James King Annand (J.K. Annand) was an award-winning Scots poet and veteran of the Arctic Convoys, serving aboard HMS Tartar.
James was born in Edinburgh on February 2nd, 1908. He was only six years old when World War I erupted in 1914 – though remembered learning about it from his grandmother, who gave him and his elder brother money to buy the newspaper. At school, two years later, he recalled conversations about the loss of Lord Kitchener during the sinking of HMS Hampshire – James and his friends thought that was the end for them.
“I remember seeing men at the Waverley Station coming off the train, their kilts caked with mud.”
He was ten years old and getting groceries when somebody entered the store, announcing the war had ended. James then went up Princes Street in Edinburgh to witness the large crowds celebrating. Being surrounded by this jubilation made James feel guilty, however, as his grandmother had been in an accident with a tramcar a few days prior. She died later that night.
James always enjoyed school and developed a passion for writing and teaching – things which defined his post-war life. One of his teachers, Tommy Walker, had been wounded in the Royal Scots during World War I. He provided great support to young James and encouraged his early foray into writing and literature. Graduating from the University of Edinburgh in 1930, James landed a teaching job two years later, following an interview with the headmaster of James Clark’s Secondary School, Mike Oldham.
“Come away in, laddie. Come ower tae the window and let’s have a look at you. Let’s see what sort o’ cratur they’ve sent me this time. D’ye ken any shorthand?”
“No.”
“Will you learn it?”
“If it means a job.”
“You’ll dae.”
James was in the Home Guard when World War II broke out. He was called up in July 1941.
“I felt that I really ought to be in this. And I went quite cheerfully. I had a notion to go to sea in my early teens. This was the chance to fulfil it.”
He would go onto have a remarkable service for someone who had previously been anti-war.
“…In the ‘20s and ‘30s I would possibly have been a conscientious objector as I was anti-war. That was the fashion in those days.”
James arrived at Skegness training camp and was asked if he would consider a commission. Thinking about his wife, bringing up their two young daughters at home, he accepted. He was soon posted to his first ship, HMS Tartar in Devonport. After weeks of training, he went to sea. This news caused anxiety at home, especially for his wife.
“She had no idea where I was.”
It was Autumn 1941. And families weren’t the only ones being kept in the dark.
“Even on the trip to Russia we weren’t in the close escort. We were certainly with the convoy lots of the time, but we were being sent off with the cruisers and all that because there was a possible incident and possibly an emergency somewhere else. But, as I say, we never knew what we were doing.”
James served in the Arctic Convoys PQ7B/QP5 and PQ12/QP9. His first convoy left Scapa Flow in December 1941, bound for Seydisfjord on the east coast of Iceland. They departed just before Christmas Day.
“…the weather was so bloody rough that we couldn’t eat our Christmas dinner.”
Weather continually played havoc as they moved further north, with James describing it as their worst enemy.
“A bit of bad weather can be all right in its place, but when you get it really bad for six or seven days on end it is beyond a joke. Even the hardiest gets tired of it. If it eases down to an ordinary gale, it is not so bad, but the rest of the time it is damned uncomfortable. Day after day of wet clothes, wet mess-decks, wet cabins, make-shift meals. You cannot eat or wash in comfort or safety. Writing, or any form of work is almost impossible. Perhaps you can wedge yourself somewhere and read in moderate comfort.
Nor are the nights any better. A watch peering into the darkness, trying to catch a glimpse of your consorts on the odd occasions when you are both on the crest of a wave together. Soaked to the skin, cold, blinded by the wind, snow, hail, you come off watch exhausted, but cannot sleep. You try to wedge yourself in your bunk, but ten to one you are tossed out of it. And when you do get into harbour, what awaits you? Coal ship, provisions ship, turn round, and back you go.”
The convoys weren’t spared by other enemies either – with James coming under attack by U-boats and German aircraft.
