19 August 1942

Out yesterday from 3 to 4.30 pm.  Usual ball games.  Lights dim again last night with complete black out from 8.30 to 9.30 pm.  Food is improving every day.  Excellent soup yesterday afternoon – also a mug of tea.  This morning our trusty came round the cells asking whether we preferred tea or coffee in the morning. My hat!  If this thing continues we shall be thoroughly spoiled in no time and we shall have to be forcibly persuaded to go home when the time comes.

____________________________

As the time of departure drew near, realisation of all that it meant became clearer and the thought of breaking with loved ones and dear lifelong associations counter balanced my exited imagination which leapt forward to the expectation of strange scenes and a new way of life.  At last the inevitable day of parting came, the 13th October 1926 and in memory I am seated for the last time at the tea table, eating bread and butter with boiled ham and tomato sauce and having a dreadful struggle to swallow each mouthful, father, mother and sister being no more successful in that operation.  I had taken leave of my fiancée the night before.  We became officially engaged in the course of the last week and I had bought an engagement ring out of the money remaining to me after purchasing my outfit.  At the station there was quite a turnout of relatives.  Partings such as these are too sacred to be described in detail.  Sufficient to say that in due course I found myself in a railway carriage being whirled away rapidly towards the unknown, really alone for the first time in my 23 years, feeling very lonely and sad and not a little apprehensive as to what was to become of me now that I must stand on my own feet and make my way through life by my own unaided efforts.  Mother used always to say, ‘The young birdies maun spread their wings’, which, is, of course, true, but I must confess that my wings were pitifully weak when my flight commenced.  My uncle Joe had very kindly suggested that I should spend a day or two with him and his family in London before embarking, hence my departure from Aberdeen 3 days before the actual sailing date.  Joe came with me to the boat and as we moved away down the river I stood and looked and looked at him, waving until he was no longer distinguishable among the many who stood on the quay and then, turning away, I looked forward on our course realising that the last link with all that had been my life before had snapped.  On board the ‘Khiva’ I found that I shared a cabin, 2nd class, with an Italian named Vaccaro who was a saleman of some kind.  It is amusing to recall that I considered him foppish because he was in the habit of rubbing his face with Eau de Cologne after shaving, a confirmed drunkard because he now and then became a bit noisy on account of having taken the slightest drop too much, and morally depraved because he had brought a copy of La Vie Parisienne along with him.  Oh, I WAS young and green and strait laced at that age with a vengeance.  Since then, many is the bottle of Eau de Cologne I have used for the same purpose and more often than I care to recall have I been much more drunk than Vaccaro ever was, although to be quite frank literature of the La Vie Parisienne class had never appealed to me.  We became quite good friends, however, and he taught me to sing ‘Mussolini, nostre Duce’ while I on my part improvised an accompaniment for same on the piano.  But one night, when we were in the Red Sea, Vaccaro’s behaviour was too much for my then Puritan soul and resulted in my requesting a transfer to another cabin the next day.  His offence was by no means henous but I was extremely shocked my this standing at our cabin door with only his trousers on and calling ‘Coo-ee’ along the passage in the hope of attracting some female attention.  I was really sorry about the transfer after a few days because I had offended my Italian friend deeply by my action, but the damage was done.  I was ashamed of myself then and I am more ashamed of myself now and I should like to have the opportunity  of apologising to Vaccaro for my narrow minded foolishness.  But there, how many things do we not do throughout our lives which cause us regret and remorse to the end of our days.  That is the cross we all have to bear and the fashioning and burden of it are of our own making.  In changing my quarters I had a bunk in a three berth cabin and the great joke was that, although such was my state of innocence that I did not realise it till 12 years later, I had then a couple of sodomites for company.  The explanation of much that had then been only mildly puzzling became clear to me when the clean up of homosexuals in the DEI and elsewhere startled everybody in the Far East in 1939.  But of that, more later.  The voyage, once the novelty of shipboard life had worn off, was rather uneventful except, of course, for stoppages at ports of call which were Port Said, Colombo, Penang and, for me, finally Singapore.  At Port Said I was fascinated with the spectacle afforded in coaling operations going on in a vessel close to where the ‘Khiva’ was lying.  The sight of hundreds of apparently sub humans, dirty, ragged and pitch black, running squealing, shrieking and shouting in unending streams up and down planks stretching from quay to ship, each bearing a basket on his head, was like a peep into some choice corner of Hell itself.  And then the mystery of black veiled women with their noses seemingly enclosed in a metal casing, and the swarming touts and vendors of Birmingham manufactured relics of TutanKhamen who kept shouting ‘Aye Aye Mr Mackintosh, Ah’m Mr Macpherson, frae Aiberdeen, Ethel Macfechel, Auchtermuchty’.  These pests gathered and hung around us like flies as soon as we set foot on shore and were not to be shaken off by any means what ever.  Several of them specialised in ‘Dirty postcards, sir, dirty postcards’ and kept trying to entice one away from the party round a corner to prove their assertion.  There was a young Lancashire lad on board whose dialect sounded to me like a foreign language until the night we left Port Said.  He emerged from his cabin cursing and sweating with extreme fluency and lucidity carrying a packet of plain postcards in his hand, the wrapping around which he had just then removed in anticipation of all the merchant, by means of sample cards, had guaranteed him.  The plain postcards were no doubt better for his morals than the others would have been but his experience did not seem to have bred in him a spirit of Christian resignation and thanksgiving for temptation removed.  Of course, I had to pay a visit to the world famous emporium of Simon Arts and it was too much to be expected that I should get back to the ship without a box of genuine tasteless Turkish Delight.  I pride myself that I avoided that pitfall when I again visited Port Said.  We left Port Said in the evening after dark so I missed seeing something I had been looking forward to – the Suez Canal, but that loss was fully compensated for 11 years later.

17 August 1942

Out yesterday 3 to 5.15 pm/  Three ball games.  Supper very late – 7 pm instead of 5 pm but worth waiting for.  A change form the Ketan Hitam this morning.  Rib improving but still painful.  In spite of doctor’s instructions that the part should be painted with iodine every day, this has not been done.  As the medical service is here, it would be very surprising indeed it it had been.  I shall just have to practice Christian Science.  Two alarms already this morning but quite evidently only practice.

____________________________________

I returned to Braemar the same day and finished my holiday there.  A letter from Harrisons and Crosfield awaited me at home, with the request to be at their office in London on the following Tuesday for interview.  It was asking rather much to require leave of absence the very day after I had resumed duty but I was granted one day which was quite enough for my purpose.  I accordingly left Aberdeen at 7 pm of Monday evening, arriving in London at 7 o’clock next morning, returning by a train leaving London at 7 pm Tuesday which got me to Aberdeen by 7 am Wednesday morning, in good time for work. Arrived at King’s Cross Station, I had a wash and shave in the toilet rooms there and then breakfasted in the Station restaurant.  My interview was for 10 o’clock but I was already in the vicinity of Great Tower Street by 9 am and sat on a bench on Tower Hill overlooking the Tower of London until the appointed hour.

I was interviewed by Mr Mitchell and Mr Thom who himself was a native of Dyce and the ordeal passed pleasantly.  At one point during his questioning he said to me, ‘You are not thinking of getting married, are you,’ to which I replied trustfully and rather bashfully, ‘No, not yet – but I have a girl.’  This simple question and reply were to have momentous consequences later.  However, after an interview of about half an hour, Mr Thom expressed himself satisfied and intimated to me that the appointment was mine.  The contract would be made up and I must return at 3 pm to append my signature and receive my copy of the document, together with sailing instructions etc.  Greatly elated at my good fortune, my first action on leaving the building was to send off a telegram to my parents which contained only two words ‘Got it’.  Thereafter, feeling in fine fettle I set out to see as much of London as my limited time would allow of.  Somehow or other, I found my way to the Monument which I climbed.   It was a beautiful sunny day and the panorama of the great city spread out below me amply compensated for my breathlessness. I forget exactly how many steps there are in the Monument but more than enough is a fairly accurate estimate.  

 

 

From there I found the direction of St Paul’s Cathedral which I reached in due course and where I ascended to the Whispering Gallery,  in which the guide demonstrated the famous acoustic properties, and then to the top of the immense dome itself from which another magnificent view compensated me for my weary legs.

