Presumably, the Battle of Alam Halfa, 31 August – 6 September, the first occasion in the North African campaign on which Rommel was decidedly defeated.
[518] Neil McMicking (1894–1963) C.B., C.B.E., D.S.O., M.C. ultimately Major-General. The only son of Torrance McMicking Esq of Broomrigg, Dumfries, he was educated at Eton and Sandhurst, joined the Black Watch in 1913 and saw active service throughout WW1. In 1940 he was serving as Assistant Quartermaster General with the Western Desert Force, and then as Brigadier in command of the Cairo area. After WW2 he was Chief of Staff, Scottish Command from 1947 until retirement in 1948, and Brigadier of The Queen’s Bodyguard for Scotland.
[519] Inscribed on the back: ‘A “Home” in the Desert’! Jolly cosy too!’
[520] Recorded in a graphic account in his collection of sketches about life in the Western Desert in 1942.
[521] Obscure.
[522] Presumably a boyfriend of Hilda’s.
[523] Presumably some friends of the family.
[524] Saunders.
[525] Ella Agnes Agnew Denholm-Young, née Wallace, widow of Archibald Goldie Denholm-Young, who had just died.
[526] ?Wilkes (see Note 522).
[527] This was the C.O. who died by his own hand.
[528] This must be a cousin. Ebenezer’s first wife was a Woodburn.
[529] David Terence Bastin, C.B.E., Royal Corps of Signals. Army number 31756.
[530] See Note 425.
[531] op. cit. (Note 459) p. 80.
[532] Manning, op. cit. (Note 515), p. 274.
[533] The flare gun invented by the American naval officer Edward Wilson Very (1847–1910). May also be written ‘Verey’.
[534] 26 October 1942, page. 4, column 3.
[535] Multi-purpose auto-cannon anti-aircraft 40mm gun designed in the 1930s by the Swedish arms manufacturer AB Bofors. With its advance sighting system, the ‘Bofors’ was one of the most popular medium-weight anti-aircraft systems in WW2. Bofors is now part of BAE Sytems.
[536] Manning, op. cit. (Note 515), p.86.
[537] German WW2 uniforms were predominantly grey.
[538] The most famous of the German WW2 light two-man dive bombers with ordnance loads in the range of 1000 lbs was the gull-winged Junkers JU 87 Stuka, designed by Hermann Pohlmann, first flown in 1935 and first put into combat in 1936 during the Spanish Civil War. Its flaws, poor manoeuvrability and a lack of both speed and defensive armament which meant that the Stuka required heavy fighter escort to operate effectively,became apparent during the Battle of Britain and it was gradually replaced by the Focke-Wlf Fw 190, though still in use till the end of WW2.
[539] op. cit. (Note 515), p. 202.
[540] op. cit. (Note 515), p. 277.
[541] Jaundice can be the result of liver damage caused by alcohol abuse. The very low daily water ration in the desert (1 gallon for everything) would have had the effect of increasing the proportion in the blood of any alcohol ingested. Other common conditions included dysentery, hepatitis C, diarrhoea, constipation and VD.
[542] Wilhelm Josef Ritter von Thoma (1891–1948), a German career soldier famous for his icy calm and exceptional bravery, was born in Dachau, saw service in WW1, the Spanish Civil War, and in WW2 when he was posted to North Africa in September 1942 to command the Afrika Korps. During the Battle of Alamein, when commander of the Axis army General Stumme suffered a fatal heart attack, Thoma briefly took over until Rommel arrived on 25 October. In November General Thoma was captured by the British and was a PoW in England, where he earned the considerable respect of the British including Churchill, until repatriated in 1947.
[543] i.e. 51st Highland Division.
[544] i.e. Friday 23 October 1942.
[545] Cousins.
[546] In fact it must have been more like two, i.e 26 August to 8 September.
[547] Mena, Gizeh, Cairo.
[548] Perhaps he went to Shafto’s open-air cinema in Cairo, where ‘Three Smart Sisters’ with Shirley Temple was showing.
