Poppa's Military Memoirs

SECTION THREE (Scroll down for prevoius sections)

If I didn't have Nana around to remind me of different events, I’m sure I would not have been able to remember a lot of the details. Here’s one she brought to mind. I was among the tallest in the unit and I was chosen as one of forty members to take part in an honour guard for the Queen Mum's visit to our hospital. What an honour that was. There are some photos in my collection one of her car (a Royals Royce) and another of her inspecting the guards. If you look closely you might find me directly in front of the queen. Was I ever proud. Another of Nana’s reminders was how every day there were standard notices posted. They consisted of changes in programs, promotions, important parades, etc. Well on one of these notices it was pointed out that Hogg, A. B93691 had been awarded the O.B.E. (The Order of the British Empire) for his supreme efforts in the military. Along with his M.M. (military medal) plus others he earned in the first war) well you can imagine the talk going around. Me, a real hero. Believe me it was all a mistake made at headquarters. The notice should have read Hogg, A. B3418. My uncle. The order was soon rescinded, and my moment of glory went down the tubes. Oh well, it was good while it lasted. We all had a great chuckle then things were back to normal. You can imagine now, just how proud I was of Uncle Art.

In 1942 one particular course we had was a gas mask drill, what a time we had with that. First I must mention we were compelled to carry our gas masks everywhere we went outside the camp area. Now a group of 20 men or so (with names recorded) were escorted into a special airtight shed, dimly lit, where the instructor explained the procedure and reasons for this test. After which, he told us to put our masks on, jump up and down like a bunch of kids skipping, then stop and watch him release a misty vapour. After a minute or so he asked, does anyone smell any peculiar odour? After hearing no complaints he told us to remove our masks, repeat the jumping for 10 seconds, replace the mask and keeping the masks on. We evacuated the shed as previously instructed and now any one removing his mask before being told would have a return trip into the shed. Well you should have witnessed this. Almost every one was dreadfully sick and I mean sick. Excuse me, but the vomit was in their masks up past their chins, and the instructions were, to take a deep breath hold it, dump the contents to the ground, return the mask to the face and blow out hard. Now the reason for this procedure was the enemy could send this gas over us, and make you sick, as in the first war, and then your thoughts would indicate the mask is not functioning properly and remove it (bad mistake). Next the Germans would send over a lethal gas and it was deadly poison. A lesson well taught. And will be remembered. As I mentioned earlier, I can’t vomit consequently I just wanted to die. We all got over the ordeal and again had the test signed off.

Shortly after my trip through the gas chamber I received word that my older brother Bill had arrived in England and was stationed not too far from me. After a few visits he thought he would like to join the 15th general hospital, so we could be together. This being the case I found out that anyone could claim their younger brother to join them, and as I had put my age on three years I became the older brother (on paper that is). So it worked out fine with no problems. Except for my sister Kay who was born the same year as my fake birth date. It did create a little humour back home, as there was only two months between Kay and myself. Well anyway Bill and I were together until I later left the unit to serve in Africa.

Shortly after Bill got acquainted with some of the boys, Nin and I thought, as it was her half-day off at work, we would like to take a trip up to London. It was just an hour run on the London/Portsmouth train and her mother agreed it would be ok. We visited friends of Tom Reynolds, a Mr &Mrs. Raven. Tommy was an army buddy of mine, who constantly kept in touch with many people in England. (Mostly pen pals) The Raven family lived just out side the Waterloo train station, adjacent to the northbound train stations. They asked us to use their home as a stop over anytime we were waiting for our connecting train going north, were on leave, or just visiting London. There were occasions when we stayed over night. Then we spent some time in the local pubs, joining in singsongs. I nearly forgot to mention they lived in the Lambeth Walk area (do you remember hearing the song about Lambeth Walk)? Boy am I ever getting away from our story, but before move on I'm sorry to say that the Raven’s did loose their son while he serving with the British navy. They treated Tom and I as part of the family. I guess in a way it helped her to have young men around.

So now getting back to our trip up to London and showing Nin the area. We had a pleasant visit. An afternoon tea with Lil Raven (her husband was working), then as we had to get back before dark, we started our return trip to Haslemere. Now, not being too familiar with the train system, and seeing the only southbound train in the station, we climbed aboard. Well much to our surprise we boarded the portion of the train that ended up in the town of Farnborough about forty miles north of Haslemere. Now here we are in a town neither of us had seen before. I approached a local taxi stand and explained our predicament (and again having next to no money) Evidently in England there is a rule that drivers can't take passengers into another district. The driver made a couple of phone calls, and after speaking to his wife, said he would take us, but couldn't drive on the main roads as it was an illegal trip. Eventually we arrived home, close to midnight. I apologized to Nin’s awaiting and worried mother then asked her for a loan of some money to pay the cabby. I thanked him very much, then went back into the house and thanked her mother again said good night to all at home and left for my walk back to the camp.

After spending two and a half years in England it was on August 19th 1942 when the Canadian forces had their first experience in action during the Dieppe raid in France. We understand the information regarding the surprised attack had leaked out, and thousands of our young soldiers ran into a very highly protected area. The German defences were so well set up; our lads didn't have a chance. A great number were shot and killed before they reached the beach, and those that did manage to get on land were pinned down. Just prior to this raid, we did have a few men of my unit transfer into the regiments that were involved in the raid, and as far as the reports go only one is still alive with us in Sunnybrook Hospital today. Unfortunately he is now suffering from Alzheimer’s, and my visits to see him (Pete Payment) are difficult due to his inability to converse with anyone. His wife Edith and daughter Gail visit him on a regular basis, and keep me informed of any changes. He is 84 years old this year, 2002.

Back to the Dieppe raid. I don't remember how long the men were held on the beach, but the evacuation was an on going affair for days, and the casualties were countless. In preparation for this raid the hospital had to evacuate most of our patients out to different locations, (nursing homes, local hospitals, etc.). We had to make room for the men returning from the war zone. Unless you were there, it would be difficult to comprehend the situation and condition of these men. It made you feel proud to be a Canadian, even though they took an awful beating, not once did you hear them complaining, in fact some were heard saying “We'll get the s.o.b's next time”. Our complete staff worked around the clock; unloading ambulances, placing the men on gurneys and pushing them around the square shaped building, stopping only for a sandwich, coffee, and short break for a smoke etc. The doctors and nurses were kept very busy in the operating room with the numerous amputations, g.s.w.'s (gun shot wounds), and shrapnel wounds, you name it - they had it. We had the hospital overflowing with patients. Some were left in the corridors over night after their initial examination and temporary treatment. Unfortunately a few ended up in our morgue. This activity was one I will never forget, and to think we were only one hospital of many in the south of England who went through the same experiences. Some of the casualties stayed with us for months, a lot were sent to convalescent camps in the Cornwall area as the climate and countryside were ideal conditions for one recuperating from such a horrible experience. Others were so bad they were sent home to Canada and continued their treatments there.

We carried on for the next few months operating a general hospital in a very professional manner, everyone doing his or her best to make the patients comfortable. As I mentioned everyone was busy, busy, and during this busy time I was asked to take a deceased patient down to the morgue. I was on my way to pick him up when a non-medical man, Cpl. Wes Oakley was passing by the room and I asked to give me a hand to put the deceased man on a gurney. Well with Wes at his feet and my arm under his shoulder, poised for the move, I lifted the head and shoulders, when all of a sudden a gush of air was released which sounded like a painful groan. Well my helper took off like a scared rabbit and I must admit it did sound scary, but I managed to get some one else and the job was soon taken care of.

