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I've got to say that I've been impressed by how sober and sensible most of the Irish coverage of the centenary of the 1916 Easter Rising has been. At last the notion that it was an undisputedly Good Thing is being challenged. Questions were asked about whether Ireland would have got home rule anyway, without all the killing and chaos sparked by the extreme nationalists. After all, the Irish Home Rule Bill had already been passed by the British Government and its enactment only put on hold until the hostilities which broke out in 1914 had been ended. Another question raised was whether the north east of the island, where most of the industry was based, might have been included in an independent Ireland if the nationalist killing campaign had not appeared to justify all the fears of the Unionists when it came to rule from Dublin. And the protectionist economic policies espoused by the men and women behind the Easter Rising would have spelt disaster for north eastern counties of the island. People also wonder now if the Rising did not spawn a cancer in the Irish body politic which has still not quite been expunged to this day. Many wonder now if the legacy of bitterness was really worth it. The Easter Rising was staged by a revolutionary movement. The problem with violent revolutions is the scum quite often come to the top. Violence is the enemy of justice. It is not only those who live by the sword who die by the sword in a revolution - quite often the exact opposite is true and the scum who murder their way into power are the most likely to survive.  The glorification of those who murder and intimidate to get their own way cannot be good for democracy.  I don't think there are many in Britain who will be celebrating the centenary of the formation of the Black and Tans come 2019. As the French found in Algeria after the Second World War, fighting fire with fire when it comes to terrorism is often counterproductive.

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When I was a lot younger, I used to look on The Union at work as a something akin to a nuclear warhead - its very existence stopped a lot of nonsense even getting started. There were things the bosses would like to have done but the presence of a union acted as an effective deterrent to their muddle-headed nonsense. I think what had set me thinking this way was an incident which happened a few weeks after I started as an office boy at the Glasgow Herald. One of my duties was to file a bunch of newspapers on some hangers dangling at waist-height. This involved working on my knees. When one of my knees started to hurt badly, I didn't immediately make the connection. But eventually, I had to see a doctor. I had a case of prepatellar bursitus: better known as housemaid's knee, though at the time Glasgow Herald copyboys and coal miners were the most likely workers in Scotland to go down with it, there being very few housemaids around. Anyway, I had to take a few days off work. A week or two later, those days were docked from my pay. It was explained to me that as a new employee, I was not entitled to sick pay. I decided to keep my mouth shut. Any employer that could inflict an industrial injury and then dock someone's pay for taking time off to recover from it was capable of anything. I wanted to keep my job. Now, decades later, it can be told. But I cannot help feeling that if I had been in the union, the management wouldn't have dreamed of docking my pay. 

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These days people move around more. A couple of generations ago there were people who had never strayed more than 20 miles from where they were born. And before television, all people had were the songs and stories of their families and neighbours to keep them entertained. Though, how much time and energy they had left for entertainment at the end of the soul-destroying, back-breaking, drudgery that many had to endure during their working day is debatable. Anyway, the point is many of the stories and songs helped people to know the history of their neighbourhood. And that history helped engender a sense of community. The people who organised the Scottish new towns in the 1950s and 60s seem to have been aware of this. East Kilbride, for instance, had a lot of people from Glasgow settled there and very few residents whose families had lived there for generations. And a lot of the incomers were Catholic. One of the few times folk from East Kilbride featured in Scottish history was when a strong contingent of men from the village showed up at the Battle of Bothwell Brig in 1679.  They fought against the forces of the Crown under a Covenanter banner. That banner used to be on display at the Kelvingrove Art Gallery in Glasgow, and may still be there for all I know. The little Catholic children in 1960s East Kilbride were encouraged to take pride in those Covenanters who stood up, like all good Scots should, for what they believe in.  What the little Catholic children were not told was that if they had ever met one of those Covenanters, things might not have turned out well for them. Those Covenanters may well have run them through with a 14 foot pike and waved their little bodies in the air behind that battle flag hanging at the Kelvingrove. But in the minds of those 1960s social pioneers creating community spirit through history was more important. Indeed, sometimes it is better to forget bits of the story and be happy than remember the whole thing and be sad. History is flexible that way.

