Kenneth Edward Grant, January 23, 1916-November 29, 1963

COMMANDER K. E. GRANT, C.D., R.C.N. 1916-1963

by Gloria Grant, 1995

The Grant family left Moncton, N.B. at the beginning of the [20th] century. David Grant had said that if the Conservatives won an upcoming election he would leave town. They did, and he did. He, his wife and four children went to Vancouver, where he eventually became a judge. Soon after their arrival Miss Greta Jones came from Moncton to marry Edward [Ned], the older son, and in the course of time they had four children: Mary, [the late] Mrs. Harry Gregory of Roberts Creek; Kenneth; Audrey, Mrs. T.M. Johnson of Gibsons; and Elsie, Mrs. E. B. Matheson of West Vancouver.

Gibsons, 1917: Greta, Mary, Ken, 

Aunt Winnifred, Cousin Maxwell

Quite soon after the Grant family arrived in Vancouver they bought property at Gibson's Landing, on Dougals Road, and eventually the family had three summer cottages there. Judge and Mrs. Grant with their daughters, Fannie and Winifred, and younger son Harold., had one. Edward. had an expanding tent and shack campsite for his growing family. They spent many summers there until Edward. retired in the 1950s and he and Greta built a permanent home there. Winifred, the Judge's younger daughter, married Stuart Ney and they also built a summer home on the property.

1938, with Uncle Stuart

The summers at Gibsons were Ken’s idea of heaven. He spent most of his time sailing or fishing in the Bay. His uncle, Stuart Ney, loved being on the water, too, and taught Ken from the time he was a small boy how to handle boats.

1929: Sea scout

When Ken went to high school in Vancouver he joined the Sea Scouts. At UBC. he belonged to the
Canadian Officers Training Corps, and received his commission as a Second Lieutenant before he graduated.

Ken was interested in two different careers. He worked. on The Ubyssey, the university newspaper, and found he enjoyed reporting. He also would have liked to join the Canadian Navy but the Navy was practically non-existent when he graduated from university in 1937. Work of any kind was,almost impossible to get then so after another summer working in the woods he went back to UBC and. started on his Masters degree. He also did a bit of freelance work for the Vancouver Sun at space rates, which were about 12 cents a column inch. He replaced some of the regular staff while they were on holidays, and also wrote items that other reporters didn't want to do, such as obituaries. His pay at space rates gradually got to be too good, so they put him on the permanent staff early in 1939 at $35 a week, a very good starting salary then. I was working at the Sun too, in the Advertising Department, and we met in the Morgue. Not many women can say they met their husbands in a morgue, but it really is just the nickname for the newspaper library.

Ken did very well on the paper. The first year he won a typewriter from the Junior Board of Trade for the best feature story of the year written by a reporter of one of the three newspapers in Vancouver.
When the war started in September 1939 he tried to join the R.C.N., but they weren't taking recruits until they built some new ships to put them in. The Army and the Air Force were in like condition, just able to cope with their cadet corps and Reserve, so he joined a reserve group which met several evenings a week and Sundays at H.M.C.S. Discovery in Stanley Park. We were married July 20, 1940, so we could have some time together before he was sent away.

1941: Probationary Temporary Acting Sub-Lieutenant 

Ken finally joined the Royal Canadian Navy Volunteer Reserve as a Probationary Temporary Acting Sub-Lieutenant on January 1, 1941 and went to H.M.C.S. Royal Roads in the first class of 100, which came from across Canada, nine of them from Vancouver. The training there was really intensive, from the 7 a.m. P.T. (Physical Training) to the 9 p.m. Morse exercises, and always at the double between classes. It was a 12 week course, and they had to learn the basic information that the regular officers studied for two or three years. Ken was third out of the 100 in the exams. The course finished on April 26th and we were hoping for a few days at Gibsons so he could relax in his favourite place, but he just had the weekend, and then had to fly East. The war was beginning for us in earnest; up to then it had all been half a world away, something to worry about tomorrow.