While I’m on the subject of the morgue, let me tell you of one of my good friends a young chap my age who was a lab technician. Some of us liked to play sports and some stuck to books, and he was a bookworm. The results of his reading and studies paid off as he soon became officer material and left the army as Lieutenant Reg Allmand. On his return home he went back to school and graduated as a doctor. Thought I would put that information in as I am pleased to say we still keep in touch with each other today.

There were numerous occasions when we were called upon to obey an order when it was given. All working together on the task, even though it was tiring, was an exhilarating, interesting, exciting experience. Even though, knowing I was part of it, I hoped this type of situation would never happen again, as once in a lifetime was enough.

During our next few months the routine was as before the raid, regular shifts, and rather boring, but it did give us more time for other activities. It was about this time, one of my buddies Doug Wallace and myself went together and bought a motorcycle. We started off with a small machine at first. The type you had to run beside as fast as you could then jump on as the motor started and take off. It was very noisy one, but we did have fun. Then we graduated to a larger 500 cc (bsa) one of England’s better motorcycles. Sometimes Doug and I went out together for a ride but more often than not I would use the bike alone, and Doug the same. There was an occasion when I took Nin for a cross-country ride. While I was trying to navigate a rather rough and steep incline she bounced right off the bike. She was an experienced pillion rider (passenger on her dad’s bike pre-war days) and didn't have any fear, nor did she hang on with her arms wrapped around me, all I had to do was concentrate on getting to the top off the hill. Consequently, when I got to the top and turned around to ask how she enjoyed the ride, I saw her at the bottom of the hill. Boy what a surprise that was. Fortunately she only had a cut and bruised knee so we carried on with our trip. We did enjoy a few other rides around town. Another time when I went down to visit Nin, I dropped Doug off at the local cinema with the intention of picking him up on the way home. Parking the bike legally in front of the house, I had a two-hour visit with the family, then left to go pick up Doug. To my surprise a policeman was standing beside my bike and asked for my license and insurance papers. I showed him and then he asked for a third party risk insurance, which I didn't have. Then he mentioned my dropping Doug off at the cinema. So he wrote me up in his note pad, said there was nothing to worry about just routine check, and took off on his bicycle. We went down to the local office and purchased the insurance policy, which cost about five shillings. About two months later I was summoned to the courts in Guildford, charged with the above-mentioned infraction. They fined me two pound, ten shillings (about ten dollars Canadian) on top of that they endorsed my license, and I was no longer allowed to ride the bike. We sold the bike to pay the fine, with a little left over, end of that story.

Another experience was visiting our friends, a Canadian family in Haslemere, the Weatherburns. An older lady and gentleman, and his brother were caught in England as the war started and were not allowed to leave the country. It was lucky for us, as they opened their doors to any Canadian soldier, almost any time we wanted to visit. Their home was only a few doors up from Nin's Aunt Annie, so Nin was asked if she would like to help serving the tea sandwiches and she agreed. I thought it was great having her around. They had a small pool table called bagatelle, at which we all had a try. It was fun and it passed away some of our leisure time. I believe a few bets were made, which made it interesting. I sometimes thought we took advantage of their hospitality as we visited their home frequently. If my memory serves me right they came from Manitoba. Sorry to say after my return from Europe, and so much on my mind, I never saw them again.

Another thought that comes to mind was, our barber Russ Bell. He was a man who loved his ale and he could cut hair drunk or sober, sometimes better drunk. He occupied the bunk bed above me, and on one occasion had one drink too many, and getting to bed as quickly as possible forgot to visit the latrine. After a short time in bed he realized this, and made an attempt to go. In his condition, he missed his grip on the edge of his bed and toppled over the side onto the cement floor, a drop of five or six feet. He landed on his head and fractured his skull. We all felt very bad, but it could have been worse with a fractured neck. Unfortunately for us he was hospitalized for a long time and was unable to go with us on our next move. We did loose a good friend and barber. I don't remember seeing him again.

The next surprise was in May 1943, when we were ordered to pack up our personal gear and prepare for yet another move. This time we were trucked down to Portsmouth docks and loaded onto a boat with many other troops. Within twenty-four hours we were on our way to Africa. This trip was somewhat like the 1940 experience except the waters through the Bay of Biscay were much rougher and certainly were not for the likes of me. First off, all our sleeping quarters were hammocks slung so close together, that if you tried to turn over you could almost punch the chap sleeping next to you, especially when the ship made a sudden dip, dive or lean. Then there was the problem of getting to the heads (the navel term used for toilets). One had to fall out of bed, crawl under the hammocks along to the designated pathway, stand up and find your way in a dimly lit area, do what you had to then find your way back to bed. During the night, while almost a sleep I would hear someone say "What the hell are you doing?" “Sorry mate, made a mistake, thought this was my row”. When you eventually reached your spot, their was the task of getting back on the swinging bed. It took time and practice, but we managed ok.

The ship was so crowded our meal schedule was as before. Two meals, with plenty left over for a doggie bag, for those who wanted it. Now this is where all hell broke loose. I was so ill I just couldn’t move, and was, like all others, ordered up on deck for the usual boat drill. As you can imagine these waters were constantly patrolled by German U-boats. Well I just had to refuse the order of a young Lieutenant. I told him point blank "I couldn't care less if the boat did sink, sir. I am dying anyway". He took pity on me and had some lads take me to the sick bay. The next morning, still not feeling good, when one brainy comrade got the idea of tying a small piece of pork on a string, got me to swallow it then before it got too far down jerked it out causing a vacuum, hoping to make me vomit. The effort was to no avail, I just had to suffer and not eat too much. It was not a pleasant trip at all.

But all's well that ends well, and shortly after the bay disaster we started our trip through the Mediterranean. What a beautiful sight, crystal clear waters, smooth as a baby’s bottom. It was then my queasy stomach had settled down, and now our only fears were the lurking subs. We did arrive at Algiers unscathed, except for my stomach and me.

We disembarked at noon, and immediately formed up for our march to a campsite called Cork Forest, just a mile or two outside of the city of Philipsville, and over looking the Mediterranean. As this was a holding unit for reinforcements, the tents were already set up. Most of us managed to get a tent in the shade. The bell tent was approximately twelve feet across with a pole in the centre, and was used only at night, as we ate all our meals picnic style, sitting on logs, stones or leaning against a tree. It really wasn't too bad. The meals were cooked well and served in generous portions. I think under the circumstances we fared quite well. The small portion of the meal that we could not eat (due to the old saying “our eyes were bigger than our stomachs”) was dumped into a 45-gallon drum after we swilled the contents with what tea was left over. Then we washed our mess tins in hot soapy water rinsed in cool water, dried and put them away 'till the next meal. This drum was just left as garbage food, but the local Arabs would fight over a turn to dip into it with two hands, and the one with the larger hand got the best portion and ate right in front of us. I guess you would say it was the closest thing to starvation, just terrible when you think of it.

