Wednesday, January 1, 2014

Dad's Navy Days: December 1943 - Christmas in Norwich (23)

"There he was, navy hat on one side, gas-mask over
one shoulder, walking down through the snow.
I ran out the door, wet hair, curlers and all..."
Recalling a Wartime Christmas,
by Doug and Edith Harrison

["From The Norwich Gazette, December, 1994"] 

No lengthy story was written about my father's 52-day leave in Norwich before he travelled to British Columbia for two more years of military service. About the leave my father wrote only the following:

      What can I say... draw it out... or say it
      was mostly wine, women and song?
      [pg. 39, "DAD, WELL DONE"]


 Short and sweet.

 In my opinion, he kept particular details short and sweet in his memoirs - written 30 years after World War 2 ended - for three reasons: He'd lost his taste for wine, three of the women closest to him in 1943 (not counting his three older sisters) had had their hearts broken by some of his early decisions related to marriage, and wartime love songs had lost their shine. Some songs would only bring his impulsiveness or foolhardiness back to mind.

Short and sweet, therefore, was likely easier to live with than full disclosure. However, I will share a few more details that have come to light over the last 70 years because - in my mind at least - they relate in some way to my father's experiences during World War 2 (some to be explored in more detail at a later time).

About 'he'd lost his taste for wine':

My father declared himself an alcoholic in the late 1960s or early 1970s. I don't think his taste for beer, for example, was unrelated to his time overseas. That being said, as a young teen I saw him pass out at the supper table on only one occasion and during my adult years I never saw him take a drink. To this day I am proud of many of his accomplishments as a husband, father, and (eventually, as is often the case as men grow up) good friend.

About 'three of the women closest to him in 1943':

First and foremost in father's heart was his mother Alice. He recalls the following concerning his return to Canada:

      When I arrived home from overseas prior to
      Christmas, 1943 mother had gone to Brantford
      to be with my sister Myrtle. She greeted every
      train coming from the east, day and night, but
      when I did not arrive, mum was too tired and I
      was met by my sister. Mum was very disappointed.


     (When we finally did reunite) I discarded my
     hammock and kit bag and felt like a little boy
     again as she tearfully held me in her arms. I
     became totally unravelled as well, but with 52
     days of leave we would have time to tell our
     stories around the kitchen table on Spring
     Street. It was good to be home, the home
     that mother built.

     I think of my mother often. Some people speak
     of royalty. I lived with it, for mother was queen.
     [pg. 106, "DAD, WELL DONE"]


 And in second place in his heart? Unfortunately, there was an apparent tie between two Norwich girls - Edith Catton and Elizabeth (or Bessie) Ann McLauchlin - in December, 1943.

I believe my mother Edith would have been crushed had she known about such an awkward state of affairs. I base my feelings on details revealed in a Christmas story from 1941 that appeared in The Norwich Gazette in 1994. In it my mother recalls the following:

     I remember the day he came home on short leave,
     though I can’t recall that we knew what day he
     would arrive. In the morning I had washed my hair
     and put in a few curlers at the top... my brothers were
     out and Mother was doing some Christmas baking at
     the kitchen table. I walked into the dining room and
     looked out the door window and saw an odd-looking
     person coming down through the parking lot which
     used to be just in front of our house.

     I remember that I called out to Mother: “There’s a
     strange looking person coming down the road, come
     and see,” but before she could wipe the flour off her 
     hands, I recognized Doug and called out; “It’s Doug
     Harrison!”

["One of my mother's pictures, Norwich, circa 1940"]

     There he was, navy hat on one side, gas-mask over
     one shoulder, walking down through the snow. I ran
     out the door, wet hair, curlers and all, and down the
     snowy sidewalk with Mother calling after me, “Edith!
     Come and put your coat on!” but I kept right on going.



     I got to the end of the sidewalk and as we met I got a
     bump on the fore-head and Doug got a bang on his
     nose. His nose used to bleed easily, and there he was,
     nose bleeding, trying to find a handkerchief, trying to
     hang on to his gas-mask, one arm around me, and then
     he said, laughing, “This is a great way to welcome
     me home!”



     We managed to get into the house, where he sat down
     at one end of the table, and we found more handker-
     chiefs and mopped him up. Then, as I sat on his lap he
     asked, “How about a cup of tea?”


Based on her enthusiastic romp through the snow in 1941 and another bit of my family's history - exposed to me later in life, i.e. Edith gave birth to her first daughter, my oldest sister, in September, 1944, nine months after Doug's 52-day-long leave - I would say my mother was head over heels for my father at Christmastime, 1943.

But someone else was 'head-over' as well, and about four months after he'd settled into RCNVR routines at The Spit (Comox, British Columbia), my father returned to Ontario and married his other sweetheart, Bessie Ann McLauchlin. The only details I know about that wedding I read in the daily news about ten years ago.



["Excerpt from the news, Brantford Expositor, May 1944"]

And finally, about 'wartime love songs had lost their shine':

My father loved to sing and when writing about his adventures in the RCNVR for The Norwich Gazette in the 1990s he devoted a few columns to the songs and camaraderie he enjoyed in his favourite English pubs. But, some he sang lustily while overseas may have tasted a bit sour once he was back in Canada.

For example, did he live up to this one too well?

     All the girls love a sailor, all the girls love a tar,
     For there’s something about a sailor, when you
     know what sailors are.
     Bright and breezy, free and easy, they’re the ladies’
     pride and joy,
     Oh, they’ve courted Kate and Jane, and they’re
     off to sea again,
     Ship ahoy, sailor boy!


Or, could he tell either of his girlfriends these lines with a clear conscience?

     Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with you,
     Let me hear you whisper that you love me too.
     Keep the love light glowing in your eyes so true,
     Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with you.


Many valuable human lessons were learned during World War 2, some at clearly different levels, e.g., political, social, personal and so on. I dare say my father learned as many as, if not more than, the average sailor and I don't doubt their residual affects stayed with him for the rest of his life. Over the course of time he became a better man, like so many others. Today I do not judge him, and hope I'll learn necessary lessons as well.


More to follow, from Vancouver Island.

Photos by GH

Link to Dad's Navy Days (22)

No comments: