“You don’t go to war to earn a paycheque”
A profile of the late George Cartwright
For most of his adult life, George Cartwright was reticent to talk about his World War II experiences, but this changed in 2011, when he was one of the subjects of a documentary film, Nous Serons Volontaires by Grégoire Bédard.
Grégoire Bédard’s film was subtitled “un regard sur Drummondville au temps de la guerre 1939-45,” and it examined the context in which George Cartwright and a few other signed up to go to war.
Canada’s involvement in World War Two, and in particular mandatory military service, or conscription, was not uniformly accepted across the country. Prime Minister Mackenzie-king, aware of how divisive the issue was, had promised in 1939 that there would be no conscription for overseas service. In 1942 he was forced to break his promise when a country-wide plebiscite determined that conscription was a necessary part of Canada’s war effort. While 64% of Canadians voted in favour of conscription, 75% of Quebecers voted against it.
In Quebec, a young man who received his draft notice in the mail was as likely to take to the woods to hide out as he was to promptly report for service.
The feeling in Drummondville was the same as in the rest of the province, but, quite exceptionally, Drummondville was the site of a minor riot when government agents locked a movie house in their zealous search for draft dodgers. The event landed four people in court and resulted in two of them paying a $25 fine.
George Cartwright was not involved in the riot, and he was quite the opposite of a draft dodger.
George Cartwright was christened Fredrick (with the German spelling) Earl Cartwright in New Glasgow, Nova Scotia, a ninth generation descendant of 18th century German immigrants. George was his father’s name and, at a very young age, he picked up the nickname, Little George.
“I was just a child when I came to the Drummondville area,” he said when he spoke to the Record shortly after the filming of the documentary. “My father, who passed away when I was seven, was a master chef who worked at a resort hotel in nearby Pierreville. We stayed in the area so that when war broke out eight years later, I was Drummondville.”
Two years after Hitler invaded Poland, in 1941, when he was a 17-year old electrician’s apprentice at the Celenese factory, George went to Montreal with two older friends and tried to enlist. “The recruiting officer at the desk happened to be from Drummondville and happened to know me,” George recalled. “He looked at me and said, ‘I know you’re not 18,’ and he promptly sent me packing.”
A year later on November 6, right after turning 18, George enlisted. Even though this was at the end of 1942, George Cartwright didn’t get to the European theatre until 1944. “I went through a lot of training,” he said. “We were sent to St-jean for basic training, then Petawawa, then I went on to Kingston and when we got to England we got another few weeks of training before going to the front.”
In St-jean his athleticism was noted. His fellow recruits called him Tarzan because nobody could navigate through the obstacle courses as efficiently and effortlessly as the 18-year old from Drummondville. His skill was also noticed by the training officers who asked him if he wouldn’t want to become a paratrooper. But George wanted to be with the army engineers. He was trained as a radio operator in Kingston and when he eventually did get to Europe he became part of a reconnaissance unit.
“In England,” he recalled, “we got ear training. They taught us to distinguish sounds so that we wouldn’t mistake the sound of the bolt action of a rifle being cocked for the sound of a door knob being turned. It was important training.”
“But even more, what helped me was the fact that through my childhood and adolescence I’d been in cubs and scouts and had risen to the level of King Scout,” he said. “At the time, scouting was still greatly influenced by the original intention of Baden-powell. It was in scouting that I learned how to remain invisible even when you’re in plain sight—and that’s by remaining perfectly still.”
Reconnaissance units consisted of three men: an officer, a driver and a third soldier who was both gunner and radio operator. “We went out in a Humber, an armoured car made by Rolls Royce,” George explained. “It had half inch steel plate on the front and weighed four tons. Its motor was so silent that there was a light that went on when it was running, because you really couldn’t hear it.”
“We went out in advance of the troops to verify that the information on the maps was accurate, to survey the terrain, to determine if we would have to put in bridges. There were times we’d have to go out two or three times to try to find the best available route. On one occasion, near a small town called Xanten near the Rhine River, that route was along a set of railway tracks. The engineers went in, ripped up the rails and the troops had smooth rail bed to march in on.”
George remembered being taken out of action twice. “I was supposed to get a week’s rest,” he said, “but I liked to cook and I went to the kitchens and helped out with the cooking. It got me better rations.”
While George came back to Canada relatively intact, he was always conscious of how lucky he was. “If you’re not scared in war, you’re probably not thinking very straight,” he said. “Fear helps you stay alive.”
Luck also plays a part. “If I were a cat,” he said, “I’d probably have finished the war with only three lives left.”
“On one occasion,” he recalls, “a piece of shrapnel flew into the turret of our Humber. It flew right around and grazed my back. I was wearing a leather jacket and a heavy sheepskin coat—it was the middle of winter—and both were torn right through.”
The base pay for Canadian soldiers in World War Two was $1.30 per day. George, as a radio operator, earned 20 cents more. That was the salary as long as the soldier was on Canadian soil. Once he got to Europe, George—like all other soldiers—went on half pay. His salary, such as it was, was delivered to his home in Drummondville.
“You don’t think about the pay,” he said. “You don’t go to war to earn a paycheque. A soldier is someone who will do the best he can to help someone else. The appreciation, the gratitude that we felt when we liberated the Netherlands, and then Germany, is something you can’t imagine.”
After being demobbed, George didn’t break with the military. He remained active with the Army Reserve until the age of 65, a military career that spanned 37 years. His proudest accomplishment was reaching the rank of Warrant Officer One. “It took a lot of work to reach that rank,” he said. “You become ‘the walking book’ for the regiment. You have to know everything: the history, the traditions, the reasons why things are done as they are. The military salute, for example, traces its origin to medieval times when knights would raise their visors to identify themselves.”
“What’s important in the military,” he stressed, “is to know why, because everything is done in a certain way for a specific reason.”
George had numerous other achievements as well. An accomplished musician, he taught music to the regimental band. He had the honour of playing the last post at different times at ceremonies in Calgary and in Regina.
Almost until the end of his life, George remained an active member of the Richmond Legion. “It’s very hard for a soldier to leave the force,” he said. “The military is a very close group. There’s a camaraderie that exists that’s impossible to replace.”
George Cartwright passed away in Drummondville on July 10, 2017 at the age of 92.