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George Frederick Findlater VC

b. 15/02/1877 Turriff, Scotland. d. 04/03/1942 Turriff, Scotland.

George Frederick Findlater (1877-1942) was born on 15th February 1872 at Turriff, Aberdeenshire, one of eleven children of Alexander Findlater, a miller, and his wife, Mary Ann Clark. He attended the school in Turriff but left at a young age to work as a farm labourer; under the law then in force, children were permitted to leave school at thirteen. Two months after his sixteenth birthday, on 7 April 1888, he travelled to Aberdeen and enlisted in the 2nd Battalion, Gordon Highlanders. The battalion was posted to Ceylon, where in 1891 he transferred to the 1st Battalion, then serving on the North-West Frontier of British India, now part of Pakistan. He first saw active combat there in March 1895, at the Malakand Pass, where he was hit but not wounded; later in the year, he served with the relief force in the Chitral Expedition.

George F Findlater VC

In December 1896 he was appointed as a piper in the battalion’s band. The Gordons, in common with other Highland regiments of the time, maintained a pipe band in each battalion for both ceremonial and military purposes; the pipers were trained infantrymen, and accompanied the main force on operations. The following year, the 1st Battalion was assigned as part of the force for the Tirah campaign, an expedition into the mountains to secure the Khyber Pass and the northern approaches to India.

On 20 October 1897, an attempt by a British force to take the strongly held Dargai Heights was beaten back, leaving three battalions pinned down under heavy fire from above and unable to withdraw.

They were reinforced by the 1st Gordons, who were ordered to advance through the open ground and storm the heights, led by their five pipers. Findlater was wounded before reaching the hillside, with a superficial wound to his left foot and a broken right ankle. Unable to walk, he pulled himself to a boulder, propped himself up, and continued to play to encourage the advance. The infantry following behind successfully reached the hillside, climbed the heights, and dispersed the defenders.

He was gazetted for the Victoria Cross on 20th May 1898, though he had already received his medal six days previously from Queen Victoria whilst he was convalescing from his wounds at Netley Hospital, Southampton. He was then offered a position, probably at Balmoral. He declined this because of the poor pay.

He then took up a concert career for some time, much to the distress of the War Office. Returning from his travels Piper Findlater settled at Mountblairy in the parish of Alvah, Banffshire. Both of his parents were dead but he was not far from many of his family who lived in the surrounding countryside.

On Wednesday, 2 August 1899 George Findlater married his cousin, Nellie Findlater. Nellie’s late father, John, was the brother of George’s father. She was 23 years of age and lived at South Brownside, Forglen. The wedding took place at St Congan’s Episcopal Church near Mill of Turriff where Piper Findlater had been born.

When the Findlaters returned from their honeymoon they settled in a newly-built cottage near the banks of the Deveron at Mountblairy.

Piper Findlater’s ambition had always been to find a small farm and by June 1900 he had secured the tenancy of a holding at Bridgend, Forglen on the estate of Mr Harvey of Carnousie. George and Nellie Findlater had four children at Bridgend. John Alexander was born in 1900; Frances Harvey in October 1900; Mary Ann in November 1901, and Frederick George in April 1904. The Findlaters moved to a 30-acre farm in Forglen, Cairnhill, and in September 1909 Helen Kennedy was born there. George and Nellie were to live at Cairnhill for the rest of their lives.

When war broke out in 1914 George Findlater was a 42 year old farmer. The 9th Battalion of The Gordon Highlanders was formed at Aberdeen in September 1914. Findlater volunteered for service.

In January 1915 the battalion was made a Pioneer battalion providing labouring jobs for low-grade medical men. He travelled to France with the battalion in July 1915 as a Sergeant Piper and was wounded at Loos. Invalided out of the army he returned to Aberdeenshire to his farm. He received the 1914-15 Star medal and the British War and Victory medals.

For the next 27 years George Findlater farmed Cairnhill and was active in the Turriff pipe band as Pipe-Major. On 4 March 1942 George Frederick Findlater, VC, the Piper of Dargai, died of a heart attack aged 70 years. George and Nellie Findlater are buried in Forglen Cemetery a short distance from Turriff. His medals are held by the Gordon Highlanders Museum, Aberdeen, Scotland.