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OK, yet another whinge. I'm getting fed up with so-called journalists who automatically assume if they don't know something; then it will be news to everyone. A couple of years ago some stupid radio presenter spent five minutes telling listeners what Diego Garcia was not. She assumed that no-one knew it was an island in the Indian Ocean which the British lease to the Americans for an airbase. She told us that it was not a brand of exotic liqueur and several other things it was not: blah, blah, blah, blah. Boring and time wasting for anyone who knew it was an island. Even worse, in the programme teaser before the hourly news the presenter had told listeners that the eviction of the population of the island of Diego Garcia would be discussed. Not only did she believe her audience was ignorant but it was also composed of people with no short-term memory.  Can we not go back to the days when it was assumed that the listener/viewer/reader had some intelligence and did not appreciate being patronized?

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I can't help feeling that the Scots don't pay enough attention to what happens in Ireland, the Republic of Ireland that is. Sadly, too many Scots are convinced they know a lot about Northern Ireland. Anyway, back to the Republic, or as is sometimes confusingly referred to "The South": Ballyhillin in County Donegal is further north than anywhere in Northern Ireland. Anyway, again, when the Scots consider breaking away from the United Kingdom they don't seem to think it worthwhile looking hard at how things have turned out in the Republic of Ireland, formerly and briefly the Irish Free State, in the past just under 100 years. The two countries have a lot in common, some parts more than others, and probably the same kind of people who run Ireland would end up running an independent Scotland. Just a thought. Something to think about. Would that, could that, be worse than what we have now?

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Apparently, according to the BBC World Service, the shortage of marriageable men at the end of the First World War meant that women turned to the arts and politics to fulfil themselves. What women were these? Certainly, the arts or politics were hardly an option for working class girls and women. But this is the BBC. History is nearly always focused on what the bourgeois and upper-middle classes were up to. In a 10 minute item, there was one mention of working class women. There as also one mention of lesbians, another supposed outcome of the shortage of men to marry. The item was also flawed because it suggested that the war had deprived something like three-quarters of a million women of men to marry. The problem with that many of the dead were already married and left widows and tiny children behind. It is doubtful if those widows had time to dabble in the arts or politics. Survival in the rural and urban slums of Britain used up most of their energy. The widow's pension was pitiable, unless the dead man had been an officer. There was no doubt some surge in the number of women who could devote themselves to politics and the arts in the 1920s and 30s. But they were a tiny minority drawn from the already privileged; not the widespread social phenomenon suggested by the BBC. The BBC every day becomes more and more of a live broadcast of Chelsea dinner party.

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It must be tough being a spokesperson for one of these pressure groups which relies on donations from the public. The kind of folk who donate often do it because they feel very strongly about an issue or a cause. This can mean that the spokespeople for these pressure groups often feel they have to take an uncompromising and at times even extreme standpoint. Commonsense and moderation often seems to take back-seat to hardline criticism of attempts to accommodate the campaign's aims. Moderates seldom dig deep into their pockets to support causes. Spokespeople prepared to welcome moderate progress seldom satisfy the demands of the small group who contribute the bulk of their pay packet. The same spokespeople also face the all common breed of journalists who have written the story in their heads before they make a single phone call. This type of journalist wants an outraged condemnation from the campaign group of any move by the "other side". Conflict, not compromise is what makes the story for them. And any spokesman who wants to get the name of their organisation into the media better provide it. Publicity is the lifeblood of most of the campaign groups which rely on donations. The prized quote in the media, supposed to balance the story, is often awarded to the spokesperson who makes the most extreme and uncompromising pronouncement. It is a brave spokesperson who urges a commonsense and moderate standpoint in response to a media request for a comment.   

