1976 Messines

Messines
25th/26th September 1976
Belgium

In September, 1914, a converted cattle-boat carried the 1st Bn, The London Scottish, to France for their meeting with destiny at Messines. In September, 1976, though the destination was the same, some 80-odd members of The London Scottish Coy had a much more luxurious trip (courtesy of Messrs Townsend Thoresen).

As a member of The London Scottish, you can't escape from Messines, but for the majority of the Serving Coy, it was still only a name, and the trip, on the weekend of September 25/26, at the request of the Belgian Remembrance Fund, to take part in the celebrations commemorating The Scottish's first action, was an ideal opportunity to visit the area and see where it all happened.

We left London at 11 pm on the Friday night, amidst a spectacular thunderstorm, for by then, Mr Howell had done his best, or worst, and deported the summer, and the rain pursued us all the way to Dover. It was a long and tiring journey to our billets in the Ypres Military Barracks, just down the road from what was known as Shrapnel Corner, in the Great War, but is now a relatively quiet cross-roads and level-crossing. Arriving at 7.30 am, immediate thoughts were of breakfast and bed, which, in some ways, was a pity since we had to forgo a visit to Tyne Cot Cemetery, which is well worth seeing. Perhaps next time?

Having had a few hours, very necessary sleep, and repaired the ravages that the journey had wrought on brogues and sporrans, we piled on the coaches and drove the couple of miles into Ypres, through a countryside that, like Ypres itself, had to be totally rebuilt after the First War. We were decanted at the Menin Gate where we were to take part in a ceremony that evening, and as the British Ambassador and his military adviser, Colonel Nicol, Black Watch, were to inspect us, Colonel Penman considered a rehearsal necessary. So, while the High Heid-Yins discussed plans in the rain, the rest of us took shelter in the Gate itself and were suitably subdued by the vast size and huge number of names on it. The London Scottish panel is, unfortunately for keen photographers, about 12 feet up the wall, but nevertheless attracted a large audience. When the chiefs had finished their pow-wow, us Indians were then practised in the choreography of the evening, marching up the stairs, and down the slope, a difficult art to master.

That strenuous activity over, and grumbling a bit, because we'd been promised a visit to the French Museum at Hill 62, we embussed once more, by now getting used to the procedure, and thundered back to the Barracks for more Belgian cuisine. Having, once again, reshined the brogues and sporrans, and changed Hodden Grey hose for white feet, once more on the coaches (I reckon we know every rivet on those coach stairs by now) and ready for the afternoon event, the first of two visits to Messines itself. The Old Comrades, eager to get there, shot off at a rate of knots, leaving the Coy floundering, due to an embarrassing lack of awareness of where Messines was. A swift bit of map-reading put us on the right road, and we caught up with the others at St Eloois (or St Eloi), specifically Bus House Corner, reputedly named after the wreck of one of the buses that took the 1st Bn up to the front. Here, the survivors of the battle who were on the visit, were explaining what was what, apologising profusely that their memories were not quite what they should be. I hope my memory is that good when I'm 80-odd.

A quick look round led to an invitation from a local inhabitant to see his collection of shells (military variety) and those who had a look were much impressed by the size of some of the examples. Time pressed, however, and we set off down the last couple of miles to Messines, passing a German blockhouse on the way, now used as a pig-sty, and very shortly the Memorial came into view, sitting in solitary splendour at the roadside just outside the village. Being town-bred I don't know one example of plant life from another, so whether the four ornamental trees are rowans or not, I couldn't say. Would be fitting if they were, though, considering the tune to which The Scottish marched into battle.

Having spent a good few minutes, and a good few rolls of film, admiring the Memorial, we fell-in behind the Pipes and Drums to march into Messines, about three-quarters of a mile down the road. There is no doubt about it, the Pipes and Drums do add something to a march (such flannel!) and we swung into Messines in fine style, down the road, through the square, past the church (in the crypt of which, Adolf Hitler is reputed to have hidden during the battle), past the Burgomaster's house, whereat an eyes' right and a tricky, double right wheel, not quite in peoples' front gardens, to put us back into the town, and finally, a halt in the square. Regrettably, the performance, sparkling up to this point, ended in a bit of a shambles as, on the dismiss, some saluted and some did not. With a bit of luck, the Belgians thought it was intentional. We hope so.

Time out for fraternisation, and the townspeople were obviously pleased to see us. However, the Pipes and Drums got all the attention, lucky chaps, marching up and down the square, beating retreat. The rest of us had to drown our sorrows at being out of the limelight, in free beer. Yet again, however, we couldn't stay long, as we had to dash back to get ready for the night's ceremony at the Menin Gate, so bidding farewell till the morrow, back on the transport and back to the Barracks. This time we found a bit of a breathing space and found ourselves in the bar down the road at what was Shrapnel Corner, where the Hodden Grey well outnumbered the locals.

And so into Ypres, where the crowds had gathered at the Gate. Quite impressive numbers, too, considering the large number of military ceremonies held in Ypres over the years. Still, they at least still remember the dead of two World Wars, regularly, by playing the Last Post under the Gate every evening, which is more than British towns do.

