| 4. | George Thomson EASTON  (1.Agnes1) was born on 20 Apr 1891 in Banchory Devenick, Kincardine, Scotland, UK; died on 11 Oct 1967 in Aberdeen, Scotland, UK. Other Events and Attributes:
- _MILT: 1914-1918; Signal Company, Royal Engineers, Highland Division
- Occupation: Jun 1920; Aberdeen Post Office, Aberdeen, Scotland, UK
Notes:
Anne Margaret Henderson originally shared this on ancestry.com 06 Sep 2018
George Thomson Easton on his service in WW1
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406109 Sgt George Thomson Easton MM
Of Signal Section RET, 153rd Inf Bde, 51st Highland Division, B.E.F.
After many weary days of waiting, enlivened occasionally by false alarms, we at last left Bedford for an unknown destination - some said France, some the Dardenelles, while others said Central Africa. Sorry indeed were we to leave the town, for the Bedford people had made us feel quite at home. Nevertheless all the boys were gay, for were they not at last on the brink of "The Great Adventure". No train could be quick enough, and no boats that ever were built could reach France in the short time we would wish. Alas for the impatience.
Everything went smoothly till we landed in Le Havre. By smoothly I mean as well as could be expected, with the vague terrors of mal-de-mer hovering around. Then came the journey up the line; better to draw a veil over the journey, for three days in a cattle truck, which rattled and banged - stopped, and again rattled and banged, was enough to dispel most of our dreams of a triumphal ride into Berlin. Nevertheless that journey was decidedly interesting. Whenever the train approached a township, weird cries of "souvenir" "biscuit" (the latter sounding for all the world like the cries of the peewit) drew us to the sliding doors of the truck. There we beheld a strange and wonderful assortment of children, running alongside the train. Now that last statement is not an extract from the description of the first locomotive ride from Stockton to Darlington, but is what actually happens to every troop train out there. So much for the speed of our train, but before leaving this subject I may say that several times have I seen boys losing their caps, jumping off the train for them and then overtaking their trucks again.
Passing through the towns of Abbeville, Calais, Boulogne, St. Omer and Hazbrouck, we at last arrived at Berguette, from which place we first had a view of all the weird effect of shells bursting at night. Many a time since have I looked back with amusement on our feelings and experiences of that night. The sights and sounds of the fighting set all our nerves tingling, and every minute we expected to see shells bursting above us, or to feel the ping, ping of bullets about our ears. Every noise was hushed in the ranks and orders were passed along to put out all cigarettes and lights. We only learned afterwards that we were then miles behind the trenches, and that we were out of shell, let alone bullet range. Also the idea of the enemy seeing the lights of cigarettes "umpteen" miles away was rather absurd.
At last the spell was broken by a transport wagon disappearing in a roadside ditch, and, as all was dark, it made confusion worse confounded. Lights had to be shown, and to the Brigade Major's request for a light, there flashed from every rank of the Brigade such a flare of flash-lamps, that the people of Berlin must have thought that the Northern Lights had travelled westward.
Soon we landed at Lillers, and there we had the doubtful pleasure of searching for billets in the dead of night. As soon as morning broke we started to lay our telephone lines, and by dinner time we had a fine system of lines laid. Alas for our efforts! They were all in vain, for, no sooner had we finished, and were going to our billets for a well-earned rest, then the word came to pack up and move to a village 15 miles away. This march also took place in pitch darkness, and when we arrived at the village, I found I was minus two of my front teeth, which I had lost by colliding with the rifle of my chum in the front rank.
In this village, which went under the name of Paradis - save the name - we lay in reserve for the big battles of Neuve Chapelle. Our billets had been lately vacated by Indian troops. Thus it was that our first experience of "soldiers' pests", variously termed "greybacks", "whitebacks" and "horses", was a never-to-be-forgotten one, as the Indians do breed some choice black-grey specimens, far larger and fiercer than the ordinary Tommy can hope to produce.
From Paradis I was sent with a dispatch to the 2nd Black Watch to enquire if they needed any support in their attack on the Neuve Chapelle front. A "guid Scotch tongue" soon brought me to the reserve trenches, where I learned that the attack had failed. Consequently we were hurriedly dispatched per St. Venant, Colonne, Quentin, La Marquelerie, Hazebrouck, to Caestre, where we lay in reserve to the second battle of Ypres.