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I recently finished reading a book which had something like five pages of author's acknowlegements. Getting a book into print is seldom a solo effort. There are certainly some people who go above and beyond, and possibly deserve some extra recognition. But five pages would seem to be taking it too far. This author stopped just short of thanking his primary school dinner lady. Nearly everyone the author went to university with got a mention. I wasn't clear how they had contributed to the book in question. But I could see how they might contribute to his future career. In fact, a lot of people named in the acknowledgements might come in useful at some future date. And that was surely what this exercise in excessive gratitude was all about. Most people like to see a favourable mention of themselves in print. Author acknowlegements are becoming more and more like Hollywood Oscar acceptance speeches. Such cynical careerism must erode the value of the thanks supposedly being expressed.

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I hate it when this happens. Most of you will not have read what I am apologising for. And very few will care. But when I get something wrong, I like to put the record straight. In my blog Second Flodden I said that General Ian Hamilton had sneered at the 8th Battalion of the Scottish Rifles as being from "the lowest slums of Glasgow" shortly before it was almost wiped out at the Battle of Gully Ravine on 28th June 1915. It was in fact Major General Granville Egerton, commander of the 52d Lowland Division, who denigrated the battalion before adding that it was "well officered and will fight well". I say "denigrated" because the inference is that those from the bottom of the economic scale cannot be expected or trusted to fight well. We can't all be born with silver spoons in our mouths. I've said before that I get really annoyed when it turns out that many people, particularly Americans, when they refer to the Lost Generation from the First World War are talking about the officers. The rush to volunteer to fight the Kaiser in 1914 attracted many of Britain's brightest and best from all sectors of society. That was why we had conscription in World War Two.  It realised too late during the First that most of the talented and skilled men in the country had volunteered for military service and there were very few good men left behind to work in crucial war industries. Anyway, so, apologies to Sir Ian Hamilton, of the Gordon Highlanders, and a big "boo" to Granville Egerton of the Seaforth Highlanders. 

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I first encountered war journalists en-masse in 1999 and I was not impressed. Along with Brendan Dlouhy, a photographer colleague from the Edmonton Sun, I'd just arrived in Macedonia, where Canadian troops were mustering as part of a NATO force planning to go into Kosovo. No sooner had we arrived at the Canadian base than we were told the move into Kosovo was happening next morning and we had turn around and return to Skopje to get some NATO press accreditation. We arrived at the hotel which served as the NATO media centre to find a long long line of mainly men waiting to be issued with NATO press IDs. Not only was the line-up mainly male but in my memory a lot of them seemed to wearing sleeveless multi-pocketed vests and the latest boutique suede Australian ankle boots. Looking back, I think my memory has exaggerated the uniformity of the costume. But what I'm certain of is that many of them seemed to know each other. And that was why the line was hardly advancing. Guys kept joining "friends" in amongst the gaggles of journalists lined up ahead of us. I was a newcomer and jet-lagged. What I really wanted to do was grab some of these ignorant bastards and get them to join the queue properly - at the back. But, I didn't. After a couple of hours Brendan and I had moved about seven feet forward in a line that stretched, seemingly, to the far horizon. Then a saviour appeared in British camouflage. A solidly built and moustached British Warrant Officer climbed onto a table. He announced in a thick Brummie accent that he would personally break the legs of the next person to cut into the line. After hours the apparently stagnant line finally began to move forward at a fair clip. Twenty minutes later we had our ID cards. All it took was one decent bloke, a British Sergeant Major.

