I Sank The Bismarck Read online

  Even wandering around the town offered plenty of opportunity for mischief. There was almost no motor traffic, so I could walk about with Wiggy without any fear of being run over, but there were other hazards. My father's garage was located next to the church, and then on the other side of that was the local baker's, and then the public house next to that. For a young boy the baker's was an enormously attractive place, with its iced buns and doughnuts in the window. The baker was always very friendly towards me and I was allowed to go down to the cellar where the dough was being mixed in large tubs, then cut up into portions to be baked into rolls and loaves. Even then I felt that there was something extremely satisfying and wholesome about the smell of flour and yeast and new-baked bread.

  In those days the roads around Earlston were covered by layers of stone chippings spread over hot tar and the council roadworkers came every few years to renew the surface. Piles of grit were brought by lorry and left by the side of the road, along with barrels of tar ready to be used. I can't imagine how I did it, but I managed to get into one of those barrels and started shouting for help. My father rescued me and dragged me into the garage, where he cleaned me off with paraffin. Ever since, the smell of paraffin or tar has brought back that experience, taking me back to my earliest days. So too does the smell of whisky. One day I was walking past the public house, and I must have been without my constant companion Wiggy because the landlord's terrier bounded out and bit me on the upper arm. I was very upset, and so of course was the landlord. He rushed me into the pub, sat me on the bar and cleaned the wound with neat whisky. Another alarming experience for a young lad – but I have to say that it has never stopped me from enjoying a dram.

  My father's business prospered in Earlston. The garage was usually busy, as cars and buses were starting to replace horsedrawn vehicles. I enjoyed loitering in the area, watching the workmen, and I became fascinated by engines and anything mechanical, although things were still fairly primitive by modern standards. My father bought a chassis from Albion, the lorry manufacturer in Glasgow, and had the local joiner build what was known as a charabanc body on it. It was the first bus to operate in Earlston and was often hired to take local clubs and church groups on excursions or picnics. The wheels still had wooden spokes and wheel rims, like the old wooden horse-drawn carts. On very hot days in summer the wood would dry out and shrink, so the driver always had to make sure that a bucket of water was available to keep the wood wet to prevent the wheels from collapsing.

  My father also started to sell cars, and in about 1925 he sold the local doctor, Dr Young, a new Model T Ford. This led to my first ever crash. These cars had been in production for some years, but the prices had started to fall, so doctors and other professional people had now started to buy them. Ford kept on improving them and the car bought by Dr Young had been fitted with what was then a very modern innovation, an electric starter, as an alternative to cranking the engine over by hand with a starting handle. This electric starter was operated by a large button mounted on the floor beside the driver. Shortly after the car had been proudly handed over by my father, the doctor used it to visit a patient who lived above the big grocer's shop that fronted on to the main square. The pristine Ford, black of course, was left next to the shop. Motor cars were still a novelty in those days and I was particularly intrigued by this concept of the electric starter. Seeing the car parked, I took the opportunity to clamber up into it. I was five years old and fascinated by the shiny new button sticking out of the floor. I pressed firmly on it with both my hands, as hard as I could. To my utter surprise, the car leapt forward over the cobbles and smashed into the plate-glass window of the grocer's shop. There was utter chaos. The assistants were screaming inside the shop, people all round the square rushed out to see what had caused the sound of shattering glass; all this accompanied by my cries of shock, and my tears at the realization of the trouble I was in. It didn't take long before first the doctor and then my father added to the tumult. I was correct about the trouble I was in, for my father treated me very sternly. I was forbidden all sorts of treats and was told I must stay indoors, but I think it is hard for people to remain angry at small children for long. Soon I found myself wandering my favourite haunts again and running over the fields with Wiggy.