We had six men and all our gear in the tent. You can imagine it was very crowded and hot as the devil, somewhere in the region of 100 to 110 degrees Fahrenheit. The view across the sands the first thing in the morning was a constant haze. In my opinion I think it was like a mirage type of condition. Towards the noon hour we all thought it was fantastic, as off in the distance we could see the cool clear waters of the Mediterranean. It really was a fantastic view, and the distance was calculated about a mile or two at the most. At this time the important instructions we were ordered to comply with were issued. Make sure at meal times all food crumbs must be removed from the area, as the ants, which appeared huge (1/2 inch long, large bodies with reddish heads, and long feelers) would smell the food and raid the camp site. Another was to keep out of the sun as much as possible, because if by chance, you did get too much sun and got sun stroke, or bad burns, (and thought it was necessary for you to visit the doctor) you were automatically charged with self inflicted wound, which could result in a cut in pay, any where from one week up to twenty-eight days. I believe I did mention previously, that whenever you were fined, it meant you had to forfeit double the time of pay. For example if you got a fine of 28 days you lost 56 days pay. The reason being, everyone had to send half their pay home to their spouse, family, or defer it until after the war. Consequently the portion of money you would receive is cut in half, and the money deducted would come out of your half. A tough deal, but that was the rule.

We started to receive mail from home. Bags and bags of letters and parcels, such as socks, toques, sweaters, cigarettes and sweets. A lot came from different organizations such as the Legions, Red Cross, Salvation Army, and many others, not forgetting our families. The cigarettes came in cartons of three hundred or a thousand, so we had plenty of them to share if necessary. They also issued fifty of them in a sealed tin, but as they smelt and tasted so bad, we couldn't even give them to the Arabs. Well on one of these mail deliveries one of the boys got a large box of chocolates, and being a real sweet tooth, tried to keep them to himself (in the tent). A very bad move, because when we got back from one of our lengthy route marches, the ants had a march of their own. They attacked the bag from top to bottom. If you can imagine warm melted sweet chocolate all over his kit with millions of ants having a ball. After having to scrub all his gear and cleaning out the ants, all I can say is we sure learned a lesson -“No food left in the tents”.

As hot as it was, we were allowed one canteen of drinking water per day, which was filled from a huge water truck that arrived every day. The water was drinkable, but lukewarm. Except in the morning, as the nights were so cold the first morning drink was very refreshing. And as it was cool, we were grateful for a good night’s sleep. During the evening or whenever possible, we would venture to the local hole in the wall and have a few drinks of wine or whatever. The pubs were not the best-kept places, but the camaraderie was first class. The cost of a quart bottle of wine, be it red or white, was about 25 cents, and liqueurs cost were as high as $1.00 for a bottle the same size. Not too bad for guys like myself, who drank socially. Ha.ha.

While sitting around the camp one very hot day, a few of us thought we would try the two-mile trek across the sands to dabble our feet in the blue crystal waters of the Mediterranean. Well believe me, that two-mile trek, with the numerous ups and down, (the invisible dunes) turned out to be somewhere in the region of five miles. We damn near died with heat. When we eventually arrived at the beach, we just literally fell into the water. It took us the best part of three hours, if my memory serves me right. On our return trip we managed to talk an American driver to go a short distance out of his way, for a package or two of Canadian cigarettes. Thank God, and the USA driver for that. (Never again).

SECTION TWO(Scroll down for Section One)

Reveille was the first sound of every morning at 6.a.m. That meant rise and shine, your day has just started. I must admit, sometimes it felt a little too early, but it was a sound that made you really feel you were alive and ready to tackle the world. (That was my feeling, a silly young buck who didn't know any better.) I still didn't need a shave to pass inspection (the matches were still available) so washing up, cleaning my teeth, and getting dressed was a quick and easy task. You see we only had six sinks in the ablution area. The situation did result in some confusion as some men took longer than others and we had to be on parade at the next bugle call. Our routine days were started by p.t. (physical training) anywhere from 6:30 to 7:00 a.m. breakfast at 7:30 and our first muster at 9:00 a.m. At this parade every person had to be accounted for.

As we were in a different country, new rules had to be laid down; what our boundary of limitations was, and when and where we were allowed to go. Passes must be issued before leaving the town. Our curfew was 10:00 p.m., unless we had a pass, which allowed us to stay out until 11:59. We had to be in by midnight or suffer the consequences. The charges laid here were AWOL. Absent With Out Leave. The punishment was usually confined to barracks (c.b.) for seven days and sometimes resulted in a duty in the kitchen, peeling potatoes, scrubbing pots and pans, also latrine duties, like digging holes etc. Some passes were issued for a weekend. That was from Friday afternoon until Sunday midnight. All rules applied, and full uniform must be worn at all times, while in public.

The mess hall (our dining area) was in a large hut with long rows of tables and benches to sit on. Not very much elbow room, just enough to allow you to eat and get out as quickly as you could. Not too much chatting. To my recollection our meals were not too bad. The breakfast menu consisted of good and hot porridge, bacon or sausage, fried potatoes, bread, tea or coffee. Lunch served at twelve usually thick soups, crackers, bread, tea or coffee. Supper at five, some form of meat, fowl, mutton, beef, with potatoes a vegetable followed by a slice of pie, some times cake, tea or coffee. The variations of meals consisted of beans with ham, Spam fried in batter. Not all together too bad and you could have as much as you wanted to eat. The men ate in their mess hall, the sergeants in theirs and the officers in theirs. After each, and every meal the orderly officer of the day was escorted by a sergeant and would enter our mess hall asking for any complaints. Now one had to be very careful here, or you would find yourself on kitchen duty. That is if your comments weren't justified. All in all the meals in general were not too bad. Now after having said that… One suppertime in April we were served a meal that we found out later was either tainted or poisoned. (Rumours indicated the latter) By about seven o clock while I was in the local picture house enjoying a good western movie, I had a sudden urge to get to the washroom.

Thank god I made in time. Less than ten minutes later I found myself in the same predicament, only this time I had company. Two of my buddies had the same problem. The toilet was sure getting a work out that evening. Now that is not the end of it. My next session about ten minutes later I was met with five or six buddies, maybe more, in a ten by ten washroom with one toilet one urinal and one sink - all being used for one purpose. The room was in one hell of a mess. Our next move was necessary to make a very quick exit out of the theatre and head for the camp. Well, I thought I was the fastest runner in my age group at the time, but I found out there were others just as fast. All of us trying desperately to make it in time with the horrific desire to be first. I arrived at the camp, only to find all the heads (40 toilets) occupied. Now you can imagine the dilemma and the urgency to find a suitable place. Left to our own discretion we decided to use the area between the huts. This situation carried on from approximately eight o'clock to ten, then the doctors were called out to administer caster oil to all infected men. It seems that it was the only method available to push the poison out of our systems. My personal feeling at the time was ‘thank God I can’t vomit’. For the others, it was terrible. It got so bad that some men had to be sent men back to Canada with a chronic dysentery problem. The situation was cleared up within the week, including the campgrounds.

Now that things were back to normal we all settled down to our daily routine; lectures on first aid, squad drills, and parades. The repetitious programs became very boring after three months, but we survived. The training did us a lot of good and kept us on our toes, despite the continuous complaining. During our stay in Borden we witnessed the installation of several ack-ack guns and bomb shelters, an occasional air attack (strafing mostly) and to my recollection no one was seriously injured.

