Jerry on one occasion came into the Colonel's tent very early in the morning with a very indignant face. When the Colonel inquired the matter he exclaimed, "Matter enough, Colonel; devil of a n**** kin I get to take keer of the horses besides meself." Jerry was an ardent Democrat and hated the negroes. He pretended to be a great traveler and to have been in many places over the world. The Colonel one day prevailed upon him to give an account of himself in detail and state the time that he had remained in each place. When the Colonel footed the figures, Jerry had made himself out 146 years old. When Jerry took a drink his toast was, "Here's to the officers and men of the Seventy Sixth Regiment, and may the American Age frown upon the Quain of Angland any time at all."
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Rambling Anecdotes
- Thread starter 4V50 Gary
- Start date
Last Jerry Ring story
On a new book now. I'm reading A Sailor's Log, a book by a sailor in the Asiatic Fleet around the turn of the Twentieth Century.
On another occasion a negro wench came into camp tired and hungry, having escaped from a plantation and walked a long way. It was after dark when she arrived and she begged for something to eat and a place to lie down. It occurred to Quartermaster Wright that Jerry Ring's tent would be a good place for her. Jerry had already retired and was snoring very loudly. The colored woman objected to going in but, upon being assured that Jerry was only a little boy, she was soon under the same blanket with him and sound asleep. The Quartermaster called the Colonel and other officers early in the morning to watch the effect when Jerry awakened and found his bed fellow. We threw back the tent flaps for a good view and took out station in a clump of bushes. Jerry awakened just at the break of day. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and discovered the wench. Such a drawing down of his mouth and such a look of indignation it was amusing to see. He jumped out of the tent and looked around, fearing that someone would discover his suspicious situation. When the officers made their appearance and caught him, it was really pitiful to hear Jerry's protestations of innocence. After this, whenever Jerry bragged of his Democracy and his hatred of the negro, we reminded him of this little occurrence.
On a new book now. I'm reading A Sailor's Log, a book by a sailor in the Asiatic Fleet around the turn of the Twentieth Century.
Killing Patton by O'Reilly & Dugard
Saw the book at Costco, but didn't buy it. Cheap, non-acid free paper was discouraging to me. So, I got it at the public library instead. It's a fun read but the authors with exception to Stalin don't believe that a bunch of leading people wanted Patton dead. The mysterious disappearance of the accident report and the third person in the truck that hit Patton's vehicle, as well as the OSS man who claimed to have shot Patton in the neck with a poison dart are all mentioned. The narrative does have a few inaccuracies, but it doesn't ruin the readability of the book.
Saw the book at Costco, but didn't buy it. Cheap, non-acid free paper was discouraging to me. So, I got it at the public library instead. It's a fun read but the authors with exception to Stalin don't believe that a bunch of leading people wanted Patton dead. The mysterious disappearance of the accident report and the third person in the truck that hit Patton's vehicle, as well as the OSS man who claimed to have shot Patton in the neck with a poison dart are all mentioned. The narrative does have a few inaccuracies, but it doesn't ruin the readability of the book.
As the Russian tanks rolled past the reviewing stand, Patton noticed Zhukov gloating over the new Soviet IS-3 model tank." Looking up at his American counterpart, the Russian general delivered a taunt: "My dear General Patton," he crowed, "You see that tank? It carries a cannon which can throw a shell seven miles."
Patton's face remained impassive, his tone calm and sure. "Indeed? Well, my dear Marshal Zhukov, let me tell you this: if any of my gunners started firing at your people before they had closed to less than seven hundred yards, "I'd have then court-martialed for cowardice."
Patton's aide, Maj. Van S. Merle-Smith will later state that he had never before seen "a Russian commander stunned into silence."
Patton, behave yourself
During WW II, the Germans looted art that belonged to Jews or from conquered nations. They had to store it somewhere until the war was over at which point the art would be displayed in public museums or be in the private hands of high ranking Nazis. Herman Goering was prominent among the looters. Anyway, one storage place was the Merkers mines. Sculptures, papayri, rugs, mosaics, paintings and a lot of gold bars and stolen gold were there.
It was captured by the Allies and Ike, Bradley, Eddy (XII Corps) and other generals went there to inspect it. There was only one elevator down and they were all on that single elevator. Patton said,"If that clothesline should part, promotions in the United States Army would be greatly stimulated."
