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BOYHOOD RECOLLECTIONS OF WORLD WAR 2

By: Alexander (Alec) Myles

LOCATION: OLD POLMONT VILLAGE, near FALKIRK, SCOTLAND

I was seven and a half years old when war was declared on that fateful day in September 1939. Our quiet little village straddled the main A9 road heading west from Edinburgh and was about midway between Glasgow and the capital. The nearest town of Falkirk was only three miles away, again to the west, and could provide any of the services not available in the village. When I reflect upon my boyhood days, I always conclude how fortunate I was to grow up in such a friendly and caring community, with the comparative safety of that peaceful location and healthy environment.

Long before the bridges spanned the River Forth at Queensferry and Kinkardine all traffic from east to west, as well as to the north, passed along a road to the south of the village hence the prefix ‘Old’. This was to differentiate from the newer settlements such as Brightons where growth had taken place to the south near a famous sandstone quarry in operation since the 17th century. From here stone was carried by the Union Canal to help build Edinburgh’s ‘New Town’ in the 1830’s and Falkirk’s fine new public buildings some 20 years later. The canal encouraged further industrial development, and with the arrival in 1842 of the main railway line between Edinburgh and Glasgow, the halt near the quarry was given the name of Polmont Station. By this time the whole area was merging into one coherent settlement and the adjoining town of Falkirk was developing a reputation for producing quality castings from foundries such as Carron Iron Works. Indeed, this company was instrumental in providing the famous “Carronade” firepower to wreak havoc and death throughout the world in defence of British interests, including Admiral Lord Nelson’s HMS Victory at Trafalgar.

The wealth generated by industrial success brought to Polmont the usual crop of fine mansion houses and elegant estates. There was ‘Millfield’ built by John Millar, secretary to the North British Railway Company, and later the Stein Family whose fortune came from the manufacture of refractory bricks needed by the expanding iron industry. Ironically, I was later to take up an engineering apprenticeship at their Manuel Brick Works near Whitecross where they had expanded from their original location in Bonnybridge. Captain Salvesen who ran his own Shipping Line carrying Baltic timber into Bo’ness or Grangemouth, also had a sizable estate in our village. Other properties of repute included ‘Polmont Park’, the Grieves estate, ‘Polmont House’ and ‘Parkhill House’ owned by the Gray-Buchanan family.

With the advent of war everyone seemed to pay a penalty in one way or another and these local estates were no exception. For example, the Grieves mansion with the walled frontage to the main road and wide gated entrance, progressing to a long gravel and tree lined drive, seemed an ideal selection for a Military Hospital. No doubt the proximity of the RAF aerodrome at Grangemouth played some part in the decision as this was a fighter training ‘drome and provision for accidents would have been anticipated. In fact, one afternoon there was great excitement when a Spitfire bellylanded in a ploughed field not too far from our local primary school and public park. Needless to say we kids lost no time in getting there, but to our great disappointment the local police sergeant had beaten us to it from his Station near-by, and appointed guards for just such a contingency! Fortunately the Belgian pilot was reported as being shook-up but uninjured, which is more than we could say for the propeller and still retracted under-carriage! Occasionally we used to access the hospital grounds via an adjacent and disused sand quarry with almost military precision, to carry out surveillance and see what ‘intelligence’ we could gather. Whispered conversations used to take place as we discussed what we thought we saw from the movement of military vehicles, but reached falsetto proportions should a camouflaged ambulance appear with it’s distinctive Red Cross! A few of the walking wounded used to get into the village from time-to-time and really stood out in their blue uniforms with white shirt and red tie. Far more so, than the Italian POW’s in their darker battledress or overalls who laboured on the farms with large yellow circles on their backs! Other visitors usually hung around our only pub ‘The Black Bull’ on weekends, and these included young aircrew trainees to which with the benefit of hindsight had barely started shaving in many instances, never mind flying!

The undulating countryside supported both dairy and arable farming throughout the district, and this gave an almost chameleon effect to the actual extent of surrounding industry. This included oil processing, chemical and dye production, underground coal mining, ‘pig iron’ production, moulding and machining of castings, together with both building and refractory bricks. Passenger buses and coaches were also being manufactured by a company in Camelon, from about 1928 and at one stage that company became the biggest supplier of double-decker buses. Due to the immediate rationing of fuel, many transport operations had to resort to alternatives such as the compact ‘gasifier system’ or ‘charcoal burners’, either fixed or in trailer form towed by the very vehicle it had to power. Another prerequisite of the time was for all vehicle lighting to be ‘hooded’ such that only the roadway was illuminated to reduce being spotted by enemy aircraft. This then led to the painting of white lines around the wheel arch of mudguards to give some visual awareness, but was in no way the forerunner to the sophisticated proximity avoidance systems that we have today!
Later on after the war when ‘Mystery Tours’ became an option I, (and no doubt many others) greatly admired the well presented Alexander’s “Bluebird Coaches” in their immaculate high gloss cream and blue livery.

It was not uncommon to have military convoys on the move transporting men and stores around the area and on one occasion I observed what looked to be quite a nasty accident. When boarding a bus about to head off to Brightons I noticed a military motor-cyclist (despatch rider) heading west and overtaking a bus in the same direction when he collided head-on with an oncoming low slung MG sports car. After what appeared to be a couple of summersaults over the top of the MG, I was absolutely amazed to see him get up, resetting his crash helmet in the process, and get astride his motor cycle to ride off! I recovered from my initial shock thinking that had the accident been more serious (just how serious does one get?), help was readily at hand as he was less than 100 yards from the military hospital gates! I was never able to determine for sure, but I did suspect that he may have been with the Polish Army, a contingent of which had taken over the privately run St Margaret’s School for Girls and was located not far from Polmont Station. These school girls may have been evacuated out of potential harms way, but that certainly wasn’t the case with a few of the local ladies who found the new tenants rather charming and debonair to say the least. There were a few mutterings behind hand-covered mouths from time-to-time, and when you observed a Polish cavalry officer resplendent in a well tailored full dress uniform, four-cornered embroidered cap, highly polished riding boots and swagger stick, you could understand the concerns of the local lads!

