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The Cameron Highlanders
The Queen's Own Cameron Highlanders came in to being in 1881, having previously been called The 79th (Highland-Cameron Volunteers) Regiment of Foot, first raised in 1793.
In 1961 the regiment amalgamated with The Seaforth Highlanders to become The Queen's Own Highlanders.
Battalions during the Second World War.
List of those who served with The Queen's Own Cameron Highlanders during The Second World War
- James Forbes "Pongo" Adams Read his Story.
- Lt W. Bowen 5th Btn.
- Neil Campbell MM. 4th Btn.
- Lt W. G. Chalmers MC. 5th Btn.
- Piper. Chisholm
- Leonard Douglas Clasby
- Lance Sgt. Hugh Clearie 5th Btn. (d.9th Feb 1945)
- Fred Craig
- Colour Sgt. Arthur Crockett
- C.S.M. Hugh Fraser 5th Btn.
- Pte. R. French
- Jack Galbraith 5th Btn.
- Cpl. T. Goodall
- Capt. J. A. Graham 1st btn
- Campbell Gray 7th Btn. Read his Story.
- R.S.M. Haggart
- Pte. Richard Harrison 5th Btn. (d.22nd Jun 1944)
- Sgt. R. Hayworth
- Fred Johnson 5th Btn.
- Derek Kaye 5th Btn.
- C.S.M. "Geordie" Kerr 1st btn
- Lt -Col. D. B. Lang DSC. MC. 5th Btn.
- Pte. J. Lavery
- Sidney Lawson 5th Btn. Read his Story.
- Cpl. R. Leadbeater MM. 5th Btn.
- Alexander Alistair MacBain (d.1940)
- George MacBain Read his Story.
- MacDougal 5th Btn.
- Bob MacKintosh 5th Btn.
- Piper. MacNeill
- Mjr. Eric N. Mainwaring 5th Btn.
- Sgt. F. Martin MM. 5th Btn.
- Richard Massey 5th Btn.
- Sgt. A. McKenzie MM. 5th Btn.
- Mjr. J. L. Melville DSO. 5th Btn.
- Mick Miller
- Pte. R. Moore
- Pte. Morris MM. 7th Btn.
- Bill Munro
- Ted Murcar 5th Btn.
- Newnes 5th Btn.
- Pte. Wullie Niven 5th Btn. Read his Story.
- Hugh Oliver MM. 4th Btn.
- Mjr. Nigel Parker 5th Btn.
- Pte. Frank Perkins Read his Story.
- Pte. Arthur Rowledge 5th Btn.
- Sgt. George Sands MM. 5th Btn. Read his Story.
- Cpl. Leslie Shafer? 5th Btn. Read his Story.
- Sid Shiner
- Sgt. A. "Sandy" Sinclair 5th Btn.
- Peter Smith
- Sid Standish 5th Btn.
- Pte. Alan Ronald Stewart 5th Btn. (d.26th Oct 1944)
- James Stobie Read his Story.
- Derek Suggate 5th Btn.
- L/Cpl. Douglas Thompson
- L/Cpl. Leslie Thompson
- William Toal
- Sgt. L. Toogood
- Pte. Vine
- John Campbell Walters
- Jack Walton 5th Btn.
- J.Cpl Frederick Wescott Read his Story.
- Fusilier Ernest Woodman 7th Btn. Read his Story.
- Capt. W. W. Yellowlees MC. 5th Btn.
J.Cpl Frederick Wescott Parachute Regiment
My Father, Fredrick Wescott joined the Parachute Regiment from the Cameron Highlanders when it was first formed, also for the 2 shillings a day extra (that's what he told us). He never really spoke about the war, but we know he joined up in 1938 and was at Dunkirk. He was posted to the 6th Airborne and dropped into Arnhan where he was captured. My Mother actually collected a weeks widows pension before she found out he had been taken prisoner. He took part in the forced march through Poland and back to Germany.
Two things I can remember seeing from this time were a Woodbine packet which was signed by another Para to pay one days pay for one dead Rat, this during the march, also what we called the White book containing pictures and messages from all the leading figures of the day including The King and Churchill plus many many more.
If I have got the facts about the march wrong could you please let me know as this is only a boyhood memory,I would like to know more about what he did during his time in the army.
George MacBain The Queen's Own Cameron Highlanders
My uncle, George MacBain was a member of the Queens Own Cameron Highlanders was captured at st Valerie in 1940 his brother Alexander Alistair Macbain was in the same regiment and was killed in 1940. Uncle George was marched to Stalag XXA where he spent the rest of the war working on a farm. He has told me many horendous stories of the war. Are any of the men who shared those years of his life still alive? He would love to hear from them. One time in Stalag XXA he was nick named "The Blue Man" after catching a form of impatigo from the cattle and his face had to be painted with blue gencenviolet, does that jog any ones memory?
Many Thanks to all you soldiers for giving so much and receiving so little in the name of freedom.
Pte. Frank Perkins The Queen's Own Cameron Highlanders
The late years of my education were greatly curtailed by preparations for war (we lived on a farm near Southend on Sea, in Essex at the mouth of the Thames). In pre-war 1938 we were digging up the school playing fields to plant crops for eating purposes in what became known as the 'Dig for Victory' campaign, that not put down to growth was also dug up, but for placement of air raid shelters. Some of the schools were undergoing conversion to use as emergency hospitals. On the lighter side my weekends were filled with fascinating visits to the farm by members of the Territorial Army Reserve with massive searchlight units. They set up camp and practised picking out night flying from a nearby airfield, by flimsy, slow flying, Tiger Moth biplanes. The 'Terriers' were a welcome source for pocket money, using me as an errand boy for morning papers, cigarettes and anything else they needed. At that time, to us war was inevitable, and sure enough in September '39 it came
My parents decided it was time to move. We did, out of the frying pan into the fire! Inland to another farm near Hornchurch. Hornchurch was home to an RAF station about to play a major part in the Battle of Britain. There, within an area that was later called 'Bomb Alley' - a wide corridor of intense aerial activity covering much of Kent, the Thames and into Essex. A grandstand viewpoint for Spitfire and Hurricane 'dogfights' with the German raiders. We saw the sky blacked out with hoards of bomber formations on there way to London, interspersed with bursting clouds of anti-aircraft fire that spat out rainstorms of shrapnel to litter the streets, and inflict as much injury as the enemy could dish out to the unwary. It was great to know that a lot of enemy aircraft were unable to turn tail for home after leaving a trail of devastation and sometimes an equally blacked out sky as happened one Saturday afternoon when they set fire to the Thames Haven Oil Refinery and the Silvertown Paper Works. We were plagued for hours with oily flakes of burned paper fluttering earthwards like demented butterflies.