Ike wasn't too happy about that crack and in the darkness silenced Old Blood 'n Guts, "OK, George, that's enough. No more cracks until we are above ground again."
As we know, no one died from that visit and the officer in charge of securing it was told by one fellow that he could take a helmet filled with US gold eagles. He estimated it at $35,000. When he tried, he couldn't lift the helmet and placed the gold back into the bags. After all, he had more important things to do.
Anyhow, as late as today, art with nazi provenance is returned to its rightful owners. Source is The Monuments Men. It's the story of the soldiers who were in charge of securing monuments, art and archival material.
During WW II, the Germans looted art that belonged to Jews or from conquered nations. They had to store it somewhere until the war was over at which point the art would be displayed in public museums or be in the private hands of high ranking Nazis. Herman Goering was prominent among the looters. Anyway, one storage place was the Merkers mines. Sculptures, papayri, rugs, mosaics, paintings and a lot of gold bars and stolen gold were there.
It was captured by the Allies and Ike, Bradley, Eddy (XII Corps) and other generals went there to inspect it. There was only one elevator down and they were all on that single elevator. Patton said,"If that clothesline should part, promotions in the United States Army would be greatly stimulated."
Ike wasn't too happy about that crack and in the darkness silenced Old Blood 'n Guts, "OK, George, that's enough. No more cracks until we are above ground again."
As we know, no one died from that visit and the officer in charge of securing it was told by one fellow that he could take a helmet filled with US gold eagles. He estimated it at $35,000. When he tried, he couldn't lift the helmet and placed the gold back into the bags. After all, he had more important things to do.
Anyhow, as late as today, art with nazi provenance is returned to its rightful owners. Source is The Monuments Men. It's the story of the soldiers who were in charge of securing monuments, art and archival material.
George Hanger
George Hanger served in Cornwallis' Army that fought in the Southern Colonies. He wrote about the American riflemen.
Joseph Doddridge also had some interesting things to say about the Revolutionary War era riflemen and their methods of personal combat against each other.
When originally coined, cracker was a corruption of the Gaelic word, "craic" which meant entertaining conversation. It was used in Shakespeare's The Life and Death of King John. "...what cracker is this who deafes our ears with superflous breath?" For the ethyomology of "cracker" and "redneck", please refer to Craig L. Barry's The Unfinished Fight, Vol I: Essays on the Confederate Material Culture, pages 207-11.
George Hanger served in Cornwallis' Army that fought in the Southern Colonies. He wrote about the American riflemen.
This distinguished race of men are more savage than the Indians, and possess every one of their vices, but not one of their virtues. I have known of of these fellows to travel two hundred miles through the woods, never keeping any road or path, guided by the sun by day, and the stars by night, to kill a particular person belonging to the opposite party: he would shoot him before his own door, and ride away to boast of what he had done on his return. I speak only of the back-woodsmen, not of the inhabitants in general, of South Carolina; for, in all America, there are not better educated or better bred men than the planters. Indeed, Charlestown is celebrated for its splendour, luxury, and education of its inhabitants: I speak only of that heathen race known by the name of Crackers.
Joseph Doddridge also had some interesting things to say about the Revolutionary War era riflemen and their methods of personal combat against each other.
When originally coined, cracker was a corruption of the Gaelic word, "craic" which meant entertaining conversation. It was used in Shakespeare's The Life and Death of King John. "...what cracker is this who deafes our ears with superflous breath?" For the ethyomology of "cracker" and "redneck", please refer to Craig L. Barry's The Unfinished Fight, Vol I: Essays on the Confederate Material Culture, pages 207-11.
Bishop Creek
New member
Vey interesting Gary. I have a copy of Doddridge’s: “Notes on the Settlement and Indian Wars.” One of those “crackers” you mentioned was a namesake ancestor of mine from Fort Hinkle on the frontier of western Virginia. He is also mentioned in Doddridge's book. He was with a Virginia militia unit under Gen. Washington and saw the surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown in 1781.
Changing the subject a bit, if anyone enjoys reading about the old days of hunting, one could find no better reading than one of Jim Corbett’s books. Corbett (1875-1955) was born and raised in India and grew up in the jungle hunting with an old muzzle loading shotgun and later black powder cartridge rifles before using a large caliber cordite double rifle to take down numerous man eating tigers and leopards. He is credited in the Guinness Book of World records as having killed the two most notorious man-eaters of all time: the Panar Leopard and the Champawt tigress with over 800 human kills between them.
