Santa came in BLUE

Merry Christmas everybody - here is one of my favorite Christmas memories.

It was December, 1941 during World War Two when i was stationed at Oban, Scotland.
In one of my letters home I had asked Mom for some extra chocolate to give to the many little English kids who thought we Canucks had an endless supply.

 Mom belonged to a radio station club, KIRO, in Seattle. They had 20,000 members who 'listened in' every morning. It was a fun program, but their main purpose was to help the unfortun­ate. Mom sent my name in for membership and my letter to the Time Klock Klub, and it was read over the air.  Through the generosity of thousands of Americans and Canadians in the Pacific Northwst, cases of toys and candy arrived in England.  

   My C.O. kindly granted me special leave to go to London to meet with a Lady Sydney Marsham C.B.E. who greeted me at the Personal Service League headquarters.  She informed me that three 800 pound cases of toys and clothing and a ton of chocolate in two pound tins were at my disposal.  We mutually agreed that St. Andrews Hospital, in London’s East End, would be our target.  Hitler’s bombs had made scores of children there homeless and sad.  Our mission would bring them some happiness.

A nurse who came forward was quite obviously expecting someone in blue with 'CANADA' patches on his shoul­ders

She greeted me saying, "You must be Mr. Stofer." She intro­duced me to the head matron and the three of us went on a little farther and stopped in front of two big doors. They were swung open to reveal a very large ward. What a sight met my eyes! Down both sides of the ward were long tables around which sat scores of little children of all ages. They were having a tea party and enjoying sweets and cakes.

Strung across the ward amongst gay Christmas decorations were several British flags and hanging from the centre of the room was a very large American flag.  At the far end of the ward were three large tables forming a triangle. Piled high on these tables were toys and clothing that must have boggled the minds of these home­less, orphaned children. I had nev­er felt so proud, in all my life to think I was partially responsible for it all.  Now it was my turn to be Santa Claus. It mattered little that I was in airforce blue and not in red and white with downy whiskers.

Over 120 excited children filed by me and were given a toy of their choice. Every kind of toy im­aginable was available to them. One little boy kept coming back to shake hands with me.

Later, with a very large hospital cart overflowing with toys and can­dy, I went on a tour of every ward in the hospital to visit kiddies who were not able to leave their beds.

After my role of Santa was com­pleted I was shown over the hospital and the staff told me of their experiences during the air-raids. We went to the roof where it was evident many incendiary-bomb fires had been fought. Late in 1940, in one raid alone, more than a thousand fires had burst out in the East End.

Every direction we gazed there was rubble and partial remains of buildings, crumbling masonary walls, exposed plumbing, and lone sentinel-like chimneys. Some of the orphaned children to whom I had just given a toy had once lived there.

Finally it was the end of a won­derful day in my life and I left St. Andrews Hospital, Devons Road, Bow, one of the happiest guys in the world. Mission accomplished!

Of all my Christmases that is the most memorable. That was 72 years ago. I often think about those chil­dren. Where are they now? Many will have children of their own. Some may have grandchildren.

If my grandchildren ever ask, "What did you do in the war, Grandad?", I'll tell them, "I played Santa Claus.".
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PS = I was freelance writing after the war and one of the stories I wrote for WestWorld Magazine, December, 1982,  was of the above experience.  One day, shortly after the magazine containing my story was published I received a phone call from a lady in Victoria, who lived just three miles from me,  who had just read the magazine.  SHE WAS ONE OF THOSE LITTLE GIRLS  to whom I had given a toy in St. Andrew's Hospital, London, in 1942, forty years previous.

 I had never ever seen so many ships gathered in one place.  As we slowly steamed in we passed several more destroyers and a battleship, either the Rodney or the Nelson.  The coastal scenery was lush, green, jungle. There was no blackout here and it was a wonderful sight at night to see the coast and the ships lit up.

We had been cooped up in a troopship for six weeks and looked forward to stretching our legs.   Len Brown and I got shore leave until 10:30 p.m. at night.  We were paid four pounds in South African money, about $20 Canadian then. Durban was a very modern city, very untouched by the war and looked spick and span.  Large, glistening-white, high rise apartment buildings lined the sandy-beach waterfront, suggesting the good things in life. This "oasis" city was a far cry from the drab wartime colouring of the U.K. we had left behind us. We were longing to see more of the sights.  We had heard the lights were on and there were plenty of things to be had that were rationed in the U.K.  Sweets, fruit and ice cream were in plentiful supply.