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Is it just sloppiness or something more sinister that the Scots contribution to Britain is being air-brushed out on the wireless? I recently heard a BBC programme about the ground-breaking Somersett court case in which Lord Mansfield ruled in 1772 that slavery could not be enforced in England. The Lord Mansfield on the radio spoke like a stereotypical English judge. But I happen to know Mansfield was born and educated in Perthshire. Of course, we have no recording of Lord Mansfield speaking. But it turns out his Scottish accent was so thick when he enrolled to study law in England that the clerk recorded his place of birth as Bath rather than Perth. I somehow doubt that he sounded like your typical English Law Lord. We do have recordings of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle speaking. I was surprised to find that even in the 1930s he still retained a distinct Scottish accent. And yet television and radio almost always have him speaking like Nigel Bruce playing Doctor Watson in the old Sherlock Holmes movies. As I say, sloppy research? Here in Canada I heard a dramatised version of the Seven Oaks Massacre in 1817, on the site of present-day Winnipeg. Most of the main characters involved in the real life event were Scots. But the Canadian actors thought "Brits" and Nigel Bruce as Doctor Watson. I did some checking. Lord Selkirk, who had sent the Highland settlers to what is now Manitoba, was educated in England, so he probably did have an English accent. Ironically, the only Scots accent was a attributed to a character who though of Highland descent was born and raised in the United States. As I say, it is hard to know how someone who lived before technology was capable of recording the human voice actually spoke. But a little research might give some good pointers and avoid the impression that the man who effectively outlawed slavery in England was an English toff. 

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I read recently that the British administration in Malaya before the Second World War was reckoned to be one of the worst run in the British Empire. As many of the same people were almost certainly back in the driver's seat in 1948 when a Scots Guards platoon massacred 24 ethnic Chinese rubber plantation workers, I find it very easy to believe. The whole affair is laced with a feeling of second-rate seediness. The facts behind the killing remain a state secret. Until very recently pompous former Scots Guards officers were quoted as insisting there had been no massacre. The High Court in London, ruling that Her Majesty's Government could not be forced to hold a public inquiry into the killings, said there was plenty of evidence that the rubber plantation workers had been murdered in cold blood. The official British version to this day remains that the men were shot while trying to escape after being rounded up for questioning about Communist banditry in the Batang Kali area. Only a fool would ever have believed that none of the suspects would have only been wounded rather than killed in the supposed mass escape. There was one survivor, who claimed he escaped death after fainting. Some have suggested there may be another reason that he alone among the adult males was not executed. The unofficial British line has long been that a mistake was made and the blame has been put on the soldiers in the patrol, mainly National Servicemen. It was some of these squaddies who confessed in the 1970s to being present at the massacre. The regular soldiers present stuck to the official version. The sergeant in charge later became a Regimental Sergeant Major and when quizzed about the killings appears to have been very confident that he would not be held to account for the massacre. What did he know and what is the British Goverment to this day so afraid of us finding out? I suspect that it is more than just that so many of the civil servants and senior military officers serving in Malaya at the time were such a bunch of sad-sack second raters.  
See Batang Kali Revisited