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Allies The Green Machine

Death by Bubble Gum By Will Dabbs, MD

I got my driver’s license at 15. I started my first job the following day. I’ve been working ever since. The epiphany that I could turn my time and toil into stuff—mostly guns—was transformational.

Some of those jobs sucked pretty bad. Others were frankly awesome. The best of the lot involved flying helicopters for Uncle Sam.

Friends describe me the luckiest man alive. That’s not hyperbole. God has been inexplicably good to me. That weird good fortune followed me throughout the military.

It is really expensive to train you to fly a helicopter. As a result, the Army typically puts you in one machine and leaves you there. I got to fly four. Flying an OH-58 Aeroscout single-pilot with the doors off was an E-ticket ride. However, as a card-carrying young stupid male, that can be a dangerous space indeed.

Ambrosia—Food of the Gods

I hopped an OH-58 to Ada, Oklahoma, not because there was some pressing tactical reason to be there. This was a training flight. I could have flown most anyplace I could reach on a bag of gas. I picked Ada because Big Bob’s Ribs was right down the road from the tiny little aerodrome. If you were paying taxes back in 1993, legit, thanks for that.

Big Bob’s was a whole building chock full of diabetes and heart disease. A bit shopworn yet sporting the most amazing grub, Bob’s exemplified everything that was righteous and wholesome about our great country. If America was a restaurant, it would be Bob’s.

Lunch was sublime as always. However, it was also a bit messy and a somewhat rough on the gut. As I dragged my stuffed carcass out of the place, I ponied up an extra quarter for a Charm’s Blow Pop to cleanse my palate. This I stuffed into the shoulder pocket of my flight suit.

Homeward Bound

I lit up the airplane and was headed back to Fort Sill in short order. I’d guess I was doing maybe 110 knots at perhaps a thousand feet. The air was cool, and so was I. Eventually I retrieved my Blow Pop.

The Blow Pop is nature’s perfect candy. Once you suck the solidified sugar off the thing, there remains a healthy slug of top-quality bubble gum. I discarded the stick into the slipstream (it was biodegradable) and lost myself in my reverie. In short order, I had pulled my mike boom out a bit and was happily blowing bubbles.

I had a decent bubble cooking when an unexpected crosswind zipped in from the side. The big sticky sphere burst unexpectedly, encasing my mike boom in tenacious gelatinous goo. A fair bit of it ended up on my face. Now I was in a bit of a spot.

Sticky Stuff

Fort Sill is the home of the field artillery, and it was looming large in the distance. My home base was what the Federal Aviation Administration refers to as a Restricted Area and for good reason.

Artillery rounds crisscrossed that space 24/7. To get home, I had to call up approach control and gain clearance into the restricted area. Failure to do so would run me afoul of the FAA and also put my cohabiting in the same space with all of those high explosive projectiles.

I meekly hit my transmit button, “Fort Sill approach control, this is Army copter 12345, how copy, over?”

Nothing. I tried another couple of times and got nothing back then, either. With each passing second, I had less go juice in the fuel tank. This was rapidly becoming not awesome.

Pilot Stuff

Some modern combat aircraft will almost fly themselves. The OH-58 was nothing like that. The 58 was more like a 3-dimensional motorcycle. You had to fly the machine constantly, or it would roll inverted and kill you.

With this in mind, I cinched down the collective friction, pinched the cyclic between my knees, and clawed madly at my gum-covered microphone. As I did so, the zippy little aircraft gradually tried to turn upside down.

Once my scout rolled far enough to make me nervous, I returned my attention to the flight controls and got things straightened out.

It took three or four iterations before I got enough gum off of my mike to be heard by the radar guys. By then I had bubble gum on my nose, in my eyebrows, all over my flight helmet, and coating my Nomex gloves. However, I could now communicate, albeit not terribly well.

The Promised Land

I got clearance across the impact area and into the airfield without difficulty. I shut down the airplane and expeditiously retreated to address my self-inflicted wounds. With my face liberally coated in gum, I looked a bit like a human pencil eraser.

The following day I reported to the Central Issue Facility and requested a fresh set of flight gloves. The pair I turned in looked like they had been dipped in Pepto Bismol. The long-suffering supply NCO inquired as to how they had gotten into this sordid state. I told him I didn’t want to talk about it. Had I been rightfully killed, I can only imagine what the accident investigators might have concluded.