The currency in South Africa was very similar to the English, dealing in shillings and pence. After filling our bellies with goodies, Len and I went to a picture show, but boy was it ever expensive; certainly more than in the UK.  

There were rickshaws everywhere, being pulled around the streets by huge Zulus, as shown.   

The  authorized rate was six pence, 12 cents or so, for one passenger to go up to one mile.  This easily covered most parts of the city that were of interest to the servicemen.  Of course they tried to charge more sometimes, but we soon learned to bargain.  On shipboard and in the folder we had been issued, we were advised of destinations that would fall within the sixpence fare.  Most rates were based on taking a rickshaw from the town centre or the Post Office to places like Albert Park, Marine Parade, Indian & Native Market.  Areas farther out went up to a shilling [about 25cents].   When one required a rickshaw the first question was always, "Marleeney?", meaning HOW MUCH?  The Zulu "driver" told us in his language: Threepence was "teekie" and sixpence was "sispens" or "zukwa".  One shilling was "usheleni" and for some weird reason two shillings was called "Scotchman". On arriving near a spot of interest one would call out, "Eeema!", which meant STOP! Taxis were available for a shilling up to a mile, but not always easy to get.  Many officers and their ladies took taxis, but the ranks stuck to the rickshaws. The rickshaw pullers were powerfully built men and could run like the wind.  They alldressed in colourful uniforms with little clusters of feathers with bracelets on their biceps, wrists, and ankles.  Many wore large fancy hats.  They blew whistles as they ran, warning anyone in their path that they were coming. Driving was on the left.

The modern buildings were very much of a North American structure.  I believe the highest was about 17 stories.  Most of the cars were American with just a sprinkling of English autos.  Before we went back to the ship that night we bought a large bag of apples and oranges to share with the lads who had not been given passes.

The next morning we were roused at 5 a.m. and with full kit left our ship at 10 a.m. and marched to a nearby train, which we boarded.  

WE TAKE THE 'DURBAN CASTLE' TO FREETOWN, WEST AFRICA

We got into Liverpool about 5 p.m. and then we were off on yet another march through the city, and once again advertising the fact we were off overseas.  We found all of this rather contradictory, because on our last day while in camp at West Kirby we were not allowed out and

we couldn't telephone, cable or write.  Here was our entire draft marching all over Liverpool advertising our departure.  It was so obvious. But how else could they have done it?

Just after 5:30 p.m. we boarded the 17,000 ton Durban Castle.  We were "downstairs" just below the waterline, but in bunks.  A lot of the fellows were in hammocks on other decks.    We  had several lectures while in West Kirby on hammock slinging, and on the perils of associating with women and natives.  At this point I was not in a hammock so the lectures weren't needed, and I couldn't see any women or natives around to apply the other knowledge I had been given. I was with a chap named Trevor Clist, about my age.  

The section I was in was called Q2, the centre of the ship. There was also Q1 and Q3. The sections went right up to the top deck, D1, 2 and 3 and C1, 2, and 3 etc.  We all ate in a mess similar to a regular R.A.F. camp.  We had to wait an hour and a half for tea that night and for

breakfast the next morning.  Later they got things sorted out and we had a system operating.   There were 2,091 men on board, besides officers and a few civilians, National Fire Service people bound for Bombay.

Most of the officers shared cabins and ate in the lounge and were really catered to.  However, on looking back on it all, I think we had the most fun.

One nice thing about troopships was they carried everything.  Rationed stuff I hadn't seen for a long time;  years in the case of the English lads.  Chocolates, toffees, tins of fruit, cigarettes, and as I recall the food was really quite good.  We carried our own knives an forks [irons] to each meal, usually at tables right on the deck where we slept.

Our ship waited in the River Mersey for five days while forming up a 30-ship convoy.  When we moved out, there were 20 ships and ten destroyers.  As we left the harbour area, several local ferries passed by, and the folks on deck waved and cheered to us.

As we sailed further south it was 90 degrees below deck.  We were all lying naked on top of our bunks trying to keep cool.  As time went on we learned the names of some of the ships in our convoy; Stirling Castle - Strathmore - Empress of Russia.  One of the ships left us somewhere

around Gibraltar and went "somewhere?" with three of our destroyers.  We were then joined by a battleship which we learned was the Malaya.  

