The Way It Was
A loving tribute to a brother who, though gone now, will never be forgotten
Iwill never forget standing by the railway tracks, my brother, Bert, leaning out the door of the coach, waving goodbye until he disappeared from sight, leaving me in the middle of nowhere.
Actually it wasn’t exactly the middle of nowhere; it just seemed like that at the time. I had a summer job working for the CNR as an oiler on a dragline gang in the coal branch. I had gone home to have some time with my Bert, who had a short leave from the navy and I was now returning to my job, while he continued on to the West Coast. The next time we would meet would be when I also was in the navy, stationed in Halifax.
Work Woes
The conductor on the train informed me that the gang was somewhere close by and had stopped the train in order for me to get o and rejoin them. The gang was o on a spur line and he was sure I would find them without diculty. I wasn’t as sure as he was but I set o and with some luck found them. Some changes had been made; the boss had given my job to someone else. That soon changed when I showed him my vacation approval from the Winnipeg oce. The other change was the boss’s wife was using my sleeping quarters and mine were moved to the gang bunk car.
Back at work, I could not get the picture of Bert looking out the coach window saying goodbye, out of my mind. When and how would we meet again? Both our futures were very uncertain at that point. The war was still waging furiously. Hard work and long hours helped ease the picture from my mind; working 12-hour days, seven days a week kept me busy and I soon put it out of my mind.
Before long, the job was finished and we moved to another location between Evansburg and Entwistle, Alta., a more populated area where even after our long hours we could find some form of entertainment.
This new location proved to be the last location I would work. While unloading the equipment an accident occurred that ended all work at this stop. Several days followed of waiting for the right type of equipment to clean up the mess resulting from the accident. Our gang moved to Edmonton, where we underwent questioning as the accident was being investigated. I was able to ensure that all the workers were placed in other positions so as not to lose their jobs. I was also oered another position but decided that enough was enough.
Navy Days
Leaving the gang, I returned home to Winnipeg, where I registered for university and the University Naval Training Division. The summer holiday season was nearing an end and I wanted to relax after the diculties of the last couple of weeks. I couldn’t help still feeling sad at my brother’s departure, and wondering when we would meet up again.
The year was 1943 and the Second World War was in full swing. University studies kept me busy and my mind o the war. I did hear occasionally from my brother and his current whereabouts. A great deal of time was spent in training as part of the navel training agreement. Trips to the Pacific Coast for more intense training occurred at every opportunity.
Reaching the age of 17 and a half, I was quickly shipped out to Cornwallis, N.S., for further intense training and for further deployment.
On to Halifax
At this time, Halifax was swamped with military personnel of all types, including out-of the-country military. A variety of uniforms added to the confusion. As a matlo (sailor), I would salute anything with enough gold braid, even if he was a street car conductor. The chances of seeing someone you knew in the multitude of uniforms was next to impossible. I was stationed at HMCS Stadacona and was on special duties at the confidential book centre. My job was to receive the ships logs and bring them to the centre, where they were catalogued and shelved.
This was an interesting job, and a heavy one, as one side of the log book was made of lead so that if the ship sank, the log book would go with it.
Any time o was spent viewing Halifax and its historical centres. This was a city that had military protection for many years, a reminder of this was Citadel Hill, a fort built by the British in 1749. It is now a National Historic Site.
One day, I was on one of their street cars, a good and cheap way to tour the city, when there was a lot of shouting and the street car came to an immediate stop. To my amazement, the next thing I saw was my brother Bert getting on the car! It seems that he was walking by the street car stop when he saw me at the window, and when the car started to leave he ran in front of it shouting to stop, which they did. What were the chances?
Reunited
For several months we were able to spend some time together, enjoying each other’s company. It was a wondrous time, providing a chance to catch up, as well as a bit of joy and peace in the middle of a war. It ended when I was drafted to the West Coast to be part of the Pacific war. When the war ended suddenly with the launching of the atomic bomb on Japan, so too, was my part in it. I left the service and returned home to attend university again. My brother Bert and I were once more civilians—home together.