Letter

The following is a transcription of a letter to my grandmother from the mother of of her first husband
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3 Pilmor Links

St Andrews

Fife

20th Sept 1945

My dear Margaret

I am sending you a copy of the letter I received from the brigadier commanding the forces defending the Retimo area during the battle of Crete. I also send some information from Major Mitford who managed to escape.

Jack Tarry says the word "impaled" should read "bellied" and for a tank to get "bellied" is a nightmare to tank crews. Tanks are so low set on the ground it is easy to happen, the wheels go round and the tank won't move.

Poor dear Vin must have been terribly worried at it happening at such a serious time and it was very brave of him to get out to see to it. I think he must have tried to get a hatchet or something to remove the obstacle when he was shot from Hill A.

I will let you know if I hear any more and if you hear anything will you let me know?

When Peter becomes a man he will want to know how his father "covered himself with glory at Retimo" to use the brigadier's words.

With much love dear Margaret

Kate C Simson

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The following is a transcription of the copy of the letter referred to above from the Brigadier to my grandmother's mother in law. Included is a sketched map of the area.

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Eastbourne

2 Aug 45

Dear Mrs Simson

First of all I want to apologise for not answering your letter sooner but I was operated on for my appendix on 20th July and so everything got held up.

I am most indebted to Major Mitford for giving me this opportunity of telling you something personal about your son.

He brought along a tank to Retimo on about 14th May. Yes he was still limping a little from his Nibeiwa wound which worried me but he was full of courage and said he was alright.

In these 5 - 6 days together we got to know each other well and worked out our plans for the employment of his tank when the Germans came.

When they did land just after 4pm 20th May George was with his 2 tanks under some olive trees at A - see my little sketch.

When I saw what the paratroops were up to I ordered George to take his tanks across the aerodrome to the east of Hill A

A little later I saw his tanks emerge from the olive trees and cross the air strip on the far side of which his own tank became impaled and stuck fast on the far side of a drain. It was in the open in full view at 6 - 800 yards range from the Germans who had landed and concealed themselves in the vineyards on Hill A

That was about 5pm. The other tank went on alone round east of Hill A where it fell into a deep waddy and was out of action.

I had witnessed the mishap to George's tank from my position on the spurs south of the airstrip but then, seeing the tank was unable to clear the drain and that he was protected by our fire during daylight, I carried on with the fighting and did not notice if George got out of his tank before dusk or not.

Shortly after dusk the Germans freed their way, with an anti-tank gun, round the north of Hill A which they also mainly occupied, then and on to the air strip.

They opened fire at short range against George's tank with their anti-tank gun after first unsuccessfully inviting the tanks crew to surrender. The crew, less your son who was killed before they surrendered, were taken east of Hill A where they joined the crew of the other tank which had also no alternative to surrendering.

The fighting swayed backwards and forwards most fiercely in this area and it was not until about 4pm on 21 May that the result finally swung our way and it was not until then that I was informed that George's body had been discovered beside a small cottage just north across the road from his ditched tank.

I think he was shot from the slopes of Hill A when he got out of his tank before dusk to reconnoitre but I may be wrong. Of course his crew must know but they, after being released on 26 May by us, were probably recaptured again when I surrendered on 30 May after we rescued them they were so emaciated I sent them to our hospital.

I have gone into this in some detail for you as I feel you may visit Retimo and with this you will be able to follow what happened. We buried George with the others who fell around the air strip including the many Germans at (B) and I believe the Germans later on built a fine cemetery there.

Some day I hope to go and see the graves of my brave men who covered themselves with glory at Retimo.

Until I produced my full report on the defence of Retimo air strip a few weeks ago there has been no definite knowledge of what happened there as after we had been abandoned, apparently through some blunder, my forces were converged upon (unknown to us) by the Germans from Suda Bay and Heraklion with tanks, with the result that the remnant of my force and I spent 4 years in Germany.

However it should be some consolation to you to know that your son took part in the complete defeat (almost annihilation) of the German para regiment of 2,000 which landed at Retimo as we killed 1,000 of them and captured 500 including their commander Oberst Colonel Sturm.

Please excuse my writing I am still in bed - I hope to fly back to Australia in three weeks time.

In conclusion please permit me to offer you my very deepest sympathy for your only boy was a very fine and brave one.

Your very sincerely

Signed Ian R Campbell

(Australia)

Brigadier Ian R Campbell

Pubs

I have spent many an hour of my life in a pub, a bar or a club. Indeed Buckley and I met in a club - the Hacienda if you will. I would like to write about some of memories of pubs - or more importantly things that happened in pubs. Lets begin at the beginning:

• The Shack in Oldham - I met Alison in The Shack. A pivotal point. A few weeks later I found a hole in the crotch of her tights in front of the fire in The Shack. Elvis ripped up my job application for a job at the Queen Elizabeth Hall close to that same fire.

• Via Fossa in Manchester - I worked at Via Fossa on Canal Street for about a year and a half. I stole tips from drunken drinkers, I got drunk whilst working, a man pretended to be having an epileptic seizure on my first day then laughed at me when I got him a cloth to clear the drool off his chin and I first told Chris that I loved him in Via Fossa.

