The Scottish Korean War Memorial

On the 25^th of June 1950, North Korean troops supported and supplied by the Soviet Union and the Peoples Republic of China attacked the South Korean positions to the south of the 38^th parallel, the border between north and south.

On the 1^st of July 1950, troops from the United States of America arrived in South Korea to support the forces against the communist attacks, three days after that, General Douglas MacArthur was named Supreme Commander of ground, air and naval forces by the United Nations Security Council.

On the 29^th of August 1950, the British 27^th Brigade arrived from Hong Kong in order to strengthen the United Nations forces. Less than a month later United Nations Forces breakout of the Korean coastal city of Pusan and make their way towards the 38^th Parallel and with South Korean troops in the lead, cross the border to engage with the Communist forces from the North.

This conflict, though largely forgotten by the majority of the British public these days, was crucial in world politics. When you think about it, the United States, Great Britain and the Commonwealth, as well as Belgium, Columbia, Ethiopia, France, Greece, Luxemburg, Netherlands, Philippines, Thailand, Turkey and the Union of South Africa were technically at war with the ground and air forces of the North Korea, China and to a lesser extent the Soviet Union.

I must not forget that even the medical units, although not technically combatant were also in the front line. Mobile Army Surgical Hospitals (MASH) came from Denmark, Italy, India, Norway and Sweden.

Another fact that passes many people by is that this ‘conflict’ technically has not yet ended. No peace treaty was signed, merely an armistice. What is the difference? There was never any declaration of an end to hostilities just a cease-fire. This document was signed on the 27th July 1953 in the Korean city of Panmunjom.

Why the history lesson? Well, recently I visited the Scottish Korean War Memorial. This memorial was officially opened on the 27^th June 2000 to mark the 50^th anniversary of the start of the conflict. It is the only one of its kind in Britain and that adds to the pride that I felt as I went in to the pan tile roofed wooden pagoda that houses the names of the 1090 British service personnel who laid down their lives. 

Another thing that is probably not that well known is that 88% of them were National Servicemen aged between 18 and 20.

When my father went out as a member of the King’s Own Scottish Borderers, he was 21 years old. His friends were about the same age. I have a photograph of five of them in battledress and ‘tam ‘o shanters’, it’s like a very large beret with a pommel on top worn by Scottish Regiments of the line.

Of the five young men in the photograph, only three came back. Of the three, my father spent time in a military hospital after being wounded in combat, I have photograph of him during his recovery in the joint services hospital. The second was captured, held by the North Korean and Chinese until repatriation in the middle of 1953. As for the third, he returned home and no doubt lives a happy and fulfilled life.

I am proud that this monument stands to commemorate the fallen and I am glad that my fathers name isn’t one of them. I am also sad for the families who come along to look at the names of their loved ones. No matter when or where our forces served or are serving, we should never forget them and always support them.

Okay, I have finished ‘banging the drum’; you can go about your normal business now. Thank you for your time.

Monday 27th July 2011... Boots, boots, boots, boots, marching up and down again...

Monday 27th July 2011

On the 27th July, my friend Alan and I decided to go walking. When I say we decided to go walking on the 27th, we actually decided about two weeks before that, but the 27th was the actual day we went walking. Now that’s been cleared up, I’ll get on with the blog.

On the 27th of July, my friend Alan I went for a walk, so it was boots, boots, boots, boots, marching up and down again. We headed towards Beecraigs Country Park, a 913 acre (370 hectare) area of land owned and maintained by West Lothian Council.

We had a map and a rough plan of what we were going to do. The plan, of course, was flexible and would change depending on what we saw or what we felt like doing.

We began our slightly less than epic trek at the rather nice visitors centre car park. From there we to  the viewing platform that allows you to see the spectacular views of the surrounding landscape and fields of deer and cattle that are bred and are taken care of by the Park Rangers.

Some of these deer are beautiful creatures, sleek and elegant, and some stand proud with their antlers high showing their superiority, an absolute joy to behold.

Other occupants of other fields are the shaggy highland cattle. I have to see these are less elegant but oh my, they are powerful looking beasts. I would not like to infringe on their territory.

