My thanks to Warbirds.com for the medal information

It seems that as you grow older, those memories that do not fade start to get stronger. For me there is one that, over the past forty odd years keeps creeping back from the dark shadows of my mind bringing with it a clear and vivid image. Today it seems to come into my thoughts more often than it did in the past, and I feel there is a sort of pressure on me to put the memory into words.

Each time I hear the tune Je t’endrais and the memories that are linked to it, I am taken back over the years to the events of a day in August 1944.

After the battles of the Normandy campaign, many of the fighting units were so badly depleted that an amount of re-organisation was necessary. As a result of this I was transferred from the Tyneside Scottish to the Fifth Battalion of the Black Watch.

For the first time I found myself in the same section of 7 platoon as my buddy, Alex Corris, from the Isle of Man. We had joined the army on the same day and although our paths had diverged on occasions, we were and still remain very close friends. I remember thinking. that I did not, want to be this close to Alex possibly because of a superstition concerning the ill fate of close friends.

The battalion had just liberated a part of Lisieux, the Germans we were told, were “on the run” and we were having two days rest. I remember the sheer exhaustion and battle weariness that showed on the faces of my new comrades. The battalion was battle seasoned, it had fought its way from El Alamein and despite heavy casualties, there were still a few of its number that wore the much respected Africa Star.

My new section leader was Corporal Chapman, both he and Ginger (Sargeant Thomas Kirkcaldy) wore the much respected medal, but the rest of us were 19 year old and veterans only of the Normandy battles. Chapman was a fine soldier and won our confidence and respect immediately. He was an efficient but a kindly person, neat and smart in his turn out but very understanding. He looked after us new veterans like Father figure, but at the same time controlled us as a fighting unit.

Ginger, as he was affectionately known was friendly and well liked by everyone. He had a rare quality that was seldom to be found or shown by soldiers. When he spoke to you, it was like speaking to an older brother. He was most concerned about your well being and intently interested in everything about you. As a result of this, he seemed to enjoy a close personal relationship with everyone, even the hardest of men and I am sure many confided in him. He would be sure to ask if things were alright, or how the family were getting on, or if you were getting letters, etc. From the start, he welcomed us with great kindness, gave us a lot of help in settling in and established this close relationship with us all.

After two days, our rest period was over and we moved out, carried by lorries, back to the combat area. The battalion’s task was to mop up a pocket of resistance left behind by the retreating enemy to delay our advance. The pocket was on the nearside of the Seine in country that was hilly and lightly wooded and very different from the bocage of Normandy.

As we advanced towards the battalions objective, there was little evidence of enemy presence. After a halt, Corporal Chapman told us that the leading company had taken all the objectives unopposed and that there was no sign of enemy troops. He also told us that the second objective had been given and that another company was leading the attack. This objective was taken and still no signs of resistance.

After various ‘O’ group meetings, a third objective was announced and this time it was our company that was leading. We also learned that our platoon was leading the company, and our section, under Corporal Chapman, leading the whole attack.

Every infantryman knows that the leading section was exposed to all risks, that the chances of being a casualty were very high and that your fate was in the hands of God. On this occasion, however, our chances of survival seemed considerably improved since there was no sign of the enemy.

We set off from a wooded area into undulating hill land. We moved forward, well spread out, looking all around for any threatening signs of hostility. There was no shelling, there were no sounds of the dreaded mortars and no sign of the enemy. It was a pleasant sunny day and the farther we moved the less we felt threatened. We traveled past a roadblock of felled trees and through a minefield of six or eight anti-tank mines laid in the road and easily identified. About 100 yards ahead of this there was another roadblock of felled  trees and a wood just beyond. Perhaps we should have recognised the possible danger, but everything was so tranquil that we had become a little complacent. We approached the roadblock and just as we were climbing over the trees a burst of machine-gun fire opened up on us from the wood ten yards ahead. Instinctively, we moved like lightning. I found myself lying behind a sawn off tree stump. There was more fire, the bullets kicked up the earth first to the left then to the right of my tree stump, and I wriggled to keep out of the line of fire. When it stopped, we had time to think. It sounded like a Schmeisser hand machine gun almost certainly on the left. I went into my pouches for a grenade as I am sure the others did, but I found first a tin of sardines, then a tin of bully beef and eventually a grenade. Rather foolishly, we had given higher priority to the buckshee rations we had, for the first received than to our
essential weapons. By this time, I had the feeling that the immediate danger was passed. I looked for Alex, he was crouched in a fold in the ground barely enough to afford protection. I shouted to him and he said he was alright. I then felt something hot running down my back and said to Alex, “I think I have been hit.” He very bravely crawled up to me, removed my pack and quietly said, “Tom, get back as quick as you can.” I can still remember concern and anxiety in his voice and this puzzled me because I felt quite well.

I made my way back to the first aid post where I was examined by the Medical Officer and told to get into the Field Ambulance. I was shortly joined by two more walking wounded and after some time two stretcher cases were brought in. I was happy to be on my way back to hospital and out of the fighting , but I was badly shaken when I discovered that the two badly wounded cases were Corporal Chapman and Ginger. I did not know that they had been seriously wounded at the same time as I was.

The ambulance set off for Bayeux about 100 kilometres away, a journey that was to take us well over 12 hours on account of the shell-pocked roads and the heavy traffic. We passed through four aid posts where we got essential medical treatment. Two of these were Canadian where we were given the best of attention and much kindness, and two were British where we were treated quite indifferently.

It was the middle of the night when we arrived at the last of these aid posts. I knew that both Corporal Chapman and Ginger were seriously wounded and very weak. Neither of them had regained consciousness and there was little that we could do for them. When they were stretchered out of the ambulance and into the light of the reception tent, we feared the worst. The M.O. examined them and much to my grief pronounced both of them dead.

This sad loss was made all the more tragic for me for two reasons. As I watched all of this going on, my thoughts were concerned only with the fate of my two comrades I was only vaguely aware of music coming from a nearby radio but then it suddenly struck me, the tune that was being played was Je t’endrais and then I remembered that this was Ginger’s favourite tune, it was being played as he passed away. I was also struck by the injustice and the strange quirks of fate. The two that had been killed in this attack were the two old soldiers, who had traveled far under the banner of good fortune and who, within sight of the final goal, had been taken by fate. I felt, that they, before any others in the section, deserved to see final victory.

I went on to hospital in Bayeux and after a few weeks was back with 7 platoon I was greeted by my old pal Alex who had volunteered to become a stretcher bearer, one of the most dangerous jobs. He was glad to see me, it had been a bad day for casualties and he said he felt lucky to he alive. At that time there were many bad days and hard battles ahead of us.

We were both fortunate enough to survive the war and at the end of it we found ourselves billetted in a beautiful little German village called Steyerberg. There were very few of us who had survived from the Normandy beaches but during these days we talked a great deal about the past, recalling various happenings and remembering the many who had not been as lucky as we and we often spoke of Corporal Chapman and Ginger, our two Africa Star comrades. We knew only too well the chances of survival for an infantryman. The chances of surviving from El Alamein to Berlin was practically nil, out of all the members of 7 platoon who had started at the beginning, only one was left at the end. He was our platoon sergeant and great friend, Wick, but en route he had been wounded twice.

On the 10th June 1944 the Highland Division made it's first attack from The Bois De Monts towards Breville. In this and the action at Chateau St Come 110 men were killed in two days. Vastly outnumbered and against ferocious counter attacks the Highlanders helped to secure the Orne Bridgehead only by steadfast dedication, courage and sacrifice.

An impressive monument to this action has been erected just outside Breville, click here for it's location.