I must have lunched somewhere but have no recollection of the proceeding and at 3 pm duly presented myself again at the office in Great Tower Street.  The contract awaited me, an imposing looking document of 8 foolscap pages simply bristling with seals and flourishing signatures.  As our American cousins would put it, it sure looked a million dollars but it proved itself latterly to be as valuable as the illuminated share certificate of a phoney gold mine. Mr Thom informed me that I would sail on 16 October from London by SS Khiva of the P & O line,  transshipping for Java at Singapore, where I could apply to their office there for the necessary assistance and that the boat would be met by a representative who would arrange accommodation etc in Singapore for me.  On arrival at Batavia, Java, I should also be  met and taken under the wing of a member of the office staff there who would see to it that I reached Langen Estate safely and in one piece.  I was also advised to buy Hossfeld’s Dutch Grammar and Hugo’s Dutch Simplified.  This I duly did and to this day have never got beyond the first page of Hossfield.  But I must confess that Hugo’s book was very helpful indeed.  I spent my few remaining hours in London on the open top decks of buses, enjoying myself immensely in the contemplation of the most fascinating sight London can offer – the traffic.  A few days after my return to Aberdeen, I received my passage ticket and luggage labels and a cheque for £10 travelling expenses.  I was however very short of money for the purchase of the necessary outfit and consequently rather worried on that account.  I was at Northern Branch at the time and I confided my difficulty to Mr Grainger who very kindly approached a friend of his, a depositor at Northern, on the matter.  This was Mr William Riddoch, an elderly cattle dealer, with whom I myself was only slightly acquainted, but whom I learned to regard as a true friend and to respect as  a Christian gentleman of the finest type.  William Riddoch was a bachelor and a plain honest living and God fearing man whose guide in all his dealing with his fellowmen was the Good Book.  I learned later that I was by no means the first, and I am sure not the last, young man whom he assisted in a practical manner towards the goal of his ambitions.  In fact, it was rather a hobby of his to do good in this way.  Briefly, he advance me the sum of £60 which I undertook to repay as soon as I could.  I am glad to say that I did so within the year, thus discharging the financial obligation.  His kindness can never be repaid.  He himself considered that he was amply repaid if his protégés made good and was always ready to adopt one, even although in some cases he had been bitterly disappointed in his trust and his kindness shamefully abused.  When I expressed my gratitude to him, he replied, ‘ That’s alright laddie.  But just remember later when you have the means and opportunity to help some young lad as I am helping you now.  That’s all I want.’  Could there be a better rule for living than that?  William Riddoch was a simple man with I imagine, little education, but with more men of his stamp and less so called education, this world would be an infinitely better place.  He as passed on now but to me his memory will every be green and I shall not fail him in his precept.

_________________________

Out from 3.10 to 4.30 pm.  Ball games.  Bill Leslie got a parcel in yesterday from Lydia.  He gave me 2 biscuits, double ones with icing in between and 3 candy balls.  All finished.  I have still got 2 squares of Swiss milk toffee and 5 Capstans.

_________________________

My outfit was soon purchased and packed in a steel trunk which I bought from Shirras Long and a suitcase which was a parting gift from the Grosvenor Choir.  I had quite forgotten about my Choir until mention of the suitcase reminded me of my career as a choir conductor.   It is difficult to recall how it came about exactly but I suppose I was asked to form the choir which was composed of members of the ILP (the Independent Labour Party) of which my mother, having inherited her father’s interest in matters political, was an active supporter.  Politics have never interested me but if I have had my leaning in that direction at all, it has been towards the Socialist movement on account of its practical policy of endeavouring to secure better conditions for the masses.  I spent many pleasant evenings in the Grosvenor Rooms in Bridge Street where the ILP members foregathered and where, after the Grosvenor Choir was formed, rehearsals were held.  The choir was a mixed one of about 45 members, some staff readers but the majority sol fa and it was due much more, I am sure, to the unbounded enthusiasm of the choir as a while than to my capabilities as a conductor that the enterprise was so successful.  Without boasting, I think I can claim that the Grosvenor Choir was as good an amateur ensemble as could have been found in Aberdeen at that time.  It was, I believe, in 1924 that the choir was formed and I remember very well our first performance which took place one Sunday evening in the Picturedrome in Rosemount Viaduct.  In addition to the many part songs, about 12 in number, there were solos and quartettes and instrumental items as well as a few humorous Scotch recitations and our debut was an unqualified success.  From the ranks I had been singularly fortunate in forming a mixed quartette whcih , for the perfect blending of four voices, I have never heard equalled.  None of the voices was a powerful one and no ne voice at any time predominated so that singing in harmony was well nigh perfect, and especially in such a part song as Sweet and Low.  My sister Marjory was the soprano, Edith duff (?) the alto, Frank Pirie, tenor and Alex Catto (latter Councilor) bass.  Frank Pirie possessed one of the sweetest natural tenor voices I have ever heard.  He was very thin and consumptive looking and solo singing was apt to distress him somewhat.  Hardly to be wondered at considering that the poor chap was under nourished and had been out of work for about 2 years already at that time.  He was one of the finest men I have met and it is a privilege to have known him.  Poor frank was one of the victims of the first bombing attacks on Aberdeen in September 1940.  When I resigned from the conductorship on  leaving for Java, my uncle Peter took over the choir but some six months later, I believe, it was disbanded.  However, as I have already stated, the Choir presented me with a splendid leather suitcase which I used still and which forms a link with a very happy period of my life.

***********

Note from Pat O’Neill

Last year my daughter was taken to the Whispering Gallery where her future husband proposed, little realising that her grandfather had been there all those years ago!

15 August 1942

The prison siren has gone twice in the past hour.  It is now 11.30 am.  Perhaps practice, perhaps not.  Long in bed till 9 am.  Yesterday afternoon did my rib no good by throwing ball which had gone over line, back on to field.  Quite forgot I was not fit but the action reminded me of the fact very sharply.  dimmed light all last night.  At 9 pm the most wonderful astronomical phenomenon I have ever witnessed.  A shooting star or comet of a brilliance which turned the darkness to daylight travelled across the sky from the east to west.  The light lasted at least 10 seconds and I thought at first that it was a parachute flare.  Let us hope that this is a happy omen of what is to come.  The direction from which the star came is the right one and it is starts we are looking for.

__________________________________

During my years in the Bank many changes occurred within the family circle.  I may be somewhat lazy as to the exact date but it was in 1923 I think, that my grandfather died.  My grandmother followed him the next year and in 1925, I believe, the family of still unmarried aunts and one uncle emigrated to America.  It may seem strange that when referring to grandfather, grandmother, uncles and aunts, these are always of my mother’s side.  The reason is because my father was the only member of his family in Aberdeen.  When I was very young, grandfather and grandmother Smith stayed in Northfield Place.  in thinking of grandfather, a picture forms in my mind of myself standing at a table, with the top of which my head is just at a level, watching with greedy expectant eyes while a fairly tall, grey haired and rather gaunt man is preparing to break up a large peppermint ‘pandrop’ with the hammer he has in his hand.  That is my only memory of grandfather Smith.  He must have died when I was about 3 or 4 and then my grandmother removed to Edinburgh to take up house with her youngest son.  She returned to Aberdeen some four or five years later, staying with us for a few months but later taking up residence in a small house in a side street of Powis Place, the name of which escapes me.  I recollect her a small bent body, still fresh complexioned, blue eyed and with her greying brown hair drawn tightly back from her forehead and gathered into a ‘bun’ at the back of her head.

________________________________

2.30 pm had just been to doctor from 12.30 t0 2.10.  We go in batches of 5 or 10 at a time and come back in the same way, being searched both going and coming.  My rib is not broken, probably only a severely strained muscle.  the part painted with iodine, sunbaths and rest advised.  We have a new doctor, an Indonesian, Sastrowirojo, I believe his name is.  Door of hospital was open, so saw and waved  to Sparkes.  We have just been issued with 2 packets of 20 Mascot cigarettes each.  Today we begin 5th month here and this is only the third time we have got cigarettes.  On 13 June we got 40 Davros cigs and on 17 July 20 Mascots.

_____________________

My only vivid recollection of Grannie Smith is seeing her wandering all over the house peering at everything while drying her face after washing.  It was a habit of hers to do this and I know it used to amuse my sister and myself greatly.  I do not think she could have been a type to inspire affection otherwise my memories of her would no doubt be much clearer!  From what I gathered in after years, I believe she was the type of mother who disapproved of daughters in law on general principle and consequently relations between her and my mother were not cordial.  In my father’s family there were four sons and one daughter.  The eldest son, David, emigrated to Canada many years ago.  As far as I am aware, he never married.  The second son, John, was my father; the third William, killed in a railway accident a few years ago, was married and resided in Glasgow as did also the only daughter, Jean, who, I understand had made an unfortunate marriage and was consequently pretty much lost sight of.  The youngest son, James, residing in Edinburgh, was also unfortunate in ,matrimony and divorced his wife after a few years.  I do not believe that correspondence passed between the brothers and sister and consequently the uncles and aunt on my father’s side are known to me practically only from hearsay.  My maternal grandfather, George Mackintosh Riach, was a clever man and gifted with great organising ability.  In a higher walk of life, he would doubtless have achieved distinction.  As it was in a humble way, he was well known in Aberdeen and, when younger, took a very active part in the support of various candidates for municipal honours.  He claimed descent on the maternal side from the Mackintosh as the result of a misalliance between a groom and a daughter of the illustrious family, but how many generations back, I never heard tell.  Every Saturday evening a sort of forum was held at my grandparents’ house where the politics of the day were discussed and argued with various members of the family, my grandfather, so to speak, occupying the chair.  There is no doubt that he possessed a wonderful insight into things political and a keep foresight of the trend of events and, young as I was, then, I used to enjoy these Saturday evening parliaments.  During the War, we were deprived for the time being of the Aberdonians famed morning rolls – in local parlance, ‘buttery rowies’.  How it came about I cannot recall but on a certain occasion I found myself competing with my grandfather on a poetic contest in connection with this circumstance for a wager of a penny.  The family were the judges and on the appointed evening, grandfather read his poem, which went as follows:

Oor forefathers likit their bannocks and ale
And aye kept good store in their bowies
But for enjoyment what niver can fail
Is a breakfast wi’ buttery rowies.

For general acclaim I won the penny by submitting the

Ode to the Departed Buttery

Broom an’ crisp, ye used tae lie within yer paper buggie
Far be ye noo, say I, ma bonnie buttery rowie?
But soon, I’m sure, ye’ll come again to cheer oor hairts forlorn
An’ we’ll see ye on the table aince mair at breakfast ivery morn.