We took our time walking and soaking in the views. Part of the walk takes you into a largely wooded area with trees that seem to reach to the sky. Through these trees, a view of a small loch starts to appear and once clear of the trees you are greeted by a wonderful sight of water and wilderness. On the loch were a number of small rowboats, each occupied by two anglers. We stood and watched them quietly waiting for a movement in and on the water, poised ready to reel in the catch of the day. I have to say, whilst we stood there, they did not meet with success.

We continued around the loch occasionally looking back to see if we had missed a massive fish being pulled from the water, but we hadn't, so we kept moving. 

The views are really lovely. The trees are full and thick and tall, it reminds me of images I have seen of Canada. I am sure that there are areas of Scandinavia that would look identical to what we walked through. The great thing about that day was the weather. It was bright and clear but also not too hot. There was a slight wind that kept us from boiling and kept us happy.

We continued to walk, following the route through the trees and across the landscape to the top of Cockleroy Hill. Oh my, what a view. As you stand at the summit and if you slowly turn 360 degrees, you have some of the best scenery you can possibly imagine. The hill itself rises to a height of 912 feet (that's 278m). We looked towards the east and could clearly see Arthur's Seat, some 20 miles away. We also took in the views of the Forth Road and Forth Rail Bridges. 

Closer to home are the views over the town of Linlithgow. The views from the top of Cockleroy Hill are wonderful and well worth the climb. It offers a great view of the Goat Fell on the Isle of Arran, the Bass Rock of the coast of North Berwick and Ben More and Ben Vorlich to the north. If you ever get the chance to visit this area, do so, if nothing else for these fantastic views.

The great thing about any walk that we go on is, it isn’t a forced march. We take our time. We take in the views and we enjoy the day. We certainly enjoyed this day and were slightly saddened when we had to return to the car park and leave the marvellous nature of Beecraigs Country Park.

We have another couple of things lined up and if I can find the time and motivate myself enough I most certainly write them up. However, until then, I say farewell.

16th July 2011... better late than never

Over the last few weeks, I have seriously neglected my blog. Blog, I am so sorry. Really I am. I’m not just saying it. I mean it. I have told you nothing. However, little bloggy, that is about to change. Better late than never.

Well? What have I been doing?

Saturday 16^th July 2011

Well, on the 16^th of July my wife, mother-in-law, sister-in-law and I went to Blackness Boat Club Open Day. This is a chance for the public to get an insight into sailing, rowing and the joys of the sea. To be honest it was not heavily attended, but those of us who did attend had a really good time.

There were many stalls set out, some selling sailing and boating merchandise and some informing you of the wonderful work that the United Kingdom Coastguard and The Royal National Lifeboat Institute carry out.

There was a demonstration on what to take if you go sailing, and how to check your life jacket if you decide to go bobbing along on the beautiful shiny sea. This was particularly useful, as I knew I would be heading out onto the water at some stage.

So after resolutely fortifying myself with a burger or two and a cup of tea (just for the energy you understand), I tagged onto the Queensferry Boat Club and managed to get myself onto their 4 man rowing ‘skiff’ (forgive the technical jargon) ‘The Ferry Lass’.

I have been out in the water before. On a decent sized boat out into the River Forth, on a reasonably sized boat on a loch in Scotland and the most memorable occasion on a small fishing boat off the coast of Cornwall on a bit of a rough day. That one didn’t not end well, in fact I should I say I ended up very un-well.

But I knew it wouldn’t be like that today. On my first trip out that day, I sat in the third slot and listen attentively to the coxswain barking out orders to the really tall guy in the No. 1 seat, the short woman in the No. 2 seat and the medium sized girl behind me in the No. 4 slot.

What we should have done was compare heights. When you have 4 people, all of differing heights, all trying to row in unison, it doesn’t always work. It almost did, but not quite. In addition, the short woman in front of me didn’t always get the oar (never, ever call it a ‘paddle’) out of the water in time. When this happens, it is referred to as ‘catching a crab’ and results in the rower being smacked in the chest by the handle of the oar because the sea forces the oar back the way at high speed. When you ‘catch a crab’ a couple of times, you try to make damn sure it never happens again.

We did quite well though and Mark and the guys were happy enough with the performance. We rowed for a good bit, managed to miss all the other small craft tied up or anchored at the pier or in the small harbour and made it back with no casualties.

Mark asked if I wanted to stay on, but I thought I better give someone else a chance to have some fun. So, after another cup of tea, a sit down on a slightly drier surface than ‘The Ferry Lass’, I headed back down to the slip-way, got my lifejacket back on and took up the No. 3 slot again.