Each morning we had a muster parade at 10:15 and later changed to 9:15.  On this parade we had to wear full kit.  Jacket, tropical shirt, drill or shorts, shoes and topee.  Topee and life jacket had to be carried at all times.  During the parade session a couple of chaps passed out from

the heat.

It wasn't long before fatigues were being assigned and Len Brown and I were given the job of cleaning one of the latrines on C deck before the 10 a.m. inspection.  This inspection was really quite a laugh.  The ship C.O., Captain, half a dozen officers in diminishing ranks and several

N.C.O's came trooping through in a long line.  We were forewarned of their approach by a Corporal blowing on a trumpet.  As long as the latrines were clean at the time of the visit, that's all that mattered.  The rest of the day they could be a mess, and generally were.  Washing ourselves was usually a pain in the neck.  We actually had to line up and wait our turn.  

On July 2 we anchored off of Freetown, Sierra Leone for further supplies. TO BE CONTINUED

OVERSEAS WE GO - DRAFT 4489

We had to go through the same old clearance procedure again and

received our travel warrants.  It was now June 8th and we were given pay to last us to July 20th, eight pounds four shillings, [about $41].  Then we made a rush for the train.  We just managed to catch  the bus to town.  The bus driver made a detour to pick up some WAAFs and that made us

later still.  Our tickets had been made out for Inverugie to London.  We had to pay our own way to Inverugie.  The stationmaster at Peterhead phoned through to Inverugie and asked to have our tickets made out to Kings Cross Station, London.

When we got to Inverugie our tickets had been made out for the wrong place, so we had to hand in our travel warrants at Aberdeen.  When we got to Aberdeen the guard on the gate made out little bills for us such as those made out for anyone who is caught travelling on the train

without a ticket and is forced to pay on the spot.  All the way to London, every conductor who punched our tickets gave us a funny look.  

Mike Jacobs had to go and make pals with a guy who was drunk, and brought him into our compartment, which was already crowded.  It made our trip damned uncomfortable for the night.

We arrived in London about 8 a.m. and after arranging to meet in Euston Station at 2:15 p.m. on Thursday, June 11th, we parted.  I went out to my Aunt Eva's [Lister], in Cockfosters to spend a couple of nice days there and then on the 11th I caught the underground and went to

Euston Station.  Our warrants told us our train left at  3 p.m., but when we got to the station we learned the train was departing at 2:45 p.m.  I found Mike, and met his mom and dad who were there, but we couldn't find Len Brown.  He arrived at the last minute and we made a mad dash for the train and just caught it.  We all seemed to have an assortment of sandwiches from our various families, so put them on a little table between us and helped ourselves.  What a feed!

We arrived in Liverpool about 8 p.m. and found we were not the only ones bound for overseas.  There were dozens and dozens of guys just like us, in from various camps and all burdened with kitbags.  An old boy on the station with a large flat-deck sort of trolley was soon beside us and telling us to load all of our kitbags on to it.  We stacked them like cordwood.  It was piled high.  Then he started pulling it, with some of us pushing and off we went in the direction of the underground station. We had to take this train to a camp out of town named West Kirby.  Here we would be outfitted for overseas.

As we walked along with him, about 30 of us, he was telling us all of the times of the trains, coming and going.  We got our gear safely stored on the train and then we had time to take a walk around Liverpool.  Apparently this train was waiting for many more like us to check in,

before it pulled out for the camp.

We went into a place called The Services Club and sat at a table.  Two very nice young ladies came and asked us for our order.  We got talking to them quite freely and it was a treat to hear them speaking English instead of the Scottish we had been hearing at Peterhead.  One of them was very nice and I was really looking forward to coming in to Liverpool while we were at West Kirby.  She said she would go skating with me at the Palace.  

When we arrived in the station at West Kirby [near Liverpool], one of the SP's [Military Police], there led us all into a big hall just across the street.  We waited here while someone phoned for a transport.   When it arrived we were packed in, kit and all, like a bunch of sardines.  About 15 minutes later we arrived at our camp.  What a camp.  Spread out all over the place.  HUGE!  It was used entirely for overseas postings.  No aircraft or anything of that sort here.  Strictly for personnel.   We went through the regular routine of checking in and being assigned places to sleep and

where to eat etc.  It was well after midnight before we got into bed.  We were all placed into tents.  At this point Len Brown and Mike Jacobs went into one tent and I went into another with five other guys, one an Australian. All washing and shaving was done out in the open.  It rained a lot while we were here and that added to our misery.  We were just marking time waiting for a ship.  We did a lot of useless parades in full kit, just to have our names called out, and to which we would answer, [in my case],  "SIR! STOFER, 801."  The 801 was the last three numbers of my service number.  Food here was not too good, but better than nothing and we all tucked it away to fill the empty spaces in our groaning tummies.

