“GO WEST, YOUNG MAN”: Chasing my dad Part 12

[“Day 5 was really quite the day, and my feelings can be described by a few short lines: Every dog has his day, and I had one of my finest... ” Chasing my dad Part 11]

Early on Thursday, April 26 (Day 6 of my trip to Vancouver Island), I went from very much asleep to very much awake by 6:00 a.m. 

Though Day 5 had been a fine day, finer things approached, i.e., a trip to view a WWII Navy hammock - stored at a museum and available only upon request - that had my dad’s name on it, among a few others.

“Showered, found Starbucks, answered emails and bussed to Esquimalt Naval Museum. I was on wrong bus but got it straightened easily,” says my journal, proof again that I seldom arrive anywhere via the most direct route. 

“Arrived at Museum early, met curator Debbie Towell in her office upon entering building. Went to side room (past cluttered hallway full of artifacts). Hammock there in plastic sleeve.”

[“Admin 20, home of the Museum curator’s office”]

Over the last 70 years, since the Silver Walnut’s slow and dangerous voyage around Africa to battlefields and D-Days in Sicily and Italy, no Harrison has seen the Navy hammock. 

My dad knew that it was in Esquimalt, had seen photographs of it, but, for whatever reason, had never stood where I was standing. I’m sure he’d wanted to, and as I looked at the hammock in its plastic sleeve I wished he was there too. 

Though dad had known about the hammock’s existence since the early 1990s, I’d known about it for less than two years. After returning from casting Dad’s remains into the Atlantic Ocean in June, 2010 and shortly thereafter learning he’d spent time on Vancouver Island (1944 - 45) training other young sailors, I dug deeper into his Navy history. I learned, among other things, about his time at Givenchy III in Comox, baseball games and dances in Courtenay (a nearby town), and that the hammock could be found in a particular Naval museum. I soon began to save up for a trip west.

[“I automatically climbed upon a chair.

Off to the brig?”]

When I stepped into the side room with D. Towell I patted my back pocket. My camera was there. I wanted 1,000 pictures. But first I was handed a pair of white gloves and, quite unexpectedly, told I was to help unroll the hammock. I happily obliged. My dad would likely have been even more eager had he been there. He would have pulled the gloves carefully over his crooked fingers and then used one to check the tears dripping from the tip of his nose.

The last line I wrote that day concerning the hammock reads, “I actually maintained my composure, though I broke military protocol by standing upon leather chairs in my shoes to take photos of the hammock.”

[“Among 17 crew members, Dad’s name appears”]

And I didn’t ask permission. Once the hammock was rolled out upon a table I noticed it wasn’t perfectly flat, so, to get the best possible photos I automatically stepped onto the nearest chair. The chair didn’t creak from my weight so I started snapping pictures.

I’m sure I said, ‘lovely, lovely,’ several times before stepping down to put the hammock close to my face. I took a breath and caught the smell of motor oil, and hoped I hadn’t smudged my nose. Then I took a deeper breath and wondered if I was smelling oil or grease transferred onto it by W.N. Katanna, Ldg. Sto. (Leading Stoker), because it was his hammock that had been passed along to Sub./Lt. Dave Rodgers when he came aboard the Walnut in 1943 - sans bed roll. (It was D. Rodgers who returned it to the Canadian Navy in 1986, with the addition of 17 names, including his own.)

[“Officer Rodgers listed the crew and painted

the insignia of the 80th Flotilla”]

["The insignia of the 80th Flotilla"]

Katanna, as a Stoker and one in close contact with motors, gears and fuel, would have lived, breathed and worn motor oil for much of his Navy career, and likely left his mark, so to speak (besides his stencilled name), on more than just his hammock. Dad, as an Able Bodied Seaman at the time, would have been familiar with most aspects of the ship and would have told me very quickly what smell was still attached to the canvas. 

[“Stoker Katanna stencilled his name twice on

this hammock, then gave it up to an officer”]

After I made my way to the other end of the table I stood upon another chair to take my last photographs. Navy protocol again flew out the window.

Fortunately, during my 30 minute appointment with the museum’s curator, I was not hauled off to the Navy brig, and when I stepped out onto the building’s front door I felt most welcome to return in the future.

[“I must bring Pat and the boys next time”]

I say now that I will, but not alone, for later that day I added to my journal, “The entire Harrison family, young and old, should tour the base.” 

And finally, “Wear sneakers.” 

***

Please click here to read “GO WEST, YOUNG MAN”: Chasing my dad Part 11