I left school aged 14, during the height of the blitz to take up work in a stockbrokers office in the City of London, and did see both at work and around home horrifying acts against humanity to friends, relations and strangers, all of it countered and made more tolerable by acts of bravery and a great resilience. Conscription to the forces came in the latter part of the war. I had 6 months of training, mostly in Scotland attached to the Gordon Highlanders, and was eventually shipped out to India.
After journeying a quarter of the way round the world and miles of open sea, cramped in a luxury liner suitably downgraded to pack in thousands of troops we were ready to set foot on land in Bombay. Little time was available to accustom to a new culture. We were bundled into waiting trucks, taken some thirty to forty miles to a transit camp and segregated into groups with destinations we knew not where. In a short stay at the transit camp we were subjected to yet another round of inoculations, graphically lectured about clean living, repeatedly drilled in anti malarial practises, and kept completely in the dark about our future.
The war in Europe ended, and soon we were to learn that a new weapon called an atom bomb had been used to raze two large cities in Japan. Surrender by the Japanese was imminent, so was information on some of our futures - I was in a group that was to be transferred to the 1st Battalion The Queens Own Cameron Highlanders (Q.O.C.H.).
In a camp about a hundred miles north east of Bombay near the city of Nasik the remnants of the Battalion of Cameron Highlanders that had survived the Burma campaign and had not yet been repatriated to home were endeavouring to rebuild a much diminished unit. The Camerons had engaged in heavy and costly combat with the Japanese, contributing immensely to overpowering of the enemy in North East India at Kohima and Imphal. (A dramatic account by Bill Pennington of an operation involving the Camerons and the crossing of the Irrawaddy River may be found on www.burmastar.org.uk - type Pennington in the search box).
After the initial chaos of being a member of a new draft to be received by veterans of the Burma campaign, old sweats and others that appeared to have only recently arrived, there was time to make an assessment of the new circumstances. The hierarchy had a delicate task on their hands - in fact they were putting together a potentially volatile cocktail of men with very conflicting ambitions. To all intents the war was over, Burma 'vets' had experienced enough in months to last most people a lifetime and desired only repatriation to home, some of them resorting to the bottle to endure the passage of time until their opportunity came. The last thing they wanted was to mix with a bunch of inexperienced conscripts who were still wet behind the ears, but equally ambitious to call it a day and get back civilian life. Add the other ingredient, the regular soldier who was eager to pursue his chosen career no matter what it involved, and you have a rare mixture.
Conditions in this ever changing scenario were far from good, under dusty, tatty canvas, in even tattier beds that were ridden with an impossible to combat form of wood lice, officially bodily harmless so they were there to be endured. Latrine facilities were primitively crude. Drinking water was stored in large cauldron shaped canvas containers to allow the evaporation caused by the scorching daylight sun to cool the water, it was so chlorinated you could have been drinking pure bleach. Food and eating conditions were appalling, weevil loaded bread to be spread with a runny mess called Oleo Margarine, sometimes with a form of jam. Cooked food consisted of 'porridge' and fried weevil bread for breakfast, and a possibility of something hot later in the day. Most meals were supplemented with second hand American 'K' Rations which were survival packs for use in extreme combat conditions - the contents went something like this, hard tack biscuits, brittle chocolate, pieces of toilet paper, some cigarettes and matches. If you drew luckily your 'K' Ration would contain a can labelled ham and egg. Enough griping!! The meal most looked forward to was an occasional serving of Machonochies Meat & Veg, delivered in large steel drums requiring only heating. To break the monotony of meals entertainment was laid on by native buzzards that would swoop under the canvas, grab whatever was laying around, even from our hands and make off. There was the elusive Orderly Officer of the day, he would appear apparently from nowhere, ask "Any complaints", and evaporate with well practised speed before anyone could answer.
Two influential personalities were replaced, the Bn. Commanding Officer (C.O.) and the Regimental Sergeant Major (R.S.M.), both were honoured with great respect by the Burma 'vets'. Rumours about our purpose favoured that we were to form part of an occupation force in Japan, but we were kicking our heels in the middle of nowhere in the plains of India. Morale was slipping to an all time low, unsavoury incidents were happening. Sadly there were deaths put down as suicide.The new R.S.M. was attacked whilst asleep in his tent. Someone cut the guy ropes of a marquee that was the sergeants mess, creating havoc inside.
The Bn. was up to full strength. All that remained to learn was the purpose. For the first time it was made public. We were to be part of the British Commonwealth Occupation Force in Japan (B.C.O.F.) - the 5 Infantry Brigade Group of the British India Division the 14th Army (B.R.I.N.D.I.V.). The main force were three infantry battalions. Ours, 1st Bn. Q.O.C.H. The 2nd Bn. Dorsetshire Reg't, and the 2nd Bn. The Royal Welch Fusiliers, supplemented with units of 8 Coy., R.A.S.C. (Service Corps). 5 Field Ambulance (Medics), and 5 Inf. Wksps. Coy., R.E.M.E. (Electrical, mechanical engineers).
For a reason I did not know I was sent with a group to Poonah and a unit of the Army Education and Intelligence Corps for a two week course on communication qualities - the gathering of knowledge and information from, and imparting the same to both army personnel and the civilians of where we may be. It seemed irrelevant, but I did appreciate the absence of regimentation and the relaxed atmosphere. The course seemed irrelevant, but a by-product was a step on the ladder of promotion.