Shortly thereafter a new group of troops arrived, so we were ordered to move out. In less than twenty-four hours we were out and settled in a new camp under canvas in a smaller town of Crookham Crossroads. It was a short stay but very exciting, as the Dunkirk, France evacuation was taking place, and the British soldiers were returning to England. It was our first sight of war casualties and it was horrific. The men were being carried in on stretchers, after their long trip from the coast to our camp. Those who could walk were helped off the trucks, and with the aid of improvised crutches made their way into the hospital tent. Blood stained bandages wrapped around the heads, arms, and legs. Their clothes all torn and cut to get at the wounded areas. All in all it was a gruesome sight. This is where our training was put to use. All inside huge marquee tents set up as temporary hospital. We were stationed there until June. I'm sure our thoughts at this time were "if this is war, we've had enough”.

A few weeks later we are again on the move, this time to Bramshot, a famous military campsite of the first war. The hospital was a new wooden structure and our quarters, under canvas were a short distance away. But within a month or so they had our wooden huts built. Our first patients were men driving on the opposite side of unfamiliar roads, causing many accidents. I forgot to mention that a radio announcer named Lord Haw Haw would come on the radio numerous times during the day spreading propaganda telling the country what the troop movements were and when the clocks were wrong, etc. And one time he mentioned that the Germans had said, "Leave the Canadians alone and they will kill themselves". At first he wasn't too far wrong, but eventually, we did manage to conquer their road conditions. And in so doing reduced the number of road accidents.

Now we'd had a good month cleaning the whole campsite area which we all thought was a real laborious job. Every one pitched in raking, carrying bits of lumber, trees and loose papers. Any thing you saw that shouldn't be there was moved. Towards the end of June when it was all was clean and tidy, our nursing sisters arrived, and I must admit they sure added a lot of beauty to our newly cleaned up site. Their nice white blouses and blue skirts topped with the usual nurses head wear, most of them just out of nurse’s college and in their early twenties. Of course we still had the matronly type who were in charge, and very strict with their discipline and the ladies behaviour. They were all officers and were expected to act accordingly. The rank of lieutenant commanded a lot of respect, and they got it. We had to address them as Miss so & so, sir, or their rank. Never by their first names. I thought we all got along very well, considering we were all seasoned veterans with nine months plus of service behind us and even though they had the senior rank.

Our hospital was equipped to handle about eleven hundred patients and, designed in a huge square at ground level. If you can imagine, entering the compound from the London, Portsmouth Road (highway) into a long circular driveway stopping at the front entrance. There was no emergency entrance, as all casualties were considered important. The orderly room or the reception as we call it now, was controlled by experienced office staff. The patients were admitted with a medical problem they would be escorted to the medical side of the square designated as m/a through m/n, and the surgical patients to s/a through s/n. Each ward consisted of approximately thirty patients. The dining area was a large room along the back corridor but most of the men were fed in their beds.

To understand just what talents we had on the staff, most of the men were from the Toronto hospitals, consequently with the hospital trained medical men in our unit, our field training at Niagara was not totally required. At this time we found out there were other positions that had to be filled, such as cooks, firemen, security guards, sanitary details, etc., and then there was quarter master stores.

This was a section of the hospital that was rather important, and split into separate groups. Stewart stores first as it had to take care of the rations (food) that came in to feed the entire unit and the patients. This area was kept under constant security and regular inventory procedures. Porridge was a definite item on the menu followed by bacon and eggs, or sausage with fried potatoes. Not such a bad meal to start the day. Lunch was a variety of soups, cold cuts, salads, etc. Supper was some sort of hot or cold roast beef, pork, mutton, mutton, and mutton, potatoes, vegetable etc. The menu was prepared by an experienced dietician and served up cafeteria style by passing by the cooks and his helpers, holding out your mess tin as the kitchen help scooped the food into them. All meals included tea, coffee or juice.

Then we had a huge linen store where we kept track of sheets, pillowslips, blankets, and pillows - all used by patients. Some, if not all, the sergeants managed to scrounge the necessary comforts, for a good night sleep, but the other ranks (that’s us) had to make do with our own private issue. We had a bolster (pillow) and one blanket only. We would sometimes use our great coat if it turned cold. Here we slept in bunk beds, in our new huts with forty men in a rather large dormitory. It turned out to be very comfortable.

Then we had another section called pack-stores. This is where I worked and had to record and store all the patient clothes and personal items such as uniforms, rifles webbing equipment etc. The patients had to keep their gas mask and steel helmet by their beds in case of emergencies, such as air attacks or sabotage. Some of the clothes were either very dirty, torn or marred with bloodstains. In those cases we would record and discard the items. On discharge from hospital the individuals involved would receive all new gear right down to their underwear. We had to make a complete inventory of the patient’s items and sign for them. A patient named Ed Snow noticed my signature and asked if i knew an R.S.M. Arthur Hogg back in Toronto. When i told him he was my uncle, he sure was surprised and said “Hi cousin, I married his daughter Lillian”. What a time and place to meet a relative. Not knowing him very well, we had little to talk about, but did get together after the war at a family meeting.

My work mate was Pete Rapley, a great guy to work with. He was a tall man, six foot two or more. I was five nine and Frank (our corporal) was a neat five footer. We got along very well together. Frank and Pete were dubbed the Mutt and Jeff team. A great joke around the camp. Now that we have the G.M. stores sorted out, I must say our seminars during our stay in Bramshot were necessary to keep up our knowledge and skills of our past training, especially the men who were assigned to non-medical and non-surgical duties. All in all our days were usually a nine to five type of situation, except for the nursing staff, which required shift work as we were a 24 hour around the clock operation. Other positions that didn't require full service such as the kitchen labour tasks, peeling potatoes, scrubbing pots and pans, and so on were covered at night by the men who had committed a petty crime. This included neglecting his duty, (sleeping on the job) absent without leave, insubordination, etc. Their punishment would be any where from seven to twenty eight day c.b. (Confined to barracks). Thank god I wasn't caught.

The sports officer a captain Hugh Rapsey (also our new paymaster) did a fine job of organizing different activities for every one that was interested. Baseball, soccer, volleyball and even track & field. We had an in-house league for all the events. I made an attempt to play every sport with the exception of boxing. I couldn't stand the sight of blood (especially my own). Then as young as I was, and thinner than most, I did manage to make the units team of fastball. A fielder at first, then I graduated to third base, a tough position to play. Stopping a line drive with no glove, by god it did smart at first! As a team we got good enough to challenge any branch of the service within a twenty-mile radius. We were privileged in having a vehicle any time we had a game away from our home base. In some cases, when playing an American team we would stay for supper. My god those guys sure ate well. We never sat down to eat. Their tables were high enough to eat while standing. In one of the field events I did manage to pick up a bronze medal for being second in the running broad jump. I can't remember the distance, though I think 15 to 20 feet without steroids. I’ve still got the medal on file. (The record today is 27 ft. or I think, maybe more).