Quite a few of the menfolk in the village worked in deferred, or essential service occupations which prevented them from enlisting for military service and those employed at Polmont Railway Sheds were in that category, where the steam locomotives were cleaned, maintained and bunkered. Local womenfolk also contributed to the war effort in no uncertain way, not only in the traditional occupations such as nursing, but in the more precarious production of explosive munitions in Nobel’s Redding/Westquarter factory. My Dad was also locked into his three rotating shift job at the local Gas Works to which he used to cycle in all weather conditions, and if too adverse, would walk pushing his bike! He always got home looking like the proverbial coal miner (a job he had previously done at the Redding Pit) and Mum always had his tub ready and waiting on the scullery floor. This was a very necessary prerequisite, before he enjoyed the amenities of an upstairs bathroom! There was one time he arrived home rather shaken from work, and that was when an unexploded AA shell had the temerity to arrive unannounced within the Gas Works, but fortuitously well away from the gasometers and retorts! It was later said as coming from HMS Hood, for the cruiser had been anchored in a position to defend the famous Forth Bridge from air attack. Because of our geographic location we were far enough away from the east coast ports to minimize local damage, although we did hear German bombers flying westward to bomb the shipbuilding yards at Clydebank. This of course reinforced the need for those Anderson air raid shelters in people’s backyard, as well as the building of public shelters with anti-blast walls and sand bagging as required. I can still remember sitting in primary school looking at the anti-blast adhesive tape criss-crossing all the window and door glazing, and thinking in my ignorance, how can that stop a bomb?

Engrained in my memory too is the resonating chimes of ‘Big Ben’ coming over the wireless (in our jargon of the time, radio came later) as an almost mandatory precursor to the well modulated, and seemingly un-flappable, voice of Alvar Liddel reading the ��ѿ��ý National News bulletins. Before any News was about to begin, the youngsters were told to ‘quieten down’ whilst the elders listened intently, and in the early half of the conflict the reports were such that they brought concern and even dismay to all of us in many instances! However, some good cheer was taken from the variety shows such Arthur Askey in ITMA as well as the antics of Harry Hemsley and his children. We had a battery powered ‘Wireless’ made by Vidor I think, but I always recall that I had the task of carrying the accumulator (battery) to and from the garage for recharging and you had to be careful not to spill the acid. It was quite a walk to Olsen’s Garage on the eastern extremity of the village where he had umpteen batteries on ‘charge’ and the acrid smell at times could be overpowering. Nevertheless, I did find time to gaze in awe upon the dark blue Hawker Siddeley ‘Sapphire’ saloon with pre-select transmission, which was maintained in pristine condition for any hire work that came along.

Dad was a keen gardener and liked nothing better than watching his rows of garden peas, carrots, and sprouts, etc., progress ready for Mum to use. Everyone needed little encouragement to grow food for the campaign called ‘Dig for Victory’ and we cultivated an additional allotment to grow potatoes down near the public park. A neighbour also provided crab apples in season from which Dad managed to produce a few jars of jelly. Just about everything was rationed and families had to ‘make do’ the best way they could from the ‘coupons’ they were allocated, and that included sweets, footwear and clothing. I guess parents who had survived the depression years of the early 30’s may have become a little more adept at handling these shortages, but I do recall people knocking on our door to enquire if we had any hand-down clothing available. We were lucky in that I had a married aunt domiciled in Canada, and the odd food parcel used to get through with tinned meat, tinned fruit, candy as they call it, and even a Toronto Maple Leaf ice hockey jacket on one occasion! All a bit of a change from such things as the US sourced powdered egg mix available in exchange for food coupons! I became quite keen on our own garden produce too, as I used to crawl between the row of garden peas and scoop out the peas to leave the pod still on the vine so to speak! Just as well my parents were tolerant, as another one of my tricks was to climb up the Victoria plum tree until I was hidden from sight and scoff the juicy plums. That is until Dad came along, noticed the pile of plum stones, shook the tree to get me down and threatened me with a dose of castor oil if I had a repeat performance!

As the war progressed, I reached the age when I could join the 2nd Polmont company of the Boy’s Brigade in 1943/44, and to this day at the age of 72 still have respect for the motto of ‘Sure & Steadfast’ with fond memories of the things learnt and friends made. I can think of no better platform for a young lad to launch into adulthood than to be a member of such an organisation with it’s accredited certification on, First Aid, Wayfarers, Camping, Arts & Crafts, Physical Education, NCO Proficiency Awards, and competitive sport, not forgetting all the social graces that hopefully accrued along the way! As we celebrated VE Day (victory in Europe) in June 1945, we never lost sight of the ultimate sacrifice made by Allied military and civilian populations, or the ongoing battle in the Pacific for which we will be eternally indebted. We could however, put away our ‘stirrup pumps’ and stand-down our wartime emergency services to acceptable levels, with the view of making a start in rebuilding our nation and hopefully a peaceful world. Unfortunately the latter was not to be, and the call of "Vigilance is the price of Freedom" is as valid today as ever before!

Lest we forget.

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