One day we went on a parade and were issued with tropical kit.  It was sure handed out quickly, and for once the RAF seemed quite organized.  

On June 15, 1942 we got our orders and formed up in parade.  We were told we were Draft # 4489.  Apparently we were going to march from the camp to the docks.  Nothing like advertising who, and how many were going overseas. 

 Len Brown got up to his tricks again, shouting out "Lead on in front," and the whole 600 started to march off.  We had to yell like hell to make them stop.   Eventually someone who was really in charge of the unit, had us on the move.  We were further surprised when after marching for some time we stopped at a group of lorries.  Here we boarded and as we got on we were each given a card with a number and told to hand it in as we boarded the ship.  Once more we were packed in like sardines.

The lorries wound their way up one street and down another until we arrived at a tube station [Underground], at West Kirby, where a train was waiting for us.  Here we were crammed into coaches.  We were sweating and feeling mighty uncomfortable by now, what with wearing our greatcoats with full kit and carrying a heavy kitbag on our shoulder.  Last winter's snow at Peterhead would be welcome about now.

WE SET UP TRANSMITTERS IN NORTHERN SCOTLAND

       At least we were in good physical shape in those days. I had long lost sight of "our new building" and was beginning to wonder if I would be able to find my way back. It was almost like walking over a moonscape, much like the photos of same that one sees today, but with some short bushes of gorse [broom] and lots of heather.  Then, away in the distance, as I came over a rise, I spotted a farmhouse down in a sort of low sweeping valley.  I quickened my pace in anticipation of a drink and something to eat, and more important still, being able to get some food to take back to my buddies. Other than animal sounds there didn't seem to be any action or noise around the farm buildings.  I knocked on the farmhouse door, very loud, but there was no response.  I wandered out to the barns thinking the farmers would be milking or shovelling cow dung or something.  I called out several times.  Not a peep.  Then, just as I was about to give up I heard a little voice responding to what would have been my last attempt to rouse someone. I followed my way to the voice to find a girl about 10-years-old, sitting on some hay with I think a cat, maybe a dog, memory not so good now.   Apparently her parents were "in town".... TOWN? I thought, what town?  Where?  Surely not Peterhead, that was about 50 miles away. Anyhow I told her of my plight but she was not able to give me anything. I suspect she was rather afraid to do so.  I told her to tell her parents I had been desperate for food - that I was Royal Air Force and that there were three of us starving airmen in a low building, that way, and I pointed over the rolling hills.  I had no idea how far it was or how far I had walked.  I then started off back to the Trans/Rec station.

At first I thought I was lost, but fortunately it was a lovely day, for Scotland, and I had observed the sun's position and spotting our aerials sure helped.  It was becoming twilight by the time I got back.  The lads were glad to see me, but disappointed that I hadn't brought any food. I was also made aware for the first time, as none of us had noticed it originally and it should have been obvious, but  there was no running water on this site and no apparent place to wash, let alone go to the toilet.  Luckily we were carrying our issue water flasks which we had no doubt been advised to fill before we left Peterhead.

I can't recall the passing of time in minutes or hours, but it must have been awhile because it had been dark outside for quite some time, when we heard a rap on our door.  We knew what we were doing was kind of special, otherwise they would not have issued Sten guns.  One of the lads grabbed a Sten gun and stood by the door.  "Who is it?" we all called out.  A wee feminine voice answered.  I don't recall the words.  I just knew who it was and opened the door.  There stood my little 10-year-old girl from the farm, with her mother, both carrying baskets. Contrary to everything in our book of R.A.F. rules, we invited them in.  They had brought a feast for us.  Just about everything you could imagine a farmer would grow or bake-  How they found us I don't really know.  I suspect "father" had brought them to a point within walking distance of us.  No doubt over the weeks of construction of the building "father" had noticed what was going on, and once again the aerials certainly were a marker on the barren landscape. 