1941: At Vancouver airport

It seems amazing now, but he left Vancouver at 4 p.m., landed in Lethbridge four hours later, another four hours to Winnipeg, then six hours to Toronto. From there he went by train to Kingston where he was to join H.M.C.S. Napanee, which was being completed in drydock. The Captain was Lt. Cmdr. Dobson, a veteran Arctic seaman who had made several trips from Halifax to Vancouver and return via the Arctic Ocean. He was a wonderful captain for a brand new Sub-Lieutenant to have his first sea appointment with. There were just two officers beside the captain to take the ship down the St. Lawrence to Halifax, so it meant watches of four hours on and four off, besides a great deal of other work getting a new ship organized. Ken had at least five official jobs., such as anti-submarine officer, signals officer, confidential book officer, depth charge officer and secretary of the men's canteen.

The ship arrived in Halifax May 22nd, and I was anxiously waiting for news about where they would be stationed.. If it were the East Coast I would go immediately, but if it were Iceland, I would have to stay in Vancouver. Finally we got the news that it would be Halifax, so I left June 8^th, driving with the mother of one of the other officers from Royal Roads.

Wartime can really be harrowing: my mother was ill when I left, but the doctor assured me it wasn't serious and she wanted me to have as much time with Ken as I could before he was sent somewhere I couldn't go. By the time we got to Halifax I found that there had been telegrams sent all along our way trying to find us. Mother wasn't expected to live and she died the day after I arrived. It was a terrible shock. Fortunately Ken was in port for my arrival, but had to leave the next day. The ship had been transferred to Sydney N.S., which was really preferable to Halifax, much smaller and friendlier. The ship was on patrol and escort duty, about four days at sea and seven ashore. Quoting from one of his letters:

Our job as escort craft is to race full-speed up and down the sides of the slow-moving fleet like sheep-dogs keeping a flock together. Now and then we make long rushes off into nowhere, listening for submarines, and generally trying to keep any U-boat skippers guessing about what we might do next. Mostly we zigzag to and fro about a mile off the leading corners of the convoy. It keeps us very busy on the bridge, turning back and forth and not dropping behind or getting too far ahead.The R.C.N.R. officers from the Merchant Marine are an amusing bunch. One of the other corvettes with us has a Captain who was one of the more notorious rum-runners on the East Coast before the War (Nova Scotia was prohibition in those days), and a Mate who was in the R.C.M.P. Marine Division, assigned to catch him red-handed. He never did, but the pair still argue good-naturedly about their past escapades. Hardly a day passes without the two going over step by step, their adventures one black night in the Gut of Canso when the schooner Scutarie got rid of the cutter Adversus by dropping over nets to foul her propeller. The Captain says it was quite accidental; besides, the Mounties should stick to horses if they can't keep clear of honest fisher-folks nets., The Mate insists it was a black-hearted smuggler's trick and that it was the only net the Adversus ever cut in her life; furthermore it was two months before the fishing season, and so on.

Life at sea was quite exciting for an inexperienced seaman from the West Coast. There was a combination of icebergs and fog which can be disastrous. July 6, 1941:

The first warning of thick ice came in my watch, when I noticed a lot of echoes coming back from the whistle signals. I remembered that B.C. coast skippers find their way around in fog by echoes, allowing one second for every cable length off the cliff. These echoes were five seconds in returning (half a mile) and dead ahead, so I took a chance and stopped our engines, blowing the ice alarm on the whistle and sent for the captain. When he arrived the air was full of whistles from the entire convoy, all trying to stop without colliding. You couldn’t hear my pet echoes for the racket. But my guardian angel was on the job again and the fog lifted just as I was trying to explain things. Right ahead was a big white cloud in the fog - only it turned out to be an iceberg over 100 feet high when the fog finally cleared away. And behind it were scores more bergs. We could never have got through them. We finally found. a way after the ships got straightened out and the sun came out.

Oct. 25th - returning from a rough, cold trip to Iceland.:

Our first Grand Banks fog has just lifted and we are having clear crisp October weather for a change. The shallow seas here are a soft pastel green instead of the hard dark blue of the North Atlantic, and there are seabirds everywhere. The water is full of phosphorus at night so that we seem to be steaming through clouds of stars. Spray coming aboard at night looks like showers of cold blue sparks, and lies burning on the black deck for minutes afterwards. I can understand how the Vikings and Cabot's fishermen-explorers must have cheered up when they saw these fruitful waters. Every rag of seaweed and bit of driftwood has a real meaning when you have only seen cold glass-clear water for weeks.