A naturalist and outdoorsman, Corbett was more concerned with saving human lives than killing for sport. It is estimated that thousands of native Indian lives were saved by his actions. Corbett’s “The Man-Eaters of Kumaon” is a classic and can be found on Amazon.
Changing the subject a bit, if anyone enjoys reading about the old days of hunting, one could find no better reading than one of Jim Corbett’s books. Corbett (1875-1955) was born and raised in India and grew up in the jungle hunting with an old muzzle loading shotgun and later black powder cartridge rifles before using a large caliber cordite double rifle to take down numerous man eating tigers and leopards. He is credited in the Guinness Book of World records as having killed the two most notorious man-eaters of all time: the Panar Leopard and the Champawt tigress with over 800 human kills between them.
A naturalist and outdoorsman, Corbett was more concerned with saving human lives than killing for sport. It is estimated that thousands of native Indian lives were saved by his actions. Corbett’s “The Man-Eaters of Kumaon” is a classic and can be found on Amazon.
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Cherry Pie
OK, this account is new in a sense that it takes place during WW II aboard a 110 ft wood hull subchaser. It is told by Pappas, a gunner's mate who often served as the helmsman or as lookout. His skipper was a good guy but the other two officers were from the South and they hated the Yankees like Pappas. The officer involved was from Georgia and was nicknamed Cowboy.
From pages 94-5 of Splinter Fleet: The Wooden Subchasers of World War II by Theodore R. Treadwell.
OK, this account is new in a sense that it takes place during WW II aboard a 110 ft wood hull subchaser. It is told by Pappas, a gunner's mate who often served as the helmsman or as lookout. His skipper was a good guy but the other two officers were from the South and they hated the Yankees like Pappas. The officer involved was from Georgia and was nicknamed Cowboy.
We all had nicknames. Mine was Greek and his was Cowboy. I was in the wheelhouse one day when Cowboy yelled from below, "Hey Greek, go tell the cook to make some cherry pies." I went down to the galley and told Christian what Cowboy wanted and he said he had no shortening to bake pies. I went back to the wheelhouse and yelled down to Officers' Quarters, "Hey Cowboy, Christian don't have any shortening to make the pies." Then I went back to the galley. I no sooner started talking to the cook when Cowboy came sliding down the later. He said to Christian, "When I give an order for pies, if you're out of shortening I don't give a damn if you have to use axle grease. I want pies. Do you understand?" Christian said, "Yes, sir." Then Cowboy turned to me and said, "As for you Greek, I am an officer in the United States Navy, and I am to be addressed as 'Sir." Understand?" He turned to leave. I said, "Sir, I am Pappas, gunner's mate. From now on you do not call me 'Greek." That name is only for my shipmates."
So we had our orders to make cherry pies. I really hated to do this to the skipper, but there was no other way. In the medical locker were fifteen or twenty brown bottles of medical supplies, a "pill for every ill." One of them was a full bottle of laxatives. We took about one-third of the bottle, crushed the pills into powder and cooking them in with the cherries for the pie. We used cooking oil for the crust - not too bad, a little hard. We used two big baking pans, one for the officers and one for the crew. Of course the crew didn't get the laxative pie.
I didn't see the officers for a couple of days; then i got to the skipper and was talking to him about nothing in general. he mentioned the pie and how good it was, but he said the cooking oil we used gave all three officers the runs. Day and night they took turns running to the head. I was sorry the skipper had to suffer along with the two rebel officers."
From pages 94-5 of Splinter Fleet: The Wooden Subchasers of World War II by Theodore R. Treadwell.
New (old) use for potatoes
Presently reading Ross E. Beard's Carbine: The Story of David Marshall Williams. He's the fellow who invented the short stroke piston that was later used on the M-1 Carbine. Haven't gotten far into the book but there is a useful purpose for Irish potatoes:
Presently reading Ross E. Beard's Carbine: The Story of David Marshall Williams. He's the fellow who invented the short stroke piston that was later used on the M-1 Carbine. Haven't gotten far into the book but there is a useful purpose for Irish potatoes:
An amusing incident took place, one that may have been the opening for a more relaxed association between Carbine Williams and me. Carbine was standing in the kitchen with Mrs. Williams and me when she left to the room to get some old photographs which we had asked to copy.