The daily routine was repetitious for the first six months. As we all got used to our regular assigned duties, we were split up again into different groups and under the direction of a senior educated instructor our lectures began once more. The two-hour seminars we had to attend each day were rather interesting medical and surgical instruction. It was an advance course of our Niagara procedures. All the courses and seminars we attended and passed were credited accordingly and it was all recorded in our file. A common occurrence most evenings was a group of the boys would climb (or more like cram) into the back of an ambulance and head for the local town of Haslemere to take in a show or visit some friends. It was on one of these trips at the end of my first year in 1940 on November 15th when a chap by the name of Pat Jarrett (just another one of the young lads in my unit) and I sat watching yet another western, “Destry Rides Again”with James Stewart, when I met Lilian. It all came about when I found it necessary to stand up and remove my great coat (a military term for overcoat) and blocked the view of this lovely young lady sitting behind me. She was with her cousin who was twice her age, and keeping her company. A comment was made by Margaret (the cousin) about my obstructing their view. I turned around to apologize and I saw just how beautiful this young lady looked. Her hair looked neat and tidy, her face was clear, her eyes were sparkling, and her appearance with no make up, was, in my opinion, out of this world. She looked lovely and I immediately thought this was the girl for me. After the show Pat and I made our way out and found the rain coming down in buckets. The crowd gathered (the best they could) under the canopy in front of the show. All were trying to make up their minds how they were going to attack the elements. My friend Pat spotted the young lady and started up a conversation, hoping to make a date with her. Having nothing to do with Pat or myself the two started their trip home. We, or I should say Pat (as I was a bit shy), thought it was a good idea to walk them home. Fortunately for us, it was a short distance, and we were at their house within five minutes. After a brief time talking Pat was having a difficult time to convince her to see him again. Then I stepped in and said “I 'm sorry but it’s time for us to leave,” and at the same time gesturing with my hand said “I’ll see you tomorrow night" and just to get rid of us she agreed. I immediately asked who I should ask for and she said (I thought) “Lil' Anne.”

Well the following evening, it was still raining like the devil, I turned up at the door with a rain cape over my shoulders. My steel helmet covering my head, I plucked up the courage to knock on the door. The surprised look on her face was evident. She didn't recognize me, so after reintroducing myself she invited me in to meet her mother, her sister Dorthy, Auntie Annie and again to her cousin Margret. We had rather a quiet evening. We talked a little about Canada, and my family, also about her brother Arthur being in the navy, her two sisters Phyllis and Beryl who had been evacuated out of London. Her sisters were evacuated because of the bombing, and as there was no room at Auntie Annie’s home, they ended up with a family out in the country. During this visit I noticed them calling my newly found friend “Nin”. They told me that when Beryl was starting to talk she couldn't say the letter "L” so Lilian became Ninian, and then was shortened to Nin, which she is called to this day. Surprisingly enough my Grandson Brett had the same problem, (Yes!! You, Bretty up until you were five years old.) He was so good when he looked at us and said "I wove you Poppa. I wove you to Nana, I wove everybody.” We sure love him.

On that first visit we had evening tea. I did not meet her dad, as at this time he was in London fighting fires. Lilian’s father was in charge of a group of firemen stationed at the Royal Albert docks. If you get a chance to see any pictures of those London blazes remember that nana's dad (your great-great-grandfather) was there. It was a very dangerous job, seven days a week and consequently he didn't get to see his family too often. After our conversations I asked if I could see her again, which she agreed to, then off to camp at 9:30 or so, happy as a lark.

Some time in early 1941 the word got out that we could start arranging for our leave to any where in the United Kingdom. Before I left home my mother's baker (a delivery man) knowing I was scheduled to go overseas, thought for a moment then suggested he would appreciate my dropping in to meet his mother in Scotland. Her name was Mrs. Baine and she lived at 145 Mansfield Road, Torry Aberdeen (an address I’ll never forget). She was a wonderful elderly women of about 40 or 50 years who immediately took me into her home and family, and treaty me as such. I don't think the Laird of Scotland could have been treated better. She made it difficult for me to select future leave destinations, as I always wanted to go back to Scotland. But after having said that, and really not wanting to over extend my privilege, and her hospitality, I did manage to take leave in Cleathorpes Lincolnshire, (my dad's home town). For the life of me I can't remember who it was I stayed with, or what I did while there. But during my few days there I do remember taking a walk down to the local sea front. While walking, with a female relative (I think) I managed to step on a flat slippery rock, and went over on my right ankle, resulting in an excruciating pain. With the aid of my tour guide I managed to get back to the house. Her mother was very apologetic and started hot and cold compresses immediately. In the meantime I scribbled a short message to my R.S.M. briefly explaining my situation. I gave the young lady some money and she went to the local post office and sent a telegram. “Sir. Have severe sprained ankle. Will return as soon as possible. B93691 Hogg”. Then with the TLC I received it didn't take too long, perhaps three days, before I was able to return to my camp. The next morning the R.S.M. asked me if I had reported in sick. I said I wasn't really sick, then he said, “Can you explain this?” showing me my telegram. He said “Report to company orderly room at 0900 hrs. charged with A-W-O-L.” (Absent without leave).”Yes sir” I replied. After walking away from him he said “Hogg, don't bother reporting until I call for you.” And I never heard another word about that offence, lucky me.

I also visited Walthamstow, London (my mother's home area), just to say I was there. Then Manchester, Newport Pagnel, to visit a distant relative of my mothers, a Mr. and Mrs. George Whitlock and their daughter Bessie, who was just a couple of years older than me. Her husband was in the British army; serving in Egypt. I never did meet him. All these places were in England. Then I also visited Glasgow, Edinbourough and some other places in Scotland.

All the people made me feel so welcome, and the places were all so interesting I thought it really would be a good country to live in or retire to. Everything was, for us as soldiers, reasonably cheap, not realising that sometime in the future we might have to settle down and work. But at the time, we did as we liked, lived for the day, and got paid. It all sounded so great.

SECTION ONE

Dear Hailey and Brett,

Early in the year 2001 your Grammy thought it would be a great idea if I could remember a few of my military experiences from 1939 to 1945. As not being a very good writer, she and your Uncle John decided to buy me a computer. My first challenge was to learn how to use it, which included practice typing, and then put all I could remember down on paper. I will try my best, so here goes. Hope you like it.

Well it all started back in 1938 in our house at 56 East Drive Mount Dennis, just outside of Toronto. We were having a great family gathering. My Uncle Arthur, on my father’s side, the Regimental Sergeant Major, was a very strict, very military minded man. He was a person any man or nephew would be very proud of and respect. His military career started with World War 1 where he served the full four years, 1914 -1918. After the war, he was instrumental in organizing the St. Johns Ambulance Corps in Canada. His experience in World War 1 and the ambulance brigade in the twenties earned him a great deal of respect from the medical officers in the Toronto area. My father Herbert was wounded during World War 1. After the war did enjoyed the military life, so continued his service in the Non Permanent Active Militia (or NPAM). He was a staff sergeant with a rather placid disposition, though I might add, was very good in his position as an NCO Well any way they both got together and decided I was tall enough to join the army.