The breaking up of the family, more or less inevitable after the death of both grandparents, brought to an end the joyous Hogmanay reunions which had characterised the ‘Clan, as we called ourselves, from my earliest years.  My uncle Joe was by the time married and settled down in London.  My aunt Innes, Margaret (Peggy), Eliza (Betty) and Charlotte and my uncle Johnnie, also John Wilkinson, Charlotte’s fiancé, emigrated to America, settling in Detroit.  Charlotte and John Wilkinson later went to South Africa and now live in Maraisburg, Transvaal and have one daughter, May.  Some years after the general emigration, my uncle Joe, with his wife, Winnie and their two children, George and Pamela, joined the American contingent in Detroit where all still reside.  It is a rather unusual fact that I have never addressed my aunts or uncle by such titles but always by their Christian names, as between brothers and sisters, but how this came about I do not know, although it is probably due to childish license being allowed in this respect until it became too late to remedy the defect.

_________________________

Out from 3 to 4.15 pm.  Only one ball game.  Chinese were not out with us today but have had their outing by themselves later and now playing a ball game against the Indonesian team.

14 August 1942

Lights came on dim yesterday at 8pm and remained so.  Played a few games of patience but even that rather tiring in bad light.  Have gone on sick report today – wonder if the doctor will come?  Lay in bed till 9.30 this morning.  That is the latest way we have discovered of passing the time.  We go back to bed after breakfast and shout insults at each other about laziness until we get up 2 or 3 hours later.  We are all much cheerier now that the restriction on talking appears to have lapsed.  During the reign of terror, as we call it, and which lasted from the end of June until the beginning of this month, a beating up in the cell or through the window was our portion, not only for talking but for the most trivial offences, such as hanging something to dry out of the window  or even leaving the window closed. The annoying thing was that we were quite unaware of any infringement of rule until we were punished for it.  Each guard seemed to be a law unto himself and for a time we did not know whether we were standing on our heads or our heels.  It was like living in a madhouse run by the patients themselves.

__________________

Among the senior staff I must not forget James Smith, whose position was that of second teller.  He was the most interesting personality and a clearer case of a square peg in a round hole would have been difficult to find.  His ruling passion was the love of literature and he may best be described as a literary intellectual.  Tall, very thin and consumptive looking, with a slight stoop and a nervous habit of opening and closing his eyes quickly when animated, he possessed an intelligent face with a fine forehead, broad, high and intellectual which however tapered away to a weak mouth and an indecisive chin.  He was very highly strung and lacked confidence in himself in his work.  if Fate had been kinder to him and had given him the means to devote himself entirely to his favourite subject, I have no doubt that the world would have benefitted by some interesting ‘belles lettres’ and philosophical works from his pen.  I was delighted to hear that after his retirement he was appointed Librarian at Marischal College and it is pleasant to know that the last years of his life were spent in the atmosphere which his soul craved.  To James Smith also i am in no small measure indebted for the introduction to many books of which otherwise I should have remained ignorant. My contemporaries on the staff were Robert Wilson, James C Webster and George B Rose and each was an individual type.  Wilson was tall and thin, red haired and blue eyed.  He moved, thought and spoke slowly and altogether gave the impression of always being only half awake.  A negative personality on the whole, it is not surprising, considering his sleepy manner, that he was nicknamed ‘Dopey’.  I seem to remember that he was in due course appointed agent of the Savings Bank at Wick where he may even now be hibernating to his heart’s content.  A very different type was James Webster.  Sturdily built of average height, with brown hair, blue eyes and a real fighting chin, Webster as a pugnacious individual who went about with a  chip on his shoulder.  It was his nature to be quarrelsome and dogmatic and presumable he could not help himself, but it is  disappointing to reflect that these characteristics were responsible for his early downfall when he already had become established in a position which promised a successful future.  He left the Bank about a month before I did, to take up an appointment as a tea planter on one of Harrisons and Crosfield’s states in Java, and if he had been able to put a curb on his temper and tongue he would by this time have been an Estate Manager.  Webster was intelligent and being as he was unamenable to discipline in any form whatsoever, he quarreled with the manager of his estate with the result that his contract with the Company was not renewed after the first 5 years and he returned to Aberdeen, no doubt a sadder and I hope, a wiser man, and where he had drifted from one clerking job to another ever since, living on the dole between times and, I am sure, having a hard struggle to provide for his wife and two children.  When I last saw him, on 1938, he was holding a temporary clerking job in Campbell's Ltd, the motorcar hiring establishment but before I left Aberdeen he was thrown again on the dole.  It was quite tragic to me, to whom it was evident that Jimmy would have given 10 years of his life for another chance in Java, and who saw him now cooped up in two rooms in a tenement in Huntley Street as compared with the fine house he had on Andola Estate, up in the hills of the most beautiful part of Java, and with at least four servants at his beck and call.  I tried on two occasions to get him a planting job, but naturally the companies concerned approached Harrisons and Crosfield for reference and presumably their report was sufficient to damn him as a candidate for the vacancies and my efforts had no success. It is a great pity because I feel that Webster would have made a capital planter and a very capable Estate manager.  George Rose was in a class by himself and frankly to me it was always a mystery that he was retained in the Bank’s service.  He was so obviously all that an aspiring banker should not have been.  even at that young age he was old in the minor vises, haunting low class billiard saloons and consorting with so called sporting individuals, in addition to possessing don Juan propensities which gave a distinctive flavour to his conversation.  Fairly tall, slim, fair and pasty faced with a loose, weak mouth, he affected the flashy manner of the ‘sport’, employing in speech the slang vocabulary appropriate to such a character. It did not surprise me so much to learn some years ago that he had been sent to penal servitude for the embezzlement of some £6,000 as to find that he had actually succeeded in doing so as a branch manager of the Aberdeen Savings Bank.  At thee same time, I cannot believe that George was a criminal at heart.  He was only weak and the crime lay at the door of those who put him in the way of temptation which, to anybody with half an eye, it was quite evident he would be too weak to resist.

______________

4.30 pm But since 3pm two ball games.  We appear to be in the hands of the Blue Boys (prison trusties) again, as always happens when the officer in command does not take charge of proceedings personally.  The BB’s are known as such on account of the blue prison uniforms they wear.  some of them are decent, most of them swine who take full advantage of the opportunity  to get a bit of their own back on society in general and the European in particular.  They are all native criminals, murderers, coiners, embezzlers or plain thieves.  The European trusties who looked after things formerly were all replaced by natives about two and half months ago.  Doctor has not come.

13 August 1942

No alarm last night or this morning but lights dimmed yesterday instead of 10.30pm as formerly.  Washed my bed with soapsuds today to keep away bugs.  I have been very lucky, haven’t had a single bug in my cell yet.  Some cells simply swarm with bugs, usually round the frame and between the mesh of the wire mattress which forms the folding bed.  Rib still painful but pain spreading more towards breastbone. Hope doctor comes tomorrow.

___________________________

George Skinner was a simple soul, always good humoured and not, I fancy, blessed with an abundance of grey matter, but an accurate and efficient teller.  In appearance he was a little over average height, fair complexioned, getting a bit thin on top, and pot bellied.  He fancied himself somewhat as a vocalist, his favourite song being, I recall, ’The Wagonner’  of which I remember only the title.  During the war he had seen Home service as a truck driver and was often hard put to it to vie with others, such as Bill Cheyne and Douglas Campbell, who had seen real active service in the trenches, when War reminiscences were indulged in, but he did his best.  Actually a good, harmless chap, who, I am sure was an exemplary husband and father and who could not have had an enemy in the world.  Thinking of Skinner’s efforts in the relating of his War experiences, I am reminded for a moment of another acquaintance of mine, Hector Mortimer, who was a member of the the Beechgrove choir and also of the Kirk session.  Hector was a grain merchant having inherited the business in Loch Street from his father, I imagine.  He was a good fellow, but very effeminate in speech and manner.  He also had seen service during the War about 50 miles behind the lines and it was amusing to hear him describing the distant heavy gunfire as ‘awful bangs, you know’.

______________________

1pm.  Just had a pleasant surprise in the form of a parcel containing 60 Davros and 40 ‘1001’ cigs, 2 cakes of Toilet soap, 2 packets sugar, 1/2 bottle soya and a packet of salt.  The present Sub-director (?) who brought the parcel tells me it is from Mr Sner, former administrator of the prison.  Bless him!

_____________________

Charlie Worling, one of the fixtures of Head Office, was a hunchback but apparently blessedly unconscious of his deformity.  It was as if the Lord had provided him with a cloak of protective ignorance in that respect and as a result one was inclined to consider Charlie as somewhat feeble minded, it being difficult to imagine that anyone in his right senses could be so completely unaware of such a physical disadvantage.  Nevertheless, Charlie was very far from being a fool and possessed an excellent memory which I do not consider was entirely due to a Pelman course in which he had indulged. He was a small wizened body with a pair of watery blue eyes from which, apparently on account of some weakness, tears were continually oozing.  He spoke in a funny nasal, rather high pitched tone which in itself was sufficiently amusing without taking into account his other mannerisms,  Charlie was, generally speaking, an object of compassionate ridicule but sublimely unconscious of the fact.  He was very well satisfied with himself and, I am sure, led quite a happy existence.  Passionately fond of classical music, he was never happier than when he could persuade myself or some other music lover to visit his home to hear some of his gramophone records of famous symphonies.  Beethoven’s Eroica and The Planets were among his favourites.  Once, during a Red Cross Week, I persuaded Charlie to consent to the sale, among the Bank staff, of a poem I had written about him.  The proceeds were about 13/6 (today’s money roughly 55 pence (.80 US cents) for the good cause but I have often felt rather ashamed of having collected that money in the way I did.  Here is the poem.

