The Storm Begins

The calm before the storm  - Muskoka - copyright Melanie Wills

The summer of 1914 was stiflingly hot, punctuated by the occasional violent storm. People sweltering in Toronto could cool down at the local beaches, Toronto Island being a favourite spot that also included hotels, an amusement park, and a stadium where Babe Ruth hit his first professional home run in 1914.

People with time and money escaped to the tranquil northern lakes, the majestic Muskoka region being popular with Americans as well as Canadians. Canada’s Prime Minister, Sir Robert Borden, was enjoying a holiday at the grandest of the many resorts, the Royal Muskoka Hotel (mentioned in a previous blog). He was to award the prizes at the annual Muskoka Lakes Association Regatta on the Civic holiday weekend. But a couple of days before, he was hastily recalled to Ottawa. Canada and the world were suddenly bracing for the worst storm of all in that feverish summer.

It’s hard now to believe that there was cheering in the streets when the Toronto Star headline blared “WAR” on August 5^th. Within weeks, 33,000 eager and naïve young men had volunteered to fight. They were farm boys and factory workers, professionals and adventure-seekers, university students and those barely out of elementary school. Several of my characters in  The Summer Before the Storm are among them.

Interestingly, a married man had to have his wife’s permission to join up. This regulation was later rescinded when more manpower was desperately needed. Altogether over 600,000 Canadians enlisted and 68,000 never returned.

A Long Way Home

It might be a Long Way to Tipperary, but it was even a longer way home to Canada.

Some of the nearly half million Canadians serving overseas in the Great War had family in Britain, but others found themselves far from home, perhaps for the first time. Many were still in their teens, and unused to large cities like London, which was also notoriously expensive.

Princess Patricia of Connaught - by W&D Downey

While Canadian officers were welcome at established British clubs – the Royal Automobile Club often being mentioned in memoirs, for example – there was nothing similar for enlisted men.

Concerned for their welfare when on leave or convalescing, and in the hopes of keeping them out of trouble in London, Lady Drummond of Montreal – who was head of the Canadian Red Cross Information Bureau in London - instituted the Maple Leaf Clubs for Canadian soldiers. They provided a hot bath, clean bed, decent meals, and a homey place to congregate for a minimal cost. They were subsidized by contributions from organizations in Canada, like the Imperial Order Daughters of the Empire (IODE) and Canadian Clubs, as well as private citizens. 

Rudyard Kipling and his wife were on the Board of Directors, and volunteers who helped serve meals included Princess Patricia, whose father, His Royal Highness the Duke of Connaught, was Canada's Governor General from 1911-1916. The King was so impressed that he asked they be named the King George and Queen Mary Maple Leaf Clubs.

One of my characters is involved in setting up a fictional Maple Leaf Club outside of London in The Summer Before The Storm.

Women were not forgotten, as the IODE established a club for Canadian nurses in Lady Minto’s London townhouse. Lord Minto was a former Governor General of Canada.

This Could Have Been You 97 Years Ago

Part of the Canadian Vimy Memorial, copyright Melanie Wills

If you were a young Canadian man in 1917, you might well have been involved in the Battle of Vimy Ridge on April 9. Here’s an excerpt from my novel, Elusive Dawn, from the point of view of one of the Canadian officers. Some of the women working as nurses and ambulance drivers were waiting behind the lines to pick up the pieces. This has been abridged, leaving out some military details and mention of other characters.

            Justin Carrington was thankful to be out of the deep subway and cave where the slimy chalk walls had begun to close in on him, reminding him of the suffocating mud of the Somme, making him ashamed of the panic that he had to force back into the pit of his belly. By now he should have been used to the sweat and latrine stench of war, but with men packed so tightly together in these underground tunnels grey with cigarette and candle smoke, the oxygen seemed to have been used up. So he breathed deeply of the cold, pre-dawn air.