Carbine immediately lunged for the cabinet under the sink and, after fumbling around with his hand while looking out for Miss Maggie with one eye, fished out an irish potato from a bag and slipped it into his coat pocket. He looked at me and smiled as if he had pulled a fast one on me as well as on Miss Maggie.
Mrs. Williams didn't return for a minute so I smiled back at him and said,"I know that old trick, too!" He looked at me disbelievingly and I went on to explain, "You see, to take a bite out of that potato is the bset way known to kill the scent of whiskey on the breath." It is not widely known as a breath freshener, but as fate would have it I had run across this information only a month before. It happened that a friend of mine, Jake Penland, sports editor of the The State newspaper in Columbia, South Carolina, had told me about it. Jake had heard it from an old-timer on a bus trip from Atlanta when he was returning from a football game, and had passed this little gem on to me."
End of WW II
The HMS Deane was accepting the surrender of German U-boats. It was accompanied by the yacht Philante. Among the sailors sent from the Deane to board the U-boat was ERA A. J. Brown.
Taken from page 175 of Donald Collingwood's The Captain Class Frigates. It's the story of the seventy-eight Buckley class destroyer escorts that were lend-leased to the Royal Navy. Thanks to their twin rudders, they could, at 20 kts, turn a tighter circle than regular destroyers. That made them very useful for dropping depth charges on enemy submarines. The book is well worth the read if you're into WW II naval history.
The HMS Deane was accepting the surrender of German U-boats. It was accompanied by the yacht Philante. Among the sailors sent from the Deane to board the U-boat was ERA A. J. Brown.
The yacht Philante (almost top-heavy with newsreel cameramen and senior officers) was standing by to record this surrender for posterity. We crowded into the boat armed to the teeth with pistols, rifles and submachine guns and all went according to plan until we got alongside the U-boat. We suddenly realised that it was not going to be all that easy to clamber out of the boat on to the Sub's casing. The sea was choppy and the boat bobbed up and down alarmingly. We were much encumbered by our arsenal of weapons and, after several of the lads made undignified (and unsuccessful) attempts to get board, we were somewhat fluxmoxed. Then someone, with true matelot's resourcefulness, solved the problem. We calmly handed up our guns to the bemused Germans and climbed up with ease. Nonchalantly taking our guns back from the enemy, we went about the normal procedure of taking them prisoner. This unmilitary behavior did not seem at all out of place to us but the top brass in Philante were LIVID! We were all given a hell of a dressing down when we eventually got back on board but no disciplinary action was taken. I have seen this episode on cinema newsreels on several occasions and the reel of film has also been included in the well-known TV series War at Sea - but you will note that the censor has very definitely cut out the bit showing us handing our guns up to the Germans!!
Taken from page 175 of Donald Collingwood's The Captain Class Frigates. It's the story of the seventy-eight Buckley class destroyer escorts that were lend-leased to the Royal Navy. Thanks to their twin rudders, they could, at 20 kts, turn a tighter circle than regular destroyers. That made them very useful for dropping depth charges on enemy submarines. The book is well worth the read if you're into WW II naval history.
From Rear Admiral Paul Auphan & Jacques Mordal's The French Navy in World War II:
Jacques Mordal, who had served as one of Admiral Auphan's confidential assistants for six months while the latter was Minister of the Navy, requested to be returned to his regular duties as a medical officer when the admiral resigned. After the scuttling of the fleet at Toulon, Mordal was assigned as medical officer to the personnel of the merchant and fishing fleets on the Channel coast from Dunkirk to le Havre. "It was a golden opportunity to carry out intelligence work," he once told me, "and it would have been a pity not to have taken advantage of the opportunity, I travelled constantly---naturally with a German aussweiss (pass) -- and everywhere I went I received the utmost assistance from the personnel of the navy, and of the merchant and fishing fleets. The German officer who renewed my aussweiss each week never failed to impress on me the necessity of obeying promptly all the challenges by sentries. And he would add 'We would be distressed if anything should happen to you!'
Apparently the Germans did not suspect Mordal. However, one day in January, 1944, he thought his end had come. While returning from clandestinely inspecting some new German works at Cape Antifer (near Le Havre), he was arrested by a German soldier and taken to an officer for questioning. At the end of two hours the officer informed him that he had been reported for asking directions in French - French with a pronounced English accent. In spite of his precarious situation - he carried compromising papers on his person - Mordal burst out laughing. He asked the German officer if he would not give him a written statement to that effect so that it could be sent to his English professor who, in yesteryears at college, has dispaired of his lamentable accent. In his turn the German laughed too and released Mordal - without having him searched."