Charlie

My name is Charlie Worling
and at ‘clicking’ I’m a don.
I set all heads a-whirling
With the swank that I put on.
And when I ‘walk the carpet’
In the twilight’s dusky dim,
You ought to hear the girlies say,
’That’s Charlie!  Yes, that’s him!’

My hair it is of chestnut brown
My eyes are limpid blue.
My ties and my suspenders
Are of bright and gaudy hue.
My socks, they are a wonder,
You could see them in the dark,
And my voice it is like thunder
When I’m acting counter clerk.

My vocabulary’s choice is wide
Tho’ sometimes rather strong.
In wordy argument there’s none
Who can withstand me long.
My intellect is powerful,
For a Pelman course I’ve had,
And so the proof is given
That this system’s not a fad.

For if the Boss is in a fix
And feeling rather blue,
This message comes across the wire,
’Send Mr Worling through!’.
From this it’s fairly evident
Promotion will be mine
And when Sir Thomas has resigned,
As Actuary I’ll shine.

And then you ought to hear me sing
My love songs – they are prime!
The teardrops start to every eye
When I sing – every  time!
The I’m a nib there is no doubt,
And never will there be
One who can trumpet half as loud
Or half as long as me.

‘To be kept within the Bank’

____________________

5pm Just been out for two hours.  Two ball games.  New command but still very lenient and pleasant.

12 August 1942

Alarm went last night at 9pm.  Lights out.  Also alarm twice during the night and during this morning.  Definitely practice.  Did not sleep too well, suspect a broken rib.  Pain continuous and troublesome in movement and breathing.  Will consult doctor on Friday if no improvement – and if he comes.  He did not turn up yesterday nor on the previous doctor’s day last Friday.  Overweg, the medical attendant, told us then there was a new doctor and would accept no orders for so called medical supplies for that reason.  These supplies included sugar, soya sauce, powdered condensed milk etc made up by the chemists shops to look like medicines.  On a packet of sugar, for example, is a label stating ‘Sach. Album (Latin for white sugar) One tablespoonful 3 times daily’ and soya is described as ‘Extr. Hispidae’ or ‘Prophyl Malaria as formerly’.  Milk has no longer been procurable for about 6 weeks now.  It will be  a pity if we cannot obtain further supplies but as we are now more accustomed to the very plain diet, that will not upset us so much as it would have, say, a couple of months ago.

____________________

Alex Simpson had received his early training in a lawyer’s office and that influence was evident in the deliberation with which he spoke and acted.  Very long winded on occasion, he just escaped being a bore.  In appearance he was of average height, rather thin faced, with dark brown hair and moustache sprinkled with grey and blue eyes behind his pince nez.  His nose was rather red as is usually the case with dyspeptic persons.  By the very deliberateness which was as dear to him in his lawyer like manner, he greatly irritated those whose maxims were speed in action and quickness of decision.  Unfortunately, to his own detriment, two of those who took exception to this manner were Sir Thomas himself and James Fiddes.  He was no sycophant and, although it was unwise, there was much to be admired in his attitude to the Actuary.  If Sir Thomas emerged from his sanctum to consult his accountant and the latter happened to be engaged in writing at the moment, Simpson would keep the Actuary waiting at his desk while he calmly completed the sentence (he was a deliberate in writing as in speech) and then raise his head and regarding Sir Thomas with a bland smile, would say ‘Well, Sir Thomas?’  That this attitude did not endear him to his chief speaks for itself.  But it was of James Fiddes he had most to beware.  This was evident to the most junior.  Fiddes had an ingratiating manner where Sir Thomas was concerned and his feeling of enmity towards Simpson was very evident.  Simpson was between two fires, therefore, as represented by his chief’s dislike of his independent manner and the enmity of his immediate inferior.  As was to be foreseen, this situation resulted, I believe, in Simpson's being worked out of his position in the Bank some years after I had left the service.  There was not a trace of snobbishness about Simpson, witness my own aspirations in regard to his daughter, he would kowtow to nobody and was, in general, kindly and considerate to the staff.  But he did lack the necessary force of personality to succeed in his attitude and principles.  As Douglas Campbell, who had the gift of summing up a man’s character in a few words, said of him, ‘Simpson is a human man, but he is not a manly man’.

________________________

Out from 4.15 to 6pm.  Two ball games.  Did not take part in physical exercises on account of rib.  Hear that Fatty was bitten in the thigh by a dog last night.  The second officer is still with us however.

_______________________

Speaking of Fiddes once, Doug remarked ‘Fiddes is a man to whom music means tinkling sounds on a piano’.  And that indeed typified James Fiddes in a nutshell.  He was a man to whom the arts were so many closed books, a cold, calculating, efficient human machine.  He had a brilliantly logical brain and was obviously destined to rise high, which I understood he did in later years when all the Savings Bank in Scotland were brought under one organisation.  In appearance he was tall, well built and very blond and active in movement.  He spoke rapidly and incisively.  His walk was peculiar for a man of his build.  He always took short quick steps raising himself each time in the toes of the foot on the ground while the other foot was advancing, with the result that his progress was a continual bobbing up and down, as well as a forward movement.  Frankly, I did not like the man.  Toadyism and ruthlessness have always disgusted me and in my opinion Fiddes had more than a small share of both these qualities.  I may be wronging the man in this judgment but as he evidently disliked me I may be pardoned somewhat for my prejudice.

11 August 1942

Lights went on, dim, at 8.15pm last night and remained so.  there is a 10 watt bulb in each cell and formerly this went on at full strength from 6.30 to 9pm.  Later being reduced to half strength for the rest of the night, returning to full power between 5.30 and 6.30am.  It is not possible to write when the lamp is dimmed and reading is too great a strain on the eyes.  Not very pleasant in the evening now but we don’t mind under the circumstances.  Ribs still very painful.  I have got ‘Alice or the The Mysteries’ by Lord Lytton.  11.45am.  Prison siren is now sounding for the first time.  Probably practice.  We shall know soon if not, I suppose.

___________

Once, when Thompson was still at Torry branch, he received from an Italian confectioner, whom he assisted in connection with an Income Tax return, a full box of Fry’s chocolate bars.  ‘See what I got’, he said to his clerkess, a young girl of about 18, opened the box under her nose revealing the tempting display, and when she had looked her fill, he closed the box again and that was that!  The poor man, I am sure meant well but was naturally clumsy and tactless and was therefore fated to be misunderstood and to be always rubbing his staff the the wrong way.  When he laughed, and that was usually in response to some inane pleasantry on the part of an important depositor, it was as if the vocal organs protested rustily against such an unusual demand and the result was a harsh, unnatural and discordant bellow.  Everybody was amazed when he actually got married and stunned when he lately became a father.  it was like the Bill was as discovery of a volcano in the Arctic regions.  William Ewen was a negative personality.  He was of medium height, slimly built, with fair hair and blue eyes and the manner of a shop walker.  in conversation with depositors, he always wore an ingratiating lip smile and was continually rubbing his hands with invisible soap.  A good man at his job for all that.  ‘Bill’ Cheyne was  a great favourite with us lads.  he was not yet thirty, had served in the War, being discharged on account of a bad leg wound, and had no dignity.  He and I used to have great fun together singing humorous duets in the office at Woodside and many a time were we caught in the act by somebody coming in unexpectedly.  One of our best efforts was the ‘Twin Duet’ which went something like this:

‘We twins are very much alike, but act like not a bit
In fact since childhood we have been each other’s opposite
When mother said, ‘Now don’t do this or you will make me sad’
Then i did not as I was bid, he not as he was bade
Chorus:

So you’ll agree, I think, with me that I and he, my brother
Are opposite and not a bit like each other and one another’.