This trip out was much better due to the fact we were all the same size. We rowed like a team. We pushed our way out towards the middle of the water, concentrating on ever stroke of the oar and every word from the coxswain. After 10 minutes, we stopped and surveyed the distant shore and the dark water all around us. When we were ready, we began again to make our way back to the slipway of the boat club.

I’m sorry to say that I didn’t get a chance to help take the ‘ Ferry Lass’ back to Queensferry, but if the opportunity arises I will be there.

As the day drew to a close and the dull white clouds turned to grey, we gathered our belongings, loaded the car back up with our thermos flasks of tea and bottles of water and drove home.

A fine day and an enjoyable day was had by all.

"...boat-trips on the often cold, but always-picturesque River Forth..."

This weekend we have plans to visit Blackness Boat Club for their Open Day. Once again, we will hope for good weather, pack the picnic basket with goodies and head off towards the coast.

There will be a barbecue as always, there will be drink (both alcoholic and soft) and there will entertainment for all the family. I believe the younger attendees have a ‘bouncy-castle’ amongst other things to keep them occupied.

There will also be boat-trips on the often cold, but always-picturesque River Forth for those whose heart is filled with adventure, or who just want to be thrown about in a small craft and possibly hit by flailing mast and some canvas sheeting. If it’s anything to do with my neighbour two doors up who is a member of the boat club, I will probably be one of the ones hit by the aforementioned items. We do get on well, but he likes the idea of me turning green whilst bobbing about in the open sea.

At some point next week, I will write it up, if I am able.

The weekend after that, my friend Alan and I are planning a series of small but scenic walks through one of the local country parks. There are about six lovely trails through greenery and past a small loch; there is also a nice hill climb that gives you a great view of the landscape for miles around.

Once again the walking boots will have to be looked out, the double sock layer put into effect (double socks usually prevent chaffing and blisters) and the small rucksack filled with a couple of fresh bread rolls, a flask of tea, bottles of water, nut based chocolate bars (chocolate provides energy and nuts provide protein) and some wet-wipes. Wet-wipes are so useful for so many things. I won’t go into detail but I’m sure you can use your imagination.

Anyway, if I get around to it, I will type it up. Until then I bid you goodbye.

Blackness Castle is often referred to as ‘the ship that never sailed’.

Last week and a bit of this week, we had summer. It was nice and I hope we have another one next year too.

The main part of the summer took place from Friday 1^st July to Monday 4^th July. Each one of these days was start to finish heat and sunshine.

Rather than waste the opportunity my wife and I packed a picnic yes, a real one in a wicker basket with cold meat and tomato bread rolls, potato crisps, thermos flasks of tea and lashing of soft drinks. We put a couple of folding chairs into the back of the car, collected my mother-in-law and sister-in-law and headed a mere 5 miles from home to the little village of Blackness.

Now don’t get me wrong, if our town had a decent beach we would have stayed here, we are after all on the same coast line, but it doesn’t have a beach, so we had to travel a little further.

Blackness is a small village. It has a small population. It has a school with a very small number of pupils. It has post office and an inn for the weary traveller to rest their head, but it also has a rather nice beach. It also has a very friendly feel about it.

When we arrived, we had two options about where to park. We chose the usual one (we have been here several times before). This particular place is close to the low wall that borders the narrow grass and sand, nor far from the stone jetty. The sand isn’t brilliant, but it gives you the chance to enjoy the cool, salty waters of the River Forth.

When the tide is low, the humps of the salt marches become visible. Harbour milkwort and sea arrow grass cover a lot of this area. Across the rocks, there is a green tinge to the mud flats. This is known as eelgrass. It looks green and it’s slimy, like an eel.

We unloaded the car, admired the view and began walking the five-minute journey (my mother-in-law and sister-in-law do not sprint under any circumstances) to one of the nicest examples of 15^th, 16^th and 17^th century architecture in this area. The castle juts out into the River Forth, like the prow of a ship on a base of basalt rock. Blackness Castle is often referred to as ‘the ship that never sailed’. The ‘nose’ or ‘ness’  of the basalt rock also gave it it’s name.

