British Voices (19 page)

Many a barn and yard gave up its best. All worked with willing hands. With feathers flying and necks wringing midst the chuckling of the victors the murder and carnage ensured. At last the task was completed. The sacrificial cars sped homeward with their feathered offerings. The victors blood stained, feather covered but victorious. The Navy must have had a good feed; but the cleaning of the general's car, which had been borrowed, was a job!

Christmas passed joyfully – so we filled in the long winter nights sometimes regaling ourselves; with the kind permission of the brigadier; with selections played on a captured band, sometimes acting scenes of rebel heroes for the amusement of ourselves and at the expense, sometimes of our guests. At other times our quietness was interrupted by a call to arms; sometimes the mails had to be raided – a tedious job as a whole night's entertainment, but many interested pieces of information were gathered. The amount of money which went through the post was surprising, almost more surprising than the things which people write to each other ... a man perhaps telling his lover that his wife's attractions had waned; another telling, indiscreetly, the contents of his dreams; another – a poem of a dead Sinn Féiner, written by a girl ... an admirer! perhaps a lover!

The collection of intelligence was one of the most interesting and risky games over there. Our intelligence was not too intelligent and methods employed were sometimes unorthodox; the only rule for this work was ‘get the information' – the means of procuring it were left to the individual.

Local intelligence in some cases became a failure because intelligence officers often adopted the same method of adducing information from a captured farm-hand as that employed to interrogate a man of even better education than the interrogator himself, and there was a total ignorance of the true temperament of the people. Once an IO finding a man on the road had reported himself during a round up, as a CDB man (Congested Districts Board) arrested him and handed him over thinking he was an illicit diamond buyer (IDB) as the person who carried out the arrest was a Jew it was easy to follow the path of association which his brain followed. It was ludicrous to watch an interrogator trying to badger information out of a doctor, or other professional man by means of a two foot ruler and gun; or hanging on the throat of a crofter, whose only tongue was Gaelic, tying to make him give information in English.

Information given or volunteered by a friend was best ignored – if only for the safety of one's friend – the source of information might leek out or be adduced by a too astute enemy. There was one sad example of this worth repeating. A loyalist wrote in giving information and by some means or other the letter was obtained for period by the enemy. In order to get a sample of the writer's handwriting to trace the author, he was approached while playing golf by a man with a slate who appeared to be deaf and dumb. By means of the slate the ‘dumb man' induces the victim to write down certain questions.

These were taken away and thus the writer was traced and killed. It so happened that the ‘dumb man' was also traced, or believed to be, and a certain priest was induced to leave his house one night on a visit to the sick. Some weeks later children playing in a part of the country found the partially covered body of the self-same priest near a bog.

On occasions the ‘third degree'was employed to extract information, sometimes with amusing results, at others causing the total breakdown of the captive with an accompanying flow of information and tears. One place chosen for this process was an old water mill. A couple of prisoners were led into the outer room of the mill – one being a fake prisoner.The ‘fake' was taken into the inner room through the floor of which water rushed; a violent interrogation then ensued during which the ‘fake' made constant refusals to give information. Finally there was a clanking of chains; the grinding of machinery ... a dull thud ... a shriek! ... a splash!!! The interview had ended.

With a horse laugh back came the inquisitors for their ‘next' victim; usually he would become tractable on seeing the black rushing water below or on being reminded of it by an application of cold water.

One night, the victim happened to be older than usual and perhaps the shabbiness of his clothes prevented the captors from perceiving that he was a man of some intelligence. The inquisitors watch eagerly for the expected signs of fear as the whole play was acted for his benefit. In the inner room the explanation of his impending fate was given; but the prisoner, instead of becoming overcome with the usual cold fear, drew himself up and looking round scornfully on his captors calmly said – ‘Drown me in that? There isn't a foot of water in that race – I happen to be the engineer who built this mill!'

Sometimes, in the case of a killing, information was adduced from prisoners believed to be connected with the event by actually re-acting the killing before them – a most trying ordeal. A room was curtained in two, on one side the prisoner was seated and left sitting for some duration in the uncanny silent darkness; perhaps after a time a cold wet clammy hand would silently embrace him or wander over his face in the gloom …then suddenly the curtain would drop! and behold before him lay the cold waxen face of the victim in it's funeral shroud; the very wounds being accurately depicted. Few who had actually had to do with the deed could resist such an appeal.

Several times I was detailed to take despatches to GHQ in Dublin. It's not such a very nice job to arrive in North City at midnight in the winter, and to have to make one's way on foot from Broadstone to Parkgate when there's shooting about. I looked as rough as possible in mufti with hat pulled down over the eyes as, with the dispatches fixed to the inner part of my leg, I trudged onwards. I lost my way and had to adopt the somewhat risky procedure of asking the way to the nearest landmark – the quays – from which point direction I knew the way ... on a night like this every lonely individual in the streets might have been a mobile arsenal ... or possible each had a dozen notches in his gun – you know the feeling! I decided that the oldest person one met would be the more likely to be less implicated in the struggle for the birth of the new nation. To doubly secure my position I addressed him in the little Irish I knew, but he explained that he knew no Irish – few people in Dublin do. So I gained the information from him using my best imitation of a Dublin North Circular Road accent – it was effective, and I passed on in safety. Parkgate was reached without further mishap; entry seemed surprisingly easy, for I passed the guard without being challenged and climbed up the dusty stairs to the duty-room to report. I entered the room unannounced – the tired looking officer, on my entry, made a furtive grab at his pistol: then withdrew his hand leaving the weapon on the table with the butt pointing politely towards me. I received a receipt for my packet and lingered a little somewhat amused. ‘I'd like to say' said I ‘that although I admire your second line of defence, I passed your guard on the gate and came up here unchallenged.'‘Good God!' cried the tired one ‘impossible'. He seized the telephone, almost terrified at the thought that he might possibly have been assassinated, and proceeded to make exhaustive enquiries. The guard turned out and all below seemed in uproar in the yard. I am rather sorry I had told him – I had some difficulty in getting out.