[549] i.e. Tuesday 8 September.
[550] I have not been able to identify this member of the D-Y family. (Ed.)
[551] See Note 124.
[552] i.e. to encamp.
[553] Cooper, op. cit. (Note 421), pp. 196–7.
[554] Local cabs for hire ― four-wheeled, horse-drawn carriages with a big black hood that could be pulled up to protect passengers from the sun.
[555] Taki, The Spectator, 13 July 2013, p. 55.
[556] He had been to Alexandria.
[557] Appropriately enough, this metaphor for luxury originated from the Egyptian context: ‘the flesh-pots of Egypt’ occurs in the Book of Exodus, XVI.iii.
[558] Alexandria.
[559] Possibly the Pathé 5 minute newsreel film of that name.
[560] Hilda adds in her own hand: ‘Miss ?Cubie, Room 165,Photos Division, M of I, Mallett Street, Photog. Sales Dept, BM 21456’.
[561] op. cit. (Note 515), p. 95.
[562] Manning, op. cit. (Note 515), p. 96.
[563] i.e. General Staff Officer (Grade 1).
[564] Captain Fraser
[565] She did and they remain in the family to this day.
[566] Hyla Bristow Stallard, MD FRCS (1901–73),Olympic athlete and ophthalmic surgeon. A Yorkshireman, born in Leeds. After Cambridge, he represented GB in the 800 and 1500 metres at the Paris Olympics in 1924. He did his clinical medical training at St Bartholomew’s Hospital, London, where he became Ophthalmic House Surgeon, then Consultant Surgeon there and at Moorfields. When WW2 broke out he enlisted in the R.A.M.C. and was posted to Cairo to run a 68-bed ophthalmic unit assisted only by four nurses, two orderlies and a trainee ophthalmologist. Dealing with battle casualties from the Western Desert, he performed over 600 operations, and was Mentioned in Despatches and decorated M.B.E. (Mil). After the war he was reappointed to Moorfields and St Bartholomew’s and worked on ocular cancer.
[567] Lance-Sergeant Carl Nelson, of Blyth, Northumberland, went out, with another N.C.O. of the 51st Highland Division Signals, under heavy shellfire to repair a vital telephone line which went dead shortly before zero hour of a night attack in the Battle of Egypt, and had the line ‘through’ in time for a vital message, then remained there throughout the night, at great risk, in order to keep it open. Nelson was duly awarded the M.M.
[568] Perhaps of the storage company in Edinburgh where his furniture was held?
[569] Obscure.
[570] His cousin, Willie.
[571] Presumably she complained of this in her letters. Otherwise, how could he have known?
[572] Catherine Denholm (1853–1940), elder sister of Ebenezer.
[573] A contemporary of Patrick’s at Woolwich, David Smyth was admitted as a Gentleman Cadet in 1925.
[574] Homs, or Khoms, a city and port about 60 miles south-east of Tripoli.
[575] The capital of Libya, on the Mediterranean coast and including a peninsular-protected harbour, a major port. Founded 7th century BC by the Phoenicians (as distinct from the Levantine Tripoli in the Lebanon) and then in 2nd and 3rd centuries BC was occupied by the Romans. Etc etc.
[576] The Battle of Homs, on 20 and 21st January 1943.
[577] A city of coastal Tripolitania, founded by the Romans, and the third largest in Libya, after Tripoli (116 miles east) and Benghazi (513 miles west). It was colonized by the Italians between the two world wars.
[578] Another Tripolitanian city and port with Phoenician and Roman roots, and once the capital of the Roman Province of Africa. With a fine amphitheatre.
[579] Used to denote that the office of origin has been suppressed.
[580] War Diaries, p. ....
[581] Artemis Cooper, op. cit. (Note 421), p. 133.
