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A quick note to say that I will not be posting any blogs post for a little while, by reason of a relatively sudden admission to hospital.

I will be back though, when normal service wil be resumed.

As a young man, I used to go camping around Scotland with my friend, Bill. We used to travel around the perimeter of the country in a clockwise direction, beginning in Glasgow, and then northwards to the top left hand corner of  Scotland at Cape Wrath. After that we headed eastwards for John O’Groats and then returned home southwards along the east coast to Edinburgh and England.

I used to take slides with my trusty Voigtländer camera. I was then able to bore people silly on wet Thursday evenings. I recently found all my slides, packed away in a very large box in the attic, but unfortunately, there were a good few which I could not identify. When I got round to doing it, one or two of the slides also suffered during the conversion process into digital images, usually acquiring either an overall blue or purple cast, or, on other occasions, with the image being much darker than it had originally been. Even so. many of these fifty year old slides had a certain value of their own.

Going northwards on the west coast, seeing the extremely steep road at Applecross is an absolute must. Here is a view of it, relatively close to the top. The white dots are sheep……

Not every part of Scotland is hard volcanic rock. This area was mainly limestone which, around 10,000 B.C., enabled the water from the melting ice cap to carve out hundreds of caverns and tunnels underneath the slowly moving glacier. When the glaciers had finally departed, any tunnels or caverns might well collapse, leaving this rather  bizarre landscape of roof supports……

The mountains in the very north west are not as high as they are further south around Ben Nevis or further east in the Cairngorms. Once again, the pattern is a landscape scrubbed clean by vast sheets of ice with just a few moderate mountains sprinkled on it…….

I have wondered for a number of years, given the number of people who leave the Highlands for the big cities, how many of these peaks will have had their names forgotten in ten or twenty years’ time. These are quite a lot of mountains in this area. Who will live near them to remember their names? And who will still speak Gaelic to pronounce those names?

The language still spoken by many in the Highlands belongs to the Celtic family of languages and is called Gaelic, pronounced “G-A-L-L-I-C” and certainly not “G-A-R-L-I-C”.

Another spectacular mountain I liked a lot was Suilven, the so-called “Sugar Loaf Mountain”…..

Here it is from a rather spectacular angle. Just look how many cars are filling the one street of the village. Climbers must have been queuing to attempt the summit, a bit like Everest nowadays….

Let’s finish with one or two of the more famous landmarks in this region of Scotland. First of all, here is the entrance and some of the interior of Smoo Cave, near Durness. The cave itself is simply gigantic, a fine example of how well limestone can dissolve in glacial water. Nowadays the cave is lit up with a selection of coloured floodlights. When I was there, you needed to have brought your own torch……

Perhaps the second most famous mountain in this area is Stac Polliaidh (pronounced “Stac polly”). It is a fantastic viewpoint over the rest of the mountains in the region. It has this rather dishevelled look to it, as if it were the first ever Punk Mountain. Stac Pollaidh is not particularly high but it can be dangerous if you aren’t careful. There are paths to the top, but the are all very steep and they give you a excellent chance of falling to your death…..

Right in the very, very north west corner of Scotland the countryside can be extremely unexpected.  It has many enormous sand dunes and I wish I had taken more photographs of them. Here’s the only one I could find…..

My last slide for today shows the view at sunset from the north of the Isle of Skye, looking beyond the Outer Hebrides towards the Faroes, Iceland, Greenland and Canada.

It is worth pointing out that this particular slide did did not acquire that reddish-pink cast during some conversion course on the computer. This was 1975, one of the hottest, driest and best summers of the late twentieth century,

In my early twenties. in the 1970s, some fifty years ago now, I used to go camping around Scotland with my friend, Bill. We used to travel around the perimeter of Scotland in a clockwise fashion, with a route through Glasgow, then up to the north-west corner of Scotland at Cape Wrath, then to the north-east corner at John O’Groats and then home southwards along the east coast to Edinburgh and England. In those days we used to camp where we could find a reasonable place to do so…..”wild camping”, it used to be called. As long as we left no mess, the landowners didn’t seem to bother. I used to take slides with my trusty Voigtländer and was then able to bore people rigid with my slide show “The Geology of the Western Highlands”.

