The recent change of government in Canada reminded me of my family's long ties to Canada.
My great uncle served in World War I with the 42nd Rainbow Division's artillery under a young Douglas Macarthur and served alongside soldiers from Canada, while my mother's brother was a member of the New York State Police and its elite BCI unit and worked a number of cases with the RCMP. But it was my father who had the most intense relationship with the men from the Great White North.
Even though my father knew that you wouldn't make any money in the Navy, he left a lucrative civilian job to do his part as war clouds gathered. after first serving in cruisers, he was transferred to the amphibious forces and assigned to the LST 308.
The old man was first stationed in Rosyth, Scotland, then the Isle of Wight and eventually Portsmouth, England, as he made his way ever closer to the Channel and his final rendezvous with Canada for the Invasion of Normandy, France.
The 308 was assigned to the second wave at Red Juno Beach in the Canadian sector on June 6, 1944. and the troops they loaded for those initial hours of the invasion were elements of the Canadian Black Watch.
"Big boys," my father related to me, "Great big fellas from up north, all geared up and ready to go. But quiet. We didn't hear a peep out of anybody on the way in. all we heard was the clomp, clomp, clomp of their big boots as they marched into the well deck and the bark of their NCO's"
My father explained that the trip across the channel was overcast and a bit rough, with spray stinging the eyes of the men at the guns and on watch, as they ploughed toward France, early on that day of days.
From his perch on the bridge, my old man could see that his amphibious flotilla was protected by a Canadian corvette, British Spitfires overhead and the British battleship HMS Ramillies, which was providing fire support from her massive battery of 16" guns.
and as they started their final run for the beach, as the shells passed overhead, they passed another LST off the port side on fire from stem to stern, with men in flames jumping overboard. My father told me he realized at that point that it would be a close run thing and that all bets for success were off. He prayed that they'd get the men ashore and get off the beach alive.
a few minutes later, the 308 grounded on the smoky shore, the bow doors opened, the ramp went down, shell splashes surrounded the ship and burst overhead and the Canadian troops debarked and disappeared into the smoke, trotting inland in formation, to the sound of the pipers and accompanied by the shrill staccato sounds of nearby battle.
Later in the day, to the old man's relief, after three or four trips back and forth to the beachhead with more Canadian troops, the enemy fire slackened, and the initially large numbers of wounded on the return legs began to be displaced by growing numbers of German prisoners. The tide seemed to be turning. The outcome, of course, is now known to all of us.
a year or so ago, while visiting my father in Texas, who, at 90 would have had some difficulties on a prolonged drive from Nacogdoches to alabama, he asked that we visit LST 325 in Mobile.
We chartered a plane and flew there, grabbed a cab at the airport, found the old ship and went aboard. There we were greeted by the enthusiastic crew, who had been repairing and refitting the old gray warship since they had saved it from the wreckers in Greece and sailed it home.
My father, wearing his Captain's hat, climbed the gang plank and eventually, to my astonishment, with very little help, made his way to the bridge. There the old man, his blue gray eyes still bright, looked out over the aging ship and returned to that long past Sixth of June.
"John," he said, "Those Canadians were magnificent. a few fell, you know. But the rest just kept going. a long line of determined men moving into the smoke. God, I'll never forget them as long as I live. We were all so glad when we could take their wounded home later in the day." He went on to explain the various trips and the units involved.
a few hours later we were back in the plane on the way home, but the old man had spent some quality time with the Canadians soldiers who are forever young in his aging eyes, and who sailed with him on that special and longest day of their early lives.
My father was commended for operating in trying weather conditions and enduring enemy shell fire and air attacks, but the crew of the 308 had gotten the Canadians to Normandy, without a mishap, and had brought their injured back to England. Later the old man would supply his old friends by sailing up the Seine River with supplies to their front lines.
For my father and for those Canadians who served with him and who fell at Normandy and those who have fallen with us on every battlefield in all the conflicts which found us allies, and for those Canadians who served in the air and on the seas and came home, and for those who still serve today, I'm glad.
a new wind is blowing between Ottawa and Washington which I hope will clear the acrimony which has dogged our countries of late. We have fought the same fight for preserving the ideals of freedom. It is now time to shake hands and recall the old ties which have bound us as neighbors against the predators who threatened our shared ways of life in the past and to renew a friendship and a commitment against those who menace us again.
In the cemeteries above the beaches at Normandy, the american flag is flanked by those of Canada and Great Britain. We stand there in the best of company. Those in doubt need only ask my father.
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