The following are a few notes taken on that last march:-
? Houses in streets are of irregular heights, but very pretty as a whole.
? In the villages, farms are clustered together, with their land extending outwards, with no encircling dykes or fences as in Britain.
? Farm buildings set in a square, with the dwellings overlooking the refuse heap, which usually was placed in the centre of that square. The farm buildings occupied the other three sides of the square. (These arrangements would not please the sanitary inpectors at Home.)
? Splendid avenues of trees along rivers and roads.
? In N.E. France and Belgium, centre of roads cobbled and too rough for the poor Tommies' feet.
? Frenchmen very impatient (especially in fishing, as fish would hear their splashing miles away). Also they are very lazy till roused, when they can fight well.
? Frenchwomen would be pretty if they did not use so much powder and paint for their complexions.
? Cafes everywhere, and doing a roaring trade whenever the troops came along.
? Beer weak, but preferable to water which is bad indeed.
? School children go to the cafes and order their glass of beer.
? Frenchwomen work hard and usually do all the farm work. Today I saw a woman driving a pair of horses which had mosquito net over them.
? French people said to be very inhospitable to the Tommies, but from what I know of the "souveniring" propensities of some of the boys, I should say they have only themselves to blame. We went to a farmhouse the other day, where the people refused to give us the pump handle so that we could draw water. We soon learned the cause of this seeming inhospitality. The regiment who came before us had commenced by stealing all the eggs in the farm, and torn down part of the barn to light fires with, had broken the pump handle, and had gone away without paying for the damage. Can one wonder then at the attitude of these farm people towards the troops?
Now to proceed with the story:-
We left Caestre and marched by easy stages per Strazelle, Pradelle, Borre, Rouge Croix, Neuf Berquin (where the houses are all bullet holes as a relic of the early German invasion) and Pont Requelin, to the firing line at Chocolate Menier corner.
This was our first real taste of the fighting. Our Headquarters were in a ruined house at Rue de L'epinette, with only parts of the roof still standing. Here the Section narrowly escaped getting wiped out, as a "Jack Johnson" landed a few yards away, but luck favoured us, and soon we were being initiated into the mysteries and trials of trench signals. And they were some mysteries then, for the wires lay in a tangle all over the place with never the semblance of order or uniformity. Never have I heard such a babel of sounds as proceeded from our telephone receivers in that part of Festubert. Buzzers of every conceivable tone buzzed and squeaked. Battery Commanders roared through to "liaison" officers, and Canadian, Cockney, Welsh, English and Scotch tongues vied with each other in creating a ragtime melody indeed. Intermingling with this babel of sound came the sharp bark of our field guns, followed by the weird sough and shriek of our own and enemy shells passing overhead, on their mission of death.
When the sigh of an enemy shell increased in intensity till it became a shriek, then it was our turn to bend to the storm, and to cuddle into the smallest possible space, for then we knew that the leaden messenger was to burst too close to us for comfort.
Three days of this was quite sufficient for me, and an obliging high explosive disturbed our slumbers early one morning, and down the line I went with a few German souvenirs in my legs. The curious part of this mishap was in the fact that we were all asleep when the shell burst, and that I only discovered my wounds after I had helped to bandage the other nine boys, and was returning to the signal office for duty.
The Huns seemed determined to scare us, for even at the clearing station at Merville, well behind the lines, they landed some "Jack Johnsons" far too near us to be at all pleasant. Visions of an early return to Blighty kept the boys lively going down in the Red Cross train, but when we arrived at Boulogne, we had the misfortune to just miss the Blighty boat, so many a weary and cursing Tommy continued the journey to that pretty seaside resort, Le Treport.
We spent a month there, and I must say we enjoyed it very much, though many a weary eye was cast towards the white chalk cliffs of Dover, plainly visible on the horizon. Here also, I was initiated into the mysteries of what in Tommy's language is termed "swinging the lead" that is, doing one's best to make the doctors believe the wound is a Blighty one. One old boy had "swung it" for a couple of months with a sprained ankle. As a matter of fact the ankle had been quite all right for over a month, but a man who has been absolutely a cripple for over a month with nothing the matter with him deserves a reward for his perseverance, and he got it too. The judicious application of a stone on the affected part produced alarming symptoms, and within a week the old boy was in Blighty. I don't altogether blame him, as he was 45 years old, had been out since the start of the War, and had a wife and family of 12 at home.
