Letter : The Green Grass

Introduction

My uncle, Allan Stoddart died in 2004 leaving a widow, Jean with many happy memories and a collection of war time letters he had written, some photographs, diaries and memorabilia. Allan had wanted to tell his story and maybe he did tell some of it but it was never recorded. Jean has given me his letters and so far I have transcribed those written to my parents, Florence and Bill and a few to Allan’s mother. Using extracts from some of the letters, photographs and memorabilia and information from diaries, a small glimpse of his story is now told. Jean and I understand the site’s terms and conditions.

Allan enlisted in Dundee in January 1940 and was UK based until he sailed on the troop ship, S.S. Almanzora with the 5th Division Signals to India in March 1942. Over the next 3 years, the war took him from India to Iraq, Iran, Iraq, Syria, Egypt, Sicily (landings), Italy (including Anzio), Egypt, Palestine, Syria, Palestine, Italy, Palestine, Italy, (home leave), Belgium, Germany. The 5th Division moved about so much they were nicknamed the “Cooks Tour Mob”.

This Letter

Censorship restrictions meant that Allan could not say where he was in this letter to my parents, but from his diary entries I know that the division was based at a French Military Barracks on the outskirts of Damascus, Syria.

Letter

2332853
Sigmn Stoddart A
“A” Section,
No.1 Company,
5th British Div. Signals,
M.E.F.

21 February 1943

Dear Florence and Bill,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I’m sorry I can’t give you any description of the present country, people, or customs, which I gather interest you and certainly interest me also. I may be able to do so at some future date and then I’ll make a story of them. I can only say that I like the present surroundings very much, since we happen to be nearer “civilisation” than we have been for some time and that the journey here was a very interesting experience. I actually saw some grass on the way. You people who live in a land like Scotland and especially (from what I’ve heard of it) in such a part of it as Culter, just fail to appreciate the beauty of green grass. Now, if you have been deprived of sight of green grass for some time and then suddenly see it again, you would realise how beautiful it actually is. That is what happened to me. I realised how much I’d been missing. It was like a tonic to the eyes, something to be sincerely thankful for. No, I can’t describe it and if I make any further attempts I guess you’ll be coming to the conclusion that I’m one of the species which eat grass — a horse, or something of the sort.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Hearing of your experience on returning from the library aroused my deep sympathy because I have had a few of a similar nature. I remember particularly one night on guard in the last country. It was as black as Egypt’s night, only as you know it wasn’t Egypt’s night. The guard tent was well out in the blue and far away from my own little “tumboo” where I was having supper. I put on my small pack, slung my rifle and with a large bundle of blankets on the other shoulder, strode out manfully into the night, feeling like Capt. Oates. All my apprehensions were justified. About an hour later I staggered into the guard tent. I had exhausted everything including my extensive knowledge of army language. And I had practically toured all the camps within a five mile radius, complete with blankets, pack and rifle!
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Affectionately
Allan

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