On Tuesday, April 24 (Day 4 of my trip west) I wrote only a few words in my journal after making the switch from Sleeper Plus class to Economy. But now, as I look back at my journal, I’m not surprised by my uncommon brevity.
At 3:35 I wrote, “We’re about 45 min. out of Jasper and heading on last leg, i.e., thru Rockies to Vancouver. stunning scenery.”
And 25 minutes later I wrote my last note of the day: “All is well. $$ well spent. Get Pat to Vancouver to enjoy Rockies.”
Mountain tops, long valleys, and so many other scenes held my attention for several hours. However, though the scenery kept me from making lengthy journal entries, many thoughts were on my mind.
A recent email from my older sister Dale provides a hint about their nature: Dad had some very profound experiences while at war, and it must have been very difficult to adjust to 'normal' life when he returned. I can see why these experiences would have a very strong effect on him. Imagine leaving the very good friends that you had made during very difficult times. Those people became your family, and then you went back home and never saw most of them again, if any. Dad did see a couple, as we remember Chuck Rose, and of course Buryl McIntyre.
While parts of a vast mountain range rolled by, I thought of Dad, and what feelings he might have had about the view outside his own train window in 1944. I thought about his relationships with his navy buddies, baseball team-mates, his wife and five children, especially with the son who was trying to follow a few of his footsteps. I thought about his war years, and not if he had carried baggage, but how much, and how it - and its various, nefarious treatments - interfered with his development as an adult and father.
[“Norwich Maroons, Senior League Champs, 1949”:
Doug Harrison, third from right, back row]
At some point in my reverie I pulled out a book called Combined Operations (a companion to ‘St. Nazaire to Singapore: The Canadian Amphibious War 1941 - 1945, Vol. 1 and 2), not to read anything specific about Dad (some of his recollections appear in Vol. 1 and 2) but to read about WWII operations in North Africa, Sicily and Italy, places where he had been continuously involved in the loading and unloading of landing barges and often involved in the dodging of bullets.
In a chapter entitled ‘Sicily and Italy: July 10, 1943 - September 3, 1943’ I read details that described how deeply Canadian personnel were involved in so many deadly serious actions, in the ferrying of all manner of men and supplies to beach fronts, under conditions that would challenge most brave, grown men.
A description of action that occurred offshore Sicily on July 9, 1943 follows: At fifteen minutes past one (a.m.) the wavering columns of flat-bottomed craft set off for the beach seven miles away. The night was black and the sea was very rough. It was windy, wet and cold. The soldiers huddling against the gunwales became sea sick; buckets came freely into use. Even some of the Naval stokers, working throttles amid the fumes of their torrid little engine rooms, began to feel the effects. Seas washing over the sides called for constant bailing... A searchlight knifed out from land, swung toward the craft, and illuminated every man’s face in a white glare. Then it swept on, apparently having revealed nothing to the watchers ashore. (pg. 81 - 82)
I turned pages quickly. I recalled my father clearly in similar situations, thanks to his own memoirs. When the chapter’s author mentioned living arrangements of sailors on Sicily’s shore, I remembered the cattle caves Dad lived in with dozens of other members of his Flotilla.
[“Over the side, boys!”: London Free Press, 1944]
And then, as I envisioned men and caves and stoves made from scrounged petrol tins, I came upon an important photo and serious paragraph, one closely after the other, and they struck me as timely and informative. I could barely believe my good fortune and the next day I mentioned both in my journal as “a fine pair of coincidences”.
About the photograph I wrote the following: While reading a section dealing with Sicily 1943 I came across several sections reminiscent of Dad’s memoirs, so I was ‘into it’. Included was an old photo of a group of men at Sicily. I’d looked at it before to see if Dad appeared. No. But, lo and behold! The photo includes C. Levett. And who am I meeting in Courtenay (in two days)? Dot Levett. C. Levett is likely Chuck Levett, her husband, a man she met in Courtenay at a dance in the Native Son’s Hall. !! It will be a treat to show her. (pg. 89)
[“Chuck Levett (centre), Sicily, 1943”]
Finding the photo was thrill enough, but it also answered a question, formed a month earlier after reading an email (from a curator at a museum in Courtenay) that said “the late Chuck Levett... was in the RCN with your Father.”
The curator was telling me what Dorothy (Dot) Levett had told her, but I didn’t know if Dot meant Chuck was simply a Navy man too, like my Dad, or if he had served alongside my dad in Sicily or Comox. With the ‘Combined Ops’ photo in hand, I knew Chuck had at the very least been in Sicily, as had Dad. It dawned on me as well that I had in my possession a book containing photographs and information that Dot, a 90-year old widow, might never have seen.
!!
And, about the serious paragraph. More to follow.
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