“My action station was in a magazine, two decks down below. You were locked in, hatch down and you were sending the stuff up in the lift. And the only thing you heard was our guns and sometimes you got a real old shake. This was a bomb landing somewhere in the sea. You didn’t know what was going on.”
Amidst the turmoil of violent seas, unrelenting weather and German attacks, an unusual friend accompanied them. Emma, a small black kitten, walked aboard on the day of commissioning and “adopted” the ship. She spent ten months in the Arctic, during which time she never went ashore. When the ship returned to port for a refit, Emma was boarded out, producing two kittens during the three months. The ship then sailed to a Scottish port for working up.
“Emma had apparently acquired a taste for city life. For she immediately attempted to go ashore by doing a tight-rope act along the 6-inch manilla stern rope. She fell into the drink and was rescued by the Quartermaster. However, she did go ashore and returned aboard two days later apparently happy and satisfied.”
Emma couldn’t help herself – venturing ashore again the next day and being posted as a deserter. Thirty minutes before they sailed for another base, Emma reappeared and walked aboard – much to the crew’s delight.
Collisions were hard to avoid during snow squalls, though mercifully, damage was contained above the water line on James’ ship. His convoy experiences led him to believe there was more damage done by the water, aided by lack of navigation lights, than any other cause.
“In these dark nights out at sea, with not a light showing for fear of the U-boats, you cannot keep station on the convoy. Only one ship is visible, and that but vaguely. You peer through the darkness, trying to keep it in view, and yet fearing to go too close.
As likely as not, you lose the ship during the night. Or if you hold her, you find that both of you have lost the rest of the convoy, and, there is that early morning search for them, followed, when they are found, by much flashing, and running about herding them all into station.”
James entered officer training in Spring 1942 and began service on anti-submarine mine-sweeping trawler, HMS Bute. He would spend years around Orkney and Iceland as watch-keeping officer. Considerable time was spent minesweeping, accompanying local ships, and conducting anti-submarine work. During these years, he achieved the rank of lieutenant.
They were on patrol at the mouth of Seydisfjord in Iceland when James found himself fighting for his life once more.
“…A plane came in and I went to the nearest Oerlikon and got behind it. What a difference from being down below. I didn’t shoot it down, but there I was fighting!”
He was in the Mediterranean, near Gibraltar, when the BBC announced the Japanese surrender. Soon after, he sailed for India and onto Sri Lanka, where they had a great time – enjoying shore leave and swimming at picturesque beaches with palm trees. He was then drafted to an American coastguard cutter which had previously been an anti-submarine escort vessel.
Finally James was on the way home. His wife had fallen pregnant before his last departure from the UK – thoughts which occupied his mind as his ship floated in the Gulf of Suez, waiting to enter the Canal. It was afternoon when one of the ratings came down with a signal for him.
“Twin girls born!”
This wonderful news was quite a surprise, as they had not been expecting twins! Of course, with communications in those days, the twins were already six weeks old by the time James learned this. With a growing family, James had no desire to stay in the Navy after the war but remained grateful for his time serving.
“It gave me a wider experience of different classes of men and of how people reacted to unusual circumstances and so on. It was a good experience.”
James was later awarded the Arctic Star for his Royal Navy service. His experiences directly influenced his later writing, with numerous poems drawing upon sea-going themes. One of the best examples of this won James the 1956 Prize for Best Original Poem in the Scottish Dialect of the Burns Federation.
We are pleased to share this remarkable work, with special thanks to Dictionaries of the Scots Language for permission.
Arctic Convoy
Intil the pitmirk nicht we northwart sail
Facin the bleffarts and the gurly seas
That ser’ out muckle skaith to mortal men.
Whummlin about like a waukrife feverit bairn
The gude ship snowks the waters o a wave.
Swithers, syne pokes her neb intil the air,
Hings for a wee thing, dinnlin, on the crest,
And clatters in the trouch wi sic a dunt
As gey near rives the platin frae her ribs
And flypes the tripes o unsuspectin man.