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While the Highland Light Infantry was campaigning in 1900 to become a kilted regiment, serious questions were being asked as the suitability of the kilt for campaigning. Looking back, it is perhaps surprising that so many soldiers served on the Western Front during the First World War in kilts.  The British Government had been ambivalent about kilts almost from the day the Black Watch paraded in them as the first Highland unit in the British Army in 1740. The early Highland regiments frequently found themselves in trousers when they served outside of Europe. During the Peninsular War in Spain and Portugal in the early 1800s worn-out kilts were not replaced but made up into trews and when they wore out the Highland regiments were issued with standard grey trousers. The Black Watch went to Africa in 1873 in grey tweed jackets and trousers. Kilts were expensive items of uniform. But Whitehall was also aware that Victoria's kilted warriors had a certain mystique. It was decided the abolition of kilts for combat was a matter for the Scots, and the London Anglo-Scots, to sort out amongst themselves. Highland soldiers certainly showed they were willing to put up with a little discomfort if it meant retaining their kilts. But protracted frontline service during the Boer War of 1899-1902 brought the kilt question to the fore again. Soldiers from the Highland regiments had their legs torn to ribbons by thorns as they struggled through the South African bush chasing the Boers. Even worse, the backs of their legs were burned to a painful crisp if they had to lie out in the sun under fire for any length of time. Khaki aprons issued to hide their dark tartans, literary a dead giveaway for Boer marksmen, often ended up half way up a Highlander's back when he threw himself to the ground during a battle. One solution, suggested by one of the Times's correspondents, was for khaki kilts work over khaki stockings which could be pulled up to the thigh when required for protection from sun and/or thorns. Lieutenant Bertrand Lang of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders wore black women's stockings when he went into action in 1899, long before the Times's man contributed his tuppence ha'penny to the debate. The pleats on the kilts were traps for lice and when sodden wet the hems could cut deep into flesh if worn for prolonged periods. An attempt to introduce a standard khaki kilt in the early days of the First World War foundered on bitter opposition from the Highland regiments and at the start of the Second World War the War Office spent £150,000 on 40,000 new kilts. The 1st Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders were issued with pink bloomers to wear under their kilts as protection against mustard gas in 1939. But a civil servant, as far as I know never named, with a stroke of the pen cut through the Gordian knot that was a Kilt Question. When the British Expeditionary Force returned from France in 1940 trousers became the order of day for the Highland regiments and kilts were reserved for very special occasions. A few die-hard officers and some pipers became the only men on the battlefield in kilts. 

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The kilted Highland soldier is a Scottish icon. I was reading recently of how the Highland Light Infantry came to regret declining to abandon their tartan trews for kilts in the 1880s when they got the chance. I thought I would share the story. The re-organization of the British army into two battalion units in 1881 involved several shotgun marriages between many proud regiments. Amongst the proudest was the 71st Highland Light Infantry and they were very proud of being a Highland unit. Recruiting figures in Scotland did not justify the number of supposedly Scottish regiments in the British Army. And the number of true Highlanders in the Army did not justify the number of Highland regiments on the books. But the kilted Highland soldier was a central pillar of Scottish identity in the latter part of Queen Victoria's reign. The HLI held its own when it came to attracting recruits born in the Highlands and Islands and felt confident that wearing trews rather than kilts gave the regiment an added distinction and tone. The regiment had originally been kilted but in its early years arduous foreign service meant it was often issued with trousers. By 1808 it had adopted trews and when it was made an elite light infantry unit the following year the kilt was finally abandoned. By the time of the Battle of Waterloo it was wearing standard issue grey trousers but trews were restored around 1829.  Before 1881 there were four regiments wearing trews - The 72nd Duke of Albany's Own Highlanders, the 91st Argyllshire Highlanders, the 74th Highlanders and the 71st HLI. The 71st and 74th formed the new Highland Light Infantry while the 91st became the first battalion of the kilted Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders. The 72nd, also donned the kilt, as the 1st Battalion of the Seaforth Highlanders. The new HLI accepted having its depot in the Scottish lowlands at Hamilton. After all, nearby Glasgow provided was the Army's largest single source of recruits born in the Highlands and Islands. Unease grew as the Lowland Scottish regiments, the Royal Scots, the Royal Scots Fusiliers, the King's Own Scottish Borderers and the Cameronians/Scottish rifles all donned tartan trews. The HLI felt their Highlandness was being undermined. Then in 1899 General Hector MacDonald tried to kick the HLI out of the otherwise all-kilted Highland Brigade and bring in the old 75th Stirling Regiment which had become the 1st Battalion of the Gordon Highlanders in 1881. Despite it's supposed Scottish county connection, the 75th in 1881 was in reality an English regiment. Outrage in both Scotland and the Anglo-Scottish community in London brought the HLI back into the Highland Brigade fold. Too late the HLI had finally realised that kilts had come to equal Highland regiment in the public mind and trews, Lowland. There were calls to switch to kilts but in 1905 when the War Office divided the Scottish regiments into Highland, administered from Perth, and Lowland, run from Hamilton, The HLI were in the latter grouping.  When the 52nd Lowland Division was formed just before the First World War, the HLI provided battalions to it rather than the 51st Highland Division. The 9th HLI, the Glasgow Highlanders, were a kilted battalion serving in a Lowland Division. The HLI's campaign to return to its original kilted status finally bore fruit in 1947. But it went back into trews in 1959 when the HLI merged with the Royal Scots Fusiliers to form the Royal Highland Fusiliers. Oddly, the senior officers of both regiments were in favour of the RHF being kilted but were over-ruled by Whitehall. Finally in 2006, when the RHF became the 2nd Battalion of the newly formed Royal Regiment of Scotland the iconic kilts were restored.  