Napanee went in to St. John's, Newfoundland harbour and I arrived the next day via the ferry from Glace Bay to Port aux Basques, then by train across Newfoundland, average speed 15 miles per hour. Ken was told that he was to go to Halifax to take an ASDIC (Anti-submarine detection) course if his relief arrived in time. If not, he would have to take another trip to Iceland. As it happened, his relief didn't turn up and the Mate was sick in hospital so he had several more trips on the very stormy winter Atlantic. The first corvettes had open bridges and by the time their four-hour watches were over they were covered with ice.

 

At sea, summer 1941

I went back to Sydney to wait for him to arrive in Halifax for his course. The trip back on the narrow-gauge train was rather interesting. The second evening the train stopped and was anchored to the tracks. The wind, apparently, was too strong. It didn’t seen much to us when we got out, but when it came from a certain direction they were afraid the cars would be blown off the tracks. After we sat for a while we all landed on the floor with a bang. The train behind had bumped. into us. No one was really hurt, a few cuts and bruises, but it was exciting. That train was quite famous, there were three a week and it could be days late at times. One RCN doctor received the George Cross after a trip. The train was practically buried in snow after a blizzard in the desolate centre of the island and no one knew where it was. After about five days, when they were running out of food and fuel, he volunteered to snowshoe to the nearest village, which was quite a distance away, and fortunately made it. The train is not used now; there is a road across Newfoundland and a bus service.

We didn't get together again until the middle of January, in Newfoundland again. He still hadn't had a replacement. We opened our Christmas presents on January 17th, then he had to leave sooner than expected for a trip to Londonderry. When he returned to Newfie the relief had finally arrived and we headed for Halifax for a bit of leave and his course. We went by a passenger ship and had another exciting trip. There were only eight passengers as there were lots of submarines in the vicinity. To add to it, we got stuck in pan ice and were sitting ducks for about 24 hours. The subs could easily have attacked under the shallow ice. We were very glad to see Halifax.

After his ASDIC course Ken was appointed to the training staff. His job was to go on shakedown cruises with the newly-commissioned ships. He worked mostly with Fairmiles, and was away for ten days, home one or two. It was very tiring work, as they did a lot of night exercises, and when he did get a chance to get some sleep, it was on a wardroom settee.

But:I'm really enjoying my job a lot these days, as far as any sane person can enjoy himself with a war going on. From a purely selfish point of view, it’s not a bad way to earn a living most of the time, chasing around in fast boats and trying out new schemes with aircraft and the latest in weapons. It's a bit exhausting at times, but never dull. It always adds spice to have a few authentic enemies around among our make-believe ones. We had to take time out last week again to chase a real target that got too curious about our goings-on. It's one way to keep everybody on their toes.

There was one funny experience when they were working in St. Margaret's Bay near Halifax. The Fairmiles had finished their work-up with the submarine for the day and most of the officers were standing on the conning tower talking it over. One officer was below in the sub and was curious about where the boat was lying in the Bay, so he pushed the button which sent the periscope up very quickly. It went up inside the pant leg of one of the officers standing on top, fortunately on the outside of his leg, and stuck in his belt. Suddenly he was rising up in the air, hanging on for dear life. The officer below couldn't see anything through the periscope and turned it back and forth, which sent the fellow on top flying around. Everyone was laughing too hard to go below and. stop it. It looked like an Indian rope trick.

Ken spent a year on that job and at the end of it finally had a month's leave, which he really needed.. Then off to Newfoundland again the middle of July 1942 to join the destroyer Assiniboine as a staff officer. That meant that he circulated through all the ships in the flotilla as an ASDIC specialist. His trip over to Scotland was in a British frigate, his first trip in one, and he was very impressed with it. When they arrived in Scotland he was able to get four days leave in London. It was the fourth anniversary of the War, and it was very exciting to see the skies over London filled with formations of bombers for hours. This time they were Allied planes and not German. There were so many that Londoners were staring upward from buses and office windows, and even the imperturbable bobbies were almost excited as they tried to count the planes in formations. A few people were almost in tears with the emotion that seemed to hit everyone. It was the first clue he had from Londoners themselves of what they had suffered; they never dropped a word normally to explain the ruins around them.