Our transmitters were operational by this time and lots of dialogue was going on between the ops. room and our airborne fighters and of course one of our own chaps who was answering the various calls.  Our visitors were intrigued by it all and asked us many questions while dishing out the food.  It was a memorable experience.  After they had left, we decided who was going to do the second shift and then we settled into our bunks for the night.

The next day one of our lorries came out with some rations and a water supply and we didn't feel too badly about the whole experience.  Our next thoughts were about our tour of duty in this out of the way place.  As it turned out, that was quickly decided for us. I think it was only a couple of days when we received word to exchange with a relief crew.  A message was sent out from Peterhead Orderly Room that Mike Jacobs, Len Brown and myself were definitely, BUT DEFINITELY off for overseas this time and must report back to the station.  We went back in the same lorry that brought the relief crew out to us.  Apparently we had just been selected to get things operational before the permanent crew came in.Back at Peterhead, Mike, Len and I presented ourselves at the Medical Room, and each had another jab to ward off the diseases we could expect to encounter at our eventual destination, probably the Far East.  

North Scotland

BACK TO NORTH SCOTLAND AND A NEW EXPERIENCE

After my pleasant experience with the toys and the kids at the hospital I was all set to enjoy the rest of my leave, but NO; suddenly, and for no apparent reason I was recalled to Peterhead, and had to leave on Friday the 13th, leaving London from King's Cross Station on a train for Aberdeen, arriving about 8 a.m. next morning.  I chummed up with a RAF Sgt. and we went ice skating at the local arena and then to a show.  We stayed the night at the YMCA.  That same night a raid on Aberdeen resulted in a direct hit on the arena I had left just hours previously.  Such is fate.  [shades of my first night in London].

At 4 p.m. the next day I took a bus to Peterhead and then another smaller bus out to the  RAF Station, Peterhead. The snow situation had improved thank goodness and it was much easier to get around the camp.   I was a little disappointed though to be back here, as I thought I was well on the way to going overseas.

On the Monday I reported to my signals officer, W.O. Shepherd and once more reported to the VHF Tender to work with the Operations Room for that air sector.   I was located on #10 site and assigned from my old hut of 101 to 137.  I reported to a W.O. Turner.  It seemed that several of us had been recalled, so here I was again with some old mates from Cranwell, Willie Adams, Mac MacDougall, John Simons, Taffy Thomas, Ian Black, Mike Jacobs, Bill Willans, Horace Baldwin and Alan Garlick and a wireless mechanic Harry Welding.  There were so many of us that shift duties were a breeze with lots of time off.  It was also bloody boring.  Our Ops. room was connected with Cocklaw and Dyce in the north and HQ Ops. room.  Had to watch our Ps and Qs here. Time dragged on. 132 Squadron left and the crack 613 squadron arrived.  Then the Canadian 416 Squadron left.  Then we heard that 613 were off to Malta.  

There was lots of movement.  One wondered what was in store for us.   

On April 6, Ian Black, Willie Adams, MacDougall and Harry Welding, left for West Kirby [Liverpool], prior to shipping overseas.  

Then Eureka, I got 14 days leave, was paid  £4 .12s plus four shillings a day for travelling expense.  Great!  I went to get my pass at the guardroom and they didn't have it.  Oh hell, here we go again.  Off to the Orderly Room where staff remembered my posting going through, but that's all.  They said if I wrote out a pass for myself in a hurry they would "pass" it for me.  But then I had to run across to the signals tower to get W.O. Shepherd to sign it.  As luck would have it he was going to dinner.  I met him on the road and walked along beside him all the way to the bus stop while he signed the form [using my back as a table], in the necessary places.  He said, "If I miss my bus, I'll put you on a charge."

I rushed into the Orderly Room to find the staff had gone to dinner and only a WAAF was in charge.  I explained everything to her, smiled nicely and finally she filled in my ration card for me.  She didn't seem to know her job though and we got in quite a muddle.   Finally it was sorted out. I went to a farm house where I had ordered a dozen and a half eggs for Aunt Eva.  I just managed to catch the 3:10 from Peterhead to Aberdeen, and was back in London by 9:30 Saturday morning. I spent the first part of the week digging Uncle Bert's allotment garden in a field next door to their house.  

