Kindly provided by Rod Mackenzie of The Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders (Princess Louise's) Museum. Argylls The article below was written by Retired Company Sergeant Major Jock Cairns and published in the regiments journal, 'The Thin Red Line' in the Autumn of 1991. Corporal Cairns was serving in 16 Platoon, D Company, 8th Battalion Sutherland Highlanders (Princess Louise's) Regiment, part of the 51st Highland Division, BEF. A TRIP TO FRANCE (All expenses Paid) By R/CSM Jock Cairns In reading a recent Argyll Magazine,"The Thin Red Line", I learnt of the death in Zimbabwe of Major Peter Frederick Sholto Douglas, D.S.O., grandson of the 19th Earl of Morton. It brought back memories of fifty years ago; Peter was my first platoon commander, and an absolutely fearless leader and a true gentleman. In 1939 I enlisted into the T.A., primarily to give me the opportunity of firing .303 ammunition on the range. I was already a good shot on the indoor .22 range. On the outbreak of War with Germany the following month, I received my calling up papers. In no time at all we left Dunoon for Maida Barracks in Aldershot for field training, emphasis being on "field". I have never crawled so much through wet grass and English heather in my life whilst wearing a kilt, with "owt" below. Eventually we were fitted out with anti-gas impregnated battle dress at "Bordon". Goodbye to the kilt - with no regrets. We embarked for France, eventually arriving at Sainglin-en-Weppe and our platoon was billeted in a children's school. Before we left for the estaminets, the C.S.M. briefed us as to our good behaviour. We were to impress our allies, he said. Enjoying the atmosphere of the estaminet, but not the quality of the beer, our Company "D" were quite happy, when the door was push open, and the Black Watch of our Brigade stormed in. Perhaps Peter MacDonald was there? We experienced our first battle in France, and apparently this was tradition, as the same occurred between our fathers in the Argylls and the Black Watch in 1914, World War 1. I kept on thumping away at the piano until hit by a bottle of beer, presumably empty, as no Scot, irrespective of clan would have wasted beer, not even the mild French type. It was in this little village that I saw for the last time the Colonel and his Adjutant inspecting the Battalion on the village green, mounted on their magnificent horses. We never saw the horses after that, they probably finished up at the local butchers. We were joined by some reservists who seemed very reluctant about the whole thing, moaning bout "having done their whack". A proportion of them finished up in detention. They seemed happy about it, so were we. The Brigade moved south to the area of the Maginot Line. The battalion stopped overnight in Metz in the Barracks. We were warned that if we walked out, we must be in pairs or more, and it was noticeable that even the notice boards outside the churches had the relative information both in German and French, the German first. During out first 24 hours we were wakened to assist the armorers in fitting an extra little filter in the centre of the tube in each of our respirators, as the Germans apparently had a new type of gas on hand. Later it was discovered that the Germans had similar information about us passed to them. Where and who started this rumour, no one knows. We then travelled by trucks to a position in front of the Maginot, known as the "Ligne de Receuil". Our platoon were to be manning a low wooded hill; across the valley there were similar features and a steep track leading to a village. On our arrival the French seemed delighted to be relieved, and despite the darkness, lit up cigarettes and were very noisy and seemed anxious to leave immediately, as they had been expecting an attack. Platoon H.Q. with Lieutenant Douglas seemed to have lost themselves in the darkness. Our Section was lost for words, especially when he saw how quickly the French were dashing off. This was a company task - not for a depleted platoon. In my scholastic French I asked the French officer if he would oblige us by leaving one of his heavy machine guns - on loan. He did so with a large supply of magazines and ammunition. His Sergeant cheered us up no end when he said, "You will need it all, as the Boche will know there is a new lot taking over - they are just cross the valley, 400 metres." If Jerry didn't know before, he knew now, as the French rapidly departed, smoking and singing noisily. The Sergeant dashed back and shouted in a voice that the enemy must have heard "The Boche will