[582] Lawrence George Durrell (1912–1990), expatriate British novelist and poet, and elder brother of wildlife conservationist and writer Gerald, lived in Alexandria 1940–1945, and set his WW2 tetralogy there. Justine, the first volume of The Alexandria Quartet, was published in 1957.
[583] Traditional wooden sailing boat used on the Red Sea, around the eastern Mediterranean and along the Nile.
[584] op. cit. (Note 515), p. 19.
[585] Manning, op. cit. (Note 515), p. 10.
[586] Cooper, op. cit. (Note 421), p. 133.
[587] ? Cameron-Webb.
[588] This had a rooftop restaurant, which would have greatly appealed to Patrick.
[589] See Plates 46–53.
[590] See Note 464.
[591] i.e. his Signals Unit HQ
[592] On the coast, just north of Benghazi.
[593] i.e. around 13 November 1942.
[594] A port city in Eastern Libya, near the Egyptian border.
[595] The site of the first major battle of the Western Desert Campaign, and a British victory.
[596] Egyptian coastal city 151 miles west of Alexandria on the main highway from the Nile delta to the Libyan border.
[597] The Halfaya Pass, Qesm as Saloum, Matrouh, Egypt, about ten miles east of the Libyan border.
[598] Libyan town 93 miles south of Benghazi, on an arid plane 4 miles from the sea and is the site of a Roman city.
[599] The location of a brief but important battle of the Western Desert Campaign.
[600] 31 metres high, and built by the Italians on the Libyan Coastal Highway, unveiled in March 1937 in the presence of Benito Mussolini.
[601] Libyan coastal town a few miles east of Sirte. Now known as An Nawfaliyah.
[602] The WW2 German fighter plane, the Messerschmitt Bf 109 (ME-109) and backbone of the Luftwaffe’s fighter force. Designed by Willy Messerschmitt and Robert Lusser in the 1930s, it was one of the first truly modern fighters of the era, including such features as all-metal construction, a closed canopy, a retractable landing gear, and was powered by a liquid-cooled, inverted-V12 aero engine.
[603] See Note 573.
[604] A village in Italian north Libya, a few miles inland to the south of the coastal city of Misurata.
[605] This letter does not appear to have survived.
[606] On 1 April 1943 there was indeed a Gala Performance, attended by King Farouk.
[607] Robert Elliott ‘Roy’ Urquhart, (1901–1988), ultimately Major General, C.B., D.S.O. The son of a Scot, and educated at St Paul’s and Sandhurst, Urquhart was commissioned into Highland Light Infantry in 1920 and served in India until 1941. In 1943 he was appointed Staff Officer in the Highland Infantry Division then stationed in North Africa. His most famous command was during Operation Market Garden in September 1944 as his division was dropped into Arnhem.
[608] McMillan
[609] Hogg
[610] H C Sinclair
[611] James Ralph Seabrooke Pinker ran the London Office of the J. B. Pinker & Son Literary Agency, founded by his father, James Brand Pinker (1863–1922). A Londoner, and son of a monumental mason, he founded his agency in 1896 at 9 Arundel Street, WC2. JBP was a pioneer and giant of the literary world at the end of the nineteenth century. Represented H G Wells, Arnold Bennett, Joseph Conrad et al. and prosperous, with a large house in Surrey. The business was carried on by his two sons, Eric Seabrooke and JRP.
[612] Possibly in the English-language daily, The Egyptian Gazette, founded 1880 in Alexandria, and from 1938 produced in Cairo. The oldest English-language newspaper in the Middle East, it is still being published today.
[613] Manning, op. cit. (Note 515), p. 76.
[614] Manning, op. cit. (Note 515), p. 243.
[615] Manning, op. cit. (Note 515), p. 430.
[616] The Alexandria Quartet (Faber 1962)p. 121.
[617] Cooper, op. cit. (Note 421), p. 247.
[618] Manning, op. cit. (Note 515), p. 330.
[619] Stewart Brown.
[620] R. Schindler, England- and French-language publisher, 41 Sharia Cherif Pasha, Cairo.