• The Kings Arms at Grains Bar on the edge of Saddleworth - this was the first pub that I ever worked at. There were frogs in the cellar. I saw the assistant manager - Phillip Schofield - drop a tub of mayonnaise on the floor of the kitchen and then scoop it back into the tub and serve it. I worked with the cousin of Orieta Lorenzini but I can't remember her name...

• 10 Commonhall in Chester - when we moved from London to Chester I didn't have a job. I went for a hair cut at Toni & Guy and asked the hairdresser where the coolest bar was. She told me about Commonhall. I went down there and asked about a job and Michael took me on straight away. I learnt how to mix cocktails and also who to buy drugs from. It all got very messy for a couple of months. I'm still in tough with Michael and his fiance Jo.

• 19-20 in Clerkenwell, London - this was around the corner from work when I was with MTS. I got drunk here so many times - after and during work. I spent a lot of time here with Rosemary and Chris both of which have left us now. This is also where I made friends with Jane.

• City Bar in Chester - Janet and I had our thrones in front of the fish tank. We held the short lived cinema night in the basement here and put on our VERY successful Stick It On nights here. I think we did three of them... Lots of moustaches, some spiders and some terrible music - I really miss City Bar.

• The Friendly Society. Soho London - giant goldfish wall paper in the loos, barbie dolls EVERYWHERE, a cave surrounded by fur and a brilliant DJ on a Tuesday night - she played Michael Jackson for me. One of my favourite bars in London for years.

• Cyberia in Manchester - not there anymore but this was the first bar that I ever had absinthe - with Steve as an accomplice.

• Politic in Chester - private members club with beautiful furniture and the best Old Fashioneds in the world.

• Velvet, Manchester - Velvet is a bit of an old timer in Manchester now. The bar upstairs is relatively new compared to the original downstairs venue. Many many many many evenings eating and drinking with the gays here...

• The Beer Emporium in Oldham - it's been knocked down now but this is the place that I saw graffiti that read - Kurt is dead - never mind

• The Hare & Hounds - I worked here for a about a year. This is where I met Norman. This is also where I discovered a turd in a pint glass on the back the cistern in the gents.

I can't possibly mention all of them as it's getting late. Maybe I'll continue at a later date...

Towns

We're about to move house again. This time from Chapel en le Frith to Preston. In the past eight years we have lived in Sale in south Manchester, Tottenham in north London, Enfield in Middlesex, two different places in Chester, Colchester, Chelmsford and Chapel en le Frith. It's got to the point now where I don't even think about it. We move in three weeks and I've not started packing yet.

I feel like I have learnt about very different things in each place. I learnt about Music in Manchester, art in Chester, politics in London, friends in Derbyshire, careers in Essex and I suspect that Preston will be about family.

Buckley & I don't share the same tastes in many things - and that includes where we live. I could happily settle in London and he loves Derbyshire. I find Derbyshire dull and nosey and he thinks London is dirty, impersonal and cold.

We've not found a happy medium yet so instead we go to work in different directions and do our own thing.

I would like to live by the sea. Fleetwood would be a lovely place to have a weekend flat. I would also love to live in another country for a couple of years - perhaps Spain or Holland - maybe France or New York. It's highly unlikely though.

All the moving around has left us with a scattering of friends across the country and it's very easy to distinguish the ones you care about and the ones that care about you just by who you keep in touch with. Strangely one of my oldest friends lives in Preston and I'm looking forward to getting to know her again.

Despite being used to moving I still find it quite unsettling. Every time you have to start again - finding a job, making friends, making a home and feeling comfortable again. The only constant is Chris. Everything else changes.

Shopping

When did shopping become such a chore? Surely going out to choose a new sofa or buy a lamp should be fun? Why did that woman call me a jumped up shop boy before hanging up on me and how much do I enjoy throwing middle aged women out of my shop for being rude?

Shopping has become a battle.

I blame the Americans. They have perpetuated the myth that good customer service is giving the customer whatever they demand - without limitation - and because of this a happy compromise is very difficult to agree on. Granted, if the planters you buy for your garden go rusty and mark your patio it's not great but to demand - and expect - a full refund, payment for the cleaning products, payment for a gardener to replant new pots and compensation for distress is, in my opinion, a little over the top.

A friend of mine was once required to turn the hands of a clock to various positions so that the customer could decide whether he liked the aesthetics of said clock at different times of the day.

I myself had to deal with a tantrum from a woman when I couldn't tell her whether the dinner candles she had asked me about dripped or flowed as the wax was melting.

These days I won't tolerate that kind of behaviour. The rude and demanding get nowhere and as the boss I can get away with it. They still annoy me but I won't pander to it now.
Thus far I have thrown two people out of the shop, been smug to numerous and instructed three not to be so rude to me. Rudeness should not be accepted.

The Cats

I have been trying for some time now to teach Gilbert & Moochie both Spanish and French. The lessons began when Whiskers started printing the flavours of their cat food pouches in numerous languages on the back of the packet. A bit of poulet here, a sachet of lapin there and the odd morsel of canard or ton every now and again. Quite straight forward stuff really.