A new interest served to ease some of the boredom, full highland dress uniform for every member of the Bn. arrived. Appropriately dressed and assembled with a now competent pipe band in the lead brought a positively brilliant display to the barren surroundings. The Royal Welch Fusiliers had imported a goat to serve as their traditional mascot, and the Dorsets were now the proud owners of a fine military brass band. In its entirety the Brigade were becoming a very impressive force, enough to make anybody stand and stare including the Japs, and hopefully to scare the pants off any troublemakers.
Whoopee!!! At last we were ready to go. Not so!!! Protocol had been overlooked by us mere squadies, and it had to be satisfied. There followed a series of mass drill and assemblies of the whole Brigade including all of the smaller back up units. The ground was baked solid to a depth of several feet (as those who had to dig the occasional grave knew to their sorrow). The repeated marching and counter marching of 5 to 6 thousand pairs of boots would have given solid foundation for the building of a city.
The climax of all the rehearsals was an inspection of the assembly by His Excellency, the Commander in Chief (India), General Sir Claude J.E. Auchinleck. I would have loved to be able to stand aside and observe the desperate efforts of some poor souls at the head and tail of each battalion to keep in step. Authoritatively heading the parade was the resounding beat and skirl the Cameron pipes and drums, followed by the delicate fife band of the Royal Welch, and finally the bold brass band of the Dorsets. Three beats to follow - take your choice. A side benefit, the risk of individual units being inspected resulted in a full English breakfast - egg, bacon, sausage and fried bread (weevils and all).
Now we were ready to break camp and go. No converted luxury liner, instead a vessel unable to hold the whole brigade - the Dorsets would have to follow. A motor propelled sardine can heading into the tropics full of bodies taking it in turns to walk the open deck. A promise to stretch our legs ashore in Singapore had a sting in it's tail. What an anticlimax! Drag your kit out of the hold, don the full highland dress and march parallel to the Equator dressed in a heavy kilt. The Mace was lowered, the band struck up, and off we set on our morning leg stretch through the heart of Singapore. Waiting to take a salute at the Municipal Building was no less than Admiral Lord Louis Mountbatten, Supreme Allied Commander of South East Asia. Protocol satisfied we sweltered back to the ship. At Hong Kong a similar march took place at the dockside, nobody saw us, and we saw nobody. Honshu is the mainland of Japan. There are two major islands in the south, Kyushu and Shikoku, with the seaway around the two littered with smaller islands. On the mainland sheltered from the open sea by the land masses is a major port, Kure, situated a few miles from Hiroshima. Kure was our landing point.
As the ship slowly navigated her way through the islands we had ample time to observe. Beaches were virtually non existent. The shores rose steeply from the sea, straight into mountainous terrain. There was an atmosphere of controlled apprehension, we were entering an area of natural fortresses. As we slipped into Kure harbour the view revealed that the surrounding hills bristled with gun emplacements. At that moment I made a decision, one that nothing will ever change. To take Japan without the use of the bombs, conventional combat would have cost an incalculable number of lives over an inestimable period. As with all war, no one side profits in the long term.
We set up station at a place called Hiro, some ten to fifteen miles from Hiroshima. We found the Japanese in our locality were not eager to befriend, after all they had not long since had the most fearful weapon of all time dropped literally on their doorstep, destroying an entire city and most of its population. I formed the opinion that those present at the time of the 'bomb' were unable to come to terms with the sudden change in their circumstances. Having seen the remains of Hiroshima, I could understand the confusion. Research some 50 years after I was in Japan revealed a lot of information that most of us were completely unaware of at the time. The initial headquarters of B.C.O.F. was at Kure, which had been the principal naval base of Japan and the area included the largest combined dockyard, ship-building yard and naval arsenal in the country. The B.C.O.F. consisted of personnel from British, Indian, Australian, and New Zealand Brigade Groups, as well as airforce and naval components from the various countries.
Apparently the station at Hiro had been manned for a short while by an Australian force, we were to carry on from them. From thereon I did not engage in any regimental activities for the rest of my stay in Japan (I was hospitalised for 5 months). Together with a group that included those who attended the course at Poonah in India we were labelled as an education section. Some educational activities within the unit did take place, but the arrangements to mix wtih some Japanese civilians was somewhat revealing. In an exchange of opinions and other information with one such young, well educated, Japanese ex-service man who had excellent English, I was told in no uncertain manner that many of the Japanese did not consider the conflict at an end and they had facilities to continue, his comments were not to be disregarded. Similar to Germany, the Japanese military expansion began in the late twenties, and into the thirties. By 1931 they had overrun Manchuria, and occupied a land mass equal to four times that of Japan by 1933. The aggression continued into China and onwards. By spring 1942 Japan dominated most of South East Asia. When the war ended some of the Japanese military had enjoyed up to fourteen years of insuperable success and would still be in their early thirties, many trained as killing machines from childhood.
The whole of the B.C.O.F. area was found to be honeycombed with caves and tunnels. Many contained large quantities of explosives, ammunition and poison gasses. Inflation was out of control, with prices doubling by the day. The entire Japanese currency was recalled in one day, and replaced with a new issue the next - from then onwards old currency was worthless. This hardly affected us - we had little to buy. The spring cherry blossom was all that one would have anticipated, coupled it with the delightful oriental singing of Japanese primary school children formed a welcome feeling of peace. Seasons followed the same pattern as at home, but to extreme. From May to September it was hot and humid by day, and persisted through the night. Most of the landscape was mountainous. Terrace farming was practised every where, the main produce being rice. 'Paddy' fields in the few flat areas would come alive at night with frogs - the croaking was incessant. Contact with other occupation forces was rare, but one proved to be a terrific morale booster. An exchange of attractions with the Americans was arranged - they were to send a band to entertain us. It got off to a humorous start. The railway stop at Hiro had no platforms, to alight from the train necessitated a degree of jumping. Our American friends would have been used to this, and our organisers did nothing to ease creature comforts. To the Adjutant and R.S.M. (who made the arrangements), a band meant men in uniform with highly polished buttons and boots. All instruments would have been packed in suitable containers. A truck was sent for the instruments and the pipe band was sent to meet the men. Dressed in casual uniform, wearing ordinary shoes and carrying their own personal instruments, the Americans struggled from the train. They were not soldiers in the accepted sense, but were entertainers in one of the very popular 'big bands'. The instruments were their own property - no way were they going to have them piled into a truck. They co-operated and formed up behind the pipes and drums - this was a new experience for them. The Drum Major lowered his mace, the pipes struck up, the drums rolled, and the spectacle set off at a cracking pace, except that the Americans were trailing behind, and I mean behind. Nearly a mile carrying instruments, with the pipe band setting the pace, was a torture they had not endured before. At the guardroom the R.S.M. had assembled the guard, a good first impression for our guests was essential. The expression on his face was one for the books. The now-exhausted followers were a single file of slouching beings. The R.S.M.'s world collapsed. The Americans nearly followed suit - they were saving their energy for later.