I found all my slides recently, in a very large box in the attic, but unfortunately, there were a good few which I could not identify. One or two of them had also suffered during their conversion into digital images, usually with either an overall blue or purple cast being added to the image, or, on other occasions, with the image being much darker than it had originally been.

This 45 year old slide shows a long forgotten glen in the Highlands. It is probably a little darker as a digital image after going through the conversion process from the original slide…..

One of the most famous places in Western Scotland is the Isle of Skye.  It has two very famous ranges of mountains. This hill here is one of the Red Cuillins, based on sandstone and not very difficult or dangerous to climb. According to legend, a Viking princesss is buried at the summit. Here is my best photograph of this brightly coloured mountain. Sadly, many of my world class photographs of its summit were minced up by the scanner in its efforts to change them from greeny-purple to red………

The next slide is of a very famous view on the Isle of Skye, namely not the Red Cuillins, but the Black Cuillins, long reputed as being the only mountain walk in Britain which cannot be completed without the use of climbing equipment.

In front  of us are the ruins of an old farmer’s house, probably a victim of the Highland Clearances. Alternatively, they may be the ruins of the school house in the village, which was called “Elgol”……

These ruins here may be of a cottage. Sorry about the Purple Haze………

Moving backwards slightly reveals the remains of a cliff, now eroded down to just forty or fifty feet in height…….

I have always loved to watch clouds drift along the face of a mountain. This is one of the Cuillins in the previous picture, with heavy mist swirling in one of the corries visible in the slides above. A “corrie” can also be called a “cirque” or a “cwm“.

At a different site is the so-called “Old Man of Storr” which is 160 feet tall, “the same height as eleven double decker buses stacked on each other!” Other pinnacles surround it, and I well remember how bizarre they all were, as we climbed up to them through thick fog…..

The western side of the Isle of Skye has some enormous sea cliffs. I think that this slide may have been taken close to the so-called “Kilt Rock” where the different patterns made by the various different rocks give the impression that the cliffs are made of tartan.

I couldn’t resist. though, a few more pictures of the Cuillins. The beach they are taken from is the same one we have seen before, called “Elgol”. These three slides were all taken at the end of a rainy, relatively dark day……

In this rather dark slide the ruined house and the little cliff both make a special guest appearance……as does a plank, washed off the deck of a tramp steamer in the Caribbean Sea, perhaps……..

Last but not least, some blue sky peeks under the dark clouds of the late morning……

This last slide is a good example of one of the  great problems of using this type of film rather than the type that will eventually produce a wallet of some 36 colour photographs. Slides always seem to be dark, often in light conditions which ought to produce a superior end product.

My three previous blog posts about the Battle of the Somme were all based on the extensive researches of the English historian, Peter Barton, who has spent many years as a “battlefield guide” in the Somme area. He was the first person ever to consult the German language military archives and I was amazed to find that he was the only English historian who had looked at them in a whole century.

He discovered, for example, that the Germans from August 1916 onwards, were beginning to change their tactics, with many of the changes heavily reliant on skilful camouflage. Here’s a genuine 100 year old camouflage scheme from an aeroplane called the  Rumpler Taube……

From late 1916 onwards, the Germans began to renounce their previous doctrines of heavily fortified defensive lines with numerous bunkers forty foot underground and countless tons of concrete protecting their troops. Instead, they began to start making extensive use of shell holes, with a man in each, hidden by a tarpaulin over him. In this way, whole machine gun crews might become almost completely invisible. And the Germans, of course, always had huge numbers of machine guns……

This more simple arrangement would go on to take the place of trenches and to replace what had gone before with what was called “defence in depth” with “every position defended to the last man”.

You’ve seen this picture before, but I make no excuses for re-using an image with such unbelievable numbers of machine guns in it. What’s the collective name? A rattle of machine guns? A maximum of Maxim guns?

