I took many things with me on my journey westward from London to Vancouver Island. Some things came back unused. Other, more essential things rewarded me many times over.
Most of what I packed was ‘typical luggage’, like socks and T-shirts, a raincoat and comfortable walking shoes, spare cameras and soap, a toothbrush and moist towelettes. I took far too much, as usual. (Why did I pack a dozen shirts? To test my strength? I don’t know. I forget.)
Other things were meant to steer me closer to my chief goal, i.e., to walk, in a meaningful way, in some of my father’s footsteps, made when he served in the Canadian Navy in 1944 and ’45 on the island. I carried a list of daily appointments with museum curators and archivists; Google maps so I wouldn’t get lost in Victoria, Comox, Courtenay and Vancouver; black and white photos from Dad’s war years so I could compare background scenes with the geography of today.
["My schedule, contact list and maps were very handy"]
I also packed a book - about landing ships and barges and invasions in North Africa, Sicily and Italy, the things and events my dad was involved with when he was in his early twenties - so I could get a better sense of the man I was trying to chase and measure. The book referred to is simply called ‘Combined Operations’ and is one volume of three written by men who served Canada as Royal Canadian Naval Personnel in Combined Operations during WWII.
["Three volumes, written by men of Combined Ops"]
On my second day aboard the train I read the following about the landing craft my dad helped operate:
Landing Craft Mechanized Mark I (L.C.M.) - These Craft, designed to be carried and lowered from ships, used to rush ashore equipment required by the initial assault troops. Their length is 44 ft. 8 in. with a beam of 14 ft.... these are all steel built but do not afford much protection against enemy fire.
["Copy of news article, 1944"]
These Craft have done excellent work in invasions and are especially useful where larger Craft cannot approach the beach. Great endurance is required by the crews as their task is one which often lasts several weeks with the minimum facilities for food or sleep. (pg. 13)
The above passage, and surely the rest of the book’s contents, won’t mean much to many people, but I pass no judgement in that regard. Though I possessed the three aforementioned volumes for over 15 years, I barely scratched their surface until June, 2010, the month during which I set my father’s ashes adrift upon the Atlantic Ocean and visited parts of the city of Halifax that held some special meaning for him.
Plans for my trip west, however, followed shortly after I compiled my dad’s memoirs, stories and photos about the navy into one neat package, i.e., a small book entitled “Dad, Well Done” which contains the following story about his life on a landing craft:
["DAD, WELL DONE" memoirs, compiled by G.Harrison]
On November 11, 1942 the Derwentdale dropped anchor off Arzew in North Africa and different ships were distributed at different intervals along the vast coast. My LCM had the leading officer aboard, another seaman besides me, along with a stoker and Coxswain. At around midnight over the sides went the LCMs, ours with a bulldozer and heavy mesh wire, and about 500 feet from shore we ran aground. When morning came we were still there, as big as life and all alone, while everyone else was working like bees.
There was little or no resistance, only snipers, and I kept behind the bulldozer blade when they opened up at us. We were towed off eventually and landed in another spot, and once the bulldozer was unloaded the shuttle service began. For ‘ship to shore’ service we were loaded with five gallon jerry cans of gasoline. I worked 92 hours straight and I ate nothing except for some grapefruit juice I stole.
Twenty years ago a story about landing craft would only have captured my interest if it had been from Mars. Today, thanks to my father’s stories and photos, my still-active imagination, love of a good story, some semblance of maturity, and thirst for adventure, I can see dad ducking behind a bulldozer blade and feel the need to learn more about that day, as well as many other days he wrote and spoke about, along with the man himself.
I count myself among the fortunate few who have a somewhat solid trail to follow (names of several people, places and things, all highlighted on neatly-written pages) and can enjoy a positive learning curve concerning a father’s war experiences and how they affected him as a man, parent and friend.
["I sit with an old sailor in Victoria"]
For my trip west I packed lots of clothes, including my best Levis because I wanted to look snappy for supper. I packed cameras, enough to take over 1,400 photos. But most importantly, I carried a growing interest for a very formative time in my dad’s life, and the realization he and I are an awful lot alike in several ways and that it’s never too late to embrace those ways.
And about Dad’s whistle stop in Hornepayne, Ontario in January, 1944. It’s just around the bend.
[Photos by G.Harrison]
***
Please click here to read “GO WEST, YOUNG MAN”: Chasing my dad Part 3
Please click here to view GO WEST, YOUNG MAN: Photos from along the way
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