A large corrugated-iron building resembling an aircraft hanger had been selected as the venue for the performance. A platform was erected, and seating was concocted from a wide variety of objects. The band slouched on to the platform, the conductor raised his baton, and suddenly an incredible surge of energy erupted. The band was transformed. The sound issued forth in ever increasing volume, enhanced (or otherwise) by the acoustics of the building. Renderings of the most popular music of the period continued almost non-stop. The atmosphere was electric as our lads called for encore after encore. I had not seen such enthusiasm, and felt so much of a lift in morale in a long time. To return the compliment, we sent a section of the pipes and drums together with a highland dance team to Tokyo. Word had it that the Americans received the performance with equal enthusiasm. Time came to hand the station at Hiro back to the Australians, and move on to Shikoku, the second largest Island in the south of Japan. The brigade had been assigned occupation of the Island. Our final base was in a previously Japanese barracks out side the city of Kochi on the mid-western coastline of the Island. The Dorsets were sent to Tokushima in the north-west, and the Royal Welch completed a near perfect triangle, stationed at Matsuyama, in the east.
Viewed from the top of a nearby hill our base could have been a British barracks built around a massive parade ground (fodder for the regimental types). The single story buildings were built entirely of timber, the floor raised about 3 feet from the ground on stilts that were boxed in with cladding. An interesting form of joinery was used on all rafters and joists, there were no traditional joints, they were all bolted together, this method allowed the whole to sway and flex, but remain intact in an earthquake. The electricity supply was a hoot, two lines of bare copper wire supported on insulators running the entire length of each building. Connection was made for any appliance wherever required with the use of a pair of crocodile clips.
The towns were a mixed bag of tricks. Timber and paper walled dwelling and business places adjoining the pathway (unpaved), separated from the road by frequently bridged open drainage trenches. On the crude unsurfaced road, rail tracks carried ultra modern trams. A mixture alien to our ways, but they worked.
A sharp reminder to remain alert came to light through the sloppy activity of a few individuals. Many barrack rooms had an insignificant trapdoor in the floor. Sweeping out was a daily requirement - what easier than to lift the trapdoor and conveniently dispose of the sweepings. Curiosity overcame one individual, so he wriggled down through the trapdoor and exposed a potential threat. We were living on top of a virtual arsenal, tucked away were cases of well preserved weapons and ammunition. 'Well done that man', he initiated another search to be carried out by the B.C.O.F. An incident resulted in me being carted off to the nearby field ambulance (equivalent to a small cottage hospital). In addition to my immediate needs I was having trouble with my ears. Apparently my stay in the field ambulance was short because the next memory was that I had been transferred some 150 miles to the main B.C.O.F. hospital at Kure. It was a busy place with a mixture of staff from a number of countries. The daily routine was to be wheeled to a treatment room by an Indian orderly. The rest of the day was spent perspiring on the bed and developing sweat rashes in awkward places, and prickly heat elsewhere. It was uncomfortable. Soon I could make my own way for treatment, and the line of interest taken by the doctor had switched to my ears which were now very swollen and closing rapidly. One question arose frequently. "Have you been swimming in the rivers?" The answer was, "Yes, but before the notice forbidding it was posted at Hiro".
In a square ward with about six beds to a wall were a mixture of surgical and other patients, most of them immobile. It was a normal afternoon with everything proceeding in an orderly manner. A happening was to occur that would produce a scene equal to a French Farce. The calm atmosphere was disturbed by an unfamiliar rumbling, like distant thunder. It continued and seemed to be getting nearer. The building begun to tremble. There followed a feeling like being on a ship about to ride a huge wave. It was an earth tremor, one only, that rolled in from the sea lifting the building which seemed to flex with it, and then putting it back down again.