Just finished Rear Admiral Paul Auphan and Jacques Mordal's The French Navy in World War II. The book was copyrighted in 1959 by the United States Naval Institute Press. Here is an interesting passage from its conclusion:
How prophetic as much of modern France (2015) is socialist. We've no shortage of socialists right here in Estados Unidos either.
But sober consideration impels one to believe that the Soviet strategy does not lead necessarily toward a Third World War. On the contrary, considering what has happened in the past few years, it would seem to be to the interest of the Communists to permit the present situation to deteriorate naturally, and to wait for the socialist germs to take effect in those countries where they have been planted. In the meantime they hasten the process by nurturing internal subversive movements or by bringing a discreet support to those disturbance which the general staffs are beginning to qualify as "revolutionary."
How prophetic as much of modern France (2015) is socialist. We've no shortage of socialists right here in Estados Unidos either.
From the Annals of Arfcom, here are some amusing stories: http://www.ar15.com/forums/t_1_5/1806470_My_dad_s_favorite_Army_story__share_stories_of_the_vets_you_know_thread_.html
V-6, the Combat Cat
During WW II, the navy tugboat, USS Pawnee, had a cat for its mascot. They called it V-6 and the following account is from Theodore Mason's book, Rendezvous With Destiny.
During WW II, the navy tugboat, USS Pawnee, had a cat for its mascot. They called it V-6 and the following account is from Theodore Mason's book, Rendezvous With Destiny.
In November, five months later, she earned another reputation, this time as a "combat cat." We were approaching Empress Augusta Bay in the early morning hours of 17 November with a reinforcement echelon for the Marines at Cape Torokina, Bougainville. We were expecting an air attack, but since we lacked a radar at that time, we had no way of knowing where the enemy planes were.
My gun station was between the two 20-mm. cannons at the aft end of the boat, or the 0-1 deck. Adams, a shipfitter from Chicago, mentioned that cats were able to see and hear very well at night. Another sailor suggested that we use V-6 as a possible "early warning system." We kept a large welding machine between the port and starboard guns, which proved an ideal lookout spot for V-6. Adams and I kept an eye on the cat to see which way she was looking.
Suddenly she started looking dead astern and following something coming up on the port quarter. Our phone talker reported "plane astern!" to the bridge as we watched a Japanese Betty bomber coming in on a low-level attack. The seaman-gunner had never fired his 20-millimeter at night, SO I got behind him to help him lead the plane through the ring sights, hoping it would run into a stream of explosive shells when we squeezed the trigger. Unfortunately, the Betty passed out of the range of our guns - but V-6 had spotted it for us. She also spotted another plane which was brought down by one of our escorting destroyers.
Mischievous riflemen of the 3/95
1814 was not a good year for Napoleon. The Allies were bringing the war to French soil. Among them was a rifleman of the 3/95 (Rifle Brigade).
1814 was not a good year for Napoleon. The Allies were bringing the war to French soil. Among them was a rifleman of the 3/95 (Rifle Brigade).
After being quartered in several places, we marched to Dixmude, where we lay for about three months of the winter of 1814. There was a heavy snow on the ground, and Colonel Ross being no favourite, we one night collected an immense snowball, and rolling it up to the door of his quarters, closed it, and obliged him in the morning to get out by the back of the house. He laughed at the trick, but never afterwards was without a sentry.
Muzzle Control - Practice it always!
Always keep the muzzle pointed in a safe direction.
Keep your finger off the trigger until you are ready to shoot.
The following account is from an officer of the 95th Rifle Regiment.
Always keep the muzzle pointed in a safe direction.
Keep your finger off the trigger until you are ready to shoot.
The following account is from an officer of the 95th Rifle Regiment.
The occurences of this life are certainly very, very changeable and uncertain; for instance - a rifleman of ours was married the other day, and the regimental band played the new couple to and from chruch. the day following, we went out to fire ball at the target, when this same rifleman was shot through the breast bya ccident, and died immeidately on the grond: strange to tell, the band that played before him to church when married, now played the Dead March in Saul, to the same place, for him to be buried, within the short space of fifty-eight hours.
