SCOTTISH veterans of the Second World War's Arctic convoys, sent to aid the Soviet war effort, were presented, 70 years on, with medals by the Russian Consul General last week.

In his poem below, J K Annand (1908-1993) described the appalling conditions faced by convoy sailors in what Churchill called "the worst journey in the world." (From Annand's Selected Poems 1925-1990, Mercat Press.)

Opening verses of 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 water 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.