The Indian orderlies fled the patients. It was every man for himself. The fellow in the bed on my right, had ear trouble and no control on his balance. He clambered from his bed did a pirouette and fell to the floor. After three demonstrations of his ballet skills he returned to bed. Another fellow in a bed halfway along the wall on my left had his leg in plaster, hoisted by a weighted cord over a pulley at the foot of the bed. He was determined to not be left behind. Mimicking a contortionist , he selected a table knife from his eating irons, and unsuccessfully hacked at the cord. Diagonally in front of me, yet another fellow decided to take matters into his own hands. Quitting his bed, he attempted to crawl across the floor using his hands only - with each slow advance he systematically lost his pyjama trousers. In desperation he gave up and burst into almost hysterical laughter. The rest joined in. Space at the hospital was in heavy demand. It was decided I could return to my unit, the treatment including that to my ears had responded reasonably well, but I felt far from well. I left the hospital with travel rations (corned beef sandwiches and apples), a rail pass, instructions to link with others to form a group, use only carriages designated for forces, and report the Rail Travel Officer (R.T.O.) at each change. Following instructions, the first major change was at Okayama to catch the ferry over to Shikoku, but things were not going too well. As we approached Okayama a cockney comrade looked closely at me and said "Yer don't arfe look ruff mate". It was an understatement. My new cockney friend stayed with me on to the ferry and we made the crossing. Alighting from the ferry, things began to go haywire, I slumped to the floor and seemed to be on my own, except for passing Japanese who had a distinct disinterest in the foreign devil on the ground. Members of the R.T.O. had been alerted and came to my aid. They decided to get me to the nearest unit with a doctor available. It turned out to be the Dorsets stationed at Tokushima. The doctor decided to keep me overnight and transfer me next day to my own unit. By the time I reached the Camerons I was in a right state, and the Bn. Doctor sent me back to the field ambulance. Placed in isolation, I alternated from consciousness, to semi conscious, and just plain nothing. During this period I gained a memory that was to stay with me for ever. A fellow Cameron had been involved in an incident with the Japanese. He had been stabbed in the abdomen, his bladder had burst, and his blood system was poisoned. The air was filled with moments of haunting cries of agony. He took about a week to die. Returning to consciousness, and choking because of a nose bleed, I was confronted with a big ugly Japanese face staring at me from a few inches, frightened and confused I signalled to seek his aid. He just grinned and left me to it. (Japanese labour was used for cleaning). Oh to be rid of this accursed country and it's people!!! A welcome turning point was reached. Thanks to the meticulous, dedicated care of an Australian doctor I was blessed with a steady recovery. I never even knew the mans name, and the opportunity to convey an ultimate debt of gratitude didn't arise. Sufficient recovery paved the way for transfer to another hospital at Okayama, and there began the prelude to my happiest time in Japan. Stretchered into a bell tent I joined a group of about half a dozen chaps installed toe-to-toe around the central pole. It seemed we were untouchables to be kept away from others. None of us had been told what ailed us, but the general consensus seemed to be that we had something like diphtheria. Into the tent walked a little Japanese, he shinned up the central pole dragging a pair of wires with him. Securing the wires to the pole he proceeded to strip off the insulation and affix a lamp holder, he then inserted a lamp, to our surprise it lit immediately. Job done the Jap' left. Life was cheap there, he had been playing with wires, live in excess of 200 volts.
Transfer to a proper isolation ward within the hospital was rewarded with two very pleasant surprises. The hospital had a team from the Queen Alexander's Imperial Military Nursing Service (Q.A.I.M.N.S.) Proper lady nurses with a proper Matron, who came to see us. "You may have one portable gramophone and one recording" we were told. "Let the nurses know your choice" she added, and left. The fellows were from all over the B.C.O.F., and diverse units. We had a ballot on the choice of recording - the leaning was toward classical music, one factor being that complete works required more than one 78 rpm record. The tactic was a success, Beethoven won with his 'Emperor' Piano Concerto, and was avidly followed note-for-note, over-and-over again. Takuma Bay, (whereabouts unknown) formerly a seaplane base, had been adapted as a convalescent centre staffed by the Q.A.I.M.N.S. and the Women's Voluntary Service (W.V.S.). I had a whole month to come and go as I pleased, in comfortable surroundings, with the feminine touch that sometimes bordered on the luxurious. There was a well-stocked library of books and records, with peaceful facilities in which to enjoy them, both in and out of doors. A radio was tuned into a forces programme Radio S.E.A.C. (South East Asia Command)
The food was excellent - snacks and beverages available through the day, willing assistance (if required) available twenty four hours a day. Could this have been associated with the army, or was I dreaming. Early days were spent in simple relaxation, and lapping up the remains of the autumnal atmosphere. Later I ventured further to take in the beauty of the setting, some of the land laid out in typical Japanese garden style. The furthest I went was to the land edge rising almost vertically out of the sea. It was a good feeling.
In the third week the Matron approached me and suggested I go alone and explore the surrounding countryside - no further than I wished, and for as long as I liked. A bicycle had been reserved for me, and picnic food could be prepared. Assurances that I would not encounter any problems in the areas I could reach alleviated any apprehensions I had about the Japanese. It was go!!!
The first day I took just a snack and drink. It was necessary to accustom myself to the bike. The initial feeling of freedom was exhilarating. I didn't go too far, saw no Japs, and determined to do more of this, venturing further each day.
The area was rural with a great deal of appeal. The roadways ran through the valleys of the hilly terrain, frequently bending to offer numerous changes of view. Coupled with the rural atmosphere, and sparse population there was a feeling of having slipped a century or two into the past. The natives, if that was the correct terminology were more inquisitive about, than aggressive to this strange uniformed foreigner. Production of rice on the terraces laid out like giant steps to the top of the mountains, were irrigated by an antiquated system of large water wheels linking the essential liquid right to the top. The water was fed into channels through the terraces, and back down to the feeder pool below. Women, frequently clad in only loin cloths spent the entire day walking on the spot on treadmills to provide the required energy. With a series of fascinating and colourful images planted in my mind I eventually headed back to rejoin the battalion.
Christmas 1946 was four days off. In the early hours of the morning our sleep was disturbed by a sound like a hurricane force wind heading our way, unlike anything experienced before. There were four of us in the completely dark room. The only communication was by voice, and that was tempered with controlled anxiety. The noise increased and communication was overpowered. Situations are not readily recognised when woken from deep sleep. The full reality dawned on me as the building began to shake. This was not an earth tremor like the one at Kure, it was a full scale earthquake. I scrambled out of the trembling bed, but could not stand. The other three had done the same, we were colliding with each other as we crawled across the now violently moving floor. Total collapse of the building seemed imminent. In effect we were up against a raging element, and were helpless.
It was claimed that the initial impact lasted approximately four minutes. I cannot confirm or deny, my mind was on self preservation. Without doubt there was relief when it subsided - the building had survived major damage, but there was chaos, and still total darkness. It quietened, and the first impulse was to find clothing and get dressed. Vocal communication was re-established with a garbled mess of requests and advice. Somehow, we had sort of dressed, and were remaining calm. The noise and trembling started again. 'Get out'! 'Keep covered' ! Conflicting opinions. Confusion had set in. I opted for out , it seemed best.
