I should know better

It`s the 60th anniversary of D-Day, and although it is right and proper to remember, as usual I find the media coverage far too much, and am avoiding it.

Our family was not particularly military. Great-grandfather was in the Indian Army, and that was about it.

My father missed both wars. During the second he was in a reserved occupation, working incredible hours in Babcock & Wilcox (see post for 24th April), and firewatching almost every night. I remeber telling some teenagers about firewatching, explaining about HE and Incendiary, and the skilled use of the indispensable stirrup pump. "You`re having us on," they said. "No-one would ever do that........"

At the beginning of the First World War, he was about 16, and immediately went with his pals to join up and do his bit. They all lied about their ages where necessary, and did not tell their parents.

Well, they went through the induction details, and then came the medical. You all know about army medicals. They lay a hand on you and if you`re warm, you`re in. But after a cursory examination, my father was told to step out of line and go and wait in a little side room, where an officer would see him.

There were a desk and two chairs in the room, and my father sat and thought. He came to the conclusion, born of the optimism of youth, that they must have decided that he was officer material. He was going to war as a glorious leader of men.....

This reverie was interrupted by the entrance of a very impressive officer. My father thought he was at least a general. Actually he was the MO in charge of the medicals. He leaned across the desk.

"If you`re man enough to fight for your country, then you`re man enough to take this news straight. Sorry, son - dicky heart. Six months to live at best. Can`t use you."

My fatther ws appalled. Getting shot by the Hun was fine, but this was terrifying. He rushed to his doctor, improbably called Dr Dale (I know nothing of any diaries), and poured out the awful tale. The good Doctor looked sceptical.

"I`ve treated you all your life and never found a thing wrong with you, Willie. But we`d better check. Now," (and here`s where you realise that this happened in 1914, not today) " I`ll just write you a wee note to an old friend who is a consultant in Glasgow, and you nip up to the hospital on the tram and see him today. He`ll know for sure."

In fear and trembling my father did so, and was examined and given a report to take back to Dr Dale. "As I thought" said the Doctor. "Sound as a bell".

My father immediately begged him to give him a note to take back to the recruiting officer, but Dr. Dale would have none of it. "This will be a terrible war," he said, "and I`m glad to be able to keep both your mother`s sons out of it: your brother`s too young, and the army has already clasified you as unfit, and that`s it. And you`ve learned something. You`ve learned that army doctors are not fit to clean latrines."

My father never went to war. He had to endure the "white feather" atitude, but he survived.

None of his friends who enlisted that day came back.

During the later years of that war my father became involved in Red Clydeside.....

But that`s another story.