When he was boarding his ship for the return trip across the Atlantic he was suddenly switched to another ship, which was an extremely lucky break for him. The ship he would have been in was sunk with all hands. His first captain, Lieut.-Cmdr. Dobson, was lost, which was very sad news; he was a fine person, and Ken admired him so.

The next Atlantic crossing he was in the Ottawa, a ship that had been designed for the Mediterranean, so it was really freezing with just a few electric heaters. It was so chilly that the rats deserted the bilges and went up on the upper decks to get warm. On his December trip they went to Glasgow, so he took a few days leave and went to Grantown-on-Spey where his branch of the Grant family originated. They left there about 1800 and went to New Brunswick, but to anyone of Scots descent, Scotland is still home. He sent his father a 10-page typed letter describing his adventures. He arrived after dark, 4 p.m., and walked out to see Grant Castle, which was the hunting lodge of the head of the Grant Clan. While he was standing looking up at the castle in the moonlight a voice called “Halt! Who goes there?” and there was a small brown man with a very big bayonet pointed at his midriff. He was an Indian from the Northwest Frontier. Ken hastily explained what he was doing there, so he was taken to the Officer in Charge. After he showed all his papers they welcomed him and gave him a tour of the castle and a wonderful dinner. There was lots of game around, as there hadn't been any of the usual August hunting parties since before the War. There was also lots of wood for fires; a treat in Britain then. The Indians were the remnants of several regiments that had been sent there after Dunkirk. They thought that the powers-that-be had forgotten about them, and didn't mind a bit. The next morning he spent in the town where the people were very kind to him when they found out he was a Grant.

London, June 1944, near St. Paul's at 10 a.m. "This damage is several
years old and has been neatly levelled away. The air is full of fog
and dust from V-2 explosions these days."

Ken had. several more trips across the Atlantic in the eight months he was with C5 Escort Group; he had a crossing in each one of the ships. Again his fantastic luck was with him as he transferred from one ship to another in the middle of the Atlantic by breeches buoy. There was a sudden emergency, and the ship he left was sunk. I heard rumours about it in St. John's and had some anxious hours until I found out that he had changed ships.

In March 1944 we were sent to the West Coast so Ken could join a new frigate which was just being completed., H.M.C.S. Kokanee, as First Lieutenant. It was wonderful having two months with no worries. D-Day was so exciting, we felt that the end was in sight at last. There was a party in the ship to celebrate, and our last year's Christmas parcels arrived in the middle of it. It was a very hot day, and we unwrapped fur-lined gloves, woollen scarves, etc. The parcels had followed him back and forth across the Atlantic, always one ship behind, and they were rather battered. The Kokanee left on July 1st to go through the Panama to the “Eastern Canadian Port.”

H.M.C.S. Kokanee, commissioned June 6, 1945

I didn't go East to meet him because their future plans were so indefinite and everyone was getting optimistic about the war ending very quickly that we thought I should stay in Vancouver and find a place to live to be ready for his return. Meanwhile they were very busy with a couple of trips to the West Indies for work-ups, then to Newfie to go on the convoy detail again. Those last months seemed endless with anticipation. We certainly didn’t realize that it wouldn’t end until May, 1945 - the Atlantic war, that is – and there was still the Pacific to worry about. I worked for the Army while I was waiting, had just had volunteer jobs before, as I wanted to be able to “Pack and Follow” without having to give notice.


Ken was getting very tired of being on convoy duty across the Atlantic. He made 26 trips during the war, which is rather a lot, It usually took five weeks for the return trip. Their first Captain was transferred after about four months because of nervous exhaustion, the second lasted one trip and had to leave because of appendicitis, so he didn't expect that he would be able to leave for some time, even though the original Captain had recommended him for a command course. Fortunately the course came through the middle of March and he wired me to meet him in Montreal. I was very grateful as I was worried about his safety. He always wrote as if it were just a pleasant cruise, but one of our friends was lost in a ship which was torpedoed right outside Halifax Harbour in January. That was very sad; he was from Vancouver where he ran the family laundry business. When he arrived in Halifax they made him officer in command of the naval laundry. He complained bitterly for three years so finally, when the war was almost over, he was sent to sea so he could have some sea time on his record - which lasted about an hour.