So with their instructions I was to give a great deal of attention to remembering my fictitious birth date of Nov. 2 1919 - 1919 being the key date, as I was born in 1922. Now with this age, and my appearance -shoes, pants pressed, buttons polished - I was able to convince the authorities I was a good candidate for the non-permanent active militia. I followed in the footsteps of my father and my uncle and became part of the medical corps. No prove of age was necessary at that time, so as of May 5th 1938 I was in the army. Not cadets, the real army at the age of 15. On this date also, I was issued a uniform. I’m sure you have seen pictures of the World War 1 uniforms, the ones with brass buttons, peak cap, putties etc. The putties (like bandages) were wrapped around my legs from the ankle to my knees and with my highly polished boots I proudly walked out of the house every Thursday night at 6pm ready for my parade and duties at the armouries located on University Avenue just North of Queen St. in Toronto at 7.00 p.m. sharp, with no excuses.

The trip was a good 45 to 60 minutes by bus and streetcar. What proud moments they were, being seen, in public, in my uniform! My introduction into the squad was a solid two hours of marching with orders, such as left turn, right turn, quick march, halt, right incline, left incline, about turn, etc. This was to make sure we were all capable of taking orders and obeying responsibly without question. I was only a month in the unit, which was called the 16th Field Ambulance Corps R.C.A.M.C. when in June we were all rigged out with special gear, of web equipment including back pack, fully loaded with great-coat ground sheet, extra clothing, mess tins etc., all packed correctly. Then our blanket neatly folded and wrapped around the outside of the pack. Every man had similar equipment, so other that our different heights we all looked sharp as we headed for our two week training course at Camp Niagara.

An annual event, and what an experience that was! First we marched from the University Armouries to the city docks, all very happy to be on our way. We sang old and new army songs like “A long way to Tipperary, Roll out the barrel, Roll me over etc. I guess we thought it helped to keep in step, and we were pleased with ourselves. We soon boarded the Cauga (name of the boat I think) and took off for Niagara-on-the- Lake. It was on this trip that I found out I was not cut out for the navy. The currents of the waters were too much for my stomach. But it, (my stomach) settled down as soon as we spotted land on the other side of the lake.

Then we had a short route march to the site with, of course, more singing. Upon arriving at the camp we noticed the tents were all assembled and looked neat and tidy. As they called out our names, we would stand outside the designated tent until all ranks (men) were accounted for then as the orders were given we entered the tent and laid our kits out in an orderly fashion. Just like kids but in a very military manner. At this time my tent mates were Pete Rapley, Doug Wallace, George Forward, Bert McGuinnes and Cliff Pearson. We had been in the camp only two days when my dear uncle, even though I mentioned he was very strict, warned me of the rumours going around about his favourite nephew getting out of certain duties. Then he told me in no uncertain terms that when there were any undesirable jobs that required attention that I should keep the hell out of his sight. Which I did, and it paid off.

We spent our days starting with reveille at 6:00am, followed by an hour of gymnastics at 6:15, a shower, and then dressed for breakfast. That was an every day event. After breakfast we were split up into groups of about 20 men. I was fortunate to be joined with my tent group, as we tried to keep together as much as possible for lectures etc. Our leader at the time was a corporal Frank Poole. (Incidentally he's the same Frank I’m in touch with today 2002,and have the occasional drink) he would put us through our squad drills as well as instruct us in first aid. The discipline of these activities were very strict, and for me it was a very exciting time .I would do my best to keep up with older and somewhat wiser men than myself. At the time I always wanted to get involved in every activity. If for no other reason than to prove to myself that I could handle most situations and take care of myself.

The camp routine was not all training. We spent part of our late afternoon and evening with sporting activities such as softball, horseshoes, high jumping and all sorts of track and field events. During one of our baseball games and playing my position in right field, a ball was well hit, in the air between me and the centre fielder, both of running as fast as we could, with our eyes on the ball we collided, the other chap being almost double my size, sent me flying. I really thought I ran into a brick wall. Badly shaken up I was taken to the camp hospital, the doctor was very thorough and after a complete examination, found I had a bad case of athlete’s feet. Not a serious problem but had to soak my feet in a solution of potash permanganate, three times a day for four days. The condition soon cleared up, but my feet held a beautiful colour of purple for the rest of our camp session and my trip back home. The only good (or bad) thing that came out of this was I was put on light duty, which in turn cut my opportunity to play ball. I ended up being an umpire, which kept me involved. Some of the men who were not interested in sports would go to town for a drink, and other pleasures.
Our route marches were some thing else. In some cases we would think nothing of marching five or ten miles before lunch and if the man in charge was not happy with us we would do the same after lunch. Not too often, but just enough to let us know who was the boss. We had three companies of medical personnel. My company, the 16th field ambulance, was under the supervision of R.S.M.(Regimental Sergeant Major) Arthur Hogg. The 2nd unit was the 7th field cavalry combined with the 2nd field ambulance, which came under R.S.M. Ed Miller. These units were from Toronto University Armouries. Then on the other side of our parade square, (which was approximately the size of a football field) was the 5th field ambulance that was controlled by R.S.M. Tommy Ward and they all came from Hamilton. We each had our own colonels and individual officers. Almost every event we participated in was a challenge, even our haircuts, shoeshine, neatness, marching, etc., all was recorded each day. Failing to keep up meant extra fatigues for the individuals causing the infraction, such as kitchen duties, latrine, digging, more marching, and what ever. You can well imagine just how smart we were under Hoggy, his nickname. And what a leader he was. I must tell you now, on our first parade the R.S.M. Hogg looked me square in the eye and said, “When did you last shave soldier” I replied " I don’t shave sir” He came right back and said “Get that stuff off your chin” So after the parade was dismissed I went to my tent, and with a few tries with matches I burnt the fluff off. That was my first shave. And Hoggy was pleased to see it done.

Every evening, prior to our turning in for the night, two men would carry a very large tub with handles (half the size of a 45 gallon drum) and place it about thirty feet away from the tents on the parade square, a convenient spot for the use of those who had weak bladders and of course those who had too much to drink the night before, and couldn't find the latrines (washrooms) in the dark at night. Now hear this, the first morning I looked out of the tent I noticed one of the men with his hand in the drum up to his elbow. He was looking for his false teeth in the place where he deposited them the evening before during his sick spell. What a horrible sight! I later found out it was a common occurrence. What a thought that was.

At the end of first week at the camp we had to prepare for a long full pack route march, to an all night sleep over under the stars, situated in a bushy area adjacent to the Niagara River. The activities consisted of air and gas attacks. The local airport would send over a very low flying Lysander (a plane similar to a Cesna). It would search us out by flying low along the riverbank. Our camouflage had to be good enough so as the pilot couldn't see us, but when he did spot us, (and I think it was prearranged) he would drop small paper bags of flour into our camp site, and if you were any where near the drop you were considered a casualty and were taken care of by a non injured person. In some cases the injured were evacuated to a nearby makeshift hospital. Believe me, every thing was timed and checked. Also in the area there were red disc nailed to a few trees indicating an air attack, then, at unexpected times, a designated soldier would, (hopefully unseen), change the disc to a yellow one, indicating a gas attack. What a commotion that created, particularly for those who didn’t have their masks (just regular hospital masks at the time) on before being noticed by the N.C.O. in charge. As mentioned before every detail was recorded. All in all it was an important exercise .we all enjoyed the thrill and excitement of it , and hoped the day would never come for us to put it to use. Seminars were also being held every day, and on some we were given a slip of paper telling us the condition of a patient and we had to treat him accordingly.