Frequently, the German soldiers operated in teams with each team responsible for the defence of a specific area. Within the team, each man usually had his own job, such as flame thrower, mortar crew and so on. This made immediate counter attack much easier, and arrangements were constantly being revised. Eventually, the members of the defensive teams would begin to be called “stormtroopers”. Here is a platoon of them, with a selection of different weapons……….

The Germans always studied the tactics of their opponents, particularly when the latter were using their tanks in combat. The Germans did not particularly favour tanks, but the Australians, British and Canadians did, and every German soldier, even those in the lowest ranks, was encouraged to analyse what had occurred in an engagement, and, if necessary, to make criticism of it themselves. Anything particularly significant could be circulated around the army in hours. Here’s a German tank. I wonder what a “Schnuck” is?

Let’s finish withj two more Funfacts…..

Funfact One

In battle, the British always attacked in enormous numbers, but the Germans seemed to have better communication and always to be completely aware of what was going on, and to be completely capable of dealing with anything the British or French got up to.

Funfact Two

An innovation based, I believe, on the Canadian tactics at Courcelette in 1916, the Allies’ so-called “creeping barrage”, was an effort to cut casualties among their own troops attacking over no-man’s-land. It was, though, frequently difficult for the advancing troops to keep up with the barrage and they were often left vulnerable to enemy fire. Equally frequently, friendly fire would take a heavy toll.

Here’s a diagram. As the troops go forward, the artillery is fired at whichever enemy troops are directly in their way. The attackers are relatively safe behind the carpet of shells as it creeps gradually forward…..

Funfact Three

In the attack on Boom Ravine on February 17th 1917, around 2,000 Allied troops were killed. From the way the German artillery operated over the course of the day, and the timing of their use, it was widely believed at the time that they had been informed by treachery on the previous day, by British POWs already in German hands and by British deserters who preferred to surrender rather than risk their own lives going “over the top”. Other similar events were not unheard of, but what made it an important first was that they had never previously been described in any written accounts published later about the battle.

And that’s it. And I would strongly recommend that you record and watch Peter Barton’s “From Both Sides of the Wire” if you ever get a chance to do so in the future. It is a refreshing look at the First World War by a man who has literally, tramped every inch of the fields where the war took place, explaining carefully to his battlefield visitors the real truth of how events unfolded. Channels such as Discovery, PBS, and Smithsonian frequently dedicate a whole day to programmes on the same subject, often for public holidays or weekends. That’s your best chance if you want to see all three programmes.

Funfact Four

I actually have a piece of World War 1 aircraft fabric taken from a crashed German aircraft. It comes to me via my Grandfather, Will Knifton, who served with the 19th Canadian Field Artillery. The aircraft in question was shot down, and the Canadian soldiers all rushed straight out of their trenches to cut a souvenir from the wreckage with their bayonets. Here is the piece of fabric that Will managed to grab. Note the relatively complex use of different colours for camouflage purposes, unlike the planes of the RFC…..

As you may have seen from previous blog posts, in 2010, I went with my family to visit the RAF Museum at Hendon. It wasn’t all aircraft at Hendon, though. There were lots of non-flying objects and various pieces of metal rescued/liberated from aircraft as they awaited their turn in the scrapyard. And there were the medals of some very brave men……

Here is the Victoria Cross won posthumously by Ian Bazelgette, a Canadian from Calgary in Alberta and a pilot of No. 635 Squadron, Bomber Command, RAF:

Here’s the citation……

“When nearing the target his Lancaster came under heavy anti-aircraft fire. Both starboard engines were put out of action and serious fires broke out in the fuselage and the starboard main-plane. The bomb aimer was badly wounded.

As the deputy “master bomber” had already been shot down, the success of the attack depended on Squadron-Leader Bazalgette and this he knew. Despite the appalling conditions in his burning aircraft, he pressed on gallantly to the target, marking and bombing it accurately. That the attack was successful was due to his magnificent effort.