Leaving Le Treport, I went to a convalescent camp at Rouen, where it was all work and no play, despite the fact that we were supposed to have "no military duties".
The motto of the Camp was as follows:-
Smile ! Smile !! Smile !!!
It's well worth while,
For when you smile another smiles,
And smiles come quick in piles and piles,
And soon there's miles and miles of smiles.
Then life's worthwhile.
The only thing that made me smile there was the utter incongruity of the motto.
After three weeks of this smile business, though my wounds were not quite healed, I managed to get to our Signal Depot at Abbeville, where we had a very pleasant three weeks before going up the line again. During this time our Section had gone to Locon, Cornet Malo, La Touret, La Coutre, Bethune, Festubert, Le Plantin and Laventie.
Left Laventie, passing through La Corgue, Estaires, Merville, St. Venant to Berguette station where they entrained for the Somme per Hazebouck, St Omer, Douillany, Longpre, Amiens and Heilly.
Into action at Albert front 1st August 1915, taking over from the French our Headquarters in Moulin deVivie. The French signallers have large and cumbersome telephones and exchanges, and I shall never forget the surprised expression on the faces of the French telephonists, when we took all their lines, which were then attached to seven of their large phones, put them on our exchange - a small box of 9" x 6" - and worked the whole system with one of our DIII phones.
In the event of an enemy advance our telephones and exchanges can quite easily be carried away by one man, whereas the French ones have to be left or destroyed. Latterly, however, they have made their instruments much more compact.
At the Moulin we spent quite a good time, as there was a fine mill-stream adjoining where we had splendid bathing and fishing facilities. The only thing that worried us there was that we could not sleep at night for the thousands of rats which kept dancing a jig on our faces, while by day the air was thick with flies, which were not content with settling on our dinner, but must needs settle on one's lips to catch the dainty morsels which had been rescued from their feelers.
The town of Albert was within easy reach, and though the Germans had done their best to level it to the ground, it still contained a large civil population. The Church had been the object of the Huns' special attention, and, though the main buildings had been wrecked, the town still stood, and a 20 feet statue of the Virgin Mary holding the Child aloft, had fallen at right angles, and for two years this statue had stretched over the street, defying the efforts of the enemy to dislodge it. The French people hold the firm belief that when the statue falls, the War ends.
In the trenches here, we signallers had quite an easy time, except with the battalion in the centre sector, which was the famous Eloi, right in front of the village of La Boiselle. The trenches were only 10 yards apart, and even our dugout at battalion headquarters was well within range of the choice torpedoes and mortars of the enemy.
The worst of the trenches in the Eloi hollow were waist deep in liquid mud. Some of the boys passing this part would jump on the parapet, run past the worst part, and jump into the trench at the other side; but as this was usually followed by a hail of bullets, most of the troops preferred to chance the mud.
In the right sector the battalion headquarters were in dugouts and cellars of Becourt Chateau. One remarkable feature of France is that nearly every house, however small, has a strong cellar. This accounts for the large numbers of people who live quite close to the line, because, when the Huns start straffing, comparative safety can be found in these cellars.
We signallers very seldom use our rifles, especially in trench warfare, so it was quite good sport for us to visit the snipers' posts, and have a "pot shot" at the Huns in the valley of La Boiselle.
Most of our spare time here was spent in getting our own back on the Artillery signallers, who continually "souvenired" our telephone lines. I am very much afraid that our conversations over the wires with the officers and men of - Battery would not have passed the Censor.
After leaving the Albert front, we moved further north and held the trenches in front of Thierval till the end of the year.
In this last part our Brigade Headquarters was in the village of Martinsart, which only occasionally got shelled. Here, and in Aveluy, we lost five of our original section horses by shell-fire. Three of the boys got hit in Aveluy, which is within bullet range of the German trenches, but is still inhabited by the French people.
One day a little laddie was seated near the Headquarters, having a quiet dixie of tea. All the world was still and peaceful, except for the occasional crack of snipers' rifles beyond the ridge. Then something seemed to sting that laddie, and to our surprise we discovered that he had a bullet wound just above the knee. The Germans had been indulging in what is known as overhead fire - that is, firing well up in the air on the off chance that the bullets may find a good target somewhere beyond the line.
With the aid of a clever sighting design, our machine gunners are able to fire "barrages" at any point behind the German lines in the same way that our artillery can do.
While out in rest we spent some very happy days at various villages, such as Buire, Henancourt, Bonzancourt, Corbie and Ailly-Sur-Somme.
