Morrison, J. Stewart (1897 - 1917)

Second Lieutenant, 12th Bn. Cameronians (Scottish Rifles)

Buried at St. Sever Cemetery, Rouen

Commemorated at Hillhead High School

The intimation of the death of Second Lieutenant J. Stewart Morrison from wounds received in action caused profound sorrow throughout the School. For years he was one of the most prominent figures in School life, and the presiding musical genius at all the School concerts. His charm of manner and native courtesy of disposition won all hearts, and gave him a unique place in the counsels of his fellows. He had a fine literary taste and a sure literary judgement, and his whole character and conduct reflected the noble company of authors who were his never-failing friends.

Second Lieutenant Morrison, who was only twenty years of age, was the elder son of the late Mr. Kenneth Morrison and Mrs. Morrison, 25 Hayburn Crescent, Partick. To her the sympathies of the School go out in fullest measure.

In 1915 he left School to join the University in preparation for the ministry of the United Free Church. But his eager spirit, born of a long line of Highland ancestry, chafed at inaction at home when great deeds were afoot on the fields of France, and after repeated attempts he obtained a commission in January, 1916.

He proceeded to France in August, and was justly proud of being attached to the 2nd Cameronians, a regular battalion with a great record. Second Lieutenant Morrison's friends feared that the hardships and exposures of trench life would prove too much for his somewhat frail frame, and great was their surprise and delight to find when he returned from the Front that he had become a perfect Achilles, with not a single flaw in his physical armour.

He came safely through the first stages of the Battle of Arras, but on the 6th May, 1917, he was dangerously wounded by a piece of shrapnel, and died eight days later in a hospital in France.

His was a singularly attractive, unselfish, and beautiful nature, and its noble harmony will long vibrate' in memory. May we not leave as his epitaph those words of his own beloved Stevenson in "Aes Triplex":

"The trumpets are hardly done blowing when trailing with him clouds of glory this richly gifted spirit shoots into the spiritual land."