By the end of the two weeks we were a lot wiser and if I say so myself we looked sharp, felt sharp, and we were sharp. You can imagine how proud we all felt (even me with purple feet) at the end of the two week period while on parade our pay master, Captain Harry Turner would sit on a table and dole out our pay which consisted of a $1.10 per day. Approximately 15 tax free dollars (and a two week so-called holiday) for each private (my rank). And an additional ten cents a day for every stripe you earned, not too bad in those days.

Well it wasn’t too difficult to imagine, all these men, with all this money, what they might get up to. Some went to town, others stayed home and got drunk. As it was our last day at camp, a few of the fellows and myself got together in a circle with a large bowl of gin, and passed it around so every one took a sip. On this occasion, after a couple of shots or sniffs of gin for me all hell broke loose. Feeling in a jolly mood, a few of us decided to do our creative gymnastics, building pyramids, three and four men high, diving and tumbling over on gym mattresses. All of a sudden, one of the men (Gord Beattie) accidentally flew through the side of the tent and tore it all to rat....... .We tried to cover it up by neatly folding it up ready for the early morning departure, not realizing you don't pack a wet tent. Hoggy came along and made us pitch it again. Then of course, the damage was noticed, and we, the tent occupants, had to fork out the cost of repair. $5. 00 each. So that two weeks we each received ten dollars.
In June of 1939 we more or less repeated the previous year, (leaving out the torn tent issue) but this time we felt more at ease, especially those who had some previous military and camp experience. Now being as young as I was and going through the experience of having a sip or sniff of alcohol and realizing the affect it had on me, I had a good idea. As we had a couple of dollars in our pockets, and we were dismissed from the armouries and from all parades until the following Thursday, Al Cox, myself, and a few others should go to the Edgewater Hotel for a drink of beer. It was down at Sunnyside, near where Grampy was born in St Joseph's hospital, a few years later of course. Well with one glass of beer in front of me I was challenged to drink the lot in one gulp. That one drink finished me and Al Cox had to escort me home in the streetcar. Mother wasn't too pleased and insisted Al stayed all night. I didn’t feel very good the next morning, but it soon wore off.

Now, later that summer and back in Toronto, much to our amazement, we were all summoned to appear at the armouries on Monday morning the 27th of August 1939. At the time I was working in a butcher store making sausages, cleaning the shop etc., also as a delivery boy on a bicycle. I mentioned this situation to the caller that I couldn't get away this week without some sort of notice for my employer. His sharp reply was “Our country is going to war, so no ifs ands nor buts. Just be there at 8 am sharp”.

“Yes sir”

Now you can imagine my mother’s feelings, her sixteen-year-old son going off to war. No way. But after the weekend we convinced her every thing was going to be just fine. So on Monday morning I, with all my new friends, reported to the armouries. Before long we were all assigned to different duties in a local old Grace Hospital situated on the corner of College and Huron Streets. After a day or so we all had a job, such as registering new recruits into the army, taking blood pressures, height, weight, etc. Some issuing uniforms, others recording their billeting quarters, which were located in the Exhibition grounds with us. Starting with the Horse Palace, where there were four men allocated to each stall. Orange crates for bedside tables and double bunks. Not too uncomfortable but no room for dancing or entertaining, but close enough to add to the camaraderie we all shared. We stayed in these quarters during our off duty periods until November, at which time we were moved to our new renovated home in the Automotive Building, just inside the Prince’s Gates. It was much cleaner and of course the air and odour was an awful lot better than that of the Horse Palace. Those on duty were transported back and forth to the hospital in trucks.
One day we were told that the newly formed 18th General Hospital Unit was taking over the operation and my uncle R.S.M. Arthur Hogg was to be in charge of this group. As of the middle of December, our new R.S.M. was Eddie Miller a fine, younger man than my uncle but, in my opinion was fully qualified, and fair to all the men under his command. He kept us all very busy because at this time we were preparing for the trip (we thought) over seas. The rumours changed every week. Not having any special duties to perform, they gave us a pass every weekend, and then of course each week we would tell our folks this is it, we leave next week. These rumours went on for three or four weeks, the general consensus with our families and friends was, “just go and we'll see you next weekend”.

Well it did happen on January 24th 1940. From that day we didn't see our friends or families for five and a half years. Some of my friends I never did see again.

As we boarded the train in the Exhibition grounds, the emotions were high that day. We all tried to keep calm and thought we just might be relocating to another city or another province. So with sandwiches in one hand, and waving frantically with the other, the train whistle blew and we started our trip east. We still were not sure how far. The train stopped at a place called Rivier De Loop in Quebec. It was a designated spot for us to get off the train and stretch our legs. It was a beautiful sight seeing the snow covered hills and the houses all topped up with loads of snow. The local people who could ski or wanted to learn were taking advantage of the freshly fallen snow along with the bright sunshine. The temperature at this time would be, I think around 0 to 5 degrees below zero ‘f’. If my memory serves me right, we made several stops along the route, and my most memorable ones were Rivier De Loop and Truro. In Truro the people were so good to us, by handing out all different kinds of food, such as cookies, cakes, sandwiches, also cigarettes, all free. They were so kind. Maybe they knew something we didn’t. Our next stop was Halifax, Pier 8 on January 1940.
Now seeing that ship, with the name on the side “Empress of Britain”, we knew we were going somewhere far, far away. The adrenaline was sure starting to generate some high emotions. Our suspicions were being confirmed. If you haven’t seen an ocean liner up close, you couldn’t possibly visualize the size of that ship. It was humungous. Our quarters aboard this ship were obviously pre-allocated by unit. There was very little confusion while going up the ramps to our sections. The rooms were just like that of a luxury liner, (which it was) with wardrobes, white sheets, separate wash basins, you name it we had it. The ship had not yet been converted into a troop ship. We thought we had died and gone to heaven. I don’t think any of us had ever experienced such luxury. The stewards aboard treated us as royalty. The food was out of this world, and being summoned to the dining room by a rather gentle voice of the steward, while on the way to war, well all our thoughts were “lets have more of this”.

I mentioned our food was great; the only catch was, due to the number of soldiers aboard, we were served only two meals a day. If again my memory serves me right I was on the 6.30 am and 4.30 pm sittings, but they compensated for the long time between meals by allowing us a doggy bag, that is, if you wished for extra food. A lot of the men had four meals a day two down and two up. I’m sure you will understand that. Believe me they were really seasick.

It was on the 27th of January 1940 when the engines started and the ship began to move slowly out of the harbour. Just as we reached the open waters we were accompanied by a number of other troop ships that were waiting off shore. Now we were ready to join the convoy. The sight was fantastic, with escort vessels, M.T.B.S. and all types of protection for our trip across the ocean. We understand now that the ship needed the protection, and we also had to change course many, many times during the trip to avoid submarines and their torpedoes. I’m not too sure of the stats of the ship, but I would imagine (at the time) it would be at least five or six hundred feet long, and 100 feet wide, and seemed a mile high. But I do know it was a huge sucker. Our first day out to sea was rather uneventful, a lot of men just stared out over the water and getting a last glance of our homeland, not knowing when we will see it again. We found out later that the swimming pool was closed down and packed with furniture. The reason being, on one of the previous trips (in December) a soldier was accidentally drowned. Imagine going to war and dying before you get there. What a shock to those he left behind. The first couple of days out, and losing all sight of land, my old tummy started to act up and the sea was getting rougher by the hour. The waves were now coming over the bow, and all passengers were ordered below. But by my recollections I did eat the two meals a day and didn't feel very good. (Horrible feeling and also the time where some men were having the four meals) After the weather settled down I found going up on deck did help some. At times I just wanted to die.