[621] George William Houghton (1905–93). His experiences as an RAF pilot in the Western Desert Campaign were published as They Flew Through Sand in 1943 (and its 3rd and 4th editions by Schindler). It was later broadcast on TV with Kenneth More acting. A Scotsman, and a prolific golf writer!
[622] The Sphere (incorporating The Graphic) was a British periodical published weekly from New Oxford Street, London, price 1/6.
[623] Probably the British current affairs photojournalism weekly Picture Post, published by Hulton from 1938 to 1957. Highly successful, it was selling 1,950,000 copies a week by 1943, and was regarded as the UK’s equivalent of Life mgazine. Staff writers included MacDonald Hastings, James Cameron,Fyfe Robertson and Anne Scott James. Many notable freelancer writers contributed, as well, including George Bernard Shaw and Dorothy Parker.
[624] His and Hilda’s governess through their childhood Edinburgh.
[625] The summer temperature in Cairo is between 85º F and 90º F, with the highest humidity in July.
[626] ?Col John Robert Jermain Mcnamara M.P. (1905–44)?? Royal Ulster Rifles and service in Italy.
[627] There is no evidence of this having happened. It is very unlikely that it did.
[628] An endearing foretaste! All his life, my father could, and sometimes did, live on a diet of the same food day after day! Ed.
[629] Mrs Yule? Or Kitty Cook?
[630] E & R Schindler, Cairo.
[631] Clare Hollingworth (1911– ), distinguished British journalist and author who is noted as the first war correspondent to report the outbreak of WW2. In 1946 she was staying at the King David Hotel, Jerusalem, when it was bombed, killing 91. Since the War she has reported on conflicts in Palestine, Algeria, China, Aden, and Vietnam She is the author of five books.
[632] Probably Golf Illustrated or the Illustrated London News.
[633] Probably the Cecil again. And an example of another of my father’s endearing habits ― that of referring to all hotels, however grand and including the Savoy where he and Rachel spent the first night of their honeymoon, as ‘pubs’. (Ed.)
[634] The Africa Star ribbon, a sand-coloured ground, with dark blue (Navy), red (Army) and pale blue (Airforce) stripes, with the number 8 sewn on for all who had served in the Eighth Army; and the circular silver War Medal.
[635] Allied Newspapers, formed in 1924, and renamed Kemsley Newspapers in 1943 by the Welsh newspaper publisher James Gomer Berry, 1st Baron Kemsley (1883–1968), then Chairman of Allied Northern Newspapers Ltd among many other British newspaper groups. KN owned, inter alia, The Sunday Times, Daily Sketch and Sunday Graphic It was later bought by Roy Thomson (later Lord Thomson of Fleet) in 1959.
[636] The Rivoli cinema was powerfully air-conditioned.
[637] The King David Hotel, 23 King David Street, is one of the world’s great hotels, on a par with Raffles in Singapore and Shepheard’s in Cairo. Opened in 1931, and built of pink limestone, it overlooks the old town. Olivia Manning, who lived in Jerusalem for three years from July 1942, notes that then one could ‘sit in the hotel garden and watch the mist clear over the Jordan valley and the mountains of Moab appear’ (op. cit. (Note 512), p. 504). In 1946, because its southern wing housed the British administrative HQ for Palestine, it was famously bombedon 22 July by the militant right-wing Zionist underground organisation, the Irgun and 91 people were killed.
[638] Cecil Albert Heydeman, C.B., M.C. (1889–1967). Commissioned into the Queen’s Bays 1909, served as Brigade Major to the South African brigade at the Battle of the Somme, to the 4th Cavalry Division and to the Rhine Army. By 1939 he was C.O. the Second Cavalry Brigade and spent most of WW2 in India as GOC Indian armoured divisions. 1943–1945, District Officer Commanding at HQ First District, Central Mediterranean Force, before retiring the following year.
[639] 62 miles due south, on the Ionian Gulf.
[640] The port of Athens.
