[Norm Cromie (RIP)]

The Kilt Goof

Carman: Sorry to hear about the absence of excitement this Labor Day weekend on MLU. So here is an old soldiers war story. Remember, you asked for this. As an old vet I love this captive audience I have on MLU. When the story gets boring you can’t see your audience get up and walk away. I guess, as every old soldier knows that there were times of tragedy and times of humor and some were through the efforts of practical jokers.
During the fall of 39 I paraded around in civilian clothes for a couple of weeks then the word came one afternoon, report to quartermaster stores which was in University armories, where I would be issued my uniform and equipment which was full highland dress. I could hardly believe my ears. I sat passively on a bench waiting for my name to be called. I then marched into quarter stores, which was full of crowns and stripes from the World War 1. One of these military Gods was a kindly old ruddy-faced quartermaster who said hold out your arms and he loaded me down with kilt, boots, web, hose tops, Glengarry, sporran and so many other things. God almighty I thought with all this gear and a nine and a half pound le Enfield rifle Geez if I ever fall down, shit I will never be able to get up again and will probably miss the whole damn war. I struggled back to the group that I was with and began sorting out and trying to understand what in the hell everything was for. If I had been a true Scot and worth my Haggis I would have known without having to ask anyone. So when I held up my hose tops, as you know they have no feet in them just a strap crossed the instep, I was dumbfounded. A crusty old soldier behind me who had came from New York to join the Canadian army and was like a character out of the dead end kids leaned over to me and in a very serious voice said God Mac, they have given you defective merchandise you don’t have to take that shit. Go right back and give the quarters Hell. As his name was Joe Cambell I thought there must have been some Scots knowledge within him. So I raced back to stores, right up to the head of the line and through my hose tops on the front of the counter and with the voice of indignation voiced my complaint to that kindly old WW1 soldier. But, when the ruddy complexion on his face changed to a volcanic red I knew I had made a very very grave error. I now realized what the term (in deep shit meant) I can tell you those hose tops and myself made an exit from that room that would have put Jesse Owens to shame. I can still hear his voice ringing in my ears and I think in my haste what he was saying “Somebody get that crazy son of a bitch out of here before I kill him.”
Once outside I had to brace myself against the Army wall as I was shaking and trembling so much. I now knew what the meaning of that old saying was. That War is Hell.