We had a week's leave in Montreal, then went to Ste. Hyacinthe, a charming town, for the first two weeks of the course. Then two weeks at Cornwallis in Nova Scotia. We were there for the false Armistice. There was quite a celebration before they found. out it was only a rumour. We arrived in Halifax on May 5th and went to a boarding house where we had stayed several times before. It was owned by a remarkable woman who would sleep on a small couch or the floor to give her bed to any of her former tenants who needed one. There was no rank in the house, from ratings to commanders everyone was on a first name basis. She was only able to give us the room of some tenants who were away for the weekend, but we were grateful for that, the town was jammed. Monday, Ken went down to start his course and I went room hunting; fortunately found one where some friends had stayed a few years before.


Around 11 a.m. May 7th all the ships in the harbour began to blow their whistles and everyone hoped this time it was for real. May 8th was officially V.E. Day and the town planned on having a victory parade and then street dancing to celebrate. Unfortunately, there was a lot of drinking and looting Monday evening and the officials cancelled everything. They thought there would be more trouble. It was the worst thing they could have done, as the town was full of servicemen wanting to celebrate and there was absolutely nothing to do, not even a restaurant open. The men, service and civilian, got together in gangs and broke into the stores in the centre of town, also the liquor stores and the brewery. It was a chaotic end to what should have been a wonderful day. Halifax was never a happy posting during the War; the servicemen felt they were being badly overcharged for everything and the civilians resented the strangers taking all the living space and making life difficult for them.

The end of the, War in Europe meant changes in our lives. The Navy would only be needing about 55% of its men in the Pacific; some of the others would be used for minesweeping around Europe, but nothing too interesting. The Navy decided that Ken should take a two week Rehabilitation course in Ottawa, then go to the West Coast as Press Relations Officer for the Rehabilitation Scheme at H.M.C.S. Discovery in Vancouver. A thrill for us to be heading back home, even though housing was extremely difficult. We arrived June 25^th after a very hot train trip across the Prairies, around 100 degrees and no air conditioning. But it was a very happy trip, we were in a car full of sailors heading for discharge in Vancouver. I think I played cribbage with every one of them, had a streak of luck and beat most of them.

1860 Haro St., Vancouver

Everyone said that we couldn't possibly find an apartment, but I had worked for the Advertising Dept. of the Vancouver Sun before the war, so I went to see if the Advertising Director had any interesting ads to go in the paper. It paid off; we got a brand new apartment in the West End near Lost Lagoon and Discovery.


When we came west Ken had planned on retiring whenever his discharge came through, but after a year he had a month’s leave and decided to spend it working as a reporter again for The Sun to see if that was really what he wanted to do. He still had the choice of staying in the Navy. The Sun sent him to Powell River to report on a maritime court case: several retired Naval officers had started a shipping line from Horseshoe Bay to Powell River with several surplus Fairmiles. They were still having financial problems when one of the ships struck a rock and a passenger was drowned. Ken was very careful reporting the story as they were men he knew and he didn't want to hurt their business. The Mate gave evidence that he had had a drink before dinner, which Ken reported, but the paper changed it and said that the Mate had been drinking, which is quite different. Ken was very upset about that and said that he didn't want to be in a business that could ruin people’s reputations unfairly and he would prefer the Navy.

Winnipeg flood, 1949

In the spring of 1946 he became the sea cadet officer for B.C. and did a great deal of travelling around the province. That was when the Gambier Island site for the cadet summer camp was chosen and it was quite a rush getting it ready for that summer. Our only child, daughter Leslie, was born that summer too. In early 1949 he became the Deputy Director of sea cadets in Ottawa, and he designed new uniforms for the cadets and. wrote a cadet manual. That was a very busy appointment; he spent several weeks in July 1950 at the Winnipeg flood on rescue work, then went to Cornwallis, where he gave a three week course for older sea cadets from western Canada.

In February of 1951 he was sent to Philadelphia for a three month course in Damage Control, then was appointed to Halifax as Damage Control officer. In July he had a six week course in Atomic Energy in San Francisco, a really tough course as science was not an easy subject for him. It was nice to have him in a job where he didn't travel too much for a change, except for a two week trip to Bermuda in the middle of winter - the Navy does have its advantages. That winter he took up oil painting as a hobby and did very well. His first paintings were of four different stages of the Halifax citadel: from the early days when the town was first settled; then the first fort; next the fort planned by the Duke of Kent, Queen Victoria's father; then the modern fort which has been made into a museum. His paintings are still hanging there.