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The past is another country - they do things differently there. At least I think that's the quote, the opening line of a dreadful, twee, book I was forced to read at high school  called The Go-between. That quote is probably the only good thing about the book. It came to mind because of two books I was reading recently. One is about the Battle of Balaclava in 1854, when the 93rd Sutherland Highlanders inspired the phrase "Thin Red Line" as they saw off a Russian cavalry regiment. Times war correspondent William Russell actually described the Highlanders as "a thin red streak" in his original dispatch but later changed it to "thin red line". The book also covers the Battle of Alma when British general, and carpenter's son, Colin Campbell told the Highland Brigade (the Sutherlands, Black Watch and Camerons) that there would be no soldiers stopping to help the wounded on his watch - that was the bandsmen's job and any soldier who disobeyed would be publicly shamed back home. The other book I was reading was the Australian Army's "Lessons Learned" from the Vietnam War. It noted that all too often operations were brought to a shuddering halt after a "Free World" soldier was wounded and the scramble to organise a helicopter medi-vac began. What a difference 100 years or so makes. Oh, and can anyone name a senior British frontline general since 1914 whose father was a carpenter, coal miner or plumber?

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Every Remembrance Day English-speaking journalists across the planet wrack their minds to think of some fresh angle for their stories. In recent years the task has become easier because there is a new crop of dead and injured thanks to the recent wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. Every bright young thing journalist these days thinks they are the first to come up with a story idea about the unseen wounded - those suffering psychiatric trauma. Sadly, the stories produced are often superficial, patronizing, cliched and ill-informed. Not every soldier comes back from the wars with mental health issues. Some people cope better than others. Many journalists these days actually pressure soldiers to admit they have been traumatised and treat them as brutish freaks when they won't play ball. I'm sure some of the journalists, though not all, think they are helping in some way by giving soldiers the chance to talk about their true feelings. But sometimes the badgering can push someone over the edge and take them to places they would never have gone if they had been left alone. I can't help noticing that journalists who have actually been on the frontlines themselves seldom indulge in this sob-sister approach. Let's leave these matters to the professionals. But let's make sure that professional help is available for those who do actually need it. 

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What is it they used to say: lies, damned lies and statistics? I'm afraid I often take claims from the police that crime is down with a pinch of salt. One of the reasons for this is that the police forces which make this claim often appear to have little-to-no interest in tackling ordinary everyday crime. The police can't be everywhere, so when you phone in a crime in progress, say guys stealing tools from a building site, and are told "thanks, but we've no cars free at the moment" that maybe shouldn't be a surprise. Then the surprise comes in the shape of walking around the next corner and seeing two cops sitting in their car stuffing their faces with doughnuts. I guess what the guy in the police control room meant to say was "Sorry, it's doughnut time and that has to get priority over doing what we are paid for". If only that had been an isolated incident. Sadly, very far from it. So, when police claim that certain crimes are down, I wonder if they really mean is that reports of those crimes are down. Of course people are going to stop reporting crimes when they find out that they are wasting their time. So, we end up with a situation in which the worst police forces can actually be made to look like the most efficient.