Here also we used our rifles for the first time since arriving in France. It was not as you may suppose to straff the Bosche infantrymen, but to do a bit of game shooting in the form of rat and aeroplane potting.
Christmas soon approached, and with it came rumours of relief, which materialised three days before that merry season. Most of our Christmas boxes had arrived while we were yet in action, so it was agreed that all the boys should meet at our report centre, commonly known as "Esses Tel", and have a "night of it".
I must say the menu would not have disgraced the Savoy. Commencing with roast beef, turkey and other fowl, continuing with fish and potatoes, along with mint sauce and other extras, sweets, such as trifle, plum pudding and custard we at last came to the coffee, cakes and other delicacies, so thoughtfully prepared and sent over by our friends in Blighty.
Then the wine list came trotting along, and for variety of wines and spirits, this list would have been hard to beat. Commencing with Scotch (of course), one could trace the different wines of France and Spain. I shall not attempt to give a complete list, as that would be a task for an experienced butler, but along with the others there were:- Whisky, port, sherry, Creme de Menthe, malaga, conyac, chanmagne, Spanish rum, etc etc.
Now I would not say that we were an all strictly sober meeting, in fact we were a trifle merry, especially towards eleven pip emma. Just then the buzzer on the table made itself heard above the din, and the message it sounded brought every man to his feet with a jump. It was the signal that the enemy were attacking. Sober in an instant, the boys left the dugout, and each of us made a beeline for our posts. Right across the open we went, with bullets flying all around us. Of course, we had the battalion signallers doing duty for us on the different phones, but within five minutes we were all standing bye and ready for anything. This proved to be a local attack only, though during it we had some warm work repairing wires under shell-fire.
Leaving the trenches, we marched through Henencourt, Baizieux, and Behencourt, to Montingny, where we spent quite a good Christmas Eve. Next day we marched through St Gratien, Cardonette, Coisy, Bertangles and Amienois, to Vaux-en-Amienois which was our rest station for the next five weeks.
While here we visited the towns of Fremont, Ailly-sur-Somme, Flesselles, St Vast, Coisy, Boulainville and Amiens. The latter town has a very find Cathedral, with priceless works of art within and without the building. Outside, these carvings are covered in with sand bags to save them from the same fate which befell Rheims Cathedral.
On New Year's Eve we had a fine smoking concert and dinner, and of course we ushered in the New Year in the good old fashioned way.
A few days later we experienced the greatest excitement of our lives. This was when lots were drawn for who should go on leave. My lucky star was in the ascendant, so I left for Blighty about the end of the month, and after a short but splendid few days at home, I returned in time to move from Vaux with the boys.
Marching by St Gratien, Corbie, Sailly-le-sec, Sailly-Lorette to Fienvillers, we went into the trenches at Marincourt and Suzanne near Frise at the time of heavy fighting there.
Spent quite a good time in lovely signal office in Marincourt - Valley of Death.
There we were helping the - Division signallers, and sad to relate also bullying them. In our dug-out there we had a lovely feather bed with spring mattress; a splendid working stove in which we could roast our dinner or bake scones, etc; tables, chairs, electric light (home made), etc etc, so it was "jist like bein at hame".
We did have a gas attack and several bombardments here, but what cared we for those so long as we were comfortable and well fed.
Getting a quick shift from here, we moved per Cardonette, Flesselles, Fienvillers and Doulens to the trenches at Neuville-St Vast, near Arras, where we took over from the French for the second time.
In the trenches here for four and a half months continuously, and while there experienced the shocks of 149 mines which the Huns exploded on our front: to which we replied with interest.
One night the Germans came over after exploding a mine, and they managed to get to our support lines and were even between our dug-out and our boys. Of course there was nothing for it but to line the parapet, so we gave a good account of ourselves. We forced them to retire, but if they had known that we only mustered some 10 signallers, they would have easily swamped us. Incidentally, this was my only scrap since arriving in France.
At Ecoivres, Maroeuil and Hermaville we spent some jolly times when relieved from duty in the trenches.
At the first named place we had a station in a chateau, with bivouacs in the grounds to sleep in. Every day several aeroplane flights took place, and these proved more entertaining than any Cinema thrills.