[641] Capital of the Province of Caserta, region of the Campagnia, in central southern Italy.
[642] Possibly to Perugia: he was also in Florence in December 1944.
[643] Deputy Director Medical Services, Royal Army Medical Corps.
[644] Officially 8 May 1945, when celebrations erupted throughout Europe.
[645] In fact it was privately published in England as a slim volume of 37 poems under the title Songs of Soldiers on 23 November 1945 and printed by Horne and Son of Whitby. Several of these were subsequently republished in the two Oasis anthologies of war poetry from the Middle East 1940–46.
[646] Lieut. General Sir Frederick Arthur Montague ‘Boy’ Browning, (1896–1965), G.C.V.O., K.B.E., C.B., D.S.O. After Eton and Sandhurst, and a commission into the Grenadier Guards in 1915, he fought on the Western Front and was awarded D.S.O. for gallantry at Cambrai. In 1932 he married Daphne du Maurier. During WW2, commanded the 1st Airborne Division and led the Airborne Corps during Operation Market Garden in 1944, during the planning of which he memorably said: ‘I think we might be going a bridge too far.’ In December 1944 became Chief of Staff of Admiral Lord Luis Mountbatten’s South East Asia Command, headquartered in Ceylon. After the War he was Military Secretary of the War Office. He suffered a severe nervous breakdown in 1957, retired in 1959 and died in 1965 at Menabily, the house so beloved of his wife and made famous as Manderley in her 1938 novel Rebecca.
[647] Who was this?
[648] Probably Rachel’s first cousin Elizabeth, née Cross, and her husband Charles Gorst, who then worked for a shipping line.
[649] Thereafter known for some time as ‘The Little Colonel’.
[650] Educational charity founded in 1941 by Kurt Hahn and Lawrence Holt to offer the young, through outdoor learning, opportunities to develop survival and leadership skills for life. The first centre, at Aberdovey in Wales, was intended as a school for merchant seamen with a mission to develop skills of self-discovery, confidence, tenacity and perseverance. The West Cumbrian school was and is at Eskdale Green, Holmrook. Since its inception, over a million have taken part in OB courses.
[651] Arthur William, 1st Baron Tedder, (1890–1967), G.C.B., Marshal of the Royal Air Force, a Scot, had been a pilot and squadron commander in the Royal Flying Corps in WW1. In WW2 he was Air Officer Commanding RAF Middle East Command, he oversaw operations in the Mediterranean and North Africa, including involvement i the allied invasions of Sicily and Italy, and was ultimately Deputy Supreme Commander at Supreme HQ Allied Expeditionary Force under General Eisenhower. After the war he served as Chief of the Air Staff. His many post-war appointments included the Chancellorship of the University of Cambridge and vice-chaimanship of the Board of Governors of the BBC.
[652] Gerald Walter Robert Templer, (1898–1979) K.G., G.C.B., G.C.M.G., K.B.E., D.S.O., a British Military commander who fought in both World Wars but is best known for his service in Malaya 1952–1954. After Wellington and Sandhurst, was commissioned into the Royal Irish Fusiliers in 1916 and saw active service in France. Staff appointments between the Wars brought him to Military Intelligence in 1938. By July 1943 he was commanding the 1st Infantry Division in North Africa before taking command of the 56th Infantry in 1943 during the Italian Campaign. Seriously injured by a land mine in 1944, he returned to Military Intelligence, of which he became the Direct in 1946, then Vice-Chief of the Imperial General Staff in 1948, in which capacity he advised the British Government on the 1956 Suez Crisis.
[653] Patrick writes here under the pseudonym he used for a while (see Letter 43), and which the Autocar slightly misprints.
[654] Emeralds Chased in Gold, the Islands of gthe Firth of Forth. Their story, ancient and modern by John Dickson (Oliphant et al., 1894).
[655] From Marmion, canto III, stanza (1808), Walter Scott’s epic poem about the Battle of Flodden Field, 1513:
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