Revealed after 80 years, poetry of art teacher who died after D-day invasion
HE sits on iron railings that line a coastal promenade, a faint smile on his lips as he squints into the sun; the water behind him, smooth and calm.
It must have been an “escape to the coast” kind of day out. Perhaps somewhere by the Firth of Clyde, not far from his Glasgow home, maybe with his darling wife, Mary, by his side.
A peaceful world away from the one that would greet art teacher William Hamilton on another coast, far from home, in the cauldron of war.
There, with his smart tweed jacket swapped for infantry khaki and carrying his weapon aloft, he joined thousands who steeled their nerves to cross a sandy Normandy beach stained with blood.
Much later, the grainy photograph of William Hamilton would be popped inside a small notebook and kept safe, perhaps by his grieving widow.
Inside the book, its frontispiece adorned with his artwork, were more than two dozen of his carefully crafted poems, each revealing a little more of the man in the photograph: his worries and fears, hopes, his appreciation for nature, deep love for his wife, his humour and his observant eye.
The notebook of poems, the photograph, and his white gravestone – one of 1,627 Commonwealth graves at St Manview war cemetery, just over six miles west of Caen in the Normandy countryside – would eventually be all that was left to show for the life of Private William Hamilton,
2nd Battalion., Highland Light Infantry (City of Glasgow Regiment).
He may have faded completely but for the small book, photograph and a note that was handed in anonymously to the Royal British Legion Scotland club in Renfrew Road, Paisley, a couple of years ago, and carefully put to one side.
Now, as the 80th anniversary of the Normandy landings and William’s death loom, a group of local history enthusiasts touched by his sacrifice have embarked on a mission to find out more about his life and give his poetry the public platform it never received during this lifetime.
Although little is known of William Hamilton, amateur historians Peter Hutchison, a British Legion member and former Royal Signalman, and Gilbert Wilson, a member of Renfrew Family History Society, believe the quality of his poetry is worthy of a wider audience.
Placed against the background of D-day and his personal sacrifice, the notebook, handwritten poems and the photograph become a vivid and tangible reminder of the turmoil war brought to ordinary people’s lives.
“Some of the poems might be considered average but I think some are remarkable,” said Mr Wilson, who has been piecing together a picture of Mr Hamilton’s life before he went to war.
“There’s one called The Earth, written in 1937. He talks about how we are degrading the planet in a manner that is way ahead of its time,” said Mr Wilson.
“There are love poems and some are remarkably insightful. At least half a dozen sit well alongside any other poems you might read.
“Armistice Day November 1936 expresses his hope for the continuation of peace after the war to end all wars.
“We are concerned Scotland lost a poet whose full potential could not be realised.”
The group of researchers want to find members of his family to help piece together missing parts of his life.
“His loss represents the loss of so many lives in the war that were cut short,” added Mr Wilson. “He was one of many who fought to preserve the freedoms we can too easily take for granted.”
Little is known of William Hamilton other than he was born in Glasgow in
1912, the son of William, a school janitor at East Park School, Maryhill Road, and his wife Janet. Together with a younger brother, John, the family lived in the janitor’s house attached to the school.
William was clearly bright: he studied at Glasgow School of Art and was working as an art teacher in June 1941 when he married his sweetheart, Mary Rose Banks, a typist from Parkhead.
The note inside the book of poems details his service number: Private 3327112, 2nd Btn. Highland Light Infantry (City of Glasgow Regiment). It adds he died on Monday, June 26, 1944, age 32, and was buried in Saint Manvieu War Cemetery, Cheux, Calvados, France.
His death was almost three weeks after D-day, during which he would have successfully navigated the horrors of Sword Beach on the morning of June 6.
Regardless of how traumatised he and other survivors from his Glasgow-based battalion might have been from that dreadful experience, there would be worse to come.
Caen, the ancient capital of Normandy, 10 miles from the Calvados coast and a roads and rail hub, was a key target for the Allies and crucial to their advance south – but it was also held in a steely grip by the enemy.
There had been hopes it might be secured on D-day. Instead, bad weather, delays and the sheer force of resistance meant Caen would not fall until July 9.
Part of the effort to take Caen centred on Operation Epsom, which began on June 25 and involved 60,000 troops, made up of forces from the 15th (Scottish) and 43rd (Wessex Divisions), the 11th Armoured division and the 4th Armoured and 31st Tank Brigades.
However, the majority of the troops involved – perhaps among them William Hamilton and his Glasgow comrades – had little real combat experience, while in well prepared defensive positions was the potent German 12th SS Armoured Division – where the majority of its junior enlisted men were drawn from members of the Hitler Youth – supported by the 2nd SS Armoured Division and the powerful II-SS Armoured Corps, all intent on pushing the Allies back to the sea.
The first wave of Allied effort on June 25 was hampered by bad weather, which hindered RAF attempts to prevent Luftwaffe operations over the battlefield.
When the 15th (Scottish) Division and the armour of the 31st Tank Brigade finally advanced on the morning of June 26 – the day of Private Hamilton’s death – enemy fire rained down from three sides, with SS troops fighting with determination to retain their hold on the village of Cheux.
The tanks of the 11th Armoured
Division werw unleashed, only to struggle to get south of Cheux before running into German tanks.
While the 227th Brigade of the 15th (Scottish) Division attacked to clear the Odon Valley, their thrust was halted by forces from the 12th SS Division and rapidly arriving reinforcements, including SS Tiger tanks.
It would take more days of fighting and cost many more lives before Operation Epsom drew to a close: in all, the Allied corps suffered some 4,020 casualties, with the 15th (Scottish) Division bearing 2,331 (58%) of these losses.
Kevin Williamson, of the Scottish Poetry Library, said William Hamilton’s poems offer insight into his character.
“From the poems you get a picture of a young guy concerned with the usual stuff that concerns young guys of any era: falling in love, getting dumped, worries about the future,” he said.“the poems were probably kept private, as a form of therapy perhaps. They deal with a failed personal relationship and some dark emotions.
“The writer had clearly read a fair bit of poetry as one of the poems is in a classical 14-line sonnet form. The influence of mid-1930s WH Auden is making its presence felt too. The best of them was a short poem where the author relaxed away from trying to be too self-consciously poetic to write about enjoying a bag of chips.
“His notebook is a fascinating find from a period when the world, like the poet’s life, was in anxious flux.”
Mr Hutchison, who has been trying to uncover more details of Mr Hamilton’s life and service history, hopes someone might hold the key to revealing more about the man behind the book of poems.
“We know his widow remarried in 1947, but it is hard to find out much more,” he said. “We would like to know more about him.
“When he wrote his poem Armistice in 1936, it seems he was concerned about what was happening in Europe. It is as if he was conscious of what was coming ahead.
“It is very powerful to hold the book in your hands, to read his words and to know what eventually happened to him.
“His poems give insight to the man who was conscripted, who went to war and didn’t come home.”
His notebook is a fascinating find from a period when the world, like the poet’s life, was in anxious flux