An Infantry Officer with the Eighth Army

[Mike_Oettle]

Having just finished reading a most interesting book titled An Infantry Officer with the Eighth Army, I thought I would post an excerpt from the tail end of the book.
Please note that the political content of this excerpt is included for historical interest.
The author was Major H P Samwell, MC. At the time the book was published in 1945, Samwell had been killed in action in the Ardennes. However the book is his reminiscences of service in northern Africa and in Sicily.
During most of the narrative, Samwell was a captain in an Scottish infantry regiment (unnamed in the text, although the men were mostly from Glasgow). However, the only mention of his wearing the kilt comes in the final chapter – from Alamein (Egypt) to Sfax (Tunisia) the only legwear mentioned are khaki drill shorts. He does mention balmorals at one point.
After a time on garrison duty in Sicily, Samwell and a group of fellow officers went across to the American sector and spent a few days off duty in Palermo. He writes:

After unpacking our kit we strolled into the bar, wondering what sort of reception we should get from the American officers. We were wearing the kilt and this cause a great sensation. We were immediately invited into the group round the bar and were stood drinks without limit. Many of those present had never seen a kilt before except in pictures or on the stage, and the couldn’t get over it. More than half of them claimed Scottish ancestors. There was one captain, a real Southerner with a drawl that was almost incomprehensible, who appointed himself our special guardian and host. He arranged for a late drinking pass for us and advised us how to spend our time. He had an appointment twenty miles away at 2pm, but at 3pm he was still with us I hope would not get into trouble.
[Snip]
We visited the cathedral and the palace, the latter showing clear signs of recent German occupation, and then we strolled into a restaurant. We were immediately pounced on by four American NCOs, who insisted on standing us more drinks. Soon we were involved in a furious political debate. The great difference between the British and the American soldier I found was that, while the former (officers included) were usually bored stiff with politics and the why’s and wherefore’s of the war, of which they were appallingly ignorant, the American soldier is intensely interested in both. I enjoyed that debate immensely; the Americans hit out and did not attempt to spare feelings, but they took hard knocks too without showing any resentment. They blamed us violently for Munich and accused us of being “fight shy” in France. With all their intense interest they were shockingly ignorant of Britain generally and the Empire in particular. The usual accusation that we forced the unwilling “colonial” soldiers to fight our battles for us came out early, followed by the extraordinary statement that America had had to pull the chestnuts out of the fire for us again and had had to come and save the situation in Africa, when we were completely licked. They said our people generally were snobbish and unfriendly, and our officers in particular.
We gave as good as we got; they had no answer when I pointed out that the Germans would never have dared to start the war if the Americans had not shirked their world responsibilities between the wars, and in particular in 1938. I reminded them that America had depended on the British Navy to protect their Atlantic seaboard, that we had held out for over a year all alone without a proper army. I pointed out that we had already beaten Rommel before the Americans landed in Africa, and that even after they landed very few of them did any fighting, and those who did had not been conspicuously successful and had had to be helped out by our own First Army, which had already got enough on its hands at the time; that if we had been green in France, they were greener in Africa, in spite of their vastly superior equipment. I admitted that we had had to depend on their equipment, but reminded them that we were fighting their war with it for over two years before they finally joined us, and even then they had allowed themselves to be caught out at Pearl Harbour.
The harder I hit them the more they showed their appreciation, and when we finally broke up (because the bar had closed) they all shook hands warmly and invited us to their Mess to meet the other fellows; for as one said, “You sure have given us something to think about, although I still think you are a lot of b— snobs and you were yellow in France,” and another added, “I guess if the big noises back home would all get down to it like us and stop all this back-scratching, we would soon get to understand each other and really get together.”
We met them again the next day, and for sheer hospitality and good-fellowship one could not have found a better crowd anywhere. This time we were initiated into the mysteries of the Confederate versus Yankees, and all except the “Regular” promptly voted for the South.
[This reference is to one of the officers in the Scottish regiment who was Regular Army, and part English.]
The next evening we had an uproarious party in a big hotel in the suburbs. We ate an enormous quantity of omelettes, which was all that was on the menu, and later on we sang American and Scottish songs. There were about fifteen of us, representing all three Services of both the British and American Forces, and it was the best get-together that could have been devised. We certainly obeyed the instructions we had all received some time previously to do all in our power to establish friendly relations with our American counterparts. But this was no artificially organised meeting for the furtherance of friendly relations between the Allies. This was a spontaneous gathering with real friendship, based on mutual respect and knowledge of eath other’s failings. It was a respect born of straight talking, with no attempt at sugaring, and because of that it succeeded where so mant well-intentioned efforts preceded by flowery speeces of praise had failed. The American appreciates frank speaking, and the blunter it is the better. That is what they are used to and what they miss most in our honest but misguided attempts to act as perfect hosts at home.
I was to go to one of those well-intentioned efforts when I returned home, where I heard a specially picked officer tell at a representative gathering of Americans how grateful we were for the way they had saved us from disaster and how everything we had been able to do was due to their help. That speech must have done terrible harm to the cause it was attempting to further, and it was all I could do to sit through it.
We were very reluctant to leave Palermo, where we had enjoyed American hospitality at its best, and the parting act of kindness left a lasting impression. The American authorities at the hotel refused to accept a penny in payment, and we had lived there like lords for four days!
We returned to find the battalion seething with excitement. We were going home.
A week or so later we were on our way to Britain.