Bill was small built with black hair prematurely grey at the temples, blue grey eyes and clear cut features.  He had a cheery disposition and on meeting him many years later, in 1938, that I found him a sadly changed man.  A curt, unpleasant individual with a perpetual sneer on his lips.  A man obviously disappointed in life and with no expectation of future happiness.  Poor chap, I suspect his marriage did not turn out successfully.  He married a Miss Fowler, which reminds me that while I was at Gordon’s College during the War, a sister of that lady was our French teacher.  For the first time in the history of the College (and it was founded in 1732) females penetrated the precincts and were appointed to the staff on account of quite a number of the younger masters having joined up.  Miss Herbert took the lower classes in English and Miss Fowler the same classes in French.  Poor women, I wonder if they cried themselves to sleep many a night during the first months of their appointment?  At the age we were then, about 12, all boys, or at least the great majority of them, are barbarians and thoughtlessly cruel, and we were no exception to the general rule.  We were merciless in our treatment of those two young ladies, although as a matter of fact, Miss Fowler received the lion’s share of our attentions in that respect, Miss Herbert being possessed of a quiet, natural dignity and charm of manner which shamed us into a semblance at least of attention and obedience.  Miss Fowler was a sweet natured woman but of too soft fibre to withstand the shocks so freely administered by such a bunch of young fiends.  Many and manifold were the devices, short of actual insubordination, to distract her from the lesson.  To my shame let me admit that one of these tricks was my own.  Seated on one of the back benches, I would give, two or three times in the course of that hour and a quarter, quite a realistic imitation of an aeroplane engine, by growling in the back of my throat with closed lips.  Quite undetectable.  Immediately, two or three accomplices in my near vicinity would jump up excitedly, crying ‘An aeroplane, Miss Fowler!’  A rare avis in those days and in about 5 seconds the whole class would be out of their seats and crowding to the windows, jostling each other aside and peering skywards for a glimpse of the aeroplane which they knew darned well did not exist.  This stunt was good for a 5 minute interruption every time.  The first Christmas Miss Fowler was at Gordon’s, that is to say the day before the commencement of the Christmas vacation, we made her a presentation.  A big cardboard box was lying on her desk when she entered the classroom and from various parts of the room came requests to open the box in our presence.  I really believe that the poor girl thought we had, at this season of goodwill, relented of our past treatment of her.  If she did, then she certainly learned a further bitter lesson as to the sadistic capabilities of the youthful male.  She opened the box and took out, first, an old hat trimmed with odds and ends of rag and wool, and then, a mealy pudding.  I hope Miss Fowler has had much happiness in her life since those days because she certainly deserved that compensation after her martyrdom at Gordon’s in my time.

_____________

2pm The sirens have gone in Bandoeng and have been followed by the prison’s signal.  Still practicing? Another pleasant outing from 3.45 to 5.45.  Three ball games.  Rumoured Bt had it and present doings a 5 day trial.

_____________

To revert to Bill Cheyne.  I was his assistant at Torry Branch one very hot summer and it seems to me that we spent most of our time there eating ice cream.  One day I noticed that Bill gulped the ice cream instead of, as I believe most people do, allowing it first to melt on the tongue, I tried to do the same but one swallow as enough.  How he could do it and still love is beyond me.  Bill was a heavy cigarette smoker, smoking probably 20 cigarettes a day but he never inhaled.  What satisfaction he got out of smoking at all is still a mystery to me.

Talking of Torry reminds me that, with the exception of course of that district, in Aberdeen the expression ‘Torry English’ is used to describe the lingual result when someone in an effort to talk English succeeds only in Anglicising the Aberdeen dialect.  A perfect example of this hybrid language was provided by my sister Marjory, when we were still very young, Madge about 5 and I probably 6 1/2 .  One Sunday afternoon when out with my father for the usual walk, I happened to climb over a low stone wall which formed the boundary of the grounds of some building or other in the West End.  Marjory, conscious of her Sunday best, the day and the district and influenced also by the approach in our direction of several well dress people, called to quite peremptorily, ‘Willy come out ower!’  Poor Madge has had that phrase thrown at her at intervals ever since.  Coming back to the Bank, others whom I may mention include the Actuary (of course) Sir Thomas Jaffray, whom we rarely say, Alex Simpson, the accountant, James Fiddes, second to Simpson, George S Skinner, Head Office Teller and Charlie Working, clerk.  There were many others whose names and personalities may occur to me as I go along.  Sir Thomas, as I have said, was practically an ‘invisible man’ as far as we were concerned.  He was, I believe, a very clever and successful financier who merely used the Bank office as a pied a terre for the prosecution of more interesting and lucrative operation than Savings banking.  He was a tubby little man with a healthy tanned complexion, grey moustache and hair but almost bald.  He was quick and energetic in movement and possessed a pair of dark brown eyes which were alive with intelligence and dynamic force.  A really strong personality.

9 August 1942

Today being Sunday I observed the fact by lying in bed until almost 9 o’clock where I drank my coffee and indulged in the luxury of a Capstan cigarette.  I have still nine left of the tin I got on my birthday.  One learns thrift in such things under the present circumstances.  Allowing for the fact that I gave 20 away of the 50, I have been, I think very economical.  We get the prison issue of native tobacco every second day which is sufficient for about 6 or 7 thin cigarettes rolled in maize leaf which is also supplied, but never enough leaves for the amount of tobacco.  Everybody uses any kind of paper he can get hold of for rolling cigs, sticking them with the liquid off the breakfast rice porridge.  We have heard the sirens in Bandung four times today, at 9am, 9.20, 9.30 and 12.45 but as each time the signal known to us as the ‘all clear’ was given, we are not sure what it signified.  There was certainly great air activity today.  Very short outing from 10.50 to 11.30 but pleasant.  Just a run round and physical drill under the 2nd officer.  Exchanged ‘Onder het Juk’ for' ‘Memoirs of Sarah Bernhardt’, in Dutch, with young Allen.  Also exchanged my own book ‘Fate cannot harm me’ for the ‘Three Musketeers’ with Spit Jr.  A knock on the right rib from Ader’s elbow during the ball game the other day continues to be rather painful.  Forgot to mention that Minggail sprained his left foot rather badly in the same game.

______________________

The seven accepted cancellation, probably because they felt that they could not climb down after such a hold up.  I was terribly cast down and asked Mr Whyte if there was no possibility of continuing.  He replied that if I could find three other vocalists to form a quartette only, he would persuade Glentanar to continue this arrangement.  Within the week I had fulfilled the condition and, Mr Whyte being satisfied with the combination, the quartette was engaged on the old terms and completed the season with never a breakdown or the slightest unpleasantness.  The soprano was Miss Isabel Simpson, a member of the Bank staff and sister of the Beechgrove organist and to whom I latterly became engaged, my aunt Helen was the alto, and John Cooper, the bass.  John was in business as a ship chandler.  He had a rather big nose and was as self opinionated as the organ indicated, but a good fellow at heart.  On Guy Fawkes day of that same year he made me a present of an immense ship’s rocket with which we wound up a firework’s display at Mrs Simpson’s home, West Bungalow, Cults.  It was a most impressive burst of stars and I only hope that the Aberdeen lifeboat did not put out that night by mistake.  The St Thomas church engagement led to John Cooper and myself being asked in December to strengthen the tenor and bass parts in ‘The Yeoman of the Guard’ which Glentanar was producing himself and members of his house party in the leading roles and a choir of the Aboyne villagers.  We attended three or four rehearsals and what I recall most clearly is the intense cold and depth of snow which attended our journeys to Aboyne.  We travelled by rail, arriving at Aboyne about 5pm by which time it was already quite dark and floundered knee deep in snow to the hotel which was fortunately quite near to the station.  Rehearsal commenced at 8pm and lasted till sometimes after 11, but were very jolly.  Of the guests at Glentanar, I can recall only young Lord Waleran although there were titles enough in the bunch, I imagine.  I remember being quite startled on one occasion behind stage when Lady Something or other turned to me and said, ‘I have a hell of a cold’.  It quite upset my conception of a special representative from the D’Oyly Carte Company and was quite a success, thanks also to the conductor, Mr Whyte, who was, and still must be, a real genius.  I remember reading in the newspaper the following year that his own opera ‘The Forge’ had been produced in Aboyne.  I was in the service  of the Savings Bank for six and half years, sometimes working in the Head Office and at others in branch offices situated in different districts and suburbs of the town.  It was the custom to shift the junior staff from office to office about every 3 months and it was a very sensible arrangement as we learned to know each other very well and also became adapted to the ways of the various branch managers.  The branches were: Eastern at the corner of King Street next door to the North of Scotland Bank, Northern in George Street near Hutcheon Street, Rosemount, just opposite Esslemont Avenue, in Rosemoutn Place, Holburn, in Holburn Street near the junction with Great Western Road, Torry, in Menzies Road near Walker Road; and a small branch in the Spital near to Old Aberdeen.  There were also offices, open only from 6 –8pm on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, at Woodside, Bucksburn and later at Culter.  These three branches were in due course, given official rank and following the hours of the town offices which were 9.30 am to 3pm to Friday and 9.30 to 12 on Saturday, also 6-8pm on Mondays and Thursdays.  A short time previous to my leaving the service I was appointed agent of Culter Branch and nearly died of enuui.  On a busy day there sometimes as many as three people would come in.  Most days there was not a single depositor.  I have never felt so tired in all my life as I did during that period.  The shifting around of staff from office to office provided us with welcome variety as each branch brought us in contact with a different class of depositor.  At Eastern, for instance, we found the submerged wealth as represented by rag and bone merchants, Castlegate cheap jacks and fish vendors.  These last tested the powers of our stomachs,when they used to tip their taking on to the counter of a greasy, stinking sack and we had to count the money which was perfectly horrible with fish scales and slime.  Then there were the gentlemen of mysterious occupations who went about in shabby rags with dirty mufflers round their necks and who produced as much as £2 to £3 at a time from various portions of their raiment or anatomy.  And then the ladies who used to dive down into unmentionable regions – but ‘nuffsed’.  Torry catered, of course, mainly for the fisher folk of that district.  One peculiarity which was struck me there was the names of females.  It seemed that every girl and woman had a Christian name with the appendix ‘ina’ and as this was invariably stuck on to a male Christian name, the most surprising combinations often resulted.  A few examples which occur to my mind were, Jamesina, Johnina, Peterina, Albertina and Thomas or Tomina, while Georginas, and Williaminas were as countless as the stars.  Northern depositors were mostly of a mixed working class representing a variety of trades.  One man I remember, a baker, was a real miser and came regularly every pay day to deposit what must have been the major part of his earnings.  knowing as I did the average baker’s wage, I used to wonder how he lived.  He himself was mere skin and bone and I do hope he had no wife or family.  He paid in, it seemed, every possible penny, sometimes £2.17.10 or £3.1.1 (£2.87 in today’s money or just over $4 or £3.10 or just over $4.50) and on quite a few occasions was most upset when we refused to accept an extra half penny.  After receiving back his pass book he would stand at least 5 minutes gloating over it before sneaking furtively out of the office.  It was a disgusting sight.  Holburn saw much of the same class with a sprinkling of more well to do depositors from the west end.  In opening an account, we took particulars of name, address and occupation and it was at Holburn that I was puzzled by a young man’s describing his occupation as ‘farmer’s son’.  I don’t know yet what that means as an occupation.  We also had a ‘gentleman’ at Holburn.  The Rosemount clientele was rather superior middle class on the whole and usually somewhat snobbishly inclined as became the possessors of addresses in such places as Beechgrove Terrace, Mile End Avenue etc.

