More than a century

Mosquito pilot Russ Bannock (left) and his navigator Robert Bruce, c. 1944.

He was born the same year as the original Felix the Cat cartoon and the inventor of the Kalashnikov rifle. He survived the Spanish flu epidemic the year of his birth and, though he wouldn’t remember it, was a contemporary of the Treaty of Versailles that officially ended the Great War. His lifetime spanned the administrations of 22 Canadian prime ministers and four British monarchs. And tomorrow, Nov. 1, my friend and occasional visitor to our town, Russ Bannock, turns 100.

“The family’s gathering for birthday party – just the immediate family,” Russ told me this week. “They’ll fill a room at the Granite Club.” (more…)

Tony Mellaci – first responder for father and son

S/Sgt. Tony Mellaci in France, 1944.

He saved my father, and he saved me. In fact, he saved both of us multiple times. The first instance occurred 77 years ago this December. Just before Christmas of 1942, both Tony Mellaci and my father, Alex Barris, arrived at Camp Phillips – a U.S. Army training facility in Kansas. The army had posted them there to train as medics in the U.S. Army Medical Corps. Then, something happened on Christmas Eve.

“The lieutenant told me to go to the headquarters barracks and pick up a soldier who was sick, and deliver him to the hospital. So, I and another ambulance driver picked up your father (although I didn’t know him) and took him to the hospital,” Mellaci told me. “But we never saw the sick soldier. We stayed in the cab while other medics loaded him into the ambulance.” (more…)

Seated with respect

Head stones vandalized at a cemetery in Israel. Times of Israel photo.

The images penetrated right to my core. I felt angry and hopeless both at the same time. Last week, a dear friend forwarded digital photographs she’d received from overseas. The pictures showed tombstones of fallen First and Second World War soldiers pushed over and spray-painted with swastikas.

A poignant quotation accompanied the images from the Commonwealth War Graves Commission (CWGC) cemetery in Israel.

“Why would someone want to cause pain in a place like this?” the caretaker of the cemetery said to the Times of Israel reporter. (more…)

The turns of war

Roger Parliament swears oath of allegiance at RCAF recruiting office, in front of his father, Garnott Parliament

When he turned 18, in 1941, Roger Parliament travelled to a recruiting office in downtown Toronto to join up for wartime service. He’d prepared all his enlistment papers and anticipated vision and hearing tests.

Then, LAC Parliament officially signed up.

But perhaps the most critical part of his decision to enlist in the armed services occurred when he came before the second-in-command at the recruiting office on Bay Street.

“I’ve decided to join the Air Force,” he told the pilot officer he faced.

Across the table from him was Pilot Officer Garnott Parliament, Roger’s father. (more…)

We need grads, not geniuses

The faceless, helpless time writing Grade 13 Departmentals.

They crammed us into a single hall at the school. Often it was the high-school gymnasium filled with rows and rows of movable desks and chairs. We were allowed pencils, an eraser, a ruler and limitless sheets of what we used to call “foolscap” paper on which to write our answers. In came an adjudicator, who announced the name of the exam, the time available to complete it and strict guidelines for decorum during the exam.

“If we catch you cheating,” the adjudicator announced, “we will disqualify your mark. You will fail the term.”

In my day – back in the 1960s – these meat-grinding assemblies to test the cumulative knowledge of students at year’s-end were known as “Departmentals.” (more…)

How dare we!

Anti-Vietnam War demonstration. c1970.

The tension in the air was palpable. All the representatives of power – politicians, diplomats and corporate leaders – could see and hear the assembly of youth in front of them. The whole world was watching as young people stepped up, stood tall and condemned decisions of the day. They decried blatant abuse of that power and they shouted to the representatives of the establishment to change their ways.

“How dare you!” they shouted, in so many words. (more…)

Youngsters aren’t joiners

The president began the meeting by departing from the usual agenda. Normally, after bringing the gavel down to start the latest meeting of his local Probus club in southwestern Ontario, Rod Devitt would invite members say hello and shake hands with the members next to them. But this time Rod had a special guest to introduce.

“Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet Preston,” Devitt said. “He’s slightly underage for our club, but today he’s celebrating his 12th birthday.” (more…)

Arnold Hodgkins’ art comes home

Arnold Hodgkins’ portrait of war trauma. “Victim ’43”

Some things are just meant to happen. About five years ago, a woman in Port Perry made a decision about the artwork that had accumulated around her home for half a century. A large private collection of sketches, water colours and other paintings created by Carol Hodgkins-Smith’s father, Arnold Hodgkins, suddenly went public. The calendar was approaching Nov. 11, and Carol decided her father’s war art deserved a viewing right then and there in her home.

“I think it’s finally time to share my dad’s artwork with the rest of the world,” she told me. She even decided that she would allow some of the artwork to be sold as individual items. (more…)

Back to class with vision

Where my first elementary school teacher, Marjorie Watkins, helped me see the light.

I don’t remember my very first day at George P. Mackie Public School, just off Kingston Road in Scarborough. But my parents would probably have remembered. Soon after I entered Grade 1, my teacher, Ms. Watkins, sent a note home for my parents.

“Why is Ted squinting?” she asked in the note. “I moved him to the front of the class, but I don’t think that’s enough.” (more…)

A promise to Fred Barnard

Beny-sur-Mer cemetery, Normandy, France.

It was a critical moment. My teacher friend Tish MacDonald stood behind the tombstone collecting her thoughts. Several dozen of her students from Uxbridge Secondary School quieted down in front of the headstone with the inscription, “Rifleman, Donald McKay Barnard,” etched into it. They waited for their teacher to offer testimony. They waited for Tish to speak her truth.

“This is why we come from Canada,” she said, barely holding back tears, “to respect what was lost here and to honour what men like Fred Barnard and his brother Donald sacrificed as young men.” (more…)