Outside there was immediate contact with the ground, and the movement was more pronounced. I was beginning to doubt my decision, but the duration of this movement was shorter. A pattern of repeating quakes of varying violence continued into the day. Daylight revealed the extent of the damage, the design of the Jap barracks had proved it's worth. Not so a cookhouse built of bricks by our chaps, it was reduced to rubble. Security was immediately tightened, and not without reason. Japanese grenades that had been hidden in the rafters had dislodged, another factor similar to others uncovered in the past.
The C.O. was away, leaving a very level-headed Major in charge. To establish authority, and reduce the question of vulnerability from the Japanese superiority gained by their experience of quakes. We had to show the flag. A company in armed in full battle order was assembled. Headed by a Bren Carrier (a small armoured vehicle), a piper and drummer, they marched into the accessible areas of Kochi in a show of strength, and returned to camp. Information on the full extent of the damage caused by the quake and it's associated elements was passed to us by men from the company that had marched into Kochi. The hilly terrain had given us shelter from a massive tidal wave generated from the epicentre of the quake somewhere out at sea, but much of the city of Kochi had been engulfed.
Quite large boats were left stranded miles inland, buildings had been wrecked, and many washed out to sea. I have no knowledge of human injury and loss of life, but it must have been considerable. Many were left homeless. No casualties were sustained by members of the commonwealth force. Earth tremors continued for up to two weeks. The sea water took a considerable time to recede, and had not returned to the original coastline when it was the time for us to leave Japan.
Early in 1947 our unit left Japan. I don't know if any of the rest of the brigade were left behind. For the Cameron's they had found another spot needing attention in Malaya. The battalion marched out with great pomp and circumstance. I left as an individual. The C.O. decided I would supervise the carriage of a number of crates over the 150 miles to Kure. (I suspect they contained the bounty he had collected). At Kure I saw the crates into the hold of the ship, and we left. From me, no goodbye, definitely no thank you, only a positive message. I will not be back!!!
Campbell Gray 7th Btn. The Queen's Own Cameron Highlanders
During WW2 all members of the Parachute Regiment were volunteers recruited from the many regiments throughout the army. I was with the 7th Battalion, Cameron Highlanders. We had had a visit from General ‘Boy’ Browning, who had given us a talk on the role of the Parachute Regiment and asked for volunteers to form the 5th Battalion (Scottish) Parachute Regiment.
About 400 volunteered, and we were posted for training to Hardwick Hall, near Chesterfield, which was the training school for the Parachute Regiment. The big attraction in volunteering was the 2/- (10p) a day extra pay, which doubled our regular pay as we were only on 2/- a day. The training was very tough, and quite a number of volunteers were returned to their former units as unsuitable. Those who survived the initial training were committed to very intensive training to ensure full fitness. Training day started at 8am and ended at 6.30pm every day. The training staff bawled and shouted at us all day long, and after a few days we were doing things instinctively despite the shouts of ‘Go, go, go’.
We practised dispatch from aircraft on dummy fuselages of floor- and door-exit aircraft, which were mounted about 12ft from the ground. For the next stage of our training we moved to Ringway Airport in Manchester. There, RAF instructors took us in hand to help us land properly. The normal physical training continued at Ringway. That regime kept us up to peak fitness. Learning how to descent from aircraft was the next stage in our training. To qualify as a parachutist, we had to do seven descents, two from a static balloon and five from aircraft. Tatton Park in Manchester was the drop zone, and this was where the balloons were located. Slung from the balloon was a basket roughly eight-feet square with a hole in the base, big enough for a body and parachute to pass through, with a bar above the aperture to hook the static line to. The static line was the means of releasing the parachute from the containing bag to allow it to develop. Four men at a time with an instructor (RAF) went up to a height of 800ft. My turn eventually came round, and it was then that I began to doubt the wisdom of having volunteered for this branch of the services. It was quite an eerie feeling as we stood, one man in each corner of the basket, watching the ground get further and further away. The silence was only broken by the whistle of the wind and the instructor’s voice pronouncing, ‘800ft, lads, get ready no. 1.’ No time was wasted in dispatching us. We sat at the edge of the hole in turn, and the instructor did the hook-up to the bar then ‘Action Station’ – hands on edge of aperture, sitting with legs in hole, head back and ‘Go.’
The sensation of falling was terrifying, with a drop of some 180ft before the chute developed. An instructor on the ground with a loud hailer talked us down. There was a tremendous feeling of exhilaration once we were back on the ground, and we couldn't wait to do a repeat performance. The next stage was dropping from an actual aircraft, in our case Whitley bombers, stripped to carry a stick of ten men. There wasn't a lot of space in this plane, with the round aperture in the floor located about halfway up the fuselage. Five men sat each side of the aperture alternately facing each other. There was little or no headroom, and it was extremely uncomfortable, to say the least. When the red light above the aperture came on, no. 1 swung his legs into the aperture and awaited the green light that came on in a matter of seconds. Off he went, followed by no. 2, on the other side of the aperture, and the remainder followed in turn. After finishing the required number of descents, we attended the ceremony for presenting the coveted wings, by which we became qualified parachutists. Once we had completed the course and qualified, refusal to continue was a court-martial offence with imprisonment of normally 56 days. Our home base was at Larkhill on Salisbury Plains, where we completed our training, being dropped from aircraft, at night and in daytime. The planes were Whitleys, Albemarles, Dakotas and Stirlings.
Around March 1943, the 5th Battalion (Scottish) was scheduled for north Africa, but I had a bout of pleurisy and was sent instead to hospital. When I came out, the 5th was gone, and I was posted to the depot at Chesterfield to join a draft for north Africa to rejoin my battalion. A few days before embarkation, however, I and a number of others, mostly signallers and mortar men, were taken off the draft and posted back to Larkhill to join a new battalion that was being formed, the 12th Battalion (Yorks), Parachute Regiment. The endless exercises continued as before in preparation for the invasion of Europe. When, in May 1944, we took off for a transit camp near Keevil, we knew this time it was for real.