test you out shortly. Bon Chance et Au Revoir". As a full Corporal, I was in charge for the Sergeant had disappeared with one section into a deep dugout. The Platoon Sergeant and Lieutenant Douglas had still not appeared. About 0230 hours we all stood to as the sentry had heard low voices, and then we were pleased to received the password. A vile smelling officer and Corporal, plus Platoon H.Q. runner and signaller entered our dugout. They stank very strongly of ordure. Apparently their guide had got off the mark a bit quickly and in the darkness they had all struggled to fit into a deep trench. It was freezing cold, and they stamped their feet to keep war, and as the hardened surface of the bottom of the trench broke up, they were enveloped by a most vile smell. They then knew, as they struggled in the darkness, that they were in the "Bog" trench. "What a pong" remarked Lieutenant Douglas as he and his very unwelcome section and H.Q. joined us. We did not complete our week of occupation and had only two minor casualties - we were withdrawn and set out to travel north to the area of the Somme, where many of original 51st Highland Division had died in the shocking conditions of World War 1. "D" Company occupied the area around the village of St. Blimont, the distances between sections seem to me to be ridiculously long, the most one knew about he positions of ones' neighbours was that they were somewhere "over there". The mortar and shell fire was heavy, as I found when I was in the cottage behind our slits searching for cider for the section. The weakened roof collapsed, and I was pulled out still clutching a small keg, which we then gratefully emptied. Towards the afternoon we received the order via the platoon runner to regain our Company H.Q. which was situated within a small wood, at that moment under shell and shrapnel fire. Major Tress was the Company Commander. Our platoon was given the task of proceeding to a small wood which enclosed a large manor type house, and to find out if it was occupied. Little did we know that halfway to his house there was a sunken road held by German infantry. Our Platoon Sergeant led us in extended order, and then halted us as we neared a large haystack. He ordered McGlusky to climb to the top and to observe what he could, which he did, and Eddie shouted "The woods are full", the enemy opened up with automatic fire, and he fell wounded to the bottom of the stack. The Bren Gunner of my section was killed in this opening of the action, and I took over the Bren, and as I was changing magazine a long burst from one of the enemy machine guns shattered the butt, and I received one of the bullets in my right shoulder. Our Sergeant shouted for us to move back, and as I reached the rear of the haystack I cam across McGlusky, his right shoulder and arm shattered. All this time the enemy mortars were plastering the area, wounding and killing our platoon. I pulled Eddie by his ankle with my left arm, having to unhook his shattered arm bone which caught in the long corn. He was yelling with pain and his blood drenched me. Amidst this inferno, Lieutenant Douglas had crawled out despite the heavy fire from the enemy rifles and machine guns and grabbed Eddie's ankle. Eddie was now unconscious. "Well done Cairns, I'll take over now" he said, and that was the last that I remembered for some time, apparently I became unconscious. When I came to I heard "Er is fertig", and Jerry passed on. My next memory was of shivering and that dusk had descended. There was no longer the noise of battle. I crawled on my left side attempting to reach the H.Q. wood. As I neared the edge of the wood, still crawling. I heard a movement above me, then a mighty thump on my back. I shouted, "Oh my shoulder", just as I saw the flash of a bayonet. It was Geordie Scott, his voice and body, the most welcome sight and sound. He had a bullet crease across his shoulders. I next remember being transported on a one wheeled barrow, it mush have been agony for him to push me in it. How long we travelled I don't know for we had now entered a cobbled street of a bombed and burning village which was utterly deserted. We saw what appeared to be a deserted bar with a midway swing door, similar to those seen in old cowboy films. The money was still in the till, and three cold cooked chickens were in the dead oven. As Geordie poured brandy down my throat and fed me with pieces os chicken, we could hear German troops marching by singing lustily. We could see their legs through the cracks in the wall of the building. God was most certainly with