When one thinks of a military collection, their first thought is an assortment of weapons, medals, uniforms and photographs. Although these objects are an important aspect of a regimental collection, they are far from the only items and stories we preserve and celebrate within our walls and, by no means, the full picture of the Cameronians (Scottish Riffles) military life. Alongside the battles and the acts of heroism we proudly showcase, we are also hosts of hidden human-interest stories that we wish to share with our visitors and blog readers. Sometimes, the simplest items, like a handkerchief, hold the most fascinating tales.
Light-green silk handkerchief, square, with fringing on all edges. Embroidered crest of The Cameronians (Scottish Rifles) in one corner.
When I was looking to update one of our small display cases for February 2025, senior staff members suggested I read in our system about a special handkerchief that was part of our regimental collection and create a display around it and Valentine’s Day. At first glance, this handkerchief appears unimportant and of little interest, but after reading the short description around its donation, I fell in love with it. Within its stiches and threads, a bittersweet teenage love story is woven.
I immediately asked if it would be acceptable to contact the donor, Isabella, and listen to her speak about it, wanting to capture in this post and for my display text a sense of authenticity that I feared was missing from the short description we had recorded before. I was so glad the donor agreed, and we arranged a phone-call. Although a bit hesitant at first, Isabella opened to me very quickly as she tried to sort her emotions and thoughts regarding this handkerchief and why she wished for it to be donated to us. The phrase that she often repeated and stayed with me was that she didn’t want it “to end up destroyed,” after she died.
Isabella received this handkerchief in the 1950s, when she was sixteen years old alongside her last – as far as she remembers – Valentine’s card from a young Cameronian soldier, named Frank. They met at their church’s youth group and soon became good friends allowing for a sweet friendship and innocent love to start between them. A couple of years older than her, Frank left to go to Germany alongside the regiment, but he and Isabella kept in touch and saw each other whenever he visited his family.
When I spoke with Isabella and she narrated to me her story, it was abundantly clear how much she treasured that precious time of her youth. She told me of her very happy memories with Frank and how much she respected and admired his family, who she described as very kind and loving to her.
Her words sounded like the beginning of a sweet love story, and one would expect that what followed this handkerchief was a marriage and happy family life. Isabella didn’t delve into too many details, but she admitted to me that this wasn’t the case for her and Frank. When I asked her why things didn’t progress between them, she told me that she felt she wasn’t “good enough for him” and distanced herself from him and his family. She eventually married a different man, had children and built her own family. But, she was never able to part from the handkerchief, keeping it safe in a pouch alongside other treasured mementos for decades.
She told me that she kept it folded in the pouch as a secret, always afraid that if her first husband found out about it, he would destroy it. A precious and well-guarded secret, she finally took it out of the pouch in her eighties, many years after her first husband’s death, and talked with a hitch in her voice of how afraid she was that it would tear while she handwashed it. She commissioned a frame for it and began to ponder what she wanted to do with it.
Her first thought was to find Frank and speak with him, to attempt to reconnect all these years later so they can reminisce about the past. She enlisted the help of one of her grandchildren and found out that Frank had his own family and was widowed, but she never found the courage to contact him and rekindle their old friendship because she felt “it wasn’t fair.” Unfortunately, she never got the chance to see him again as he died before she changed her mind. Afterwards, she tried to give the handkerchief to his children, but they refused it and she approached Low Parks Museum and offered it as a donation, alongside the frame she had kept it in for the last few years.
It was apparent from the very first time we met her how much she valued and loved this object. She wanted to find a new home for it, where it would continue to be cherished, like she did for over seventy years. She told me how happy she was that we would put the object on display for a few weeks during February and that she would have the chance to travel to Hamilton and see it once again.
(It wasn’t polite … but we soon learned, everyone called Egypt ‘Egg-wiped’.)
Very slowly, we were able to piece together what was happening. The Suez Canal Zone needed 6,000 troops urgently and from Blackbushe Airport, Grahame and I flew to Malta for a meal, and then on to Fayid in Egypt. Egypt was in turmoil and once we had landed, we were enveloped in chaos ! We soon learned the meaning of “Abrogation”; the Egyptians had withdrawn all forms of support for the British Army. King George VI died in London and triggered activities throughout the Canal Zone. Egypt’s King Farouk was unpopular and had severed ties with Britain. Beds were found for five of us in the camp of the Long Range Desert Group; these soldiers ragged us mercilessly and, for three or four days, we just sat on our beds waiting for something to happen.
