The Skirl o' the Pipes

Onboard HMS Wallace by Harry Hargreaves

From the BBC archives WW2 people at War (Article ID A2452682 contributed on 22 March 2004)

" Being born in Yorkshire, then joining the Royal Navy at a very early age (15) I had never heard the Bagpipes either singly or in a band. Once in the Navy, in the training establishment, I met several men from Scotland who, in conversation often referred to them, usually in a spirit of rivalry, saying their local Band was the best etc, etc,. I must admit I couldn’t see what they were getting all hot and bothered about. I had yet to learn the absolute loyalty and, yes, devotion that many Scot’s have to their favourite instrument. When I tried to understand I was classed as an ignorant “Sassenach”. I laughed at the usual jokes such as “Why does a Piper walk up and down while he is playing”. The answer being (much to the anger of the Scot’s, “Because he is trying to get away from the noise he is making’.

When I joined my first ship it was a different story. It seemed that almost every Capital ship had a sailor or Marine who could play the pipes. Destroyer flotillas could also produce at least one from one of the Flotilla who was proficient on the Pipes. The result was that on leaving or entering harbour we would get an unofficial greeting from a Piper standing on a Turret or on the foc’sle of a destroyer. I have to admit that the sound, coming across the water, had an almost ethereal touch to it.

When the war started the sound of the bagpipes became almost commonplace. Scottish regiments seemed to be everywhere and, as we spent a great deal of time going into Scottish ports with a name like HMS Wallace we couldn’t escape the greetings. To me, the Pipes seemed to have an underlying sound of sorrow no matter what they played. Certainly they were always prominent at funerals all over the world. You have only to watch the funeral of some dignitary or policeman or fireman who in any city in the United States is given a ceremonial funeral to become aware of the prominence of the Pipes. However I digress from my war story.

I have previously on this site described the evacuation from the French ports, particularly Cherbourg. I omitted this incident as it brought back thoughts and memories I did not want. Reading inputs I find, however, so many who would like to know the details no matter how heartrending they are. If you read “Where are they now” you will see how this incident fits. As we were alongside picking up the last of the troops to be able to leave Cherbourg a body of men marched three deep down the jetty led by a piper. Despite the explosions of demolition charges and the bombers and the mass of debris and abandoned vehicles they seemed to keep in formation and in step. The sound of the pipes came to us quite distinctly despite the noise all around us. The Captain signalled to the Officer in Charge to hurry and get his men onboard. Instead he halted his men and rapidly made his way to the bridge.

He ignored the other Army officers as if they didn’t exist. Addressing the Captain he explained that he needed all the ammunition he could get in order to maintain the defence of the port area in his sector. The Captain explained that we were the last possible ship to leave and he should get his men onboard in a hurry. He countered by saying that he had other orders. We supplied them with all the small arms ammunition that we had and then they raided the abandoned vehicles and stocked up with boxes. They reassembled and with the boxes carried between each two marched back the way they came with the piper playing his heart out. For the first time I was moved to tears which I tried hurriedly to conceal.

My next encounter with the Skirl O’ the Pipes was at sea. With a name like HMS Wallace operating out of a port in Scotland I suppose it was normal to think we were manned by Scotsmen. The truth was we only had one onboard and he was no piper. We were operating in what was classed as one of the most dangerous if not the most dangerous stretch of water through which convoys had to be escorted. The proximity of enemy held territory, the narrow channels and the sandbanks with the shallow water made every trip a nightmare. It was a very rare day when we were not attacked by dive bombers and as we reached to pass the Wash the enemy E boats (torpedo boats) would, after dark, join the attack and inevitably we would lose two or three ships of the Convoy.

Sometimes we would rendezvous and take over the onward protection of ships destined North from a Channel convoy. The escorts would vary but we seemed to meet one particular destroyer quite regularly. It was one of the old V and W class destroyers. Built to serve in WW1 but doing great service despite ancient weapons and design with terribly cramped quarters to cater for the modern equipment that had been added. They had a piper and when we arrived to literally exchange convoys they would greet us with the piper on the foc’sle and over a calm sea you could hear him for miles. It was a source of great amusement and ribald messages were exchanged between the two Captains.

In order that the Commodore of the convoy could know the name of each destroyer a board about twenty foot long and two foot wide was fastened on each side near the stern. On this board the name of the ship was painted in large white letters. The ships in the convoy also had such a name board and it certainly made life easier for the signalmen.

In January 1942 we were engaged in our routine convoy task and were told to take over the northbound portion of a channel convoy. We were given the names of the escort which included our friendly piper. While half way down the coast we received a change of orders which designated a different escort to be met. This change of plans was not at all unusual and we never gave it a passing thought. We arrived at the rendezvous point and could see the approaching northbound ships with their escort. At that moment the port look out reported object in the water. To us this could mean anything from flotsam to a floating mine so the ship heeled sharply to starboard.

We rushed to the side to see what the object was. It was the name board of our friendly piper. We hoped it had broken loose but, as we exchanged this thought, there came, borne to us on the icy wind, the sound of the bagpipes. The ships of the convoy were passing us by at a distance.. We convinced ourselves it was coming from one of them but despite the fact that they were moving away the level of the sound seemed to remain constant, it faded only when we moved away and left the name board behind. Sailors are superstitious creatures so all these years I have tried to convince myself it was a sheer coincidence. On arrival back in our home port we learned that our friendly piper had been sunk by a mine.

Ever since that time the sound of the pipes has taken me back to live in vivid detail these incidents again."
 

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