Our regiment was at exercise, firing ball at the target. I took a loaded rifle from one of the men, to try the range, and with the intetnion of explaining to the men also the new mode of firing recommended to riflemen, the piece went off in my hand, by accident, while holding it by my side, and instead of its killing me, which might have been the case, the ball passed through the body of a fine young man, who was placed to marke the target, about the distance of 150 yards from me. I heard him cry out, and saw him fall instantly, never to rise again in this world!
Words cannot, express my unutterable anguish on reaching the spot, God forgive me when I say, I envied the poor dying soldier's situation at the moment. O! ineed, could it have saved the life of the unfortunate victim, freely would I have given my own. A short time before this melancholy catrastrophe, I was rejoicing at the near prospect of joining the British Army in Spain - I am now inconsolable! How very defective is our foresight, in this world of trouble and sorrow! How has my ambition been laid prostrate!
From Ezekiel Baker, maker of the Baker rifle carried by the 5/60 Royal Americans, King's German Legion, Brunswick Oels and the famous 95th Rifles:
From pages 147-9 of Remarks on the Rifle-Guns. 11th Ed.One other observation I must be allowed to make - and that is, to caution every person from presenting fire-arms towards another, whether injoke, or for the avowed purpose of frightening him. Many fatal accidents have arisen from this cause; and families have been involved in the extreme wrtechedness, by the casual discharge of a piece which as frequenty been attempted to have been fired in vain, and which, from repeated trials, has consequently been supposed not to have been loaded.
It would perhaps be a new system in education, but I am convinced it would be a most admirable one, if parents and guardians, masters, tutors, and every person engaged in the instruction of children, were early to impress upon them the dangers arising from pointing or presenting firearms at any one. I always shudder, whenever I witness it; and I repeat, if cautioned in their infancy, a practice so fraught with ruin might be prevented, and many valuable lives be therefore preserved. In the nursey, at school, in short every opportunity should be embraced to enforce obedience to so necessary an injunction, and to impress upon them the wretchedness they may entail on perhaps their best and dearest friends by so wanton and unnecessary a practice.
More on Boy Scout training circa 1930
The scene takes place in Scotland.
Interesting that one would even consider using boy scouts for riot control. Imagine that being done today in our litigious society?
The above was from Eric Lomax's The Railway Man. As a Signal Corps Officer, Lt. Lomax was sent to Malaysia as part of the 5th Artillery. He was captured there and endured a lot of torture when a small map was found in his kit. Many decades later (nineties) Lomax met with his interrogator who, post-war, became an anti-militarist and a buddhist and very remorseful about what happened to the PoWs - especially Lomax who was waterboarded. Lomax met his interrogator in Malaysia where Lomax saw the temple the interrogator paid for to atone for his conduct. They travel together to Japan where Lomax writes a letter forgiving the interrogator and hands it to him before he returns to Scotland with his wounds finally healed.
The scene takes place in Scotland.
Because it became with hindsight a premonition of other events, I remember one consequence of slackening my resistance to team activity. I joined the Owl Patrol in the 12th Edinburg Royal High School Scouts, and wore my brown uniform along with all the other boys. We met weekly in the school gymnasium. One evening in the early 1930s, we were being taught by our scoutmaster to use long staves for crowd control - a most un-scout like activity, some echo of the General Strike of 126, or maybe just another of those hints that the world we were about to enter was a place so full of conflict that even games had to be made a preparation for it.
Towards the close of the evening the scoutmaster decided to give us a demonstration. We were lined up as a kind of human barrier, our poles at ready, while certain other scouts were struck off to impersonate a mob. They were unleashed at us through a suddenly opened door, charging at us wildly in a licensed free-for-all, young bodies crashing into others with good-natured brutality. We couldn't control them and our troop leader had lost control of all of us. The crush of the attackers caught me with my hand flung out. I can steel feel the right arm being bent further and further backwards until it snapped. There was a moment of sheer panic and disbelief, then the shocking pain of the break.
The scoutmaster, resourceful to the last, turned his failed experiment at crowd-control into a first aid demonstration. It was not every day that he could show his troop a real broken arm. He snapped a yard-stick in two to make a pair of splints, found some bandages and called for a taxi. When I reached the emergency department of Edinburg Royal Infirmary I had to wait only briefly before being wheeled into the operating room where I was given a very inadequate anaesthetic: the chloroform barely dulled the crushed nerves. I felt my arm being stretched and manipulated to get the sheared bones back into position. It is strange how easy it is to remember pain.