8 August 1942

Woke up in the small hours of the morning with pain of my old kidney trouble.  Passing water very painful.  Probably caused by unaccustomed exertion in ball game.  Very worried but reassured later in day by cessation of pain.  Perhaps only small gravel which has  now passed.  Washed khaki shorts and darned two pairs of socks.  Very pleasant outing from 3 to 5.15pm.  Races of 100, 200, 400, 800 and 1,000 metres with prizes.  Wish I could have taken part but toe not up to it.  Freddy Harper, first in 1,000 metres won a sponge cake.  Other prizes were a tin of sausages (Jimmy Irens), bottles of lemonade, bananas and cigs.  Everybody very cheerful, our two officers fine chaps.  Hope they stay a long time.

_____________

When the wireless station 2 BD was opened in Aberdeen I was one of the first soloists to broadcast.  The then BBC seemed to spend money like water and I, for one, was paid much more than I was worth.  For a 20 minute programme of 6 songs the usual fee was 2 guineas.  I always sang songs which I already possessed and the bulk of them had been picked up at Low’s bookstall in the Market Gallery for about two pence each.  I have always been a quick sight reader and never really studied or practiced my programmes.  This had the result that I could not render my songs without words and music in my hands.  But I got over that difficulty by persuading my friend, old Mr Dudgeon of Marr Woods Limited, the music sellers, to let me have copies of the same songs on sight and these I used to hold carefully while singing, giving my own mostly worse for wear copies to the accompanist.  Very often I sang in the afternoons from 4 to 4.30 –5 and particularly then this method used to work like clockwork.  Free of the Bank shortly after 3pm, I adjourned to Marr Woods, procured the necessary duplicates, strolled along to the studio in Belmont Street, sang my programme and immediately afterwards returned the music to the shop before going home.  One afternoon I had the honour of appearing on the same programme as Constance Willis, one of the contraltos of the Carl Rosa Opera Company (1).  When I arrived, Miss Willis (2) was presumably having a snack with Simpson, one of the announcers in his room because when the buzzer went for her call she dashed out and down the stairs leading to the studio crying, ‘Good Lord – I’m full of fish and chips!’  The next moment, in spite of that, her beautiful voice, through the loudspeaker was filling the waiting room in which I sat.  This little incident persuaded me more than anything else could have done that opera stars were just ordinary human beings.  On another occasion the permanent 2 BD choir, of which I was a member, performed the first act of Faust assisted by a tenor and a bass, also of the Carl Rosa Opera Company.  Believer it or not, Faust and Mephistopheles turned up at the studio so drunk that they could hardly stand and able to articulate only with difficulty.  Under the circumstances, it sounded like a miracle when they sailed through the whole act in perfect voice and without a hitch, although they were both clearly very happy at having the piano and occasionally each other to hang on to.  The 2 BD choir consisted of 16 members, four of each sopranos, altos, tenors and basses but strangely enough I cannot recall a single individual of the other 15.  We were paid, I believe, a monthly fee of 3 guineas (just under $5) and were liable to be called upon at any time.  Some months we would perform as many as 5 times, in other months there were no more than two calls upon us.  I cannot recall but one other work we produced.  That was the operetta ‘The Grand Duchess of Gerolstein’ in which I had the minor part of Prince Paul.  We also rendered many part songs and at Christmas time sang carols at midnight.  One day, before the choir was formed, I received an urgent telegram requesting my immediate attendance at the studio.  I rushed down to Belmont Street where I found seven other male singers assembled and the 2 BD staff in a state of great anxiety and excitement.  it transpired that that day was the anniversary of the Battle of Trafalgar and presumably they had had instructions to commemorate the event in due form and had forgotten all about it.  Anyhow the eight of us, forming a double male quartette were given each a 16 page part song bearing on Trafalgar and hustled down to the basement of the building where we rehearsed without a stop from 5pm until going before the microphone at 8pm.  We made a very good job of it too, and a few days later I received a cheque for 4 guineas (just under $6).  Easy money and no mistake.  And to think that I had the cheek to rank myself among the many vocalists of local fame at the time.  But I was a conceited pup in those days and often wish that I could meet the young man I was then and five him a well deserved lesson.  On of the best, in fact the very best, of engagements which my gift of song brought me in those years was that of tenor of quartette engaged by Lord Glentanar (3) to lead the singing at St Thomas Church, Aboyne,  during the summer months of 1925.  This came about in a rather roundabout fashion.  William Swainson, at that time the leading organist and choirmaster in Aberdeen had formed a select octet, of which I was a member, for the purpose of making a special study and giving performances of old English part songs.  At one rehearsal, Mr Swainson informed us that he had been approached by Mr Ian D Whyte (now a prominent BBC conductor) organist at St Thomas’ Church, Aboyne, on behalf of his patron, Lord Glentanar, with the request that the octet should form the choir each Sunday at that church for so long as the family and house party should be in residence at Glentanar during the summer and autumn.  Acceptance was unanimous and a week or two later we commenced our duties.  The terms were, in my opinion, generous and conditions regarding transport and accommodation while in Aboyne left nothing to be desired.  Each of us received a fee of £1 per Sunday.  The first service was at 11am and the second at 6pm and both lasted no longer than one hour.  A special couple of taxis were engaged and we were fetched, each from his or her home at 9am every Sunday.  There was the lovely drive up Deeside to Aboyne, arriving at the church in time for a quick rehearsal of the psalms and anthem before the service commenced.  After church, we were accommodated at the Huntley Arms, the best hotel in Aboyne, and provided with a splendid lunch.  The afternoons were free and could be spent dozing in the lovely garden or in walking about the beautiful environs of Aboyne.  At 4pm a substantial tea was served and at 5pm we repaired to church for rehearsal of the evening music and arranging of that for the following Sunday.  After the service, the cars picked us up and another lovely run, now in the twilight, brought us back to our homes.  What better treatment could any reasonable individual desire for such trifling service?  And yet, strange as it may seem, only three weeks had passed when the majority began to grumble about being underpaid and issued an ultimatum to Mr Whyte in the form of a demand for £5 per Sunday or no play.  I refused to subscribe to such a demand and said so.  Mr Whyte, however, replied that he would consult Lord Glentanar and let the vocalists know his decision the following week.  Next Sunday, he informed them that Glentanar refused to consider the demanded increase and that if they were not satisfied the engagement could be regarded as cancelled.

***********

A note from Pat O’Neill:

(1,2) The Carl Rosa Opera Company has an amazing history.  If you are interested do follow the link to find out more. Regarding Constance Willis, this is the only record I could find referring to her performances.  Note further down that same page the description about how ‘Miss Willis is too inclined to "slither" down from note to note when a clean scale is absolutely essential.’

(3) Lord Glentanar follow this link to find out a little of the history of this gentleman and his family.

5 August 1942

Bramble soup for breakfast – not bad but glad have rice porridge as well.  A small salt fish with the rice for supper.  No outing today.  Bill Leslie told me yesterday that the EW’s name for PB is B the B (Basil the Bastard).  Have exchanged my book with Minggail for ‘The Scarlet Pimpernel’ by Baroness Orczy.  Took down my cupboard from wall yesterday and held spring cleaning.  Tough job getting it back on wall.