Much of the ‘work' in our part of the country seemed to be carried out at night. The main difficulty was the procuring of the necessary transport. Once a car was procured from a doctor who unfortunately discovered its location and put the matter in the hands of his solicitor demanding hire and compensation. The matter rapidly developed into an acute duel which necessitated the owner being constantly ushered away from the precincts of the local headquarters. At last one wag hit upon the brilliant idea of turning the medico's political opinions upon him. Some notepaper had been captured from the enemy bearing the Sinn Féin badge and flag in colours. The doctor in question shortly received a letter purporting to come from the IRA headquarters; it stated that it had come to the notice of the ‘authorities' that he had been corresponding with the enemy and trading with them regarding the hire of his car, in consequence of which, if dealings continued his loyalty to the cause would be questioned and a personal example would be made of him. The car remained ‘free of hire' for some months.

There was in one district a man who always assumed a very supercilious air. He wore a pointed beard, which beard, in spite of its wearer's undoubted loyalty to the ‘cause' and the fact that his son was ‘on the run', was said by those who did not like him to make him like King George in appearance. The offence he had received by this likeness he would tell his friends of with a very annoyed air, at the same time leaving little doubt that he felt some pride in his resemblance to Royalty. One cold January night he was visited, his house ransacked, and the missing son searched for. However one side of the ‘King George's beard' was removed by a few rapid strokes, and the Royal prototype's decadent chin exposed.

News came from the district that the owner of the ‘Royal Beard' had been confined to the house for several days while a razor was procured from the town. Finally he appeared somewhat shamefacedly in public with a ‘minus 4' chin and excused himself by stating that he had perforce to remove the royal emblem owing to an attack of eczema.

The staff themselves sometimes came in for a little chipping. Once the brigadier was at first somewhat surprised to hear from a certain CO, who he was visiting at a distance, that he did not want any more visits from a certain intelligence officer who had a peculiar command of the English language, because that officer always required a lot of labour after he had gone. ‘Does he want a lot of work done, or what?' inquired the brigadier. ‘Well' said the CO, ‘I always have to employ large fatigue parties when he has gone – to sweep up all the H's he always drops.'

On another occasion the GOC was going through a circular with a unit regarding indiscretions of various units on the subject of intelligence and secrecy. The CO had carefully gone through his office copy noting in the margin against various items the action to be taken. The GOC suddenly waxed very wrath on reading this copy, and suddenly turning to the CO said ‘What, Sir, do you mean by writing the word “Balls” against certain items in my instructions?'

‘That, Sir, was written against those parts of the instructions which I wished my orderly room clerk to attend to – his name happens to be Balls,' replied the CO.

Details

This section is a chapter from General Wimberley's memoirs which are held at the Imperial War Museum. Wimberley's military career began in the Officer Training Corps at Wellington and Cambridge University. He completed his military education at Sandhurst from December 1914 to May 1915, and was commissioned into the 3rd (Militia) Battalion Cameron Highlanders at Invergordon. He was transferred to the 1st Battalion and saw action with them at the Battle of Loos, October 1915. He transferred again, this time to the newly formed Machine Gun Corps, and saw action at the Somme, 1916, with the 1st and 2nd Brigade Machine Gun Companies. He saw action at 3rd Ypres ( July to September 1917), the Somme (October 1917), and at Cambrai (November 1917). During 1918, he commanded the 51st Battalion, Machine Gun Corps. In 1919, he saw service in Russia, with the 8th Battalion, Machine Gun Corps, after which he returned to the Cameron Highlanders. Wimberley served in Ireland in County Cork with the Camerons during the War of Independence, returning afterwards to Aldershot. He served with the British Army of the Rhine from 1923 to 1925, time which included a spell at Cambridge University. He attended Staff College from 1926 to 1927. From 1928 to 1933, he served in India, including service in the 1st Indian (Gurkha) Infantry Brigade. He was attached to the Adjutant General and the Military Training Directorates of the War Office from 1934 to 1937. From 1938 to 1939, he commanded the 1st Battalion Cameron Highlanders. In 1940, he was placed in command of a temporary brigade earmarked for the capture of Stavanger in 1940. He held the command of the 13th Brigade (5th Division), the 152nd Brigade (51st Highland Division), before assuming the command of the 46th Division in Britain from 1940 to 1941. He took command of the 51st Highland Division, which fought in North Africa, taking part in the Battles of El Alamein, Medenine, the Mareth and Akarit Lines, and the conquest of Sicily. He served as Commandant of the Staff College, Camberley, from September 1943 to September 1944. From December 1944 to September 1946, he served as Director of Infantry at the War Office.

Ireland – ‘The Trouble' (1920-1921)

I
NOW DECIDED
that I must try and get back to the Camerons, though I knew this meant dropping my Major's crown, which I had now worn, and drawn army pay for, during almost two years.

I set off to Aldershot, to see the 2nd Camerons there, and find out if the Home Battalion had any room for me. It was quite an ordeal. I had not been with the regiment since early 1916, and three years, in war time, is a long time. However, they were all very nice to me, particularly Donald Cameron, who had known me in the MG Corps at Gratham, and was now their very efficient Adjutant.

So I left the Machine Gun Corps and returned home to my regiment and found myself as a mere spare Captain in ‘B' Company commanded by J McK. Gordon, whom I had served under in the same company of the 1st Battalion in France for a few weeks in 1915. He was a strict disciplinarian, and could be touchy and choleric, but a first rate regimental officer.