John (Ian) Allan Baird

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Ian was a guardsman in the Scots Guards from 1942-46. He served in the 6^th Guards Tank Brigade (3^rd Armoured Battalion) – a radio operator/loader in the Churchill tank ‘Barra’, 8 troop, S Squadron – and landed in Normandy on 20 July 1944. He was 19 when he joined up, having been allowed to complete his first year of study at Heriot Watt College (as it was then) in Edinburgh. He returned to his studies after demob.

John (Ian) Baird: back row, far right

[Photos courtesy of Christine Mackenzie]

Personal account

A note from Ian’s daughter:

“Like many others of his generation, Dad never talked much about the war. Sadly, he died in 2011, but in the few months before his death, he did start to tell us about some of his experiences (the good and the bad) and looked out the few photos he had kept from that time. He was also able to claim, retrospectively, his unclaimed war medals.

“Shortly after he died, I found a notebook in which he had started to write down his memories of childhood and early adulthood, including a few notes about his WW2 service. As I read through them, I realised that he hadn’t said anything about the action he was part of, or the horrific sights we now know he saw; rather, what he had chosen to record was his recollections of the small, everyday things and of simple human experiences.

“Below is an excerpt from that notebook and the words are his.”

Memories of 30s, 40s, 50s

1942-46: Service in the 6^th Guards Tank Brigade, 3^rd Tank Battalion Scots Guards

The country being at war, I was eligible for national service, which in my case was service in the Army with the Scots Guards in which I served four and a half years. I also served with the Home Guard for a year (1941) before joining up.

Service was partly in the UK training and partly in Europe chasing the enemy back into his own country. I served in Churchill tanks as a gunner/operator from Normandy through France, Belgium, Holland and Germany; halted at the Danish border, we were told we were not going too near the Reds. I had originally been posted to infantry but injured my foot badly jumping off a cliff on an assault course.

[Note from Ian’s daughter: Dad told us that had it not been for his injured foot, he would have been part of the Normandy Landings on 6 June 1944. He landed in Normandy on 20 July 1944.]

I have many good memories of active service. In action you were constantly in a high state of nervous alert alternated with periods of boredom while the tactics were being thrashed out higher up.

Our life was a sort of nomadic one but, as long as the supply echelon came up with petrol, water and ration boxes, we were independent.

After an action was judged complete we would laager at night in a circle, get the desert stove going (a tin box filled with sand and petrol), get the rations out and have a good meal.

Rations came in boxes and had a variety of mainly tinned food, powdered tea, etc. (The occasional chicken disappeared mysteriously, however.)

If the shelling or mortars was severe we dug a pit, lined it with tarpaulin, and drove the tank over to provide cover.

I was very lucky with the crew I served with almost to the end: Tom the commander, Jimmy the gunner, Joe the driver and Ginger [?] the co-driver, myself as radio operator/gun loader and reserve gunner. Our troop officer was Mr Hickling, and later Mr Gilpin; both were fair and good officers.

I met various civilian inhabitants of the liberated countries, who were of course very grateful to be free and who invited us to their houses, though they had practically nothing to offer us. Occupied Europe was almost starving. Such small gifts we were able to give – soap, cigarettes, tin food – when we were invited in were like manna to them. I was surprised at the large number who spoke English, especially in Holland.

Finally the war ended my demob number came up, 46 I think it was. I came back to England and handed in my army clothes and received instead a civilian suit, hat, shoes and raincoat. Hurrah! I was now a civvy. And ready to start my Building course again at Heriot Watt.

A few incidental memories

At the end of the war our unit (S Squadron, 3^rd Armoured Battalion Scots Guards) finished up in Schleswig-Holstein – a beautiful part of Germany, absolutely untouched. We came across a German Army recuperation-unit for wounded soldiers. It had a beautiful lake and on the water was a huge raft with seats and oars; the wounded rowed or floated gently on the lake in the brilliant sunshine.

In local towns and villages, the local police were ordered to confiscate all guns etc. I saw in one room a magnificent collection of high quality hunting rifles and shotguns. I suspect some found their way to Blighty. I was offered some pistols but I had my own Smith & Weston.

We came across a large work camp for conscripted foreign labour (the Germans bled Europe dry of men and materials); they were mostly Russian. Sure enough, the propaganda machine arrived from Moscow and the big mobile screens with patriotic films and music starting blaring out to tell the people about the Patriotic War and to de-Nazify the inmates. What happened when they were sent back to Russia we never heard, but we suspected.

One day, I was asked to investigate some complaints (the German were great complainers and hand wringers) about Polish men attacking German civilians. Tucking my S&W in a pocket, I went to see. I found a lonely, sad tipsy Pole wandering about. He had apparently broken some furniture in frustration at the German arrogance. By taking his arm, making soothing noises and humming the Polish National Anthem, I guided him back to the guard room where he slept it off.

[Excerpt courtesy of Christine Mackenzie]