We rapidly progressed to more tricky conversational French but the Spanish was somewhat restricted. I decided that they (especially Moochie) needed some more vocabulary work and thought that the best way to work through this and to improve their all round skills was to invest in small desks so that they had a dedicated work space.

It was only when I tried to get them to write a short composition that I realised there was a problem. The cat's are really bad at writing - due to the whole thumb thing. I had to call the whole thing off and ebay the desks.

We're now back to chatting over dinner and I think everyone feels much better about it generally. Less pressure all round.

This morning Gilbert said "Le petit déjeuner était merci délicieux vous. Pouvons-nous avoir la souris la prochaine fois ?"

I replied "Vous êtes un chat ingrat. J'enlèverai vos cheveux."

Police

Our security guard was assaulted today. Two thieves were in the building and he chased one of them after he walked out with two products under his coat.
When the guard couldn't lock him in the car park he decided to grab him instead and in return received a smack in the face.
The thieves left with nothing.
The police were called at 1.30 and still hadn't arrived at 5 when we left.

The crack house across the road seems to be going strong these days despite the recent raid. The guests of the establishment have recently become more inventive. Instead of pretending to be shopping they now ask for application forms and question if we're recruiting. We also have one delightful woman who sits in a wheel chair and is pushed about by another crackee whilst she tries to swipe the expensive stuff.

I don't think I want to be there any more. You shouldn't be frightened for your safety when you go to work.

The cross eyed and the toothless

The elderly woman sitting across from me on the 371 was drinking vodka from a soda water bottle. I didn't realise it was me she was addressing because her eyes looked in different directions but once she had my attention it was interupted by a boy falling off his seat and on to the floor whilst his toothless mother cackled with glee.
Back on his seat the alcoholic shared sweets amongst the passengers. The mong just grinned at them all.

The Living Dead

The living dead are three individuals comprising an elderly couple and a giant man in a pink, teenage girl's belt.
The living dead ride the number eleven bus.
The living dead smell.

Usually they travel together but last Thursday only the old man boarded the bus. Mouth open, unshaven, slowly sliding towards the front seats. I was initially concerned that he had eaten the other two (I've seen them since though - thank God)

I learned a long time ago to sit towards the rear of the bus on Thursday and Friday morning and now enjoy watching those people that sit at the front when the living dead arrive. It begins with an index finger under the nose then quickly progresses to the turning of the head and within a minute or two you can see a physical repulsion to their foetid reek. Some people actually move seats.

It's a nasty business indeed...

Blackpool

Blackpool never fails to make me cringe.

Buckley said "You're never going to change it so just get drunk and go with it."
Needless to say I did get drunk but not in order to "go with it" but rather to block it out. I would have got more drunk but for the fact that all the gay bars in Blackpool charge you to get in.

We went into Blackpool during the day and during the half hour that I waded through the swirling rubbish on and around Victoria Street I was witness to a bloke in a mankini - knob & balls on show - a middle aged woman with a SEX bracelet being tongued by her terrier on a bench and about fifteen blokes in grass skirts and ladies' bras. It was a beautiful experience. I had to seek refuge in Waterstones.

I was actually looking for the 3 Mobile store to do a bit of research for a job interview but couldn't find it. I looked everywhere for it. I called directory enquiries and they gave me the address and phone number - it wasn't at the supplied address and the phone number was dead. I asked people in the street - nobody knew. By the time I gave up I had already decided that I didn't want to work in Blackpool anyway.

We escaped back to Poulton for drinks and dinner with my brothers before daring our return to Blackpool to see the other side of the town.

We drank at Taboo first for which we paid one pound each for the priveledge. The DJ was a camp tranny who hasn't changed her act since the eighties. The venue was run down and dirty. The 'terrace' where we sat whilst I smoked, was full of loud hen parties, there was no character, no music, no lighting in fact nothing to make you want to sit out there. We left after one drink.

Across the road at Pepes it was the same entrance fee situation so we declined. The doorman told us that it was to keep straight people out. At Trades bar we were told that you must become a member which again you must pay for. When we commented that it was really difficult to go for a drink in Blackpool the doorman there claimed it was because the council didn't want gay bars in Blackpool and that the licensing laws required entry fees. I suspect it's just a money making trick.

We eventually decided that if we were going to go somewhere for an hour before the club it might as well be the busiest and closest of all the bars so we ventured into The Flying Handbag... This place had a two pound door charge for some reason and whilst it was an improvement on Taboo it was still trashy. A bad drag queen played camp music and the place felt unfinished.

I'd have hoped that after all these years Blackpool would have moved on a little or if not, at least in such a captive market where one person owns most of the bars, I'd have expected some money being put back into it. There must be a market for something a little more sophisticated in Blackpool.

We finished at Flamingo's night club which was a bit rough - there were lots of dealers in there very early in the evening and they seemed to take over the toilets and be quite intimidating. The music was quite full on from the beginning and didn't seem to do very much. Having said that we did dance for about an hour before calling it a day and heading back to Poulton.

I'm sure that in a couple of years we'll have forgotten how bad Blackpool really is and do it again but until then I'll steer clear - it makes me feel dirty.