The camp was ringed with armed soldiers (not airborne), and no one was allowed in or out. The first morning saw my company marched to a hut and seated for a first briefing. There was a large map mounted at the end of the hut and covered with a cloth. After a few words of introduction, the briefing offer removed the cloth and revealed a map of the Normandy region of France that showed the German troop positions in the area. In another hut, there was a large sand model of the area that indicated the drop zone, rendezvous point and our objective. The village of Le Bas de Ranville was our objective. While that of the 6th Division was to secure the bridges of the River Orne and Orne Canal, the waterways running close to each other, and the ground east of the river, and take out the gun battery at Merville. Such action would cover the beaches where the sea landing was to take place. We were scheduled to go in a few hours before the landing. Briefing took place every morning, and any changes in enemy-troop movements were noted. We were informed that Overlord would take place on 5 June. Adverse weather conditions initially cancelled this, though by evening it was confirmed that we would indeed be going.
At this stage of the war the parachute soldier carried a fairly hefty load, each with a special kit bag strapped to the leg with a 20ft length of rope attached and tied to a waist belt. This we released during our descent. It was quite handy in letting us know in the dark when we were about to hit the ground. In my case I carried a wireless set too, which was wrapped in foam rubber. We arrived at the airfield near Keevil around 10pm on 5 June and made our way to the enplaning area after drawing chutes. My battalion was being transported by Stirling bombers with Canadian crews. Exit from the bomber was through a rectangular floor aperture at the tail end of the aircraft. Very few of the men had experienced action before, and we were all in good spirits – the great adventure was about to begin.
The signal corporal who was in the next plane to mine came over and shook my hand saying, ‘I'll see you over there, Jock.’ I never saw him again. He disappeared after being dropped in the wrong area with a number of others, all of whom, except him and the signals officer, managed to rejoin us. It would be around 11pm when we got on our way and taxied to the runway for take-off. I must say that no one felt like talking after take-off, and the noise of the engines made it almost impossible anyway. We were scheduled to be dropped around 1am, our drop zone being a few miles inland. There was some light anti-aircraft fire as we crossed the French coast. At last we got the order to ‘Hook-up’ and ‘Stand To’. I was no. 2 to go. We had to rely on the guy behind us handing us the end of our static line, making sure it was free of entanglement prior to hook-up. All eyes were then glued to the lights above the aperture. When the dispatcher (RAF) bawled ‘Red On’ followed by ‘Green On’, then ‘Go, go, go,’ we went through the aperture as fast as possible. We were going in about 500ft, and it was essential to have a fast dispatch to ensure that we would be closer together on the ground. It was a moonlit night with some light cloud. I had quite a good descent, landing a bit heavily but safely in a corn field with stalks up to my waist. There was a real danger for us at this point of being shot at by one of our mates, so a simple code system had been devised, the first day being ‘Ham’ to be answered by ‘Egg’, the next day ‘Bread’ and ‘Butter’.
After releasing my harness and dumping the jump jacket – put on over our outer equipment so that our lines on dispatch couldn't snag on anything – I gathered myself together. I had to get myself to the rendezvous point, a quarry just on the approaches to Ranville. As I proceeded, I heard movement just ahead of me. I went to ground immediately and gave the code sign ‘Ham’ and got the ‘Egg’. It happened to be a signaller of my own platoon, who had injured his back in the drop. We got to a hedgerow at the side of the field, but he couldn't go any further so I had to leave him there and carry on. We had been told at the briefing not to stop to help wounded or injured men under any circumstances. The objective was top priority and required the maximum number of men to achieve it.
I eventually reached the quarry, guided by the flashing red light of my battalion. Other battalions were guided by a hunting horn or a whistle to their different rendezvous points. The drop zone was coming under fire by this time, but most of us were clear of it by then. I was the commanding officer’s, the CO’s, signaller and reported to him on arrival. By around 3am we were still at about only half-strength. It turned out that many of my battalion had been dropped in the wrong area, and in some cases it took a few days before they got to us. In any case, the CO decided to move on to secure Le Bas de Ranville. Resistance was fairly light, the Germans having withdrawn to a wood to the south. By 4am we were well dug in. Things were remarkably quiet for a short time, and then we heard the naval barrage starting and knew that the seaborne landings were about to take place.
Come daybreak our forward position reported enemy-troop movement in our direction, supported by two SP or self-propelled guns. With this forward position were a naval officer and a rating who had parachuted in with us and had established a radio link with a cruiser off the coast. Unfortunately, they were killed in the first assault on the forward position, as was a mate of mine on radio contact with HQ. The forward position, consisting of an officer and 12 men, came under heavy fire and suffered casualties, though the officer and three of the men managed to escape and pull back to the company position. The two SP guns were destroyed by six-pounder guns of one of the other companies. Another section reoccupied the forward position along a hedgerow. Later that day a further attack was launched on our position. We came under heavy mortaring and SP gunfire, and our casualties were fairly heavy.
That evening we witnessed the remarkable sight of around 500 tug-aircraft and gliders streaming in over the coast to land astride the Orne river and canal. It looked like we were well and truly there to stay. By this time, after having come ashore at Sword Beach and suffered heavy casualties, the commandos had arrived at our position. Our division had secured all objectives and were holding firm despite being under almost continuous heavy fire, which, of course, meant more casualties.
We were pinned down in a small bridgehead and awaiting the fall of Caen before the breakout could take place. My battalion was well under strength. We were moved back and forward along the line, exchanging position with other units. On D+6 my battalion – what was left of it – were chosen to take the village of Breville, which was heavily defended. We were down to around eight officers and 350 men by this time. We proceeded to a place called Amfreville, where we trooped into the local church for our briefing. The order was that ‘Breville must be taken.’
The Black Watch had tried to take it and had suffered heavily in their attempt. The commandos were holding position on the outskirts of Amfreville, facing towards Breville, and we took up position for the attack on the road alongside them. The attack, preceded by a barrage at 9.45pm and supported by a few tanks, would be launched at around 10pm. Unfortunately, the first salvo fell short and landed on the road in which we were assembled. Our CO and several HQ personnel were killed and several others wounded. Just as the attack company moved off, the Germans laid down a counter barrage, and they were cut to pieces in the open ground approaching Breville. I went in with the second company and had to pass through the dead and wounded. The company commander, although lying wounded, waved us on to keep going.
