I loved the job. It gave me contact with the powers-that-be and a certain
amount of prestige with the rest of the guys, and even some influence with
other ranks higher than mine.
I had two runners under my control. Their function was to deliver
messages and to keep "D" Company Headquarters informed of the
goings-on in the rest of the Regiment. I remained on this job until we went
into action, and even after I stayed as close as possible to Major Parker,
acting mainly as a runner, because any attempts to maintain any sort of an
office was a futile effort in the face of enemy action. But that story is yet
to come.
Number One Water Street
Number 1 Water Street was one of those places which is found in every
city, and let's not be coy about it, a place that is inevitably found by
service men when far from home.
A group of the guys decided to visit the place one evening only to find that
a bunch of English sailors off a ship that had recently docked in St. John's
had taken over the amusement site. War was immediately declared and
the battle started. It ended quickly enough, with the English sailors being
dispersed, but not without a considerable amount of damage to their
persons. The racket soon alerted the Royal Newfoundland Constabulary,
and the chase began. It ended with three of the participants cooling off in
police cells, and the rest of the gang making their escape back to Leste's
Field.
It happened that the next day the Regiment was slated to move back to
Canada. There were three of our boys still in custody and up for
punishment before the Court. A Good Samaritan, who shall remain
nameless, advanced the money needed to pay their fines, and they
rejoined the Regiment in time to board the Lady Drake in St. John's
harbour.
In early August, on the day following the events just described we packed
up and left St. John's on the Lady Drake. She was one of the "Lady" line
of cruise ships that had been pressed into service to transport military
personnel, but only so recently that many of her regular staff were still on
board in their regular capacities.
Graydon Heath and I shared a cabin on "A" Deck, luxurious
accommodations for a couple of other rank's accustomed to sleeping on
pailliasses in the bunkhouse. We were awakened each morning by the
ship's bugler.
The food was excellent! The trip up the St. Lawrence was a great thrill for
me, and I kept a sort of diary in the form of a letter which I sent to my
Mother when we docked in Quebec City.
We went back to our old stomping grounds in Valcartier for a very short
stay before leaving for Saint John, New Brunswick. "D" Company was
assigned guard duty on the West Side. Whenever I hear the songs,
"Marie Elena" or Bie Mir Bist du Schoen I think of those days, only
nineteen of them,in Saint John.
Back again to Valcartier! We moved around so much that some wag
dubbed us "The Price Brothers Circus. This time, though, it was for real.
We were there just long enough to get jabbed with a few needles, get
outfitted with tropical uniforms, go on a very short embarkation leave, then
climb on a train headed west.
I had never been west of Quebec City, so each day was a new
experience. I was nineteen then, and as green as the prairie grass that
went by my window. We were in old colonial cars, with wooden seats
and overhead bunks that were pulled down at night. Byron Willett, who
always had much to say, was up on the top bunk giving the rest of us a
verbal going-over when someone slammed the bunk shut, locking him in.
He would have smothered, but some kind soul braved a tongue-lashing
and pulled the bunk down. We were all roundly cursed, but Byron's bark
was much worse than the bites he threatened us with but never carried out.
Our food was served in the cars and we ate at our seats from tin plates
and enamel mugs, We were supposed to collect the dirty dishes and
return them to the galley, but many of them are probably still rusting along
the railroad track.
At Horne Payne, in Northern Ontario, we stopped early one morning and
were taken on a route march. It was frosty, and snow flakes were in the
air. It seemed so bleak and desolate that I never forgot it, and in the first
years that followed I would have gladly exchanged my bug-infested billet
for the frost of Horne Payne.
amount of prestige with the rest of the guys, and even some influence with
other ranks higher than mine.
I had two runners under my control. Their function was to deliver
messages and to keep "D" Company Headquarters informed of the
goings-on in the rest of the Regiment. I remained on this job until we went
into action, and even after I stayed as close as possible to Major Parker,
acting mainly as a runner, because any attempts to maintain any sort of an
office was a futile effort in the face of enemy action. But that story is yet
to come.
Number One Water Street
Number 1 Water Street was one of those places which is found in every
city, and let's not be coy about it, a place that is inevitably found by
service men when far from home.
A group of the guys decided to visit the place one evening only to find that
a bunch of English sailors off a ship that had recently docked in St. John's
had taken over the amusement site. War was immediately declared and
the battle started. It ended quickly enough, with the English sailors being
dispersed, but not without a considerable amount of damage to their
persons. The racket soon alerted the Royal Newfoundland Constabulary,
and the chase began. It ended with three of the participants cooling off in
police cells, and the rest of the gang making their escape back to Leste's
Field.
It happened that the next day the Regiment was slated to move back to
Canada. There were three of our boys still in custody and up for
punishment before the Court. A Good Samaritan, who shall remain
nameless, advanced the money needed to pay their fines, and they
rejoined the Regiment in time to board the Lady Drake in St. John's
harbour.
In early August, on the day following the events just described we packed
up and left St. John's on the Lady Drake. She was one of the "Lady" line
of cruise ships that had been pressed into service to transport military
personnel, but only so recently that many of her regular staff were still on
board in their regular capacities.
Graydon Heath and I shared a cabin on "A" Deck, luxurious
accommodations for a couple of other rank's accustomed to sleeping on
pailliasses in the bunkhouse. We were awakened each morning by the
ship's bugler.
The food was excellent! The trip up the St. Lawrence was a great thrill for
me, and I kept a sort of diary in the form of a letter which I sent to my
Mother when we docked in Quebec City.
We went back to our old stomping grounds in Valcartier for a very short
stay before leaving for Saint John, New Brunswick. "D" Company was
assigned guard duty on the West Side. Whenever I hear the songs,
"Marie Elena" or Bie Mir Bist du Schoen I think of those days, only
nineteen of them,in Saint John.
Back again to Valcartier! We moved around so much that some wag
dubbed us "The Price Brothers Circus. This time, though, it was for real.
We were there just long enough to get jabbed with a few needles, get
outfitted with tropical uniforms, go on a very short embarkation leave, then
climb on a train headed west.
I had never been west of Quebec City, so each day was a new
experience. I was nineteen then, and as green as the prairie grass that
went by my window. We were in old colonial cars, with wooden seats
and overhead bunks that were pulled down at night. Byron Willett, who
always had much to say, was up on the top bunk giving the rest of us a
verbal going-over when someone slammed the bunk shut, locking him in.
He would have smothered, but some kind soul braved a tongue-lashing
and pulled the bunk down. We were all roundly cursed, but Byron's bark
was much worse than the bites he threatened us with but never carried out.
Our food was served in the cars and we ate at our seats from tin plates
and enamel mugs, We were supposed to collect the dirty dishes and
return them to the galley, but many of them are probably still rusting along
the railroad track.
At Horne Payne, in Northern Ontario, we stopped early one morning and
were taken on a route march. It was frosty, and snow flakes were in the
air. It seemed so bleak and desolate that I never forgot it, and in the first
years that followed I would have gladly exchanged my bug-infested billet
for the frost of Horne Payne.