  When I was around six or seven we moved to Low Fell, a coal-mining district of County Durham close to Gateshead, where we lived in a flat above my father's car showroom. It was not a time that I enjoyed very much. I was growing up and beginning to be affected by events in the wider world. We had moved from Earlston, comparatively quite a rural town, to an area dominated by coal mining. We lived at first in a very poor part of town and I was singled out in the local school as being Scottish and slightly more well-to-do than most of the children. Also, 1926 saw the General Strike, when the transport workers and dockers came out on strike in support of the coalminers, who were refusing to take a pay cut. The streets were full off striking miners, with police and the army guarding the entrances to the pits and escorting food lorries driven by volunteers. Families had no money, there was an air of desperation and violence, and I think my father's business was badly affected by the strike.

  The only enjoyable memory I have of our time in County Durham was when my mother took me to the Empire Theatre to see the famous singer Al Jolson, who performed made up as a black minstrel. It would not be accepted now, but he was truly an amazing performer, holding the audience spellbound when he sang his most famous song, 'Sonny Boy'. It was a real tear-jerker.

  We stayed in England for a couple of years, with things slowly improving, then my father decided to move once more and we headed back across the border to Scotland, to the lovely town of Kelso, a few miles east of Earlston.

  Kelso is built round a big cobbled square, apparently the largest in Scotland, with four main roads leading into it; many people say that it is similar to a French provincial town. It is where the Tweed and Teviot rivers meet and, as both are good salmon rivers, Kelso is well known for its game fishing. It has a fine National Hunt racecourse and a high school, which, at that time, had an excellent reputation for rugby. At the end of Roxburgh Street a horseshoe was embedded in the pavement, and the local legend says that it was thrown by Bonnie Prince Charlie's horse back in 1745. There was also a big ring set in the cobbles in the middle of the square where bulls were tied up on market days.

  We lived in and around Kelso for the next few years, and I first went to school at the Abbey public school in Wark. For some of that time we lived in a small village on the outskirts of a town called Carham and from there I walked to the school, which had only one classroom and one lady teacher. My parents then moved into Kelso, but I was occasionally sent to my grandparents at Waskerly and then had to walk about a mile and a half to school on my own. The walk was fine in summer, but pretty tough going in winter, when it seemed to be dark when I left home in the morning and dark again on the journey back. On the way home I had to pass a solitary building called the Moor Lock Inn and I was once attacked there by a very angry gander, which flew at me and knocked me down. He would not leave me alone, but luckily somebody heard my shouts and came and beat him off with a stick. I gave the building a very wide berth after that, which added to the unpleasantness of the journey.

  This area of country was often used for motor-bike trials and a checkpoint for the riders was set up nearby. I remember seeing a well-known woman motorcyclist, Marjorie Cottle, there, riding an extremely impressive bike called a Red Indian. I had heard a lot about her, as she was one of the few women motorcyclists in those days, and she was very successful in races and time trials. The fact that she was competing in a sport dominated by men was controversial – after all, women had only been given the vote in 1928 – and she was often the subject of articles in newspapers and magazines. She had blonde hair and, even with her riding gear on, she was quite glamorous. She left a great impression on me. I must have been growing up!

  I had not had a very pleasant time in the school
s I had been attending so far, because of the behaviour of the other children towards me and the arduous journeys. By the time I was eleven I was determined to go to Kelso High School, where the pupils wore very impressive red-and-white-striped jerseys and the building was in the centre of town. I was very pleased when I passed my entrance exams and was accepted. The school was marvellous compared to what I had had to put up with in County Durham and at the school in Wark. The headmaster, Mr Shepherd, was one of those characters who was both imposing and charismatic. When he entered a classroom the pupils just ate out of his hand, he was so respected. At Kelso High School I started to excel at rugby and I eventually made it to the school's first team. I continued to enjoy playing rugby long after my schooldays, and still today think it is a marvellous game.

  Before I qualified for the High School I used to walk past Kelso Abbey to the Abbey school and was fascinated by a stone obelisk in the Abbey grounds. It bore a rather ominous inscription: REMEMBER MAN AS YOU PASS BY, AS YOU ARE NOW, SO ONCE WAS I, AS I AM NOW SO MUST YOU BE, PREPARE FOR DEATH AND FOLLOW ME. I had no way of knowing then, but there were to be times in my life when I had to confront the prospect of death rather urgently, as did many of my friends. I often remembered that inscription, though I cannot say that it helped, or offered any way out of a dreadful situation.

