The Soldier

I cannot remember my second oldest brother ever living at home. He and my two sisters left after our house burned down(see FIRE blog). Maybe that is why he seemed bigger than life to me when he returned home a couple years later in an army uniform!

He had obtained employment doing kitchen work at Camp Borden Army Base at age 16 and when WWII broke out, he joined up as soon as his age permitted. My first memory of him was his arrival at home on foot (we were snowed in) on Christmas day 1940. He was all decked out in his dress uniform and over every thing was this fantastic great-coat that swept almost to the ground. He carried a large duffel bag that contained among other things some Xmas gifts and a bottle of wine.

I was 5 years old and had a very loose baby tooth. When mom mentioned that it was interfering with my eating and that no one could get near me to pull it, I guess he took it upon himself to get it from me before dinner. He took me into the parlour and we played the new game he had brought me. He said if I didn't tell anyone, I could have a sip of his wine. After a couple tastes, he told me he knew how he could remove my tooth without pain. The idea was to tie a piece of thread to the tooth and the other end to the door knob. When someone opened the door the tooth would be gone. After a couple more sips of his wine, I agreed to this scheme. We got a long piece of thread which he carefully tied to the offending tooth. When this was completed, he just gave a big jerk on the thread and the tooth was out!! I was pretty mad about this but after a little more wine, we were friends again. I ate up my Xmas dinner, but shortly after began to feel ill. I remember going to bed and then so violently throwing up that some dinner came out through my nose. When I woke up in the morning, he was gone and I never saw him again until the war was over in Europe.

H e was shipped to England where they trained him to be a motorcycle despatch rider responsible for getting messages from field headquarters to the front line. They then waited for the invasion that would be known as D-Day.

He later described the events leading up to D-day as follows: "we were loaded into our landing barge so tightly packed that we could just stand shoulder to shoulder, however the distance across the English Channel is not great and we expected to soon be on the other side. They took us out a short distance then stopped and dropped anchor. Unbeknown to us a huge two-day storm was blowing up that we had to wait out. The boat bounced around like a cork and sprung a slow leak. Soon a lot of us were seasick. By the third day while we were crossing, there was at least 6" of seawater, puke,urine and excrement swirling around our feet. There was no way we were not getting off on the other side."

While he sent irregular letters home, they were heavily censored to the point many of them made little sense.

He later told us his only promotion was to lance corporal, however, it was short lived because he and another chap took his bike and went back to a liberated town to celebrate. On the way back to field headquarters that night, they unexpectedly came upon a square turn in the road and had no choice but to put their feet down and let the bike crash into a stone wall. The new promotion was rescinded the next day.

Although he did not often talk about his war experience, he did tell this story of his only actual combat. "Contrary to what you might expect, the front lines (which I had to visit almost daily with messages) were not very solid, especially if the enemy was in retreat. Such was the case on this particular day. While I knew we were advancing rapidly, I did not know exactly how far the front line was ahead of our temporary field head quarters in an old barn. For safety, I liked to take back country roads (trying to avoid the "piano" wire that was often strung across main roads in an effort to decapitate despatch riders) I also travelled as fast as possible, trying to avoid any sniper fire. I popped over a hill and there before me in the middle of a small pond was a lone German soldier taking a bath! Obviously, I was ahead of the front. His jeep was blocking the narrow road and as soon as he saw me, he started for the shore where I could see his clothes piled up, with his rifle laying on top. It appeared obvious it was going to be either him or me so I started to struggle to get my previously unused pistol out of its holster. By the time my gun was out and cocked, he was almost to the bank. I fired and HIT him with my first shot! He went down momentarily, but was back up in an instant, still thrashing his way to his gun. I kept firing and he kept coming until all I could hear was the clicking of my empty chamber. He was now on his knees in the shallow water and still flailing around in the mud and blood. Having no more bullets, I just stood there and watched for what seemed to be forever until he finally collapsed onto his face and did not move anymore. When I finally got my wits about me, I jumped on my bike and wheeled around the way I had come. The message never got delivered that day and the Sarg. let me stay back for a few days to recover from the shock. "

In another instance, my brother and another biker got ahead of the line and were the first allied soldiers back into Dieppe. The townspeople welcomed them with open arms and kisses and even some spirits they had hidden away during all the years of occupation. This got their names in the papers because Dieppe had been a disastrous pre- D-day raid to test the German defences that ended with many allies captured or killed before being pushed back into the sea.

During the freeing of Holland my brother billeted for a time at a Dutch family's house. The Dutch were well known for their cleanliness and always lined their shoes up outside the front door. Unfortunately, a soldier had to be ready to go at a moments' notice so my brother not only wore his boots in the house, but slept in his uniform (including boots) in one of their beds. The family had a daughter about his age who could speak and write english. I don't know of their relationship, if any, but she started corresponding to my oldest brother at home. She sent him a soap carving of an owl.(which I now have.)