On another outing I went down to Windsor to see my Aunt Nell. I had a nice day with her seeing Eton College [where she was looking after many young ladies].  I walked across the playing fields with her, to Windsor Castle.  It was a perfect day weather-wise. 

At this point I am going to put in an excerpt from Aunt Nell's diary, which I think anyone reading this will find of interest.  It reads as follows:

"During the war [WW2], I took a post at Eaton College as matron to an evacuated school of girls.  You will no doubt wonder why, as this is a boys college.  In those trying days when everyone was being turned out of London and people were asked to take whoever they could, into their homes, Eton College was no exception.  So the decision was, sooner than have their individual houses disturbed, they would give one over entirely to us - hence Bekington [name of house where I was]. I was very proud and happy to be chosen for the post. One of the reasons for accepting me, was the claim I had the mother instinct which was necessary when all of these girls, aged from 8 to 18 were separate from homes and parents.   I had over 40 under my care and with the very co-operative staff and under matron, we had the whole concern running very well.  There were also quite a number of outside girls, meaning those that slept out in private homes and fed with us.  My daily register reads quite amusing when I have to record for the Ministry of Food, regulations as to how many ate and how many slept."

There is much more than the above, about the war and Eaton College in Aunt Nell's bio, but that will have to wait for now.  I'm sure a family member will have it, long after I am gone.

Most of my leave was spent visiting relatives.  I spent more time visiting London's West End, rather posh don't you know‚ looking in the shops, walking Oxford Street.  I visited Uncle Bert at his office and then he took me out and showed me a few places before supper.  We went up the Old Kent Road and he showed me the Tower of London and the Bloody Tower.  I saw The Monument where the famous Fire of London started many years ago.  I visited The Old Lady of Threadneedle Street [the stock exchange bldg.]  We went to St. Paul's Cathedral.  He told me that at one time a distraught lady had jumped from the top of the dome and killed herself.

We ended the day by visiting the famous pub, Dirty Dick's.  It is partially underground and very, very old inside. There were old dried up bats and cow's heads, dog's heads and all sorts of grim looking things hanging from the ceiling, including condoms [a modern touch].  Everything seemed to be covered in dust.  They say it is all artificial though and the place is really quite clean.  Could have fooled me.  Then we came home to Aunt Eva's for supper.

The next day I visited the Beaver Club, [the hang out for Canadians away from home], for the sole purpose of being part of a radio broadcast to Canada to mom's and dad's; but I was too late for that day's broadcast.  I ended up sending a cable to mom with some flowers, for onepound, about $5 then.  On the 26th of April/42 I caught the 10:15 p.m. train back to Aberdeen.  The train was crowded with soldiers, sailors and airmen.  You didn't see many people who were not in uniform.  There were no seats so I had to stand all the way to York.  Even the aisles were crowded with A.T.S., WAAFs, some sitting some lying, some leaning this way and that one against the other [back to back], jiggling around with the train's motion, and all trying to snooze a bit. 

I arrived in Edinburgh at 8:30 in the morning, where I changed trains.  Grabbed a bun in the station cafe with some so, so, tea, then caught the 10 a.m. train for Aberdeen, arriving at 1:30 p.m.  Had a bit of a wash up here.  I went to a picture show and came out to catch the 6:05 p.m. back to Peterhead.    I had something to eat in the Service Club and then caught the bus out to the camp.   Another leave finished, but when in the heck was I going overseas?  I was bloody browned off!

My first night back and on duty and we had an air raid so the fighters were up.  It was nice  to be busy. Many of the lads had gone overseas while I was away and now our shifts were closer together and longer, with just myself, Horace Baldwin and Mike Jacobs to share the duties. 

Then one day, something completely different happened. Several of us [with Sten guns yet,], were put on a lorry - no rations - and we were taken out into the wilds, [and believe me there are], of Scotland, north of Peterhead.  We took a long winding dirt road up and down sloping terrain to a very desolate spot.  All we could see when we arrived was a squat flat-roofed rectangular brick building about eight feet high, the size and shape of a very large packing crate.  That is about the only way I can describe it.  It was very, very drab in a sort of camouflage that I guess was supposed to match the countryside.  No windows.  One door.  It turned out that it contained six 'sets' A,B,C,D and Command Guard Channels and one Stand/By.  Another large lorry had followed us carrying two [in sections],  huge aerials.  We spent the day using the truck winches and a lot of cussing and swearing, assembling the two aerials a section at a time with the winch, hauling each one up into position above the brick crate-like building, where they stood out like giant sentinels against the sky.  So much for a camouflaged wireless hut.  