_____________

Bert Fullerton and I were bosom friends while at College and were the founders of the LLT which meant the League of Long Togs and membership was naturally confined to those who had achieved the distinction of wearing long trousers.  The League had neither aim nor object and must have been prompted, I imagine, by the feeling for mutual support among those of our tender years who had had the temerity to a abandon shorts and knickerbockers.  Yes, Bert and I were very close friends during these years which makes it all the more regrettable that the snobbery bug hit him after he proceeded to the University and he ceased to know me.  A schoolboy friendship of a more worthy type was that between John Troup and myself while I was still at Sunnybank School.  Though our ways lay pretty much apart after I went on to Gordon’s we never quite lost touch and it did my heart good to meet good old John again in 1938 and to recall the times and pranks we had had together.  Many the time have John and I hunted the elusive tadpole in the pools of Scotstown Moor and many the pound of lead, in the form of spent bullets, did we collect from the sand hillocks behind the shooting butts at the beach, and sell to rag and bone merchants at 2d per pound.  John and I only had one quarrel.  The cause I have forgotten but the result was a real hammer and tongs set to in which poor John got his nose bled.  In his discomfort and my own intense distress and both our efforts to staunch the flow, we quite forgot our difference whatever it was and finished up firmer friends than ever.  John is now a shoemaker with his own business and two shops, happily married to a very nice girl and has one daughter.  My college career was not at all noteworthy, an all round average of about 75% representing my achievements there.  I had been quite used to holding it as ‘top boy’ all the time at Sunnybank School but quickly found my proper level when I found myself along with the cream of all the primary schools in town.  The pupils at Gordon’s College were of two classes, those who came from the west end as paying pupils and, as the school was  built, used the imposing entrance gate on Schoolhill, and those like myself, of the poorer class, who had gained scholarships and who crept in and out the back gate giving on to St Andrew Street.  This is, of course, generally speaking and entirely due to the fact of the College being situated in the centre of the town with consequently one of the two gates facing more or less the residential part of the city and the other leading to the poorer districts.  There was never any visible snobbery in the College.  I spent four years at Gordon’s College.  My scholarship was for three years, but if a pupil’s progress merited further encouragement, it lay in the power of the Board of Trustees, on the principal’s recommendation, to extend such scholarships for a further two years in order that the student might have the opportunity of going on to the University after having gained his Higher Leaving Certificate.  But in 1919 I felt that my duty called me to take an active part in the supporting of the household and I decided to leave College, having gained the Lower Leaving Certificate the previous year.  Consequently I applied for and obtained a position in the Aberdeen Public Library.  My duties kept me in the Lending Department during the forenoon and as attendant in the Reading Room in the afternoon.  I had always been an insatiable reader (and still am) but alas, for my expectations of a daily feast among the hundreds of volumes on all subjects which lay to my hand there.  By order of the Librarian, G M Fraser, it was forbidden to the assistants to read.  It was more that I could stand, hanging about among the bookshelves on rainy days (and there were many) when few borrowers came or to spend my time in the public Reading Room walking up and down the aisles between the tables and gently shaking the shoulders of old gentlemen who had become drowsy in the steam heated air and had dozed off over the periodicals.  Hence my abrupt departure from those precincts and escape from the ennui with the Balmorals.  So at last I return, almost, to the starting point of these reminiscences and as it seems to me that an explanation at this point of my being present in a prison cell would mean skipping more than twenty two years, I feel it would be advisable for a clearer understanding of my present position and also in the interest of continuity, to avoid such an abrupt termination to this biography which forms my escape from Soekamiskin.  The intervening years between 1920 and 1942 will, I hope, occupy me thus pleasantly until my release.  At the same time, I cannot promise that events will be related chronologically.  While writing, a word here and there strikes a chord of memory and recalls rather haphazardly other events and experiences during my 39 years of life.  Thinking of the Library, for instance, I see myself, on a quiet rainy day standing in the gloom between the tall bookcases scribbling my epic poem ‘ A German Sea Yarn’ and that reminds me of the period when writing of poetry (?) broke out on me like a rash.  My first effort when I was 14, prompted by Heaven knows what, was quite a splash and ran as follows:

‘Soft eyes, gleaming ‘neath silken lashes,
Do smile on me; so that I
Who thought myself quite safe
From foolish pangs of love,
Do feel the blood pulsating in quick flashes
Through my veins; so that I
Needs must remove my gaze
From thy flowerlike countenance
Lest I should give offence
By mine too ardent glances.’

not exactly poetry but rather blankety blank verse.  It was about this time too, that I started composing music for my poems and produced such masterpieces in the heroic sea shanties.

About this time I became afflicted with a spasm of calf love for a girl of my own age who played the violin and whom I was sent to accompany on the piano on frequent occasions.  She eventually was engaged to play at a cinema in Peterhead, these being still the days of silent film when such depended on a piano or small orchestra to enhance the emotions depicted by the actions on the screen.  Lovelorn, I cycled once (and only once) the 18 miles to Peterhead to see my inamorata. Rejected and dejected my reaction resulted in the following:

Till You Return
Oft in my dreams, my love, I long for you
When the nightshades gather round painting scenes a new.
God grant it be at hand, that blissful day
When we shall meet to part no more, I pray.

Till you come back once more, dear,
I shall ever be true to thee,
Tho’ the years be dark and dreary
And cast their shade o’er me.
I shall live for thee, dear,
As I know you shall live for me;
Till you return to me, my love,
I’ll be true to thee.

Tho’ I am sad and lonely and skies are grey,
Still I dream of you, dear one, by night and day.
In your dear arms, my love, may I find rest
Until we tread together on pathway to the West.

Till you come back etc.

The fit was still on me even when I was with the ‘Balmorals’, because when we were at Lossiemouth I wrote, with sublime conceit, ‘Advice from Old Age to Youth’.

I seem to have taken my own advice, all the same, because there do not appear to have been any further effusions and within a few months I had definitely settled down to make a living in the Aberdeen Savings Bank.

*******

Note from the blog author, Pat O’Neill:

I remember when I travelled to Scotland as a child with my parents being taken to John Troup’s shoe shop.  It was a hive of activity and as soon as you entered you gained the wonderful rich smell of leather and polish.  Before leaving John handed me a miniature shoe measuring no more than a couple of inches.  It was black and a perfect replica of a man’s smart lace up shoe.  I kept it for many a year to remind me of our trip.

3 August 1942

PB still in good humour today.  Out from 10.10 to 11.15.  Three games of handball played – England v Holland, Holland v China, England v Indonesia.  Smoking allowed but no talking.  Great surprise for supper –  nasi goreng (fried rice) and half a duck’s egg.  No soup.

____________

Dad was a panel patient and the evil of the National Insurance Scheme was amply in evidence in his case.  The doctor sent for immediately but presumably because it was Sunday he refused to come, although called no less than three times during that afternoon and night.  If my father had been other than a patient for whom the doctor received payment from the Government whether he attended him or not, I am quite sure his behaviour would have been otherwise.  He condescended to put in an appearance about 9 o’clock the next morning and, I recall being told, got a great shock and became as white as a sheet when he saw the severity of the injury.  We can only trust that others benefited from what must have been to him a sharp realisation of the neglect of his duty as a physician.  That Dad eventually recovered and was fit enough to be accepted for the Army two years later was in the greater measure due to the splendid constitution built up by years of clean living and honest toil. Dad’s incapacity for work for a long time was a serious matter for the household in our humble circumstances where the only income was the few shillings sick benefit granted weekly by his Union and it does my heart good when I think of how the Clan rallied round and helped in many ways to lighten the burden.  One incident I shall never forget.  An uncle and aunt, who shall be nameless, had visited us and it was only after they had been gone some time that we discovered a parcel of groceries behind the outer door which they had placed there surreptitiously when entering.  Such kindness can never be forgotten.  Anyhow, to return to the good ship, ‘Hogarth’.  At the time I started that vacation, Dad was already convalescent  but still far from fit for work.  Father and mother and sister used to come to the quay to see me off on every occasion and it so happened that one day while they were there, the departure of the vessel was delayed on account of the second class stewardess failing unaccountably to turn up.  But time and tide wait for no man or even a stewardess and it had just been decided to cast off when Johnnie, inspired, dashed down the gangway, grabbed my mother my the arm - ‘Come on, you’re the stewardess this trip’ – and hustled her aboard, leaving Dad and my sister Madge standing open mouthed on the quay.  Johnnie quickly instructed Mother as to her duties which were merely to be at the beck and call of every female passenger and to assist in every way.  Mother was soon busy but alas for all her good intentions to give satisfaction as stewardess on that trip.  As soon as we had cleared the harbour and reached the open sea, the wind freshened to almost a gale and the poor little ‘Hogarth’ was tossed about like a cork all the way from Aberdeen to London.  The second class quarters resounded with moans and cries of ‘Stewardess, stewardess’ but in vain.  The new stewardess had been among the first to succumb to mal de mere and lay in a bunk praying weakly, I suppose, for death – when given the opportunity.  So to all intents and purposes, the ‘Hogarth’ was none the less stewardess less during that trip.  The return voyage, however, was made in perfect weather and I shall never forget the evening, with the sun sinking slowly like a great ball of fire in a sea of glass and my mother singing ‘Somewhere a voice is calling’ on the fore deck where the passengers had gathered for a sing song.  Every time I hear that song it brings that scene back to me.  There were doubtless other items but that is the only one I remember.  It was one of those moments when it seemed the world stood still and the song with its setting were imprinted on my memory for evermore.  The stewardess more than amended for her lapse on the outward trip and returned home much richer than when she set out, a great blessing under the circumstances.  During one trip that summer, I celebrated my 10th birthday and I still remember the thrill that was mine that morning when I woke up and found two large cakes of chocolate next to my pillow, place there my Johnnie, the dear chap.  He had also allowed me to sleep until I waked as an additional birthday present.  When I did appear in the cook’s galley in due course, he came forward to congratulate me but I stopped with the the remark,’Not yet.  I wasn’t born until 10 o’clock.’  And only when that hour struck did I deign to accept his congratulations.  For a child of my years, I used to make quite a large sum (two or three shillings) in tips every trip.  These tips came from second class passengers who generally economised by taking their food with them for the 36 hour journey instead of patronising the dining room and who came regularly to the galley to beg hot water for making tea.  The task of supplying this want was delegated to me and I was quite proud of my official position as hot water dispenser.  And talking of hot water that reminds me that I got into that element myself of one occasion on board the good ship ‘Hogarth’, running foul of the ship’s carpenter, albeit quite innocently.  Up to the time my voice broke, I possessed the gift of imitating the whistling of a canary in a really wonderful degree, according to report.  The trill in the canary’s song can, of course, be likened to a whistle with a pea in it, such as milkmen were then in the habit of using and may still do for all I know.  Anyhow, the captain of the ‘Hogarth’ used such a  whistle for calling the carpenter and as I had been trilling away intermittently  in sheer exuberance of blithe youthful spirits one day, the carpenter, poor man, had been running up and down the stairs leading to the bridge all day to the great surprise and annoyance of the captain every time he appeared.  I verily believe the carpenter would have clouted my ear if he could have got me alone.  As it was, he did lift me clear of the ground and gave me a shaking but not in earnest, I suppose, but I know that I was so scared that I yelled blue murder and so upset the poor man that he hastily released me.  But I was resolved from then on to keep the canary for dry land.  My seagoing vacation in the following year, 1914, was broken off abruptly by the outbreak of war on 4 August.  It was a keen disappointment to me – what did war mean to a child of my years?  The Hogarth was later in the war torpedoed and sunk off Flamborough Head.  These trips implanted in me a love of the sea and ships which has never died and up to the time I was sixteen, a sailor’s life was my ambition.  During my last year at Gordon’s College, I attended the Navigation School there and had every intention of following the sea as a career.  Circumstances, however, and no doubt for the best, decided otherwise.  To enroll me as an apprentice on one of the steamship lines was beyond my parents’ means as a premium of anything from £40 to £100 had to be deposited and during the 4 year’s apprenticeship private means were practically essential.  I was quite prepared to take the alternative course of shipping before the mast as an ordinary seaman, but immediately after the war (this was 1919) with the return of so many seamen to the merchant service, there were no vacancies to be found.  So my dreams of a seagoing career had to be perforce shelved, although, the lure still haunting me, I tried to join the Navy even after I had apparently settled down in the position of a respectable bank clerk.  But even there I was baulked, as there were no vacancies in the Navy either.  Quite obviously, Fate had other plans for me.