us. Another day in the wheelbarrow. I wanted to pack it in, but fate was with us when we came to a river with a bridge. A fifteen cwt truck looked as if it was about to leave, and the Captain was about to drive off when he heard Geordie's shouts. He ran to us and helped us aboard, after flinging out some suitcases, saying, "You're lucky, we are just about to blow the bridge". After we had crossed the river, it blew sky high. The sound of German tanks approaching made us thing how lucky were in fact were. God bless the Royal Engineers. After a long journey we were delivered to a large hospital in a town which was being heavily bombed, and we were then put into an ambulance. I have no memory of this journey, only of being lifted onto an ambulance train by some Guardsmen who had to generously use the butts of their rifles to eject Frenchmen who had started to throw out the wounded and put them onto the platform. God bless them all. I came to on an operating table at a reserve military hospital at the lovely French holiday resort of Le Baule, near to St. Nazaire, with a tall turbaned Sikh doctor proudly displaying my (or rather Jerry's) bullet and a portion of the Bren Gun butt. A large hotel had been taken over by the R.A.M.C., and retired WO1 Ed Moses, now in Long Ward 1 of the Royal Hospital, was familiar with this unit. After a few days I was one of the stretcher patients transferred to a hospital ship to Blighty, the same night that the Lancastria was bombed and sank with the loss of many lives. I remember my stretcher being lifted up to put me in the ambulance for the ship - my next memory was of the stretcher being lowered down to the floor of the emergency hospital at Ryhope, Tyne/Wear. A generous nurse hooked a cup of tea on my left hand, another stuck a cigarett in my mouth, and lit it, choking me. I was a non-smoker. The generosity of the Geordies is known world wide. My blood count was dangerously low, so I was given two bottles of Guinness a day. Yorkie in the bed on my right got the bottle in the morning and the chap in the bed on my left in the afternoon. My blood count naturally didn't improve. The old doctor one day asked the nurse for an opened bottle of Guinness. "Drink it Cairns", he said, and poured it down my throat, nearly choking me. I drank it, and found that I liked it. After which I did not give away any more. As the weeks passed, and as a token of our gratitude to the local people for their generosity and kindness, a concert was arranged for them by the Staff and patients. The hall was packed, the patients had quite a lot of talent. When it came to my turn I sang Gounod's Ave Maria. I must have presented some sight as I was wearing an aeroplane splint with my right shoulder and arm bared, and looked like an ancient Roman. There wasn't a dry eye in the audience. As an encore, I sang "Bonnie Mary of Argyll", which cheered them up a bit. Next morning, cakes, home baked scones, and fruit poured in for the Boy (!) who sang "Ave Maria". What a fine climax to my trip to France, all Expenses Paid. Major Peter Sholto Douglas, D.S.O. was wounded in action and taken prisoner. He escaped in Holland to Sweden and became a member of the Norwegian section of S.O.E., for which he was awarded the D.S.O. Also awarded Norway's highest award - King Haakon VII Liberty Cross, plus the American Certificate of Merit for Operations in War, and mentioned twice in despatches.
Drew. Thanks for putting up these two wonderful accounts of those days when sheer determination and grit were to be found in the strange situations my generation unexpectedly found themselves. I am immensely proud to have lived in these times and to have known such stalwart men like them. I hope young men and women will read and wonder how they would have reacted in facing the same situations. Joe Brown.
Hello, Drew would you war diary of May and June 1940 on the 8th Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders ( somme and bresle period) ? many thanks Matthew
I certainly do, I also have the Battalions history by Malcolm now too. Anything specific you are looking for?
Hello Drew, I seek the war diary (and annexes) of 8th Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders who fought at the Somme in the last week of May and the first week of June 1940. I also research the war diary (and attachments) and the 7th Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders who also fought at the same time and in the same sector. I am from Dargnies or PC the 154th Brigade was instaled the first week of June thank you in advance best regards Matthew