Northwart, aye northwart, in the pitmirk nicht.
A nirlin wind comes blawin frae the ice,
Plays dirdum throu the rails and shrouds and riggin,
Ruggin at bodies clawin at the life-lines.
There’s sic a rowth o air that neb and lungs
Juist canna cope wi sic a dirlin onding.
Caulder the air becomes, and snell the wind.
The waters, splairgin as she dunts her boo,
Blads in a blatter o hailstanes on the brig
And geals on guns and turrets, masts and spars,
Cleedin the iron and steel wi coat o ice.
Northwart, aye northwart, in the pitmirk nicht.
The nirlin wind has gane, a lownness comes;
The lang slaw swall still minds us o the gale.
Restin aft-watch, a-sweein in our hammocks,
We watch our sleepin messmates’ fozy braith
Transmogrify to ice upon the skin
That growes aye thicker on the ship-side plates.
Nae mair we hear the lipper o the water,
Only the dunsh o ice-floes scruntin by;
Floes that in the noon-day gloamin licht
Are lily leafs upon my lochan dubh.
But nae bricht lily-flouers delytes the ee,
Nae divin bird diverts amang the leafs,
Nae sea-bird to convoy us on our gait.
In ilka deid-lown airt smools Davy Jones,
Ice-tangle marline spikes o fingers gleg
To claught the bodies o unwary sailors
And hike them doun to stap intil his kist.
Whiles ‘Arctic reek’ taks on the orra shapes
O ghaistly ships-o-war athort our gait,
Garrin us rin ram-stam to action stations
Then see them melt awa intil the air.
Owre lang this trauchle lasts throu seas o daith,
Wi ne’er a sign o welcome at the port,
Nae ‘Libertymen fall in!’ to cheer our herts,
But sullen sentries at the jetty-heid
And leesome-lanesome waitin at our birth.
At length we turn about and sail for hame,
Back through rouch seas, throu ice and snaw and sleet,
Hirdin the draigelt remnant o our flock
Bieldin them weel frae skaith o enemie.
But southwart noo we airt intil the licht
Leavin the perils o the Arctic nicht.
James returned to teaching at James Clark’s in Edinburgh, before moving to Whithorn – a short distance from Wigtown, now regarded as Scotland’s national book town – a fitting location for a man who was becoming one of the country’s most renowned Scots poets. He was especially productive during this time, and described his writing routine:
“When I was down there the Weekly Scotsman was publishing one a week. And on a Sunday night I used to retire into a wee study I had, and I would think it was time I was getting one off. I’d maybe do two or three and I’d send them off to Denis Carabine who did illustrations. And he would send them on to the Scotsman. It kept me going.”
James had always been passionate about the Scots language, associating it with his childhood. He loved its ability to transport him back there. Considering this, it’s perhaps natural that many of his most beloved poems were for children. Some of his successful collections included Sing it Aince for Pleisure (1965), Twice for Joy (1973), Thrice to Show Ye(1979).
He went on to become a founder member of the Scots Language Society in 1972 and founding editor of Lallans, a magazine dedicated to Scots writing. The Scottish Arts Council later awarded him for his contribution to Scottish poetry. When not writing, James was an enthusiastic climber and hill walker, and strong supporter of the Scottish Youth Hostel Association.
James King Annand passed away at Edinburgh in 1993. He was posthumously awarded an MBE for services to Scots Language and Literature. Fifteen years after his passing, James was given a commemorative stone in Makars’ Court – an Edinburgh courtyard described as an evolving national literary monument.
“Sing it aince for pleasure
Sing it twice for joy”
James left behind an incredible legacy from a life well-lived. His work continues to be much-loved – a quick YouTube search reveals people ranging from eight to eighty, taking joy in reciting his poetry – words that continue to reflect Scottish culture and identity.