After the bombs had been dropped the Lancaster dived, practically out of control. By expert airmanship and great exertion Squadron-Leader Bazalgette regained control. But the port inner engine then failed and the whole of the starboard main-plane became a mass of flames.

Squadron-Leader Bazalgette fought bravely to bring his aircraft and crew to safety. The mid-upper gunner was overcome by fumes. Squadron-Leader Bazalgette then ordered those of his crew who were able to leave by parachute to do so. He remained at the controls and attempted the almost hopeless task of landing the crippled and blazing aircraft in a last effort to save the wounded bomb aimer and helpless air gunner. With superb skill, and taking great care to avoid a small French village nearby, he brought the aircraft down safely. Unfortunately it then exploded and this gallant officer and his two comrades perished.

His heroic sacrifice marked the climax of a long career of operations against the enemy. He always chose the more dangerous and exacting roles. His courage and devotion to duty were beyond praise.”

Ian Willoughby Bazalgette was one of the individual RAF airmen that my Dad, Fred, as a member of 20 OTU came into regular contact with. Bazalgette was reputed by some of his contemporaries to have been a concert pianist.  He apparently had the habit of flying when others either could not or would not, go up into the air. It was as if he just wanted to experience how rough the weather could be or was seeking the thrills of being aloft when conditions really were too dangerous for flying.

Eventually Bazalgette was to win the Victoria Cross. There were, however, those, Fred Knifton included, who thought that he was the kind of pilot who would end up by getting other people killed. How ironic that was, given the circumstances of his death!

All this, of course, contrasted very strongly with Fred’s more usual opinion of bomber pilots, a group of men to whom, after all, he had frequently had to entrust his life. Fred saw the best pilots as steady characters, who could always be trusted to push on slowly but surely, and to get the job done. They formed a strong contrast with the fighter pilots, who were far more extrovert characters, capable of great triumph, but also perhaps of great failure. Not so the pilot of the four engined bomber which slogged on through thick and thin like some very, very deadly old bus.

Research has revealed that Bazalgette, despite his own wishes to form a new Pathfinder unit, was stationed with 20 OTU at Lossiemouth from September 1943, as commander of ‘C’ Flight. He was not transferred away, to No. 635 (Pathfinder) Squadron, until April 20th 1944, when he became a flight commander with the rank of Squadron Leader.

Presumably then, Fred must have been present with 20 OTU at Lossiemouth at some point in this period of September 1943-April 1944. He could well have been at Lossiemouth both before and after Bazalgette’s time there.

Fred also spoke of “Pedlar Palmer” who, to give him his correct name, was Robert Anthony Maurice Palmer. He too, like Bazalgette, was with 20 OTU at Lossiemouth.

According to Fred’s own handwritten notes, discovered after his death in 2003, Palmer was posted to 20 OTU as a Flight Sergeant after finishing a tour of operations with 75 Squadron at Feltwell on February 13th 1941. He was then promoted to Pilot Officer in January 1942, while still at Lossiemouth.

Serving briefly alongside Bazalgette in ‘C’ Flight, he too wanted to return to operations, and his wish was granted on November 9th 1943, when he was transferred to the Pathfinder Force at RAF Warboys. He was then posted to 109 Squadron in January 1944 and eventually went on, after his promotion to Squadron Leader, to win a Distinguished Flying Cross on June 30th 1944, while flying a Mosquito. Six months later, on December 23rd 1944, Palmer attacked Cologne, this time in a Lancaster, and won a posthumous Victoria Cross. He was buried at Rheinberg.

And here is the badge of 103 Squadron where my Dad, Fred Knifton, served. In his time they were stationed at Elsham Wolds in north Lincolnshire. There are lots of squadron badges at Hendon:

And here’s our final picture, a photograph of a piece of nose art, on the nose belonging to a captured Argentinian  FMA IA 58 Pucará.

And from closer up:

Well, I got “Fuerza Aerea Argentina”. I have no idea what “Rescate” means, though. Just look how the Argentinian pilot had a Scottish surname.