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

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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
up.”The same C.S.M., inspecting his Coy,stopped behind a man, “Am I hurtin’ ye?”- “Beg pardon, Sir?” - “Am I hurtin’ ye?” “No,Sir”- “Well I should be, I’m standing on yourhair. Get it cut!”Into the bush at Gray’s Wood. We settledin and the Pipe Band took out for some do upin London. So away went the buglers. EddieBeck played a trumpet and carried it withhim. Someone remembered that I knew mostof the bugle calls, so for a couple of days Iwould come out and whistle the necessarycall to Eddie, and he would blow it.At Grays Wood I developed a carbuncle onmy neck. The M.O. put a tight bandage on it,and left it to “ripen”. After a few days he wasready to go ahead, and it was the day afterpayday. Sick parade was larger than usualdue to over zealous celebration of payday.The M.O. lined them all up then moved meout in front with my neck towards them, laida piece of gauze on my shoulder and started toextract the four grey, green, greasy, gruesomecores. There was a sudden rush of feet, bushescrashing, and then the sound of deep stomachwretching. The M.O. was laughing so hard hehad trouble taking the last one out. But thesick parade had been cut by nearly 50%.To Auchinleck, and those nice new huts.We were issued the new weapon, the P.I.A.T-Projectile, Infantry Anti Tank. Althoughit used an explosive charge as well as thevery strong spring combined to fire it, itwas discovered that those larger type beerbottles fitted nicely, and many of those newbeaverboard type walls suddenly had holes inthem.All ordinary ranks love it whenever theknife could be shoved and twisted in a seniorNCO or an Officer, when no retaliatory actioncould take place. On a foggy wet night, down onthe docks at Inverary, a night loading exercisewas on. Standing around were a large numberof “rifle” types watching transport. One 60cwt was cross-wise to everything, blockingall movement, and nearly ready to back intothe Loch, when up roared Sgt. Langford onhis motorcycle, “Who the hell ever gave youa license?” The lorry was buttoned up fromthe weather, but the driver opened the littlespeaking flap and a high-pitched, falsetto,little boy voice said, “You did, Sergeant.”This brought a roar of laughter from thespectators, and Langford roared away. ButI’m sure that driver washed his vehicle moreoften than the others for a long time. In a way,it was worth it.While stationed at Uckfield, we wereinspected by Field Marshall Jan Smutts.B.H.Q. was in town, and the Coys round about.The rifle Coys. came to town, paraded on to alarge grassed area and, properly aligned, werestood at ease, easy. And waited. Not so H.Q.Coy. Crossley kept them on the move, ahead,back again, to the left, the right, etc. The restof us leaned on our rifles and rested. Youcould not blame Crossley, he rarely had a Coyto drill. H.Q. were a bunch of specialists, andas soon as the word “parade” was mentioned,signal wire had to be tested, all Lorries neededtheir oil changed, “I” section had new codesto decipher, everybody got very busy. It wassaid that there were only two parades that gota full turn out. Pay parade, and Short-Arminspection.Bill DeHarte todayBecause of the high importance of thisparade, there was finally a decent sized Coyto drill, and he made the most of it. The highpoint came when they were way out in front,where we could all see. They were “at Ease”and Crossley gave the command “H.Q. Coy,”and a little dog playing around put his headdown and barked and the whole Coy. snappedto “Attention”. We all roared. Crossley fumed.H.Q. Coy was in trouble for weeks to come.Surprisingly, there was little nonsense on thecruise ship trip to Sicily, or when ashore. Wewere too beat at all times to indulge in anynonsense. But Dysentery reared its head.Before the discovery of the Sulpha drugs, theEighth Army in the desert had more deathsfrom dysentery than from enemy action. Igot it good and was invalided out, almosttoo weak to totter. With it you have thedamnedest need to “go” and then you passabout a spoon of blood. I was put in a cotin a civilian hospital, lucky enough to bebeside the washroom door. I lunged the twosteps to the doorpost, swung my body in,and there was a row of cubicle doors beforeme. I reveled at the thought of a proper toiletseat after the length of time missing, lungedacross the room to once again grab a doorpost, Swung my self in, figured where the seatwould be, and let go. It was then I discoveredthat Italian toilet was a tile with two ridgedspots for the feet, and a hole in the middleto squat over. I landed with a crash, to berescued by a loudly laughing medical orderly.You live and learn.One aspect of the liberation or conqueringadvance up Italy that is seldom mentioned isthe vast change in the economics of the area.In a small city, where you could buy 3 loavesof bread for 1 Lira, a Lira was therefore about$1.50, 10 Lira possibly $15. Allied MilitaryGovt. of Occupied Territories, A.M.G.0.T. forshort, pegged currencies at 1 Lira 1 Cent!!Whether true or not, AMGOT very soonbecame simply AMG. The story we got wasthat “AMGOT” was “horseshit” in Turkish,hence the change.“A” - Coy was on a “Jock Column” leavingthe sole of Italy and trying to find where Jerrywas going to stop. “A” Coy of Highlanders,a few Engineers to handle mines, Two Sask.L.I. carriers-one Vickers, one mortar, an antitankgun towed by an l5cwt. At times wewere 25 miles or more ahead of the rest ofthe troops. Came to a town called Matera.The road ran passed the town, but all bridgeshad been blown so it was a wait for bridging.We “firmed” up around the crossing, andCapt. Eardley Wright sent a patrol to searchthe town to be sure there were no enemythere. They were gone a very long time, buteventually returned to report that they hadsearched EVERY building, and there were noenemy. But it was obvious they had met a lotof friends, and were feeling no pain. Aboutan hour later, a riot broke out in the town.We could hear the screaming and yelling.Wright sent me in with a patrol and Pasco asinterpreter, to find out what was up. Pascograbbed one of the shouters, pushed himagainst a wall, and askedcontinued on the next page >>13 THE FALCON, FALL 2005
Page 3: From the Vaultsof the 48th Museum--
Page 6: Kingswood, SurreyRemembers the 48th
Page 9 and 10: REMEMBRANCE WEEKEND, 4-6 NOVEMBER,
Page 11: OLD COMRADES ASSOCIATION-----------
Page 15 and 16: CONFINED TO BARRACKSWe have eight H

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

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