The crew who had built the building and placed the radio trans/rec. inside had long gone many weeks ago.  Why they had not finished the job of putting up the aerial etc., I don't know.  They were probably shippedout of the country, so that they wouldn't be able to talk to anyone about it.  Once the aerials were up we were ready to start tuning the sets.  Would you believe "they" expected us to be operational that same night. 

No one had thought to send out any rations with us.  All we had was a bit of water in our water bottles. 

Fortunately it was the time of year when the days were a little longer, and where we were situated farther north the days were longer still.  I either volunteered or was selected to go hunt for some food at local farmhouses, none of which could be seen as far as the eye could see in all directions.  There was sparse, low growth foliage, on barren, undulating land as far as one could see to the horizon.  Nevertheless I set out on my hike.  At least we were in good physical shape in those days. 

My Trip to Montreal via Detroit - April, 1941

My boat from Victoria, B.C. docked in Seattle, Washington,  at 9:15 p.m. I took a taxi to the Great Northern Station and boarded a train for Chicago that left at 10:15 p.m. 

It was a most interesting trip and as I recall I sat up all the way, talking with five American National Guardsmen who were going home on leave, and two American sailors off the battleship Maryland who had been honourably discharged after four years service.  Of course at this time my new American friends  were all blissfully unaware [as I was] that by December 7th the United States would be at war after the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbour, and no doubt all of them would be recalled to service.

  But for now it was a time of jokes and laughter with chaps about my own age.  They were of course very interested in the fact that I was going to England to join the R.A.F.  One of the sailors had a portable radio, a novelty at that time and while the train sped us through the night across the United States, we listened to some of the many radio shows popular at the time.  The Jack Benny show in particular was one of my favourites.  

There was a German refugee on the train. 

I can't recall now, but he was most likely Jewish and had got out of Germany earlier when he had the opportunity.  He had lots of tales to tell us.

On the Monday morning I arrived in Chicago, said goodbye to my friends and changed trains for Detroit.    As  arranged, when I got to Detroit I was met at the station by my cousin Ernest [he worked for the Chrysler Corporation], who took me  to mom's sister Edie, and her husband, my Uncle Otto.  Aunt Edie wanted to see me before I went overseas, and she also wanted me to meet her brother, my Uncle Bert, as he had a bad experience during World War 1.  Mom had told me something about it, but Aunt Edie said Bert wanted to speak to me personally.  

I was with them just a few days, not even a week, I think, and during that time Ernest and his girl friend Peggy took me out to a fancy movie house in Detroit, the Michigan Theatre.  I recall that Ernest drove the car right up to the front of the theatre under a covered entrance and a young lad in a fancy theatrical uniform with lots of gold braid and trimmings, hurried to the car, took the keys from Ernest, gave him a ticket and parked the car.  We then went in to see the show.  For the life of me I cannot remember what we saw. I know there was also a stage show with the Harry James orchestra. 

When we came out Ernest's car was paged and brought to the entrance.  Ernest gave the lad a tip and we drove home.  I had never experienced anything like that before, and especially in the "40's" 

The following day my Uncle Bert took me to the Meadowbrook Golf and country club that he managed. We had a steak lunch  and then we had a chat.  He asked me why I wanted to pay my way to England to join the Royal Air Force.  We had a long talk about patriotism.   I tried to convince him that at that stage of my life what I was doing had nothing to do with patriotism.  I just wanted to learn to fly, and it seemed like a great opportunity to get free flying lessons, now that Britain so desperately wanted young men for aircrew.  He tried very hard to dissuade me from joining up by telling me his personal story of World War 1, The Great War.  It goes as follows:

When Uncle Bert was in the army in World War 1, his regiment had taken so many German prisoners they were outnumbered by them. Also they did not have enough food to feed themselves and the prisoners.   They dared not release their prisoners as they would reveal all they knew and the position of Uncle Bert's regiment.  His regiment could not advance because of this and they were at a standstill. They had to dispose of the prisoners.  They could not shoot them as they did not wish to waste ammunition.  The solution arrived at was that each man had to bayonet six prisoners.  Uncle Bert could not do this and so at an opportune moment he deserted. 