Marching up the stairs inside the Gate, we took up our position on the ramparts, on the right of the Gate, forming a hollow square with the gentlemen of the Regimental Association facing us, and the Pipes and Drums on our right, facing the Gate. There, the British Ambassador, wearing an extremely interesting uniform, inspected us, wreaths were laid, and the Pipes and Drums played a large part of their repertoire. Just about the time that the knees were losing interest in standing still, the ceremony ended, and we marched, somewhat perilously down the slope inside the ramparts and back into the Gate, where a short service was held. Dressing the ranks prior to this caused some discomfort to those on the left, since a pillar of the Gate refused to give up its place, leaving Pte Ted Dyer wondering how even be, a wily old soldier, was going to get out. A swift shuffle to the right at the end of the service solved the problem, and we then marched behind the standards of the British Legion, and various Resistance groups, to the Cloth Hall where, 'at a short reception, the Burgomaster passed on his thanks for our coming, and his nation's gratitude for the help rendered by the British in two wars. Colonel Penman replied on behalf of The Scottish, souvenirs were exchanged, and we were then free to sample the local hostelries, though the general feeling was that Messines was where we had come to visit, and Messines was where we should have spent the evening. Be that as it may, we enjoyed ourselves in the usual manner, and I seem to remember a certain number of the Serving Coy, of mixed rank, demonstrating the intricacies of the eightsome to the Yperites sometime around midnight.

Those who could, and surprisingly there were quite a few, managed to make a lightning trip to the Trench Museum at Hill 62, the following morning, and spent an interesting half-hour or so clambering in and out of the trench remains, trying to work out what the many pieces of ironmongery scattered about, were. Housed in the small museum building, two London Scottish sporrans hold pride of place in one of the glass cases. Some of the party also visited the Sanctuary Wood Cemetery next door and were much impressed by the care that goes into the upkeep of this place, as all Commonwealth War Graves Commission cemeteries.

Back for the last time to the billets to prepare for the highlight of the visit, the ceremony and march past at our Memorial.

Prior to this, and before we set off for Messines, Major Rutherford-Young held a short presentation, at which three civilian members of the Pipes and Drums, namely, Pipers MacDougall and Gilligan and Drummer Redman, were presented with Regimental ties, which they had been given the privilege of wearing because of their sterling work over past years. The dignity of the occasion was somewhat deflated by some Belgian soldiery, seated on a fence behind the OC, but in full view of the Coy, having the fence collapse under them at a crucial moment.

Bidding farewell to the Barracks, we drove off to Messines, debussing some little way from the Memorial, towards which we strolled amidst the rich smell of the country. Oh, all right, the rich smell of manure. The Honour party, consisting of Cpl Mark Ormiston, L/Cpl lan Stewart and Pte Colin Granger, under Sgt Neil McTavish, disappeared at this point to collect the rifles, courtesy of the Belgian Army, for their part in the proceedings. Having spent a good bit of time during the weeks leading up to the Messines weekend, in practising "rest on arms reversed" with SLR's, they were more than a little disconcerted to be handed a version of a rifle not seen before, which was a completely different shape and weight. They politely refused the bayonets, which upset the Belgian in charge, until a swift demonstration of the movements to be gone through convinced him that removal of the toes was not part of the proceedings. Despite the drawback regarding the hardware, the Honour Guard did an excellent job. (I've never known Cpl Ormiston stay so still for so long.)

The ceremony was impressive, the Pipes and Drums opening the proceedings by playing " The Rowan Tree ". Captain Schellekens, the Belgian liaison officer, gave a very good speech, reminding us of the events leading up to the battle and its aftermath, and Colonel Penman again replied on our behalf. Wreaths were laid, and a helicopter scattered poppy petals during the Last Post, unfortunately drowning most of it out. Binyon's words were spoken by a survivor of the battle, and he spoke the last line, almost with defiance, "We will remember them". The Belgians certainly will, as their interest and appreciation proves. The four survivors of the battle who had made the trip, were presented with the Belgian National Veterans' Association's gold medal, and after the playing of the National Anthems had brought the ceremony to a close, we reformed for the march past. Unfortunately, the saluting base was opposite the Memorial, so the eyes right was away from the Memorial itself, which was a bit of a shame.

Once more we marched into Messines, having a little difficulty keeping in step with the town band, which played enthusiastically, if a little erratically, and once more found ourselves in the square, where Major Rutherford-Young laid a wreath at the town's War Memorial. The dismiss was, this time, much better, being round the corner, out of sight of the crowds, and once more, we had to drink while the Pipes and Drums enjoyed themselves playing for the audience.

Yet again, we had very little time, as we had to dash to make Calais in time for the ferry. The town gave us a great send-off, and the drivers put the boot down for the coast. No time to stop, which discomfited those who had supped well if not wisely.

We made the ferry with seconds to spare and set off back to England, with Piper lan King staking his claim to Gordon Skilling's crown as non-stop pipes player, in the bar. This was much appreciated by most (?) of the passengers.

Thus ended the trip. A good time had been had by all, and we can't wait for the next time.

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