Wartime memories; An Edmonton veteran's memoir of the Second World War by Art Smith
Date: c. 1943 to 1945
Linda Goyette showed us a picture of five young soldiers on a train, smiling and waving good-bye to parents and girl friends. These boys look just like myself in January of 1943, dressed in our neat and comfortable battle dress. We wore our wedge cap, loose fitting jacket, pants which could be buttoned on the bottom so we could put on [putties? -unclear], when staggering through mud with our heavy army boots.
I headed north on a train leaving Edmonton for Grande Prairie - a good old northern Alberta train, with bunks that pulled up and down with chains. I threw my army equipment onto a bunk, crawled up on top of the equipment and slept as the train rattled and bumped its way north.
In Grande Prairie we took our six-week basic training where we really were toughened up with route marches, 20 miles sometimes with packs on our backs, gun drill, gas chamber drill and obstacle course.
I was no good with a rifle but I was a cracker-jack with a [sten? - unclear] gun firing from the hip. When I saw my first score of 98% with a [sten? - unclear] gun I made sure from then on that I would never shoot that well again. Someone who could shoot like that would surely be destined for the infantry.
Being as my army examiner had me assigned as a Signaler with the Royal Canadian Corps of Signals, I was on my way for advanced training at Kingston, Ontario. Here everything was solid military. You kept dressed and in shape at all times. I even had to get a haircut every six days.
My twin brother had been in the same barrack and on the same course that I took, three months later.
After our advanced training, we were sent to Pitawawa to the Artillery as Artillery Sigs. There goes my hearing, then boom, ten days leave and off to Debut, Nova Scotia and overseas.
Two thousand of us on the New Amsterdam as we zigzagged for eight days across to Grenock in Scotland. Imagine twelve fellows in a stateroom (converted cabin). At least we had our bathroom for 12. The boys on deck had no such wonderful accommodation.
A fast train took us through Scotland and onto Aldershot. I think the barracks there were built for Oliver Cromwell - little accommodation, cold water for shaving, and the worst of all barracks. Time to get settled and bugle sounded us up and head for France.
I found myself on a boat called an L.C. I. (Landing Craft Infantry). What a tub! We huddled together on benches with water and slop around our feet. Each of us had two bags, necessary, as the army in its wisdom knew we would get sick in that tub with the terribly rough and growling water. Actually, I borrowed a third bag from a buddy and then we threw all our bags on the floor.
What a relief to land in France and get our feet on solid ground. Ground where one month earlier our poor guys were cut to ribbons, as they were our inversion forces for the liberation of the world.
I was sent up front immediately to replace a signaler who had been wounded and was sent back.
As artillery signaler supporting thru infantry division I spent ten months until we got the wonderful news the war was over. We Canadians liberated Holland and they always remember us and treat us, as we Canadians are the most important people in the world.
I lost friends and comrades often killed beside me - but somehow only slightly injured I was glad to get home - home to wonderful Canada and where I am still proud but not boastful as being a Canadian.