In my younger years I had heard some of this story from my mom, but didn't think to ask her more questions about it, such as:  How did he desert?  How did he get out of Europe and to the United States?  At this time in my life I was so convinced, enthralled, excited etc., with what I wanted to do, that foolishly I did not ask my Uncle Bert those same questions when I had the opportunity to do so.  The lesson here kids is always ask your elders for more details and record them in a diary or journal.  One day you will be so glad that you did.

After only a few days in Detroit I received word through Capt. Biggs that it was time for me to move on.   On Friday, April 25th Aunt Edie and family took me to the train station to catch the 4:55 p.m. train for Montreal, where I arrived at 6:55 a.m. on Saturday.

On arrival in Montreal per instructions from Capt. Biggs, I went directly to see Mr. Rowley my contact in the CPR office in Windsor Station.  I was advised my ship would sail on the following Monday.   He arranged a room for me in the Patricia Apts., which were very close by, and told me to await instructions.  

As I recall my rooming house was kitty-corner from Windsor Station, separated by a lovely little park. There was still lots of day left, so I walked to the top of Mt. Royal to enjoy the view.  It was worth the exercise.  I also visited the Notre Dame Cathedral.

On the Monday I received another message from Mr. Rowley that there was a delay. He would be in touch.  Damn!

So, one evening I decided to live it up.  I had not really experienced, so to speak, much of life.    I walked out on to the street and stopped a cab.  I asked the driver where I could find some excitement, something interesting.  I wasn't quite sure what I wanted. [who knows, maybe I was seeking a brothel or something].  He took me to a place I will never forget, and for a very obvious reason.  Today I couldn't tell you in what part of Montreal it was located, but the name I still remember.  It was called THE HAPPY HOUR.   Looking back I think it was just a bar where men and ladies went, single or otherwise to pick up other ladies or men.  It was mostly little tables with four to six chairs at each, much like a beer parlour.  Once sat down one was [almost immediately] confronted by a waitress who was all set to sell you drinks.  I think I had a beer but I am not sure.  There was a small stage and on the stage there was a pianist banging out  songs one after the other, that were popular at that time.  I guess in some ways I was fortunate in that I had arrived there later in the evening, when things started to liven up.

The pianist left with a splattering of applause and then there was a lull of a few minutes and an MC came out and after lots of introduction and build up introduced another pianist, a young coloured lady of ample proportions.  She started off quite ordinarily playing the piano very professionally, gradually leading into faster-paced music.   Her gyrations on the piano stool, spinning around away from the keyboard and then back to it again, in time to the music, were astounding.  She grew into a frenzy and then finally at one point after building to a climax, ran her fingers over the keyboard from one end to the other a couple of times and then quickly reached up and with a flourish removed her already scanty top.   Now she was bare-breasted and playing and moving in such a way that all she had to display danced [should I say bounced], with the music. I can tell you it was quite an eye-popper for me.  Today, when I think back on that scene occurring in 1941, it seemed so far ahead of its time that it is hard to believe.  Although I suppose in those days Montreal was Canada's little bit of Gay Paree.  Ah, you are wondering about the rest of my evening.  Well I can honestly tell you that I have absolutely no recollection.  I don't think I stayed longer than maybe another drink, but I am not sure.  I know that I was concerned about missing a call from Mr. Rowley and word of my ship, and believe it or not that was uppermost in my mind at that time. [Oh ya? you say].

On Friday morning May 2nd. I received a call to come to Mr. Rowley's office.  He closed the door and motioned me to a chair at his desk and sat opposite me.  He couldn't speak to me over the phone, he said, as it was all very hush hush.  He leaned over and spoke quietly.  It was almost as though he thought his office was bugged, and that someone might be listening: 

"Get yourself ready to leave tomorrow," he said.  "Phone a taxi tonight and have him pick you up at 10 a.m. tomorrow.  Ask the driver to take you to Pier 'A'.   Make sure you reach the ship before 10:30 a.m. and don't lose these, you'll need them."  

He handed me some papers. He didn't even tell me the name of the ship.  It sure didn't seem like much information to me, but I knew he had done this sort of thing before with chaps who had preceded me, so I was confident everything would be okay.

I spent that evening writing a long letter to mom and dad, bringing them up to date on what had  transpired since my last letter from Detroit.   It was more or less a review up of my last few days in Detroit and Montreal.   TO BE CONTINUED