At last, we transferred to GHQ in Fayid and were allocated a four-man tent.
The camp of tents and ablutions in Fayid, Egypt
By good fortune, the four of us renewed friendships from the Chichester days and swopped ‘group numbers’. Grahame and I were 51-17; we would go home to ‘Blighty’ in 21months time. Louis prepared a monthly demob chart; Tony improvised a method for making ‘chi’ by tapping power from the tent’s light bulb. We established a routine for filling the clay ‘chaguls’ with water, and negotiated a method for obtaining supplies of tea and sugar.
Lewis, Tony & Grahame enjoy a ‘cuppa’
Grahame and I were assigned to shift work in Staff Message Control where a Warrant Officer outlined the routines. Twelve hours on and twelve hours off became our daily habit; we received messages from around the world and distributed them to sections of GHQ. Some were ‘Restricted’ or ‘Secret’ or ‘Top Secret’, but often carried urgency, such as “Priority”, “Operational immediate”, or the dreaded “Flash”! Top Secret and Flash had to be in and out in a matter of seconds.
There was a bonus. We were bound to secrecy but learned what was going on in Egypt and how the army was coping with the unrest and the daily upheavals.
After a night shift, there was also an experience. A walk of two miles took us through a small village by the Sweet Water Canal which had a dreadful smell. Here we were plagued to purchase leather wallets and dubious watches.
The native village near Fayid which bridged the Sweet Water canal
It was, however, the route to a Lido by the Great Bitter Lake, where the army had sunk six barges to create an improvised swimming pool. We took the chance to relax by snoozing, roasting and swimming in the warm water of the Great Bitter Lake.
One way of cooling down – a Stella beer at the Lido
During the summer, the GHQ companies trained hard for the athletic games to be held in the Olympia stadium. My pal Grahame worked hard for the 5,000 metres, whereas my choice was the hop, skip and jump. This I had mastered while at high school, back in Motherwell. When I emerged first, the prize was a small silver cup and a round of drinks in the Naafi.
The author’s winning jump at the Olympia Stadium, Egypt
Trouble escalated in Egypt when General Mohamad Naquib coaxed his Free Army officers to revolt and to overthrow the government. Messages continued non-stop and an “Active Service” category became the rule for troops in the Canal Zone. Britain persuaded the unpopular King Farouk to seek exile in Rome and all the moves before his midnight deadline were noted, recorded and transmitted to London. More messages !
Around 3am, when message traffic paused – time for a snapshot
The pressure abated with a respite of two weeks leave at a very pleasant holiday camp for military personnel in Port Said. On return to work and the shift work regime at Staff Message Control, one event cheered me up. My Rifleman status moved to NCO when I received two stripes … even although the shift system demanded concentration and dedication.
Two stripes and a pause for a photograph
Trouble with the Mau Mau in Kenya created a maelstrom of message traffic. In January 1952, Egypt’s police waged an unnecessary battle with the British army in Ismailia. An RAF aircraftsman was kidnapped in Ismailia, another crisis erupted. Rapid messages passed between London’s War Office and the Middle East Land Forces negotiating his release.
Lewis’s ‘demob chart’ was filling up. It was September; our knees were brown and we packed all the summer clothing and personal effects into our kitbags and waited, and waited. When the call came, we climbed aboard a truck and sang on our way to the airport. Bad news followed. The Anson plane was being repaired but after two years, we were familiar with delays and waiting. So … we waited.
51-17 group on the way to Blighty but stalled at the airport
Eventually the plane managed to reach Malta but needed more repairs. As passengers we bussed to a former monastery in a small town, Mtarfa and told to wait. Of course, we waited … and waited … but once we established there would be no movement each day, we took the local bus service into Valletta.
It was a scramble after six days when news filtered through – “Get ready for departure; a bus is leaving for the airport.” Some hours later we had a meal in Malta then it was homeward bound for Blackbushe airport in Surrey. A coach took us to London and the conversation was kind of sentimental as we viewed ‘the green fields’ on either side of the road. The bus load split up and we all went our different ways.
Somehow, Grahame and I reached Winston Barracks in Lanark. It was a Saturday and the kindly duty Sgt Major welcomed us. “Stuff yer kit in there and report back on Monday morning at nine o’clock,” he said … and we quick marched back to Lanark for the bus.
We were home … but realised that we still faced three and a half service in the Territorial Army.
