Erskine from The River Clyde

Being one of only four Korean veterans in the hospital, Hughie enjoys a special relationship with the Korean/Scots Association who visit him often. Alcohol understandably plays an important part in the life of many patients who can find it difficult locked in a wheelchair unable to do many things we able bodied take for granted. I smile when I recall many of the characters I've had the pleasure to meet over the years and their SOMETIMES believable tales of heroism during the varoius wars and fights throughout the world in the last century. When you learn how they had Hitler and his cronies wishing to emulate Houdini, what chance have nursing staff detecting a few gallons of liquor smuggled into the ward. To some, it is the only pleasure they have left in life, though it is also true there are some with problems of abuse.
Very often, due to their various disabilities, outside assistance is required and it's amazing the people who have become recruits over the years! How can anyone betray the trust and responsibility placed upon certain individuals is beyond me, but there have been a few in the past. Coded conversations and signals add to the mysterious atmosphere whenever there is a shipment due. Wheelchairs facing particular objects or people, help create a language and communications system the envy of many sophisticated computerised lines. The satisfaction gained from continual victories over the establishment, highlights the sadness many feel at the apparent failure of society to recognise their plight.
Excess alcohol leaves us all disabled, so in many ways these guys (and gals), with their experience, have a much better chance of survival than those who only find themselves in the condition occasionally, bringing a new meaning to the expression 'legless'!
A blanket of depression fills the air whenever one of the patients passes on, and this becomes more frequent as second world war veterans, the majority of residents, age accordingly. Being of a generation where pain and destruction was part of life, death holds no fears for most, and for many the opposite applies. Gods army of soldiers contains many from the ranks of Erskine and I had to laugh when one afternoon on a visit to the crematorium to bid farewell to three patients, I discovered the organisers had inadvertently arranged for a complete stranger to be cremated after our number two and before number three. Our practice would be to take up position within the chapel where we would not intrude if the deceased had any family or friends present and at the same time be prominent if, as often was the case, no-one appeared. It is indeed sad when there are only four people at the service. However due to our immobility, we decided to remain where we were when the stranger was cremated. Many of the poor mans entourage shook hands while we continued to pretend we were aquainted! God forgive us.
Attending so many services teaches the routines, but in no way diminishes the respect and sadness felt.
More than 700 residents in Erskine Hospital had a giant flitting in September 2000 when they packed up their old kit bags and moved a few hundred yards into newly built state-of-the-art accomodation where each patient would have a room to themselves.
Former Spitfire pilot Robert Kirkwood (79)(pictured right), admitted he would not miss the old Nightingale wards which had served them well since 1916.
Hughie, who moved into his new home, Erskine Mains, a few months back, has been lucky enough to have a few items published in Erskine's own magazine 'TARGET' which has a huge circulation. I include a copy of two of them for your 'entertainment'?

PUSAN 1950

The Laxative Cake

I well remember we were North of Suwon supporting the infantry with our 8 Hussars tank guns as they fought to regain lost ground. By dusk they had achieved their objective and were digging in. We pulled back to a safe leaguer to bomb up and refuel.
Word went round that there would be mail coming up that night, so naturally we all looked forward to a word from home.
When it did arrive there was a roll of newspapers for Chalky White, couple of letters for Dusty Miller and yes, a parcel for me.
The world stood still whilst I read the shaky hand of my mother. I opened the parcel to find a packet of Woodbines, half a pound of my favourite sweets, a pair of knitted fingerless gloves and there in the middle of the box, a home made fruit cake.
The other three members of our tank crew looked, their mouths almost watering as I cut myself a small wedge. "Oh, Okay then, but only a taste" I said and cut them a thin slice each. Now I don't know if it was because I hadn't had anything like this for so long or because mum made it, but that cake was great. The others thought so as well, alas, almost too soon, there was only a small piece left, sadly, I ate it.
It was then that I got the idea - why not make a cake myself? We had flour, eggs, sugar, a form of mixed fruit, yes the more I thought of it, the more I liked the idea!
Opportunity came sometime later. We were engaged in position just lobbing the odd shell over the hill towards the enemy. I was assured we would be there all day, so out came the ingredients, and the metal ammo box that we used as an oven. It was then that I realised that we had no baking powder. Not being a cook, I thought that must be essential, so I packed it all away again.
A couple of weeks later I met up with the cook sgt. "What do you want baking powder for?" he asked.
"To make a cake" I replied. "I'm not going to open a 14lb tin to give you a pinch." Then as an afterthought he added, "Got any Andrews?" "Yes" I said. "Well" he continued "put as much Andrews as you can balance on the handle end of the spoon into your mix" and off he went.
Gunner and I returned to the tank to find everyone packing things up. We were on the move again.
It was ages later before I had the chance again to make my cake. When the chance came, I got everything ready, then stopped. I went to the Gunner and said "How much of Andrews did the cook Sgt. say I want in this cake!!?"
The Gunner thought for a minute then said "level spoonful? I think!"
Well it frothed up like a pint of Irish brew. However I mixed it all up and put it in the greased mess tin and gave it two hours.
When I opened the door it came at me like something possessed. The nearest thing I had to mum's knitting needle with which to stick it with was the spike on my jack knife. It gave off a very rude noise and sank down. I waited for another hour before looking again. This time it looked perfect. The smell was like a magnet bringing all the lads round to see what was going on. When it cooled I turned it out and thought it looked nice, smelt nice, but somehow I didn't want any! So I cut it up and handed it round.
Everyone seemed to think that I had done a great job, but the next morning, my pals were running for the bushes and coupling my name with many rude comments!

Freedom at a Price!!!

I'll never forget the price I personally paid for our freedom in Europe when VE day arrived.
Still a plooky faced kid in shorts, and eager to earn some spare cash, I was running errands for a more prosperous and generous neighbour, Daisy Graham, who treated me like another son while her kids were at boarding school and her husband Tommy was serving in the RAF.
Delighted at the prospect of her family returning home, Daisy had doubled my wages to 2/-, which I put with my prized possesions in the gas mask box affectionately known as my best friend, forever slung over my shoulder, as instructed by my parents.
With celebrations and parties everywhere, Daisy took me to one of the many bonfires on the banks of the River Clyde at Govan. The one chosen was in the dry dock, enabling us to look down on it safely and the excitement and joy was fantastic. It ended with almost everyone throwing their gas masks onto the bonfire, including yours truly, who later remembered the two bob was still in the box!
Hoping to retrieve my silver coin, I rose early next morning and hurried down to rake through the ashes, only to discover the dock had been flooded and a ship was being brought in!!!
Victory in Europe had been costly for me at the time, but still worth every penny, after more than fifty years of peace!
P.S. If anybody finds a two bob bit, burnt on both sides...............

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