“Honest John” M’Niven who would work twenty-four hours a day to make A Company more comfortable.
S.M. Hair whose wonderful pronunciation of words of command always amused us. His “Stind at —— ice” electrified everyone; unlike poor old Aitken, whose staccato and rapid “Company company ‘shun’” was never heard by anyone! And then the footballers Savage, Herd, Collier (who commanded “hauf a Batt-al-i-on” at St Emilie); Todd, M’Guffog (who captained the team that won the Final of the Divisional Cup, with a bit of Turkish shrapnel so close to his spine that they dared not operate); Davis with a heart like a lion and a kick like a mule; M’Lean who could head the ball about as far as he could kick it; Durham who seemed always half asleep and too lazy to worry—and many another first-rate footballer.
Leitch, the biggest and strongest man we had, the end man of the tug-of-war team, one of our best Lewis gunners, who, when shot in the hand, so that he could not fire his gun, carried on bringing up ammunition boxes all that day.
Henderson, D Coy’s S.M.; Galbraith on whom descended Colthart’s wonderful knack of obtaining whatever he wanted; Storrer Mosh alias Morrison Storrar of A Squadron and A Coy.
Mack, one of the best we got from the 10th Battalion, and they were all good fellows; Corporal Gibb, who looked the part so well that he was appointed Acting Q.M.S. by the Stores Officer at Kantara!
And Many More.
Names and episodes crowd one another out—the more one writes, the more one recalls. These random jottings, however, will call up many more to the reader’s memory. Such is my hope—that, having started you in a reminiscent frame of mind you will now carry on “spinning the yarn” yourself.
“Here’s tae oorsel’s! Wha’s like us! Damned few!”
