I can’t recall exactly when I first read about my father’s wartime friendship with Gracie Purvis of Croydon (County Surrey, south of London, England). I believe it was when he was still alive and staying at Parkwood Hospital in London, and some time after I purchased two books that contained several of his wartime stories (St. Nazaire to Singapore: The Canadian Amphibious War 1941 - 1945, Volumes 1 and 2). However, before I even cracked a cover, two or three years passed, such was my level of interest.
When I did finally turn to one of father’s stories, it opened with the following: “My Navy buddy, Frank Herring, and I engaged in a Silent Pact overseas. When we were not required on board for duty we conspired to be the first ashore to get the pick. No Liberty Boat inspection for us - case the joint and slip ashore quickly and hopefully unseen.” (pg. 48, The Silent Pact and Its Epilogue)
I can recall a few of my reactions after reading the complete story.
For example, I felt it was a ‘Whatever happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas’ story that didn’t stay in Vegas, but, maybe should have. I was surprised Dad wanted ‘the pick’ of unattached women. I mean, what would my mother think of that, even though my mother and father were not married in 1942, even though it sounded like his connection with Gracie was platonic? Was my dad some kind of hound dog?
Little else from the time of the first reading comes to mind. And a few seconds after thinking such things I probably moved on to doing something else, like cutting the grass or changing a lightbulb or driving to a sporting goods store to get my skates sharpened for my next hockey game. Dad’s stories about his past life and adventures quickly took a back seat - just like they had dozens of other times in the past - to my day-to-day life and all of its distractions.
And then, late at night on February 3, 2003 he died.
I say now he died at a time when we were warming up to one another. Because of our weekly drives together in the country, enjoyable conversations together were getting longer, more rewarding. Sometimes we’d agree on a subject.
(I’d pick him up at Parkwood Hospital at 1 p.m. He was always standing ready near the back door. We’d first pick up coffee, then follow our noses down many a dusty road before supper time.)
Our time wandering dozens of pleasant roads through unfamiliar or favourite countryside, in close quarters and near the end of his life, has left a deep impression upon me. For one, I now believe that in the challenging world of human relationships anything is possible.
And recently, while looking through his remaining files, I discovered our time on the road made an impression upon Dad as well.
[Photos by G.Harrison]
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More to follow.
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Please click here to read (PG. 2) WHERE ARE YOU, GRACIE PURVIS? Chapter 1
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