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There's now a campaign afoot here in Canada to put the names of soldiers who kill themselves on war memorials. The argument is that they had all suffered psychological wounds as a result of their military service that led them to take their own lives. That seems to me rather a sweeping, not say patronizing, generalisation. The statistics suggest that some of them would probably have killed themselves no matter what their job had been. Suicide is the leading cause of death in England and Wales for males aged 20 to 34. Overall, men are three times as likely to kill themselves as women.  And what about the other victims of combat; the service personnel who take years to die from their injuries? Thanks to massive improvements in the medical treatment, hospital wards have many soldiers in them who 20 years ago would have died from their injuries. Governments keen to keep down the body count from the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan put a lot of money into keeping these people breathing. But I wonder now that most of the NATO troops have been withdrawn whether the plugs will now be pulled. War memorials are never comprehensive lists of a community's fallen. Names are always missed out for one reason or another. There are undoubtedly soldiers and former soldiers who do kill themselves for reasons connected with their service. There are others, particularly younger blokes, who simply fail to make the transition from military life to the demands of adult life on civvie street. There is a difference between a dead soldier and a military victim of war. The subject is complex and separating the sheep from the goats is time consuming and, almost certainly, expensive. Perhaps the money would be better spent protecting and restoring mental health amongst service personnel.

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I was going to write about how lies are always found out. That notion was based on my time as a media advisor to the provincial cabinet in Saskatchewan. The basic rule of thumb was that lying was verbotten. The truth will always come out in the end and telling lies and attempted cover-ups only make things worse. Someone will always have a fit of conscience and blab. Or someone to protect their own hide will blow the whistle. Or, just once a while, someone will tell the truth because it's the right thing to do. I'd been reminded of my days in Saskatchewan when I found out that someone hadn't got the memo, or decided to ignore it, about the cover-up surrounding former SAS man Royal Farran's murder of a Jewish teenager in Palestine in 1947 and kept details of his confession to his boss on file. I bet there were some deep sighs of relief when that boss refused to appear in court and Farran's written confession was ruled inadmissible as evidence on a highly dubious legal technicality. But then I found out that the cover-up over who ordered the 1948 Batang Kali Massacre in Malaya is to continue. The United Kingdom's Supreme Court ruled that Her Majesty's Government cannot be forced to order a public inquiry into why a Scots Guards patrol murdered 24 ethnic Chinese rubber plantation workers. And that Government has lied from Day One and obstructed police investigations into the killings. So, what blame there is dumped on the squaddies and their sergeants. No sensible person can believe the 24 executions were carried out on the initiative of a sergeant. That the sergeant usually identified as being the prime mover at the scene of the massacre was eventually made a Regimental Sergeant Major raises a whole new raft of questions. All we can hope is that some civil servant filed the truth away in a file that now lies waiting for public inspection at the National Archives. Too much to hope; probably.

See Batang Kali Revisited

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So, the United Kingdom's Supreme Court believes that members of the Scots Guards did murder 24 ethnic Chinese rubber plantation workers in 1948 in Malaya. But the law as it stands does not demand a public inquiry, the judges announced with apparent regret. Crocodile tears? Certainly, there may well be a couple of people alive today breathing a bit easier. As things stand, the blame is focused on the squaddies who rounded up the male workers at the Batang Kali rubber plantation and them executed them in cold blood. The claim that they were all killed while trying to escape never really held water. No wounded? Unlikely. Then a couple of the squaddies  told a national newspaper in 1969 that there had indeed been a massacre at Batang Kali. Scotland Yard was called in but its detectives were ordered to shut down their inquiry by an incoming Tory government. Only the most gullible would believe that the Guardsmen were not acting under orders of some kind. Just what those orders were, why they were issued and who was involved in the cover-up of the massacre afterwards remain a state secret. That makes it easier for those who want to point the finger at all British people as being evil to do so. It is a price the British Government is prepared to pay. Why?

See Batang Kali Revisited

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