Coming to Canada
Making a go of it in Canada led to many unexpected rewards
My story has its beginnings in Nova Scotia in the late 1870s when our dad, as a baby, accidentally lost the sight in one eye. But for that one incident, the following 150 years of family and personal history could never have happened.
Moving forward to 1916 and WWI, Dad is living in New Jersey and news of the Somme and 20,000 men lost in two days is the talk of the town. Even being in his early 40s, Dad still felt he had to do something, anything. Taking the train to Toronto, he joined the infantry. The blind eye? He kept stepping back in line until he had memorized the eye chart. Qualified, he arrived in England and was put on draft to France, but then the British caught up with him about his eyesight. This time a projector was used for the eye exam, not a wall chart, and he found himself transferred to the Forestry Corp, providing timber for the British war eort. Soon enough, he was made a sergeant and got married. At war’s end, he expected to be discharged but the British, recognizing his industry knowledge, asked Ottawa that he be seconded to Britain’s newly formed Forestry Commission as an advisor, a position he filled for the next four years.
His secondment completed in 1924, Dad and Mom, with infant in tow (me), embarked for Canada where Dad planned to settle in the Peace River territory of British
Columbia under the government’s Homestead Act. Nature, however, had other plans. While heading west by railway, at Ingersol, Ont., a heat wave and a plague of locusts was encountered that was so thick the tracks became too slick for the train to move forward and it stalled. At that, Dad decided to return to New Jersey. The result: my siblings were born American.
Another jump now—into
1941 and Pearl Harbor. Almost overnight, my brothers and I were reporting to our draft board. They were declared 1A and called up immediately. Me? I was classified 4C—“friendly Alien.” Upon hearing that, I did exactly what my dad did in WWI: I took the train to Toronto and joined the Queen’s Own Rifles.
After the war, and liking what I had seen of Canada, I decided to stay. I joined the Toronto Post O£ce, in a position that allowed me every summer to train reserve o£cers at Camp Petawawa. It was there I first received news that North Korea had invaded South Korea. In a response to a call to arms from the United Nations, Canada had promised an infantry brigade. To make a long story short, I joined the Princess Patricia’s and we were sent over in advance of the brigade. While
in Korea, I also served with 27th British Commonwealth Brigade. The highlight of the tour was the Battle of Kapyong, a massive spring oensive by the Chinese that was met in the west by the 2nd British Brigade and ourselves on the central front. Between the two battles, such heavy casualties were inflicted on the Chinese that they never again mounted a largescale attack. The Americans considered this the turning point of the war and awarded a number of units Presidential Distinguished Unit Citations, ourselves included, the only time a non-american unit has been so honoured.
Ottawa realized then that if Canada wanted an international voice, she would have to have the
armed forces to back it up. To that end, a number of us were o ered Regular Force Commissions.
Stationed at home again, most of the battalion stayed on and we quickly became one of Canada’s new para-units. Come 1953, we were moved to Germany as part of NATO. As a member of our advance party, I sailed out of Quebec on board the RMS Scythia.
On my first day aboard, a pleasant middle-aged lady introduced herself as Mrs. Ada Wood, saying that she owned a dog kennel in Colwood, B.C., and had often bordered dogs for some of my fellow ocers. Later that morning while walking the deck, I came upon Mrs. Wood sitting with three other middle-aged women and a young lady she introduced as Morrie Owens. We seemed to hit it o from the start and quickly her story came out. She was Welsh, had served with the Royal Artillery and was married briefly to a Sergeant in the Welsh Guards, later killed in the Battle of Arnhem.
After the war, Morrie had come to Canada for a fresh start. She was on her first trip back to visit family overseas when we met. Reaching Southampton, England, we were saying our goodbyes and about to go our separate ways when we found a five-dollar bill on the deck. We tore it in half and promised that if we ever met again, we would put it back together and buy ourselves a drink. Soon afterwards, we were exchanging letters, which led to visits and our engagement!
Morrie flew to Germany to attend our battalion’s “Trooping Ball” and meet my Lady Patricia’s unit. Later, together with five of my fellow ocers, we flew to England for our wedding.
Late 1954 saw us back in Canada, but soon a new posting took me to Ghana, West Africa, as an instructor at their new Ocers Academy. Two conditions had to be met by the ocers selected: External A airs ruled that all married ocers must be accompanied by their wives and Ghana required that those selected be Canadian citizens. Two Canadian Citizenship Certificates arrived in the mail within a few days of my posting becoming ocial—and two freshly minted Canadian citizens were well and truly embarked on what has proven to be 50 years of happiness together.
Centre) for the Tattoo. One of the international bands featured that year was the Lancashire Fusiliers from Manchester. Fortuitously, the band’s administrator, Major William Sheil (Rtd.) and his wife were seated beside us and serendipity now came into full play. My wife who is from Manchester began to reminisce and I mentioned my search for Uncle Bill. Major Sheil thought that there was a strong likelihood that Bill might have been a member of the Lancashire Fusiliers and would search the Fusiliers’ memorial archives when he returned home.
Within a month, Major Sheil sent the following report. L/cpl William Henry Webster, 2nd Battalion of the Lancashire Fusiliers, was killed at the opening Battle of the Somme on July 1, 1916, during an attack on an enemy strong point at Beaumont Hamel in Flanders, northern France. He is “remembered” at the Sucrerie Military Cemetery in nearby Colincamps.
Some general reading produced the rest of the story. The battle lasted four months from July 1 to November 19, 1916, in an attempt to recapture territory occupied by Germany in 1914. The first day of the battle is infamous in British history for having the most casualties in one day— almost 60,000. It is also memorable for using British coal miners to dig tunnels under No Man’s Land, to explode powerful mines under German strong points. The elimination of German defensive redoubts in this way allowed the Lancashire Fusiliers to capture the first line of German trenches with a minimum of casualties. By 11 a.m. however, their advance stalled and the enemy counterattacked under a heavy barrage.
Because the memorial states that Bill Webster is “remembered” (not buried) in the military cemetery, we can conclude that he was lost under tons of earth displaced by the heavy artillery barrages. By the end of the day he would have been included in the 48 men reported missing. The Fusiliers had gained 2,000 yards of real estate and suered a 60 per cent casualty rate.
In searching for Bill, I discovered that there was a Canadian contingent at the Battle of the Somme. In fact, the Newfoundland Regiment so acquitted itself in the fighting that King George bestowed the “Royal” title to the regiment.
In September 1916, the British used tanks in their Somme oensive, advancing 15 miles. However, not realizing this new weapon’s eectiveness, they failed to take full advantage of their success. Overall, the Somme was a great disappointment considering the price paid in human life.