I reached the edge of the village with a number of others, and we got pinned down in a ditch. After taking our bearings we moved out to reach Breville crossroads, exchanging fire as we went. I still had the wireless set on my back but had lost the aerial. The village was virtually on fire from end to end. Things were a bit uncertain, to say least. At the crossroads we came under very heavy bombardment and again had to shelter in a ditch for what seemed like hours till, eventually, except for some spasmodic small arms fire, we had secured our positions. We lay all night expecting the usual counter-attack, but at dawn patrols sent out reported that no enemy was contacted. Breville had been taken at last, and our bridgehead was complete.
The cost was very heavy indeed, with all our officers killed or wounded. There were 168 dead from all companies and only around 100 of the original battalion left. The following day was spent burying the dead, British and German. I assisted in burying one guy who had been killed alongside the burning church. He was buried where he had fallen.
When I returned to Normandy at the 40th anniversary, I went to Breville. That grave was still there alongside the ruins of the church. Apparently, the people of Breville had asked that it should remain there rather than being removed to Ranville War Cemetery.
Later, Breville became a battle honour for the Division, such was its importance for the Normandy campaign
James Forbes "Pongo" Adams The Queen's Own Cameron Highlanders
The name James Stobie is so familiar!! My late father was James Forbes Adams of Nairn, was in the Cameron Highlanders (51st Highland Division). He was a drummer with Cameron Highlanders (Territorials) Pipe Band, and as he was 18, he got called up to take place of the 17 year old tip drummer.
After going to France with the BEF (51st HD), he was captured at St. Valery. That's him next to Kenneth Warner at the end of the row in the second photo. (See photo below) I know this, as I still have that portion that my Aunty Marj (ex Wren) had carried around in her purse throughout his captivity. We lived in Nairn until 1959, when we moved to Glenrothes in Fife. Dad was a founding member of the Nairn Pipeband, and later the Co-founded the Glenrothes Pipeband. After that he was involed with teaching youngsters a Cupar PB, and played with the Kelty and Blairadam PB (the year they won the 2nd Grade drumming at World Championships at Perth.James Forbes Adams at breakup of a Territorial camp near Fort George, just prior to hostilities.
The dreaded telegram his aunty received when he was posted missing.
Dad did attempt escape twice, once in Holland on the long march to Germany, and I believe the other time was when he was at Stalag XXA (Fort 13). He ended up at Stalag XXB. It was hard to get him to talk about his experiences. As a child, I can vividly remember him waking up screaming as a result of the nightmares (right up until the early 60's). He once let his guard down and told me how one night he awoke thinking he was dyingas he was completely soaked in blood. Sadly it was the chap in the bunk above him who had taken his own life.
James Stobie The Queen's Own Cameron Highlanders
My father, now deceased, James Stobie, was a prisoner of war in Stalag XXB Camp 34. He was private No. 5783 in the Cameron Highlanders. I have several photos of him taken there in uniform, and in a band and a concert. If anyone knows of my Dad or could shed some light on his time there, could they let me know. I would be very interested.
Pte. Wullie Niven 5th Btn. The Queen's Own Cameron Highlanders
I am trying to trace a camp in Austria/Germany. My Father Wullie Niven From Glasgow was in The Cameron Highlanders from 1940 to 1946 I know from old photo`s he was in the 5th batt with the Cameron's in Aug 1940, I think he might have gone to North Africa to reform the 51st Highland Division, On back of old Platoon Photo says ??????T, GEISE ? August 1940.
Next I have POW letter to my mother saying he is in GERMANY Dated 24/01/1944 NO camp Number. The group photo which I will try and send states ST MARIEN AUSTRIA. The list of names I have in group photo are all from Scotland. My father is Second from left at the back the man in front second left is called Fitzpatrick. next to him is a friend who sent photo to my Dad but no name? Next Three Sergeants Called Bertingshaw, Bailley, Baker, Also Concert party Wallace, Johnson, Hopfeldt or Hodfeldt? Sorry no first names.
Like most he never spoke much about what he done,where he served or got captured? I do know he had a distrust or fear of Doctors never went unless you dragged him. He is now deceased but I would like to hear from any living friends or family members who can fill in any missing bits in the Cameron's from August 1940 to when he might have got captured where? to his time in & what is the Number of his POW Camp?
I hope to hear from someone.
Cpl. Leslie Shafer? 5th Btn. The Queen's Own Cameron Highlanders
I'm search for many years a Corporal Leslie, or his relatives, the surname from Leslie I don't know, on one of the photo?s is his signature and the name look like Shafer. He was round begin December 1944 with his unit in the village of Vught and he often visite us in our home in Hertogenbosch province Nord Brabant-Holland. So far I know he has served in the 51th Highland Division, 152nd Brigade, 5th Bn. Queen Own Cameron Highlanders. Leslie must go with his unit on 16 December 1944 to the Ardennes in Belgium and was billeted in Chaudfontaine on 3 January 1945.
My information say, that his unit returned on 18 January 1945 back in the village of Vught, but we have never more somewhat heard from him.
Who can help me to find him or his relatives, I hope that someone recognize or identify this man on the photo ? He is not Leslie Thompson from Inverness !
Leslie with pipe.
Leslie's signature
On the backrow, place two from the rightside: Leslie, Carrier platoon, Cameron Highlanders.
I will know, is he alive or what is happened after he left our family in December 1944. I thank you in advance that you maybe can help me?
Fusilier Ernest Woodman 7th Btn. Cameronian Scottish Rifles
I am trying to trace my uncle's WW2 history. He was Fusilier Ernest Woodman, No:14755782, he served with 7th Batt Cameronian Scottish Rifles and 5th Batt Queens Own Cameron Highlanders, D Coy.
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