My Father's War

It was during my university years that I first became aware of the peace movement. The Vietnam war was raging and I joined the campus marches and protest rallies which at the time seemed like the right thing to do. I loved the protest songs and the anti war performers and of course the like minded social contacts. At the time, peace was closely linked to the civil rights movement and the fight for desegregation. The irony of fighting for peace never occurred to me. I was a peacenik in the true spirit. I became the Wikipedia definition of "Someone who opposes armed conflict in general, or a particular conflict; or who publicly opposes the proliferation  of weapons."

My father volunteered for the Canadian Army Reserve Unit in November 1942 at the tender age of 27. Leaving his wife and one-year-old baby girl behind, he joined the Perth Regiment for initial training.  His active service began two months later in January 1943 when he joined the Royal Canadian Ordinance Corps in Barriefield, Ontario, just north of Kingston. He became an ammunition examiner: trained to inspect, repair, test,  store, and modify all ammunition. His voluntary nature was exploited when he was stationed at #3 Depot in Ottawa where he volunteered for "physical test". It is estimated that approximately 3700 members of the Canadian military volunteered to participate as human subjects in secret chemical warfare agent experiments. Tests were conducted  in Suffield, Alberta (from 1941 to the mid-1970s, but mainly in the Second World War era) and at Chemical Warfare Laboratories Ottawa (1941-45). The secret "physical test" lasted a month after which  he returned to his unit in Barriefield which was preparing to be shipped overseas.

This photo was taken in England sometime between May 7th 1944 and October 1944 when he arrived in France. Thereafter he was promoted to Corporal in charge of ammunition storage facilities and transferred to Holland.

Dad's personal stories  were difficult to withdraw and sparse in telling; in keeping with the attitude of the times. His brother-in-law and fellow enlistee, William Bond in the advanced age of his late 90's was more forthcoming. He told me about ammunition dumps, and delivering ordinances by truck to the front lines. About night bombing raids and the harsh reality of the casualties that surrounded him. The kind of war stories that were void of valor and heroism and rich in fear and suffering. Those who experienced the worst of the war shared no illusions. Death had been the backdrop of their lives. The depths to which fear can mark the soul was illustrated to me in an observation of Dad's driving habits. He always drove big cars and I noticed that he would continually accelerate then coast, accelerate and coast, in a most annoying pattern. My explanation came later, when my Uncle Bill  explained that the unusual pattern was adopted to vary the speed of a supply truck so a sniper would be unable to predict a clear shot through the trees or buildings. That pattern was so very deeply imprinted in his mind.

My father's discharge certificate is dated March 5th 1946. In it he is to "return to civil life on demobilization with a 1939-45 France and Germany Star, and a Canadian Volunteer Service Metal and Clasp". He was 30 years old and a troubled veteran.

I write this in an effort to understand my father.  My parents divorced when I was 11 years old. Dad returned to a land socially and politically dominated by those who had not served. I believe he found it difficult to communicate to such people, let alone cooperate with them. Between him and his society was a dark screen of horror and violation instilled by the knowledge of the reality of war. Across that screen it was difficult to communicate.  An experience shared by all his friends, who could only stand on the sidelines like exiles in a strange country. With death looming at all times , each soldier was granted license to deal with it as he saw fit. If there was decency to be found in war it was this private sphere of dignity, respected by all. A coping mechanism  that each soldier cultivated within himself, as he anticipated his own end and that of his friends and brothers. My father dealt with it like many  ...alcoholism.

We couldn't understand the night terrors, the nervous jitters, the poor health, the decent into alcoholic haze. As my research revealed a more complete picture I understood that my father didn't have the luxury of a peace movement. He was unable to sit around coffee houses and debate the issues of conflict. His attitude, nature, and culture insisted that he join the forces of good, and repel at all costs the forces of evil. A simplification for sure, but the way of the world in 1941. His volunteering for chemical testing reveals more about him than his inability to be a  father to his family. The war killed spirits as much as it destroyed men and women, and we all stand on the outside of that reality when we look into the eyes of a veteran.