Billy glanced at the soldier as he strode past him. There was no doubt. It was Joe Cassiday all right and he was in charge

Sandra Savage

The train pulled into Forfar Station with a relieved rush of steam. The Black Watch Sergeant who had been impatiently pacing the platform, now stood to attention as the doors of the carriages opened, disgorging their assortment of volunteers. He was accompanied by two privates who began rounding up the men, sorting them into groups of 12 ready for their lorry drive to the training camp. There was much banter and humour amongst the men, but it was a cover for the nerves most of them felt and Billy was no exception.

News had broken just two days before about the massive losses of the Expeditionary Force at Mons and no one was under any illusions any more that this war was going to be a picnic.

The casualty list was growing daily and The Black Watch had been in the thick of it. Billy climbed into the back of a lorry along with 11 others and held on to the edge of the wooden seat as the wheels bumped and rattled over the rough road to the camp.

“The things I do to get awa’ frae the wife,” announced one man, shaking his head in feigned dismay.

“I’ve heard them Madmozells over in France are daft aboot kilties,” added another.

“They’d have to be mad right enough to fall for you in a kilt. No’ wi’ your legs,” came the joshing reply.

Another world

Billy smiled. He was only 12 miles away from Dundee but already it seemed like another world. It had been a long time since he’d been in the company of men on anything other than a drinking level and then it hadn’t mattered who they were. But this was different. His life could depend on any one of them in battle and their lives, on him. He pushed the thought from his head as the lorry pulled up at the gates of the camp. Coils of barbed wire ran the full length of the fence and two sentry boxes stood either side of the entrance.

The guard waved them through. His life as a soldier had begun.

The first day went by in a never-ending queue. Billy moved in shuffling steps from line to line as he was issued with kit, bedding and weaponry, he was examined, injected with needles and given a number.

His bunk bed was one of 48 ranged along the walls of a wooden hut and he and his companions jostled for the top bunks as each sought to secure the most favourable resting places.

“The name’s Thomson,” announced the voice in the bunk below Billy. “Jock Thomson.”

Billy leaned over the edge and acknowledged the introduction.

“Billy Dawson,” he replied. “Private, Number 4426859.”

Jock grinned amiably. “Never thoucht I’d end up a number either.”

Billy swung his legs over the edge of his bunk and jumped down. “What made you volunteer then?” he asked his new companion, fishing out his tobacco tin and rolling a cigarette. Jock shrugged. “The mester sent wiz.” “Master?” asked Billy. “Yon laird at Achterhoose, Sir John Graves. Said it was our duty to serve the King.” Billy nodded. “I waz one o’ the gamekeepers on the estate. He says if we could shoot deer we could shoot the Hun.” Jock accepted a cigarette from Billy and drew the tobacco smoke deep into his lungs. “An’ you?”

Pride

Billy pondered his reason for joining. At first, he’d thought he’d joined out of duty, but his real reason for joining was more to do with regaining his sense of pride in himself. “Same as you, to serve King and country.” The barracks door swung open and a tall, kilted figure strode into their midst. He was fully kitted out in The Black Watch uniform and had a single white stripe on the arm of his tunic.

“Stand by your beds,” he barked. There was a rumble of feet as the men obeyed the instruction. “Attenshun,” came the next order. “Eyes front.” Shoulders were pulled back and eyes fixed on to nothing in particular.

“My name is Lance-Corporal Cassiday,” announced the figure. “And it’s my job to turn you into a fighting unit. Any questions?”

Billy glanced at the soldier as he strode past him. There was no doubt. It was Joe Cassiday all right and he was in charge.

Despite Mary’s bitterness at Billy’s love for Annie, she was the first person she turned to when she discovered she was pregnant with Joe’s child.

“I was just passing,” she announced at Annie’s doorstep one afternoon in late September. “Mary!” exclaimed Annie. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you. Come in.”

Mary hadn’t seen her sister since her visit to the Maternity Ward in Maryfield Hospital. “Where’s Nancy?” asked Annie. “School,” Mary replied bluntly. “Would you like to see Lexie, I’m just about to feed her?”

“‘Suppose so,” Mary replied, flouncing down into a chair.

Annie knew her sister well and sensed Mary was about to tell her something she didn’t particularly want to hear. She disappeared upstairs and returned bearing her daughter in her arms.

“There,” she said, handing her to Mary. “Hasn’t she grown?”

Mary felt a lump in her throat as she looked at the toothless grin of her niece. “She’s beautiful Annie,” she said huskily. “Alex must be very proud.”

“I’ll make us some tea,” Annie said. “It’s a thirsty walk up here from William Lane.”

Mary cooed a little Irish song to Lexie, who chuckled obligingly. “I’m sorry I haven’t been to visit since the baby,” she called through from the kitchen. “And I’ve so much to tell you.”

Reaction

Annie came through with a tray of tea things. “Help yourself,” she told Mary, taking Lexie from her. “And I’ll give this young lady her tea.”

Lexie nuzzled into Annie and began to suck vigorously. “Here, here,” Annie chided her. “Not so fast.”

Mary poured out the tea and pushed a cup towards Annie.

“You’ll never guess who’s back in Dundee?” Annie began. Mary lifted an eyebrow. “Who?” “Isabella Anderson,” Annie announced, watching for her sister’s reaction before adding, “And John.” Mary shrugged. “That’s nice.” Annie hadn’t expected such disinterest. “She’s been helping me out a lot, with Lexie,” she continued. “And I’ve joined the WVS.” “The what?” Mary asked. “Women’s Voluntary Service,” Annie told her. “We do things to help the war effort.”

(More tomorrow)