  There was a very active social life in the town, as there was in those days in most towns around the country. There were two annual gatherings in the big square, when the townsfolk all made an appearance. One was every Hogmanay – New Year's Eve – and the other was in the summer for the start of the annual trip to Spittal, a seaside town on the coast across the estuary from Berwick-upon-Tweed, where everybody was transported free by bus or train for a day at the beach.

  My parents took an active part in some of the town's clubs. The Kelso Swimming Club was formed while I was at school. A hut was built on the riverbank near the Duke of Roxburghe's estate boundary, and the Pirelli company, a manufacturer of electricity cables, which was putting up pylons to bring mains electricity to the town, was persuaded to build a diving board with 10-foot and 20-foot platforms for the club's use. My father was one of the first to dive off the top, but I'm afraid I never managed it.

  My mother, who was very musical, had a good voice and was a keen amateur singer. She was active in the local Operatic Society, which was extremely well supported and attracted talent from other towns around Kelso. Their repertoire ranged from Gilbert and Sullivan's Pirates of Penzance to the operetta Goodnight Vienna. I was always recruited for the chorus. My mother also encouraged me to take up a musical instrument and eventually I started to perform with a band.

  The ability to play the piano and violin served me in good stead later on. Amateur musical performances were extremely important for all of us during the war, and my experience with them started at the age of ten or eleven, when my friends and I took part in a custom that was very popular back then but now seems to have died out altogether. It was carried out at Halloween, but instead of going round asking for trick or treats we did something called 'Guising'. A group of us lads would go to the front door of a house we thought might be welcoming and politely ask if we could come in and perform.

  Our particular playlet was suggested by my father; it was one he had performed when he was a lad, although whether there was any deeper tradition behind the verses we recited I cannot say. We were all dressed up in costumes, with one boy dressed as a king with a cardboard crown on his head. Once all were in the house most of us would cluster behind the sitting-room door, then the first boy would enter the room on his own and say, 'Red up sticks and red up stools here comes in a pack of fools, a pack of fools behind that door. Step in King George and clear the floor.'

  The boy with the crown on his head would enter and recite, 'King George is my name, sword and pistol by my side, I hope to win the game.'

  The first boy would answer, 'The game, sir, the game, sir, is not within your power. I will slash you and slay you within half an hour.' These two boys would then have a duel with toy swords and the first boy would drop down as though dead, at which the king would kneel down and say, 'Is there a doctor in the town?' A small boy with a little attaché case would then pop out from behind the door saying, 'My name is Doctor Brown, the best little doctor in the town. A little to his nose and a little to his bum, now rise up, jock, and sing a song.'

  It was an absurd little sketch, but we used to get showered with pieces of cake and home-made toffees and fudge, and we would pass from house to house performing the same sketch. Even now I can recall the words perfectly.

  I also started to enjoy horse riding, which did not go down very well with my parents. My grandfather had been a keen gambler and had lost a considerable sum of money over the years on the horses. For understandable reasons, my father didn't approve of gambling; he also took the view that anything to do with horse racing or riding was dangerous and would inevitably lead to ruin. However, I became fascinated by the meetings of the local hunt, where I would turn up in shorts, rugby jersey and running shoes, and try to keep up with the hounds.

  Naturally I was told off by my father, and the school also took a dim view of it. But I soon found that opening the odd gate to allow some of the less adventurous riders through would be rewarded with a sixpence and, as I became more familiar, riders would encourage me to hang on to a stirrup to help me along. Soon I started to learn to ride at the local stables with the help of the stable boys. I enjoyed it and found that I was good at it. Whether it was my years of running around with just my dog Wiggy for company I don't know, but I felt easy with horses and they felt easy with me. Even now, as I look out of my window and observe some of the pupils at a riding school in the nearby fields, I have to resist the urge to rush out and tell them to relax, loosen the reins a little and encourage the horse to feel that he is working with them, not against them.

