Falcon Fall/Winter 2005 RGB.indd - 48th Highlanders of Canada

A young Bill DeHarteMEMORIESFROM UNDER THE KILT(3RD & FINAL CHAPTER)––––––––––––––––––by Bill DeHarteOn an all-day route march Lt. Fred McLarenwas acting 2i/c marching at the rear of theCoy. From the first break in the morning mystomach and bowels had been rumbling. Atevery break we had been in the middle of agroup of houses. It was easy to slip up a laneand open one’s fly, but not enough privacy formore serious matters. It was afternoon andwe were swinging south toward Kingswood,when I realized that the next stop would bein a built-up area. There was a piece of heathto pass with some bushes, low trees, gorseetc. to give a little privacy. I dropped back toget permission to drop out and run or walkto catch up at the next break. McLaren, wasat his Regimental best. “Are you sure thisis necessary?” - ”Yes, Sir this started thismorning and is getting a little more painfulat every break.” I had used the wrong word.“Painful? Then this is a case for the stretcherbearer.Take my runner’s bicycle and ride tothe front of the Company and get a chit fromthe stretcher-bearer, initialed by the Coy.Commander.”-DeH “Forget it.”McL “You said you are in pain.-Go.”DeH “I’ll get by.”McL “I am giving you a direct order. -Go.”Failing to obey a direct order could be deeptrouble, so I went. Maj.Crawford Brown,and C.S.M. Burdis hated each other. Neithereven smiled if the other was present. Theyboth burst out laughing at my request. DavieDonaldson and Dickie Boyle were just startingup a pipe tune, but they laughed so hard theycouldn’t fill the bags. Doug. Vaughan, the Sr.S.B. just stared. He wrote out a chit, CrawfordBrown initialed it, and I returned to therear and accomplished what I had set out todo. So what?? I have asked over and over inmany places, but I am sure I have an all-timemilitary first. It does not sound too elegant. Ifirmly believe I am the only soldier who hadto “GET WRITTEN PERMISSION TO HAVEA SHIT.”One day on a route march the Coy. C .O.had a map. At about one hour to supper headmitted he had led us wrongly, and by hiscalculation he were a good hour and a halffrom home. “Hell.” said his batman. “My girlfriendlives just over there, if we go down thisgully, and around that building, it's straightacross the field to billets.” It took 20 minutesthat way. There was never anything moredangerous than an officer with a map.By Littlehampton, I was in signals. Ona cold, black, foggy, soggy night a schemewas laid on to test moving troops at nightto make a river crossing, and how long itwould take, etc. The Coy who was suckeredfor it was in full battle dress, tin hats and all.Wandering through all this were “observers”,T.O.? I.O.? Adj.? any subaltern who was on hisCoy C.O. black list, wearing trench coats andbalmorals. Transport and the carriers wereissued coveralls to wear around their engines.They were a dark drab, except for Dick Kenzie,who’s was a light khaki. You could recognizehim across a field or 2 blocks down a street.Five of the signalers under Cpl. Dick Footwere allotted to the scheme but we could notfind what we were to do. Finally Foot said tome “Let’s find out what’s doing,” so away wewent across a plowed field through heavy fog.Out of the fog loomed a light coloured shape.Foot- “There’s an observer/officer- I’ll go getthe score.” He paraded up, saluted and said“ Can you tell me where the control point forthe scheme is?” At this moment he decidedthat this was not an observer/officer, butKenzie in his light outfit. “Oh, you, you stupidS.O.B.-you don’t know sweet @$%@ anyway.”Just then he realized it WAS an observer. Thatwas when Foot broke the divisional record for50 yards across a plowed field is heavy fog.Signals ran the switchboard, with lines tothe C.O., 2 i/c, Adj., Q.M., Transport, R.A.P.,and all the Coy Orderly Rooms. It was a“two plug” system, one end into who wascalling, and the other end to the recipient.There was also a gizmo that allowed us totap the switchboard into the G.P.O. (Ma Bellin Britain). This gave access to all of thecountry. It was our only telephone connectionwith Brigade or Div. Many of the Officers, andSenior NCO.s who had access to Orderly Roomphones discovered this way to make personalcalls all over the country. Signalers wereprivileged to monitor all calls but seldom did.One night when Archie Knight was on theswitchboard, and I was signal clerk, the lightfrom a near-by Coy H.Q. lit up and requesteda “G.P.O. line. Archie plugged it in, and thecaller asked Littlehampton for a Brightonnumber. It was passed on to Arundel, to gothrough it again, then on to Dorking, thento Hove, finally Brighton. I as clerk had anearphone on my head and vaguely keeping intrack. The phone was answered, and a ladyrequested. She had to walk along a long hall,heels going click, click and the caller at ourend was puffing and grunting through allthis process. She said “Hello.” He answered”“Hello dear” and Archie pulled the plugs.I yelled, “What did you do Archie?” “Nopersonal calls allowed.” “Everybody is doingit.” “He isn't.” I phoned the Sgts. Mess for JackPowell the signals sergeant to get over fast.The W.O. concerned made the two blocks toB.H.Q. in about 4 jumps. Archie was adamant.We had a company stationed at Ford airfield as defense, and there were a couple ofsignalers stationed there who were rotatedevery few days. Archie Knight was sent thereto stay until we left Littlehampton. He wouldhave been on charge for even breathing if hewere anywhere around B.H.Q!!!There was a tall, handsome Coy C.O. withthe Coy at Ford. He was reputed to have thebest “little black book” in all 1 Div. In hisO.R. he had the rickety pressel-switch typearmy phone, and another more modern typedirect to the R.A.F. signals office. He muchpreferred the newer type, so called and askedfor a “G.P.O.” line whenever he wanted tomake a call. At the end of the month he hadan “11-Pound” item on his mess bill, courtesythe R.A.F. He found out that they kept timeand charges on all personal calls, and thecaller was expected to pay up. He complained,and said that the Regiment should not billhim, and for quite a while personal use forthe “G.P.O.” line was greatly reduced in theRegiment. In fact it was taboo.There was a head-height stonewallaround the school housing B.H.Q. There wasa side gate that led past the signals office,and into the B.O.R. One day I was standingin the signals doorway with my hands inmy pockets, looking out through the gate.Outside, on the street stood C.S.M. Crossley,cane under his arm, and his HANDS IN HISPOCKETS. He took out the cane, turned andentered the gate. As he passed me he hit bothmy wrists with the cane and said “Take yourhands out of your pockets, or I’ll fill themfull of shit and sew themcontinued on the next page >>THE FALCON, FALL 2005 12