We headed towards a large expanse of grass area where wooden tables are set out for the public to enjoy a sit down and a meal. We opened our wicker basket, removed the cold meat and tomato bread rolls and began to eat. The potato crisps were passed around, and the thermos flasks of tea and lashing of soft drinks were consumed. After this, we sat in the sun listening to nature and other families going about their business.

We sat for a few hours. I wandered about and took some photos as my mother-in-law, sister-in-law wife and wife rested in the heat and then the shade. Rather than take up space the used the folding chairs.

As the day began to cool, we decided it was time to pack up and go. We knew that if the weather stayed like this we would return. During that weekend, we also watched the Blackness Boat Club small boat regatta where barbequed sausages, burgers, and bottles of beer were the order of the day.

The weather has not been that great since then, but when the weather improves, we shall return.

“a local village, for local people”.

Recently I have been having some odd dreams. Maybe I should stop watching some very odd, dark but brilliant comedies.  Maybe I should stop listening to or reading the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. 

But then again... maybe not. Here is an example of what I have been dreaming... in the style of Dr John H Watson.

"It was in the summer of eighteen hundred and ninety-five, that I once again visited my good friend Mr Sherlock Holmes. It had been some time since my last visit, but I had read of Holmes exploits in a number of newspapers.

My practice had kept me busy and I took this lull in my affairs to drop in on my friend and enjoy some pleasant conversation and in the hope that Mrs Hudson had been preparing some of her wonderful scones.

As we sat and chatted about the events of my friends recent cases, I began to note everything down in a small book to turn them into more adventures for the readers of The Strand Magazine. Such tales as “The Adventure of the Female Bridegroom” and the “The Adventure of the Wandering Cow” would, I know enthral the readers, but in the middle of “The Adventure of the Reluctant Danish Traveller”, the ringing of the doorbell interrupted us. A few moments later, a ponderous step ascended and the door opened to reveal Mr Mycroft Holmes.

To some in Whitehall Mycroft Holmes merely worked for the government, but those who were knowledgeable he was the government.

Mycroft’s did not leave his office very often, so this particular visit must be one of extreme importance. His task for his brother was to visit the tiny hamlet of Royston Vasey and investigate the disappearance of travellers to those parts.

The next morning we boarded the train from St Pancras Station, to begin our journey. As we reclined in the carriage, I was able to complete some of my notes on “The Adventure of the Reluctant Danish Traveller”. I would occasionally extract from Holmes some piece of the story that I did not understand, and in this way, the journey passed amiably.

As we sat and watched the empty blue sky and the brilliant sunshine that bathed the countryside, it seemed to darken as we approached what our Bradshaw described as Royston Vasey Halt, a note below the name of the station described it as “a local village, for local people”.

I had a feeling that with the weather turning against us, the location of the village far from civilisation and this last piece of information, things did not bode well…"

If the weather is good, we will pack the picnic ‘basket’ with goodies...

On any given Sunday, my wife and I usually go to my dads for a bit of chat and some Sunday dinner, but this Sunday will be different. My dad and my sister will be heading out to Spain for a few weeks, so we will be at a bit of a loose end. However, I have a plan.

Whenever I say, “I have a plan!” my wife usually rolls her eyes and says “Go on then, tell me.” Whilst preparing to shoot it down in flames. My plan is that we go and see the sailing regatta in the village about 5 miles from where we live and have a picnic. I am also suggesting that we take my mother-in-law, as she does not get out much.

If the weather is good, we will pack the picnic ‘basket’ with goodies and fill a couple of thermos flasks with hot, sweet tea.

The sailing regatta begins about 4pm, so my plan is… (I can see rolling of eyes) my plan is that we should get there about 1pm, have some lunch, enjoy the view, maybe walk to the local castle which as a few hundred yards away and then sit and wait for the sailing to begin. If the weather is going to be anything like what we have had recently it should be a great day.

The other night my wife and I drove to the boat club holding the regatta just because it seemed like a good idea at the time. We sat watching the long grass that bordered the sand and shingle beach, weave and almost dance in the warm gentle breeze that came of the water. The leaves in the trees nearby hissed as the air passed through them and the seabirds circled overhead, sometimes landing on the damp sand to feed or to rest.

Out on the water about a dozen small sailboats bobbed in a low tide, their ropes slapping against their masts. A yellow glow settled on the undulating River Forth as the sun shone below sparse white cloud that drifted across the sky.

Now if the weather is going to be anything like that on Sunday, we should be more than content.