When the war in Europe was over on June5, 1945 the soldiers had an option to either stay in Germany as part of the occupation army or volunteer to go to the Pacific theatre to fight the Japanese. If you volunteered for Japan, you got a 2 month leave at home before going. My brother volunteered.

He arrived home in July and would have to report for duty again on Sept 1. All during his time overseas in Europe, he had a pay assignment in favour of our mother and she had saved every cent for him. I don't know much cash was involved, but it certainly would have been more than he had ever had before! Based on the assumption that his wartime good luck could not hold out forever, he and my older brother went into a party mode like few people had seen! War rationing was still on with gasoline and alcohol (as well as other things) in short supply. My oldest farming brother had a car, and as a farmer, received extra gas ration coupons. These were like gold to townfolk who would readily trade their booze coupons. This combination of car, gas, booze coupons and a ready supply of man hungry girls (especially for one in a uniform) plus the soldier boys' money led to what I am told was quite a summer!

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end and on Aug 14, 1945 (with the money starting to run low), the atomic bombs brought an end to the war. This left soldier boy without a job and no money. Luckily for him , he had met another armed forces member who very shortly became his wife and together they raised a family of ten!

Next-- Helping The War Effort

"a drink precedes a story"

Irish proverb

Digging Indian Relics

When the first white men arrived in the area of the farm in the early 1600's, the Huron Indians already lived, fought and farmed right where our farm became located in the early 1900's. The French explorers (Champlain and Brule) soon brought out the Jesuit priests to convert the "savages". They were somewhat successful, unfortunarely, they unknowingly spread the white mans European diseases against which the Indian had no immunity. This killed off many Indians and so weakened the tribe that their traditional enemies, the Iroquios, from south of lake Ontario were able to defeat them. During the last battles, the Iroquios martyred two of the priests (fathers Bebrouf & Lalemont) by tying them to a stake and burning them alive. They spiced up the event by placing red hot hatchet heads around their necks like necklaces. After this, the remaining Hurons escaped by water and settled several hundred miles away near Sault Ste. Marie. The Jesuits returned to France, the Iroquios back to what would become USA. For over 150 years after this event the area was virtually vacant of humans.

Evidence of the old Indian villages was easily detected by the blackened earth from their campfires that showed up when our fields were ploughed. There were at least 3 such sites on our farm. Most farmers ignored the sites, but my oldest brother took a keen interest in the tobacco pipes, arrowheads, beading, pottery etc. and he accumulated a large collection of these relics. He also did some research of the detailed records left by the Jesuits. Taking their descriptions of Indian village locations and using an arial map of the area, he was able to come up with the approximate location of the villages. His hobby became the actual finding of the villages by way of pick and shovel. He located 16 villages, many not in farmers fields, but in the bush. The latter were the best for finding artifacts as they had not been disturbed by the plow.

Many years after leaving the farm, I would,when visiting on a week-end, accompany my brother on one of his "digs". We would carefully clear off the surface debris and using shovels and trowels, sift through the soil to a depth of about one foot, or until the earth was no longer black from the long ago fires. I guess we were essentially digging through the Indian's garbage of broken tools and containers. Can you imagine the feelings of the Indian whose finely-crafted pinch- face tobacco pipe somehow got broken? (he threw the damn thing into the fire). Most of our finds would be nondescript pieces of broken pottery, animal bones etc. Once in a while, a fine piece would be located and the trip would be declared a success.

My best find was what appears to be some sort of idol in the form of a person crouching on his hands and knees. Aside from being something completely different from all the other artifacts in form, and material, it is carved from some kind of stone that is foreign to the area. Archeologists who have seen it lick their lips in anticipation of somehow obtaining the piece from me. They all say the piece appears to be of a soapstone substance similar to that used by the eskimo and would have to have been traded through many hands to arrive in Huronia before the year 1600

My brothers collection grew until it rivaled The Toronto Museum's. Unfortunately, he met a smooth American trader who wheedled many of his best artifacts in exchange for material goods i.e. movie camera, projector, fine fishing rod etc. (just like other white men traded trinkets with Indians years ago for fine furs and even land). After his death, his remaining collection went to my nephew who is keeping it in good care.

In addition to the above described rare piece, I also have the remains of my friend Aggie's family collection (see blog--Neighbour) . This past year the curator of the Huronia Museum made a valiant effort to obtain this small collection from me, going so far as sending me a $200 heritage receipt for tax purposes in exchange for a few tiny pottery shards I gave him instead of throwing them out for cluttering the bottom of my box. At that rate, the whole collection must be almost invaluable.

Next--The Soldier

"he who comes with a story
to you brings two away
from you"

Irish proverb