The serial: Largie Castle, A Rifled Nest Day 96

“All was not lost. Hope was still there. The telegram stated Angus was missing, not dead. Earlier, another family member had received a telegram

Growing up in a military family, Daisy was used to the business of war; her father was injured in South Africa when he fought the Boers, her grandfather also suffered an injury in the Peninsular war against Napoleon; as for her greatgrandfather who made his mark as a young soldier in India in the late 18th Century, he did not escape unharmed either.

Finally, in the 20th Century, her youngest brother, Tempest, was blown to pieces in 1915 in the “war to end all wars”.

Worst of all was the waiting. Daisy wrestled in her mind what had happened to her son. Angus might be dead, worse still, badly injured. Even worse, he might be lost and starving in the jungle.

If he was still alive, where was he? Now that Britain had surrendered, he might have joined the ranks of the 100,000 servicemen taken into captivity.

Considering the news of atrocities committed by the Japanese in Hong Kong and China, this didn’t augur well.

Hopeful On a more hopeful vein, the authorities may have ordered Angus out of Singapore and at that moment he was making his way to safety.

Daisy could only guess; all she knew was her son was in Malaya. That in itself was an advantage over others who had no idea where their loved ones had been posted.

So she waited. The month of March arrived and still no news. The lack of information was far from positive; if Angus had been successful in his escape, he would have got in touch.

On March 26, a War Office telegram arrived at Tayinloan post office and general store, situated close to the smithy and mill.

Those buff telegrams were no respecters of class and were equally likely to arrive at the front door of a castle or cottage.

Ronald Reid, the Largie gamekeeper, was to receive his telegram when his son James, of 7th Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, was killed on July 21, 1943.

“They drew lots at the post office,” my mother told me, “as to who would deliver the telegram.”

The postmaster and mistress were Dougie and Jeannie McFater, a couple who, at Christmas two years previously, had sent Angus a tin of shortbread.

Perhaps, because of the gravity of the situation, they sent Dougie because a man’s shoulder, they say, is broader. Or did Jeannie insist on going?

By all accounts she was kind and had taken care to wrap Angus’s present carefully, swaddling the tin well with layers of paper lest the contents break.

Yet, Mrs Macdonald would prefer the feminine touch, and, if the shock proved too much, it was better that Jeannie break the news.

All was not lost. Hope was still there. The telegram stated Angus was missing, not dead. Two months earlier, another family member had received a war office telegram.

On January 6 1942, Douna, who was farming at Ellary and raising her three children alone, learned that her husband Henry, a military chaplain, was missing in action.

The young mother awaited further news and six days later she received a second telegram indicating that her husband was alive but a prisoner.

On March 27, 1940, Henry had joined the Royal Army Chaplains Department and been appointed to 2nd battalion, Royal Tank Regiment, 1st Armoured Division, based at Ringwood in southern England.

Promoted Six months later, on September 25 1940, he was sent with his battalion to the Western Desert in North Africa where he served in 13th Corps, 7th Armoured Division, Desert Force; a few months later he joined 30th Corps.

On July 8 1941 he was mentioned in dispatches and promoted on November 10 that year.

As soon as Esther, who qualified as a motor mechanic the day Singapore fell, learned about Angus’s loss, she returned to Largie.

In his letter dated August 11 1941, Angus had congratulated his younger sister on her knowledge of motor vehicles.

“You must know an awful lot about cars now,” he wrote. “After the war you will be relied upon to put our cars right when they go wrong, that is, if any of us can afford to have cars when this war is finished.

“I am afraid I never even lift the bonnet of mine if I can help it.”

It was up to the 21-year-old to support Daisy, as Douna was tied up with her family, Simon had married Caitriona Gordon on February 28, and Jock was learning to live a new life as an amputee.

Scarcely a week later (April 3), a letter arrived. “Madam,” was the abrupt salutation. “In confirmation of War Office telegram of the 26th March, 1942, I am directed to inform you, with regret, that a notification dated 23rd March, 1942, has been received that your son, Major C.A. Macdonald, The Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, has been reported missing at sea in the Far East as the result of the loss, through enemy action, of the ship in which he was travelling.

“All possible enquiries are being made with a view to obtaining further information concerning your son, and any information obtained will at once be sent to you.”

The letter’s euphemistic language – “as the result of the loss through enemy action” – was familiar to her but the gut-wrenching feelings were not.

Contrast This stark written communication contrasts sharply with the one Douna received some months earlier on January 16 from C.D. Symons, the Chaplain General.

He warmly, if not guardedly, congratulated her on the news that Henry’s name had been removed from the list of “missing”.

“My Dear Mrs Rogers,” he began, “I am sure it has been a great relief to you to hear that it has been officially established that your husband is a prisoner of war. I am so glad to hear that he is safe.

“The official reports concerning prisoners of war come through very slowly, but should I receive any further news of particular interest it will be passed on to you immediately.

“I pray that God may give him strength and guidance in this very difficult sphere, and that he will abundantly bless his work among those with whom he is sharing imprisonment.”

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