One of the main things we were told to do was remember our stateroom section and room number. If you decided at any time to go for a stroll around the ship you could very easily get lost. It wasn't like walking down a long set of stairs along the corridor up a few stairs along another corridor, because each set of stairs brought you onto a different level. If you didn't know where you started, you were up the well-known creek. There was an absolute rule of no smoking, or naked lights on deck after 4 p.m. until sun up in the morning.

It wasn't too long before we all settled down to a few different games of cards, bingo, crown & anchor, darts, etc. Some took to reading and as our family was aware, the later was not my forte. The ship's library was available to all aboard, but only a few took advantage .I can only guess it was because we were all so young and really didn't care much for reading.

The normal time for the crossing was about five days, and because of the previously mentioned zigzagging course we were forced to endure, our travel time was doubled. I might add at this time we came very close to a collision with one of the other ships, due to night running, heavy fog and, of course, no lights. All's well that ends well. So continuing our trip and social activities, I was involved with many types of card games (penny ante stuff), watched few movies, etc. It wasn't too long before i was introduced to the game of crown and anchor, just another game of chance where they spin a large wheel, and if the paddle stops on the number you have selected, you get the amount of money you bet where the paddle would stop. Now this got to be a very interesting game for me because during the last few days on board I managed to increase the $5.00, my total worth at the time of departure, to an amazing $100.00 plus before my arrival in Gourock, Scotland. I put it down to shear luck or dumb knowledge of betting skills. Never the less I came out a winner. Other than the games aboard ship, we had many exercises on deck. The gymnastic type, plus our usual squad drills, marching that is, along with many lifeboat drills, which at the time we all thought it was an exercise in futility. Without very much notice we were all timed as to how quickly we could get to our designated boat stations with our life jackets properly secured. All this was in case we got hit by a torpedo or stuck a mine with very high explosive attached. We soon learned the importance of this operation, and began to treat it with a great deal of respect. By the second day out, after several practice runs we had it down pat. It made us all feel that we were really working together as a great team.

Now here we are in February 1940 disembarking in a small town of Gourock, Scotland, at least that is where I thought we landed. But as I am making an attempt to give you my true facts, my comrades today tell me it was Greenock where we landed, as they were sister cities (very close to each other). I don't think it matters too much. Loading the awaiting, small looking trains, (compared to ours) seemed to take hours. There were numerous coaches on three different trains, each heading for a separate location in the south of England. During our long and tiresome wait, a few of us decided to take a walk into the near by business section, not too sure whether it was allowed but we did it anyway. And as I had a fair amount of cash I was invited to join two men, Harry Brown and Jack Graham, who I knew from the Niagara days, to go for a drink in the local bar. While there, I was curious enough to ask for a souvenir of our first time arrival in Scotland. All that the bartender had to offer was a small bottle (a mickey) of malt vinegar that he kept on the shelf for advertising purposes. So I accepted with thanks, and shoved into my inside pocket of my jacket. After the lads had their drinks, and I had a small beer we headed back to the train.

It looked obvious to us that the train adjacent to ours was fully loaded and ready to go. Well believe it or not, cunning Harry asked me to give him my souvenir bottle of so called rum, reluctantly I agreed. He paused for a few seconds and put it in his pocket. Walking rather slowly back to our train he waited for the right moment and handed the bottle back to me. Now it wasn't very long before we heard a lot of shouting from the other train (as they were all set to leave) asking us to sell them the bottle. Harry waited for the right time, heard their train whistle, asked for the bottle, and ran over and sold my free bottle for ten dollars. Then their train pulled out and we had the money, which more than paid for the drinks we had in the pub. We made our way back to our seats on our train where we were kept waiting for the rest of the day. It was getting dark, damp, and cold. They served some hot soup and sandwiches. Shortly after the so-called meal every thing was cleaned up and we prepared ourselves for the trip south.

There were blackout regulations, a condition enforced everywhere in Europe with no exceptions, and severe charges were laid against offenders. We were ordered to pull down all the blinds, curtain over the windows, and dim all the lights. Settling down for the night, pulling our overcoats over us we did just that.
It was early in the morning, blackout still in effect. We got ourselves ready for leaving the train. I don't remember what we had for breakfast or even if we had it at all. I do know it was in a military town of Aldershott with the same cold, damp weather we thought we’d left back in Scotland. At this time we climbed onto the back of large trucks (lorries to the locals). It seemed like forever, riding on the truck, which was in convoy with many others, driving at a governed speed. Very slow but as it was only about 4 or five hours to get to the small town of Borden, which was about 50 miles away. With that number of hours on the truck I'm sure we made several stops to stretch our legs, have something to eat, and the necessary trips to the washrooms.

Eventually we arrived in Borden, England and our quarters in Quadaloop barracks were situated on the outskirts of the town. Our sleeping quarters, we were told, were built for the soldiers in the first war. And seeing the condition of the place it wasn't too difficult to believe it. The dust was inches thick, the windows were covered with cob webs, the pop belly stove in the middle of the room was a rusty old relic, and as you can imagine we were all very tired, cold and felt miserable.
Our unit consisted of 263 men below the rank of regimental sergeant majors with 20 to 30 men to a hut we were indiscriminately assigned to our quarters with a corporal in charge of each. The R.S.M. and the sergeants were settled in a separate area, but close at hand. The officers were billeted in an area conveniently prepared before their arrival. I guess they deserve the best. The number of men in each hut made the clean up process rather easy. We were issued mops, pails, scrub brushes, etc. We soon had the rooms in pretty good shape. The steel six-foot beds were all in line down both sides of the room, toe to toe. Approximately 3 feet apart the beds were built in such a manner (like a concertina) that you could push them together to a three-foot length. This would give us more room to move around during the day. The mattresses were a three biscuits design, stuffed with straw, which were folded up during the day, and all blankets and kits were set out in a symmetrical manner. Everything had to be so correct for our daily inspection. The corporal in charge of our barrack room was Donald McCleod, a gentleman who had a terrific knowledge of handling young men. It didn't take us very long to understand his methods. We all pitched in and covered duties, such as sweeping floors, dusting windows and shelves, cleaning ablution room, and removing ashes from the stove. To ensure these jobs were kept in order he would designate a hut orderly each day. He came by his organizational trait honestly, as we understand he was the descendant of a clan in Scotland. It was to our surprise that he had the title of a Laird. Imagine our Cpl. a laird on the Isle of Skye.

Well enough about Don, let’s get on with the story of my military life. But, before I go any further I should mention at this time our corporal had a visitor. His nephew who was stationed nearby walked into our hut one evening, while we all were sitting around shooting the bull. Now during our conversation the nephew, out of the blue said, “Just as our train was pulling out of Gourock, Scotland some son of a gun sold me a bottle of vinegar for ten bucks" All went silent. Don knew who it was and said “you should be more careful with your money “. End of story, but what a coincidence! We all had a great chuckle when he left. Even Uncle Don.



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