One day I took my writing pad and seated myself on an old plough in the fields above Maroevil. It was a perfect cloudless spring day, and a day for musing. Trenches criss-crossed through the fields in a maze of white chalk ridges, showing clearly against the background of spring verdure. On my right fields, avenues of trees, and picturesque ruined villages stretched in straggly lines towards Arras, with never a sign of human occupation to break the grand solitude of the scene. Behind me Maroeuil lay snugly complacent in a narrow valley, and though the Hun shells had rendered the place almost unrecognisable, yet the place was more densely populated than ever it had been in pre-war days, and the smoke of civilian and army fires rose curling wisps towards the blue sky. Towards the line, the white maze of trenches, known as the "Labyrinth" stretched towards "Vimy Ridge", with the levelled village of Neuville St Vast on the extreme left. Immediately on my left was a curious picture: A French peasant was busily engaged in tilling the soil between the old trenches. At the end of his furrows lay the Maroeuil churchyard, with the grave stones all broken and laid low, while close by were row upon row of simple wooden crosses, the terrible token of the sacrifice paid by the French in their advance of November last.
Away on the horizon, clearly outlined against the sky, rose the ruined tower of Mon St Eloi, which was destroyed during the French Revolution. Everything was very quiet except for the occasional bark of our "18 pounders" and the ping of the enemy shrapnel shells near Neuville village. Soon a buzzing was heard, not unlike the humming of bees in a summers day. Happening to look up at that moment, I caught sight of round balls of smoke like stray bits of cumulous cloud, while a series of sharp bangs overhead told me that the buzzing already noticed was the hum of aeroplane engines. One of our battle planes, accompanied by a Neuport Scout, was making a recognisance over the German lines. Three enemy Taubes rose to meet them, but our heavy plane proved too much for them, and after one Taube had been sent crashing to the ground, the others sheered off.
In the Ecoivres chateau there lived an old housekeeper called "Niny" who was an endless source of amusement in her efforts to speak broad Scotch. In the evenings she would come into the signal office with a plate of soup or other delicacies, and as she often complained of a "sair cist" we would give her a "wee drapie" of rum with which to make a "toddy".
At last orders came to move out for our long promised rest, so we left for Bailluil-aux-Corneilles. On arriving there, however, we got orders to pack up and soon we were on motor lorries bound for the Somme and the "Great Push".
Travelling by St Hilaire, Domart, Doullens, Querrieux, Buire, Dernancourt, Becordel (our old front of August last) we proceeded by Happy Valley - otherwise, Death Valley or Sausage Valley - to the trenches in High Wood, which was then the most advanced point of the "Push".
Returning thus to our old front, we had quite a shock in observing the changed aspect of the countryside. Railways and telegraph poles were all over the place in a maze of communications. Where once our old firing line ran, the tents of thousands upon thousands of troops were pitched. The old Brigade Headquarters was now the Artillery G.H.Q. and Division Headquarters had taken over our old station in Becourt Chateau.
All along the valley the terrible destruction of the July advance was everywhere apparent. Trenches were practically levelled, as also were the villages of Fricourt, Mametz, Bazentin-le-Grand and Bazentin-le-Petit, while one could not move a step without treading on bombs, cartridges, or equipment, and every here and there huge dumps of mortars, shells and stores gave evidence to the marvels of our transport services.
It is anything but a pleasant place this valley, as shells came trundling through the air with persistence and precision that was not at all comfortable for us. If one of these shells happened to drop on one of the shell or mortar dumps, fireworks might be expected, though as may be imagined, no one sought to linger to watch the display.
We entered the valley one night, accompanied by the sweet aroma of gas and tear shells. Helmets of course were worn, and after much grouping and stumbling we arrived at our headquarters.
As no dugouts were to be seen, we proceeded to pitch our bivouacs near the trench beside Mametz Wood. Though the tears ran in a constant stream down our cheeks, sweet sleep at last came to us.
Morning broke with a hail of souvenirs from Fritz. Hastily diving into the trench, we lay there under one of the heaviest bombardments it has ever been our lot to endure. This was Fritz's daily sport, and the spot had become known as "Suicide Corner", though little had we suspected the unsavoury nature of the place on our arrival there.
As soon as the first salvo had passed by, we set to work with pick and shovel in a veritable race of life and death, for a shelter there was none. As it was, two of my chums were killed, and 15 others wounded, within a radius of 20 yards from where I lay. Kenny was one who made the supreme sacrifice that day, and Mitchell, Nicol, Brown, Holmes and several of our orderlies were wounded.
