Liz Law on George Duncan
I’ve attached some memories of the father of the friend from Hayton I mentioned to you. Fran’s father wrote some beautiful poetry while he was imprisoned (in 3 different POW camps) and also some fascinating diaries. He did win two Military Crosses for his feats and appeared in a book called The Phantom Major which I remember my own father reading.
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George Duncan joined up in November 1939 and was married in December of that year.
He wanted to be involved in covert action rather than killing his fellow man and so joined the SAS, Special Boat Section with David Stirling in command.
Attacked enemy shipping and fuel stores on Bouerat in Libya and was sent to blow up a radio mast then had to hide for 24 hours before Stirling could return to pick him up.
Successfully raided Kastelli aerodrome on Crete destroying planes and fuel dumps.
Raided an aerodrome in Sicily but enemy had advance warning and he was eventually captured in August 1942.
Sent to Chiete POW camp in Sicily. Managed to escape but was recaptured and sent to Gavi fortress, the Italian ‘Colditz’ where he wrote this first poem.
Migrant Swallow (Gavi Fortress 1943)
While seated at the window of my room
In this high fort above the Italian plain,
The green of grass and trees bring thoughts again
Of home and Spring and Chestnut trees in bloom,
Snowdrops, daffodils and you, to whom these mean
as much as does the April rain
to fields and woods. Yet here I must remain
Another Spring unshared, this is our doom.
And here the swift winged, soft eyed swallows a-swoop,
resting a short while on their Northern flight
from blue Algerian coast. A shrill voiced group
that soon will reach you and your heart delight,
As past my window they turn and swoop
these lines to you I’ll give them to indite.
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1939
A gold-brown leaf falls from the sky,
The geese fly south, the harvest’s by
Whether we live or whether we die
These will go on.
Springtime violets, the roses in June
Colours of Autumn, the cold winter moon
Whether we loved or were deaf to the tune,
These will go on.
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The Great Sand Sea (Egypt)
The Western sky was bright with red, green and gold,
and as the sun sank down, each wave like fold
filled with blue shadows, and the crests were won
by the invading shafts of the setting sun.
And in the troughs beneath the burning skies,
Silence…..that seemed to move, to rise and fall.
Wave upon wave of soundlessness. No call
of bird, nor hum of insect flight
to cross the blue path of approaching night.
Night came and hid the barren purity,
the cold and lifeless bare sterility
of this vast, rolling, deathly sea of sand,
and with it’s coming came a wind that fanned
the peaks, and stirred till there was a lifeless sound
a sifting, hissing whispering all around.
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George’s Prisoner of War Jumper (knitted by the Red Cross)