  I got on very well with one particular horse called Answer Me, who was owned by a local vet, a grand character. He would give me a few shillings for exercising his horse every Saturday, and when he entered it into a race near Hawick I decided to put some of my money on it. It came in first and I picked up my winnings. There was, however, hell to pay with my father, who saw all his grim forebodings coming to pass. He flatly told me never to go back to the stables. I disobeyed him, of course, I am sorry to say, but didn't gamble any more. It was the horses and the riding that I was interested in and, like rugby, it is something that I continued to enjoy throughout my life and encouraged my children to take up. So all the things that I enjoyed as a youngster stayed with me as I grew up, and made me what I was to become.

  The major event of my childhood took place in Kelso when I was about ten years old. It didn't last very long, but I think it had a profound effect on me – I honestly think it changed my life completely, although it took some time for its true impact to be felt. An aeroplane appeared in the sky over Kelso one day, manoeuvring low over the town a few times to attract attention and then flying off to land at the point-to-point course. It was an Avro 504, a very common and popular aircraft at the time, a biplane with two open cockpits, powered by a single rotary engine at the front and a big curved skid, like a bent ski, mounted between the landing wheels as a substitute for a nose wheel. Several thousand of these planes had been built during the First World War and they had served as fighters, with a machine gun mounted above the top wing. This one, presumably an ex-services aircraft and without its machine gun, was flown by a professional pilot, a 'barnstormer' I suppose you could call him, and he was offering joy rides for 10 shillings. He looked like Biggles, the flying-ace action hero of boys' stories, dressed in his breeches and high, laced-up flying boots, with a leather flying helmet and goggles and a long, white silk scarf that flew in the wind. Was he impressive!

  As for the experience of flying, I was astounded by it. This was like riding in the locomotive but infinitely more thrilling. There was the noise, the smell of hot oil and high-octane petrol, and th
e speed seemed immense as we took off into the air, high above the countryside, with the town far below us. It was the stuff of dreams, like a glimpse of another world that made it impossible, once I was back on the ground, to view my surroundings in the same way again. But I thought it was inevitably a once-in-a-lifetime experience, not something I could ever repeat as easily as I could go riding a horse. Now that I think back on it, that pilot has an enormous amount to answer for.

  2

  Childhood Lost

  It's hard to tell if the world seemed to be becoming more threatening and difficult because it was, or if it was just because I was growing up and paying more attention to things going on around me.

  I have already talked about the effect that the General Strike had on me when I went to County Durham as a seven-year-old. By the time I was sixteen I was certainly paying more attention to the news on the radio and in the newspapers, and you couldn't help noticing that the economic situation was affecting everybody. The great crash in 1929, when stock markets around the world collapsed and millions of people were thrown out of work, was impossible to ignore; it was a daily topic of conversation between my parents and other adults. The effects of that financial disaster were still with us in the mid-1930s and we were living in very depressed economic times. There were a lot of unemployed people in the streets, hardly anybody was hiring agricultural workers, and it was not easy to find a job. There wasn't the demand for new cars, so business was difficult for my father.

  I wanted to go to university in Edinburgh, but my parents couldn't afford to pay the fees and pay for my keep while I studied. I applied for a bursary, took some examinations and was interviewed, but apparently I did not make the grade, so I was not offered any financial assistance. With this very negative news I had no choice but to leave school at sixteen and start looking for work along with many others. Through some of my father's connections in the coach business I was offered a job in the office of a bus company in Kelso. It was a job I hated. My life started to become depressing. I still played rugby for the town, which I enjoyed, and continued to ride horses at the local stables and accompany the hounds hunting, much against my father's wishes, but these activities did not compensate for the feeling that my life was wasting away in a boring job as a clerk.