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Pte. Joseph Russell
British Army 7th Btn. Argyll & Sutherland Highlanders
from:Springburn, Glasgow
In 1965 my grandfather Joseph Russell wrote a set of memoirs (hand-written in ink) and sent copies off to my father and my uncle. These memoirs record his experiences during the war. There is a section on his memories of the camp at Ripon in 1916.
"... My brothers and cousins came with me to St. Enoch station, Glasgow to bid me good-bye, Alec (his brother), had already been severely wounded in the Battle of Loos, so much so that the Army authorities had to discharge him from all further service. The journey to Leeds and then to Ripon was uneventful so I arrived on time in order to prepare for the great adventure to France where life seemed to be much cheaper than muddy water.
The march of four hundred 51st Division of Highland soldiers armed to the teeth down from North Camp to Ripon station a distance of a mile and a half and led by Pipe bands was certainly no silent affair. The scenes were indescribable, the animal natures of men seemed to be predominant, even the writer seemed to have gone hay-wire yet I was brought up in the fear of God. Army training in war time either creates a recoiling product in the mind or a moulded product into its image, if a recoiling product then heavy measures are engineered whereby the stereotyped condition becomes plastic through a high fahrenheit of tears. Fear of death is not so much a means of escape from the toiling, unmitigated and unending burden of viewing slaughter and blood rather than the cancelling of the telegram which brings continuity of despair and grief to those whom you love. We board the train at Ripon station, it is crowded with people, civilians and soldiers, the excitement of war in action has now generated into a passionate flame, the last is without description, I'm sure that not even a bugle can have been heard above its noise.
I had a hundred and two rounds of ammunition in my equipment so I put a clip of five rounds in my magazine. On the station platform stood Major X he was our official conductor from the Camp to the station and I had a score to settle with him, then immediately across the road on the near side of the platform was encamped a battalion of Yorkshires and I didn't like them. The reason was this, the Major was a bullying brute, he had two golden chevrons on his left sleeve, signifying that he was wounded twice in action yet his reputation was incorporated in his nick-name "more sandbags", the soldiers who knew him in action said that if a sniper's bullet hit the top of his deep dug-out then the parapet must be reinforced to make it doubly secure.
Again, while I was under a slight narcotic of alcohol one Saturday night in the town of Ripon I wandered aimlessly or maybe not into the Yorkshire Camp and my mind as I write is as clear as if it happened yesterday. No doubt I was aggressive but I don't think their action was justifiable or warrantable by the extent of my crime. I got into their physical instructors hut for N.C.O.s, my outstanding portrait is of a man about half a head taller than myself, he had a small gingerly moustache and was wearing a white jersey. I don't remember seeing trousers for all I could see of him was from his elbows upwards. What followed is in the darkness of oblivion and all I know is that I came to on the Sunday morning lying on the floor of a wash-house belonging to the Yorkshires. A gift I got from my sister a wrist watch with a spring bracelet was ruined with blood and water and my face resembled a butcher's shop, for this I got three days detention but I swore revenge on the Yorkshires. The moment had now arrived, the Major and the Yorkshires, the guard's whistle sounded, I have five rounds in my magazine, I extended my mark VII rifle out of the open window, I saw the Major about forty yards down the platform towering above everyone under the station canopy. I took aim and fired two shots; not to hit him but in a line between the top of his head and the glass roof of the canopy, when I looked up he was taking a nose dive down the stairs to get out of sight and no doubt shouting "more sand bags".
The Yorkshire Camp was now in full view, there could have been about a hundred tents and men were walking to and fro, raising my rifle I fired three quick shots into the Camp then withdrawing it I turned to the soldiers in compartment, they looked speechless as if they were afraid to speak in case I would have turned my rifle on them. I aimed not at any man with the intent to kill although it could have happened in the Yorkshire Camp, momentarily I had gone hay-wire with recrimination. I half anticipated that the train would be stopped for investigation but luck seemed to be on my side as well as the Yorkshires in the Camp...."