Interesting that one would even consider using boy scouts for riot control. Imagine that being done today in our litigious society?
The above was from Eric Lomax's The Railway Man. As a Signal Corps Officer, Lt. Lomax was sent to Malaysia as part of the 5th Artillery. He was captured there and endured a lot of torture when a small map was found in his kit. Many decades later (nineties) Lomax met with his interrogator who, post-war, became an anti-militarist and a buddhist and very remorseful about what happened to the PoWs - especially Lomax who was waterboarded. Lomax met his interrogator in Malaysia where Lomax saw the temple the interrogator paid for to atone for his conduct. They travel together to Japan where Lomax writes a letter forgiving the interrogator and hands it to him before he returns to Scotland with his wounds finally healed.
Excerpt from Wenches, Wives and Servant Girls: A Selection of Advertisements for
Female Runaways in American Newspapers, 1770-1783. Ed. by Don Hagist.
From page 54 we read:
Five pistols! Wow-wee. William Devall must have wanted her back badly.
Female Runaways in American Newspapers, 1770-1783. Ed. by Don Hagist.
From page 54 we read:
Run away from the subscriber, a convict servant maid, named Sarah Wilson, but has changed her name to Lady Susanna Carolina Matilda, which made the public believe that she was his Majesty's sister, she has a blemish in her right eye, black roll'd hair, stoops in the shoulders, makes a common pratice of writing and marking her cloaths with a crown and a B. Whoever secures the said servant woman, or takes her home, shall receive 5 pistoles besides all costs and charges. William Devall. [Essex Gazette, 25 May, 1773]
Five pistols! Wow-wee. William Devall must have wanted her back badly.
Support our Troops
And don't steal from them!
Dear Polly must have been Michael Welsh's disgruntled wife.
And don't steal from them!
Stolen, the 20th instant, eight shirts, four cambrick stocks, two pair of stockings, one feather bed and bolster, two blankets, one bed tick, an old sheet, and one pair of shoes. The person who stole the above things, goes by the name of Polly Welsh, otherwise Polly Campbell. She is a well faced woman, brown hair, black eyes, and commonly wears a roul in her hair, has a very comely carriage when in her airs, takes a great deal of stuff, and will get groggy if she can get liquor. She wears a dirty pale green short gown, and sometimes a blue skirt very much worn, a high crown bonnet, and an old white cloak which she borrowered of her neighbour. Any person who apprehends the said Mary, shall have Six Dollars reward by applying to Michael Welsh, Serjeant in the Tenth battalion of Pennyslvania regulars; or to Capt. Lewis Farmer in Second-street, between Vine and Race Streets.
Dear Polly must have been Michael Welsh's disgruntled wife.
From Ken Tout's By Tank: From D to VE Day.
Captain Sandy Saudners was aware that, with his strong build, light curly hair, and pink cheeks, he had an advantage with the girls. The officer's tunic was no drawback either. At the reception desk in the hotel, reserved for officers, he encountered a chattery, middle-aged, not unattractive woman who impressed him as rather a delightful old stick. Later, walking past Sandy's table, she stopped, smiled, 'Alone?'
'Yes. And glad to be. Seen too many people lately. Dead friends. Live bloody Boche.'
'I thought you might like to escort me. You're a big man. I have several visits to make and they involve cash. Terrible things happen on the streets of Brussels now. Especially to women. I always like a guard if I can get one.'
'Why not?' thought Sandy. 'Seems a decent old Dutch.' And aloud, 'One Northamptonshire Yeoman at your service, Madam!'
They marched off down the street. She paused at a club door. Spoke to an attendant. Collected a small parcel. Dropped it into her large bag. One again. Another club. Another parcel. Several British infantrymen were brutally punching and stamping on two American soldiers while the military police came running, blowing whistles. Sandy strolled gallantly on with his companion. At the next stop the girl on the door was scantily dressed and excessively painted. But she had a packet of cash ready. Drunken soldiers slept in doorways, or staggered along bumping into people, or stood in alleyways urinating.
Sandly escorted the woman back into the hotel, he always an officer and a gentleman, she always a strict lady. Her bag bulged with packages. She thank him, smiled and departed. Sandy turned to the man at the reception desk. 'Strange lady that. What does she do? Collect insurance?'
'You could call it that,' said the receptionist. 'Actually she is the madam of all the local brothels. Goes round every night collecting her percentage. Nice person. Of course, she never does it herself.'