That was the last line of the book.
Regards,
Mike

[davidlpope]

After unpacking our kit we strolled into the bar, wondering what sort of reception we should get from the American officers. We were wearing the kilt and this cause a great sensation. We were immediately invited into the group round the bar and were stood drinks without limit. Many of those present had never seen a kilt before except in pictures or on the stage, and the couldn’t get over it. More than half of them claimed Scottish ancestors. There was one captain, a real Southerner with a drawl that was almost incomprehensible, who appointed himself our special guardian and host. He arranged for a late drinking pass for us and advised us how to spend our time. He had an appointment twenty miles away at 2pm, but at 3pm he was still with us I hope would not get into trouble.[/FONT]
[Snip]
We met them again the next day, and for sheer hospitality and good-fellowship one could not have found a better crowd anywhere. This time we were initiated into the mysteries of the Confederate versus Yankees, and all except the “Regular” promptly voted for the South.[/FONT]
[This reference is to one of the officers in the Scottish regiment who was Regular Army, and part English.]

I found these portions particularly interesting, in light of current discussions re: Americans' interest in Scottish culture. I guess the same tendency was there at least as far back as WWII.

Cordially,

David

[English Bloke]

Cheers Mike. I'll have to get hold of a copy of that.

[Woot22]

Outstanding, thanks for sharing, this definitely made me smile.

[Sharkman]

Thanks for sharing that bit of history.

Speaking for myself, as an American, I have to say that I sometimes find our fondness for being blundt a little unnerving for some folks. I am often guilty of being a little too honest and I'm sometimes reminded that it is not necessarily a character strength.

The fact that these men could dish it out and take it, and still have a good time during such a difficult time in history is a great example of how we should all try to hear each other out.

[theborderer]

Book is available at www.UKBookWorld.com at 12.95 GBP and he accepts Paypal. Ive just ordered one.

[OC Richard]

Thank you so much for sharing that!

What a fantastic passage.

I find very interesting, especially, the comments about the Americans appreciating blunt speech.

Sometimes we don't realise aspects of ourselves until we encounter contrasting aspects among others. Regarding blunt speech, my two coworkers from New York City are much more blunt and likely to say what they think and put everything on the table than the rest of the people at my workplace are. (Nearly all of us are Californians, either born here or lived most of our lives here.)

Most of us find the New Yorkers' bluntness refreshing. They say out loud what we are all thinking. Our tendency is to, as the officer above said, "sugarcoat" everything. I suppose California is a very "PC" place.

But one of our employees does NOT find our New Yorkers' bluntness refreshing. He finds it offensive. Interestingly he is not a Californian but from rural Canada.