2 August 1942

Out from 10.20 till 11.35.  PB still like a dove.  Two games of handball played.

___________________

I started going to school at 5 years of age and attended Skene Square Public School

Skene Square School in Aberdeen as it stands today.

 

My attendance there was of short duration.  I suppose that, petted and spoiled as I was by all the family, I was ill fitted to feel at ease among the ragamuffins of Skene Square and was probably pretty much picked upon as a result of my disinclination to mix with them.  The fault was, of course, entirely mine as being much too sissy.  However, my school mates, within a short time apparently decided that the error of my ways should be impressed upon me by means of the operation known as ‘the turkey’s nip’.  This was administered as follows.  Two boys  held my arms while a third, having spat on the back of my left hand, rubbed the place with his rolled up tweed cap until the skin broke.  I carry the scar to this day.  I gather that it was this incident that decided my parents that I was not fitted for the rough and tumble of the public primary school and that I should be placed in a small private day school where I might learnt the three R’s without being the subject of such violent interruptions.  In parenthesis, in self-defense  for my failure to ‘make good’ at Skene Square I ought to mention that I was a sickly child and remained so until by 7th year, an operation of appendicitis then putting a full stop to the whole gamut of childish ailments, including whooping cough, measles (3 times, twice ordinary and once German, it is said), mumps, diphtheria, etc which had been my lot since birth.  The private school I was sent to was such as has probably ceased to exist a quarter of a century ago and partook of the nature of the old fashioned Scotch country school where the Dominie was headmaster and whole teaching staff combined and the entire school accommodated in one room.  My school was run by a Miss Reid, an elderly retired school teacher and if ever a woman had the gift of imparting knowledge and getting results from pupils, she had.  I give Miss Reid the full credit for any really worth while training received by me during my years at school and college.  She kept school in the sitting room of her flat which was on the top storey of a house in Rosemount Viaduct  and had ten or twelve pupils at that time, of ages ranging from give to ten years of age. The children were either weakly, like myself, backward or, in some cases, actually mentally deficient.  The classes were graded according, I believe, to age, so that a class by itself might consist of only tow or three pupils, if not of only one.   Each child received, therefore, what amounted practically to individual tuition and benefited accordingly.  I know for myself that even at that tender age the mass production methods employed in the public schools with 50 to 60 childish voices chanting in unison C-A-T, cat and D-O-G, dog used to nauseate and disgust me.  There were only two of us in my class, a boy called Gordon and myself.  I can remember on one occasion we were given a homework task of making up sentences containing certain words.  One of the words given was ‘cheeses’.  Gordon submitted the next morning - ‘The little baby died and went up to cheeses’.  That is the only genuine schoolboy howler I can vouch for from experience.  I was about a year and a half at Miss Reid’s school, my parents removing me when they began to notice that I was taking unto myself the habits of facial contortions and grimaces with several of my half witted classmates were afflicted. By disassociation this ill was soon remedied but the foundation which Miss Reid’s teaching had laid has been a lasting and invaluable benefit to me.  After leaving Miss Reid I attended Sunnybank Primary Public School until I entered Robert Gordon’s College at 11 years of age in 1915.  But the two years previous provided me during the summer vacation with a holiday such as any boy might envy.  My uncle Johnnie was the cook on the SS Hogarth of the Aberdeen Steam Navigation Company, whose boats plyed between Aberdeen and London twice a week,  the trip along the coast each way taking about 36 hours with a stay of the same duration in each port.  Bless Jonnie for ever for his proposal that I should accompany him as supernumery cook’s boy during the summer holidays. Just imagine it – six whole weeks on board a ship and going to London every week, and that to a boy of nine!  How Johnnie managed it I don’t know but as far as Captain Dow was concerned, I apparently did not exist.  If he did see me, he must have, like Nelson, viewed me through the telescope with his blind eye.  Anyhow, there was I, duly installed as cook’s third mate, complete with diminutive cook’s apron which mother had made for me and as happy as a lark.  Mind you, I had to work and very good training it was.  I had to wash dishes, polish brasses, peel potatoes and prepare vegetables.  Only when selling peas I had to keep whistling.  There was an abundance of good food as can be imagined (no wonder cooks are fat) and to which I did full justice with an appetite whetted by the healthy sea air, so much indeed that I recall that when I went on board at the beginning of the vacation, I weighed 3 stones 7 lbs and at the end 4 stones 5 lbs.  That was in 1913 and it was in that year that my Dad met with a very serious cycle accident.  It happened a little beyond Banchory where he was in the habit during the summer months of weekend camping in a tent with a few of his workmates.  On this occasion he had arrived at the tent to find that the others had not yet arrived and decided to pass the time by prospecting a road close to the camping ground.  The road led to a mill which was situated at the bottom of a steep incline where a bridge crossed a small stream at a sharp angle.  Rounding the bend in the road, Dad found himself on the steep downhill stretch and, observing the bend at the bridge, clapped on his brakes.  The brakes, for some reason or other failed to act and lost control of his cycle and half way down the hill, crashed into the stone wall running along the road side on the right.  He remembers nothing more until he recovered consciousness at home many days later.  We were informed, however, that the miller’s family who had heard the crash, found him standing in the middle of the road, his head split from above the right eyebrow to behind the right ear and simply soaked with blood, gravely contemplating in his hand the bell of the cycle which had been knocked off by the smash.  He was brought to Banchory in a cart and was such a ghastly sight that the miller kept his head hidden under an umbrella when they came through the village.  His injuries were temporarily dressed by a doctor there and he was then brought home to Aberdeen in a taxi cab.  I always remember that on that day my mother, sister and myself were just on the point of going out for a walk when, looking out of the window, I saw a taxi coming up the street.  ‘Mum’, I called, ‘there’s a taxi coming.  Shall I engage it?’ ‘Righto’, said my mother, in the same joking spirit, ‘tell it to stop here.’  And while I watched, in idle curiosity, the car drew up and stopped at our door and mother and Madge, having run to the window at my excited call of ‘It’s stopped here’, the three of us were in time to see our poor Dad, his head and face swathed in bandages, being lifted out of the car.

********************************

A note by Pat O’Neill about Robert Gordon’s College, as per http://AbsoluteAstronomy.com
‘It originally opened in 1750 as the result of a bequest by Robert Gordon, an Aberdeen merchant, who made his fortune from trading with Baltic ports, and was known at foundation as Robert Gordon's Hospital. This was 19 years after Gordon had died and left his estate in a 'Deed of Mortification' to fund the foundation of the Hospital. The fine William Adam-designed building was in fact completed in 1732, but lay empty until 1745 until Gordon's foundation had sufficient funds to complete the interior. During the Jacobite Rising in 1746 the buildings were commandeered by Hanoverian troops and named Fort Cumberland. Gordon's aim was to give the poor boys of Aberdeen a firm education, or as he put it to "found a Hospital for the Maintenance, Aliment, Entertainment and Education of young boys from the city whose parents were poor and destitute". At this point all pupils at the school were boarders, but in 1881, the Hospital became a day school known as Robert Gordon's College. Boarding did not return until 1937 with the establishment of Sillerton House. In 1989 RGC became a co-educational school.’

*******

http://www.eastlondonpostcard.co.uk In 1821 the Aberdeen Steam Navigation company began to operate a service from Aberdeen Wharf, Limehouse.  General cargo was carried between London and Aberdeen.  The image shown was that of the SS Aberdonian which would have been of a similar vessel to the SS Hogarth.