            Like most of the men, he hadn’t been able to sleep, even if it had been physically possible to find a comfortable place to rest. For months the entire Canadian Corps had been training for this day. Over and over they had practiced behind the lines – their objectives carefully laid out, the timing of their advance coordinated to the split-second – so that every last man knew exactly what to do….

            The men had had their rum ration, and boxes of Canadian Lowney chocolate bars had miraculously appeared. Justin savoured every bite of his, while relishing the reminder of home.

            So now they all stood silently in the trenches, in the rain that was turning to sleet, many up to their knees in icy sludge. 30,000 Canadian infantry strung along the four miles of Vimy Ridge. With another 70,000 soldiers in support roles behind – the gunners, engineers, medics, cooks, and so forth – it meant that the entire Canadian Corps was here, together for the first time….

            Justin checked his watch yet again. 5:15. Almost Zero Hour.

            His company of four platoons would go over in the second wave, leap-frogging those leading the assault at a predetermined line. The first battalions were already in the shallow jumping-off trenches and craters in no-man’s-land.

            After a week of constant shelling that had pummeled the German trenches and defences with a million shells, the silence now was eerie. And taut. Every one of them knew only too well that the Allies had tried and failed to take this strongly fortified and tactically important ridge during the past two years…. Despite some trepidation, Justin felt confident that their intense preparation and unprecedented bombardment would surprise and overwhelm the Germans.

            And he felt buoyed by the latest letter from Antonia Upton. She had written, “We have been evacuating the wounded from the base hospitals in large numbers recently,” which, in the parlance of censorship, insinuated that she realized space was being made for an onslaught of new casualties. She went on to say:

            We often hear the remorseless guns, and I wonder how you can stand the diabolical noise that surely threatens the very sanity of civilization. When we have air raids here, I sometimes find it difficult to muster the courage to keep going, cherishing the sanctity and preciousness of life too much to lose it. There is so much yet to experience, so much promise to fulfill. It seems almost treasonous to admit that I don’t want to sacrifice myself or any of my friends to the dubious glory of the Empire. Forgive my womanly heart, for I do not mean to diminish what you men are trying and dying to achieve.

            I expect you will soon be preoccupied, and trust you will be careful as well as lucky. I enjoyed our perambulations about the Hampshire countryside, and hope we can repeat those when the wildflowers are in bloom and the trees, lushly green. And perhaps you will take me sailing and canoeing when I come to visit your magical Muskoka. I have presumptuously included a photograph of myself in the event that you may wish to recall your correspondent.

            Fondly, Toni

            He had chuckled at the formality of that last sentence, which was no doubt intended to make the gesture appear less intimate. But he was delighted by the photograph and studied it frequently as if he could delve better into her psyche. To him it was evident that she was transparent, her inner beauty reflected in her outer attractiveness. From her perceptive, forthright gaze shone humour and a joie de vivre that captivated him. He had the picture tucked into his breast pocket, and felt the intoxicating stirrings of love.

            Joyfully he had replied to her:

            Your photo has brought me much cheer, but I hope that I may see the real you before long. Not in your capacity as an ambulance driver, however!

            I applaud your womanly heart, and agree with your sentiments. I have done much soul-searching over the past two years, caught between my civilized conscience and the dictates of war. I have seen both the best and the worst that human beings can do, the many and ever more mechanized ways we can slaughter one another, although we are more alike than dissimilar.

            Your friendship has revived in me the determination to survive this war and to make a difference in a world changed forever, but open to new possibilities. Our generation must try to right the wrongs that brought us here and for which so many, as Rupert Brooke so aptly said, ‘poured out the red sweet wine of youth’.

            Be assured that your thoughts and words comfort and sustain me, Toni. I long to sit in the sunshine with you, listening to the birds, but without the guns which now disturb their songs. The larks here seem forever hopeful. So shall I be.

            Affectionately, Justin

            It was snowing now, the wind whipping up a blizzard.

            5:28. Two minutes to go. After a passing whisper, the tiny clinks of bayonets being fixed to rifles coalesced and tinkled down the line.