Never shall I forget that awful day. It was a nightmare of dodging shells, digging wounded boys out of dugouts, clearing dead horses off the road to let the transport and ambulances go galloping past, racing after broken wires, diving into shell-holes in a vain effort to escape the hail, and attending to the wounded, when the constant cry of "stretcher-bearers" was raised. A battery of ??? "seventy-fives" would hurtle a few hundred shells across during the lulls in the bombardment, while at the same time everyone disengaged would dig for dear life. Of course most of us had the "wind up" but still all carried on, and soon we were into action in real earnest.
Lines got broken as soon as they were laid, so half the Section was detailed off to take up the usual posts and carry on the communications by means of flags, disc and lamp.
My station was at a mill about 200 yards in the rear of High Wood, and as soon as the Huns saw our flags and lamp, they turned a battery of "five-nines" on to us. However we seemed to bear a charmed life, for though the mill was blown down about our ears, and though they blew our equipment sky high, none of us were seriously hit.
Some people imagine that the R.E. signallers have an easy time. To those I would say - Take a signalling lamp, put it on the highest point immediately behind the firing line, and proceed to take messages of eighty words (as we did that night from the front line in High Wood). Also stay there under a concentrated bombardment for 10 days, with nothing to eat except what we could gather from the dead lying in hundreds all around. Add to that only one bottle of water between four men - then ask themselves if R.E. signallers are not a fighting unit.
Before going into action, the Gordons had stacked their packs just inside Memetz Wood. Next time I passed that way, nothing could be seen of the pile except a few rags of kit hanging on the surrounding trees. An eight inch shell had landed there. I wonder how many treasures and keepsakes the boys had lost in the explosion.
The relief soon came, and we gladly threw off the dust of the valley and proceeded for a rest to Armentiers, the most quiet part of the line we had yet been in.
On the way to this place we passed through Abbeville, Boulogne, St Omer, Hazebroucke, Quadrecque, Aire and Doblenheim. We relieved the 2nd Anzacs at this part of the line.
The town of Armentiers is quite close to the line, but still it holds a large civil population. It was quite a change for the boys to go down to the restaurants, cafes, cinemas and public baths. Everything was carried on as usual, except that sometimes shells landed too near the cinemas and baths to be at all comfortable for there to be recreation in these places. Near the eastern side of the town, the bombardment was often pretty heavy, especially about "Half-past eleven" Square, so called from the fact that the Town Clock had stopped at that hour.
Our headquarters here was in a large house, with two lovely tennis courts adjoining. Having very little to do here, we spent many happy days on the tennis courts, where we held daily tournaments. Our rest station here was in camp near Bailleul and at Steenwerck.
On 14th September we left this part for our ???? venture on the Somme. This time we passed through Dou???, Vauchelles and Bus to the trenches at Courcelles and Coliniamps, south of Gommecourt.
I was taken to hospital from there, and arrived via Vauchelles, Gazencourt (29th Australian C.C.), Boulegne (3rd Canadian Sty. Hospital) in Blighty at last.
Birth:
Scotland, Select Births and Baptisms, 1564-1950
Name: George Thomson Easton Gender: Male Birth Date: 20 Apr 1891
Birth Place: St. Nicholas, Aberdeen, Scotland Father: James Chivas Easton Mother: Agnes Silver Thomson Easton
FHL Film Number: 255093 Reference ID: v 168-1 p 238
https://www.scotlandspeople.gov.uk
EASTON, GEORGE THOMSON, M, year 1891, ref 168/1 713, at St Nicholas
_MILT:
Name: George T Easton
Regimental Number: 406109
Regiment: Royal Engineers
Rank: L Corporal
Medals: Military Medal
Sapper, Signal Company, R.E., Highland Division.
Occupation:
British Postal Service appointment, June 1920.
135908 Easton, Geo. T. S. B&T (P), Aberdeen.
Died:
https://www.scotlandspeople.gov.uk
EASTON, GEORGE THOMSON, aged 76, year 1967, ref 168/2 728, in Aberdeen Southern District
George married Bessie HENDERSON on 22 Oct 1926 in St Nicholas United Free Church, Union Grove, Aberdeen, Scotland, UK. Bessie was born on 19 Apr 1890 in Wimbledon, Surrey, England, UK; died on 10 Dec 1975 in Dingwall, Scotland, UK. [Group Sheet] [Family Chart]
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1868 - 1936 (68 years)