Ken's job kept him very busy as it had been decided that almost every man in the Navy should take a Damage Control course and he had to get it organized. He transferred to the permanent Navy in 1953, which took some time; there was quite a bit of red tape to get straightened out. If he had transferred at the end of the War it would have been simple, but then, like most of the other VR's he had been dreaming for years about a quiet peacetime job. But he found he really loved the variety and interesting life of the regular Navy, and decided to stay.

That summer he spent two weeks helping to clean up the nuclear plant at Chalk River. There had been an accident and service people from all over the country were called in to help clean up the radiation. Even the future U.S. president, Jimmy Carter, was there. It was quite a tricky job; at one point Ken's air hose was accidentally cut and he had to run up two flights of stairs without breathing to get away from the radiation.

Ken joined. H.M.C.S. Algonquin as First Lieutenant the beginning of 1954, which pleased him. He always had an urge to get back to sea every couple of years. They spent the next four months of winter weather in Bermuda and the West Indies painting ship and training, which they couldn't possibly do around Nova Scotia. Actually they had some very stormy weather near Bermuda too, but it was hard to make the snow-bound wives in Halifax feel very sorry for them, particularly when they went on to the West Indies and went skin diving and watched tropical fish among the coral. I must admit that year our daughter Leslie and I went to the West Coast to visit the family and old friends for a few months so we didn't suffer too much either. By that time Ken's parents were living permanently in Gibson's. Leslie loves Gibson's too, but has never been able to spend much time there.

From Sept. 6th to December 6th Algonquin and five frigates were away on a large training exercise with the NATO fleets of Britain, U.S., France, etc.. Naval methods and equipment had changed so much since 1945 that it required full-scale war games to test the various plans and tactics. They brought together everything from submarines and warships to blimps, helicopters and most of the modern weapons. After the exercises they had a trip around the Mediterranean, though as First Lieutenant Ken was very busy and didn't have much chance to visit the ports of call. Almost the biggest thrill of Ken's life was welcoming Admiral Lord Mountbatten aboard Algonquin; he had been his hero for many years.

They returned to Halifax December 5th and were there for two months. then another trip to Puerto Rico for exercises with U.S. submarines and ships. Then to Jamaica to paint ship, after that to Houston, Texas, which was 95 degrees in March, and suffocating from the smell of oil wells, chemical plants, etc. But the people of Houston spoiled them with hospitality, dances for the men, sightseeing trips, free tickets to games and shows. This tine he was home for two weeks, then away for five again, a major exercise with a fleet of ships and no ports of call. Unfortunately in the excitement of the exercise one ship trimmed off a slice of Algonquin’s stern. Ken had had the men practising damage control work and they all went to their proper stations automatically, and the damage control teams went to work clearing away the wreckage and strengthening the weakened sections. Fortunately the propellers and steering engine survived unharmed so they could still manoeuvre,.There was a canvas screen lashed across the hole to keep out the wave-tops, and the: seamen painted new “side. numbers” on the canvas. Algonquin's real number was 224; the repair men changed it to 223.9 in memory of their missing fragment. The ship was sent to Lauzon, Quebec, for refit, which they really needed.. They had steamed 72,000 miles and. spent 14 1/2 months away out of the past 18. Ken had to spend July with the ship to oversee the work, Leslie and I went along as we were moving to Ottawa in August , 1955, where Ken would take up a new appointment in charge of ABCD - Atomic, Biological and Chemical Defensive Warfare - training

He was still away from home quite a bit when we moved to Ottawa, studying and taking courses for his destroyer command exams, which he needed to pass before he could get a promotion. Fortunately he did and became a Commander on July 1, 1957, just before we moved to Camp Borden, north of Toronto. He was to be Commandant of the ABCD school there: the three services took turns to provide the commandant for the school and it was the Navy's turn. That was one of the best appointments we had, particularly as far as I was concerned. The work was interesting, we had a nice house on the base just a few miles from the ABCD school, a very good school for Leslie and good friends for us. We got very involved in extra-curricular things. Ken joined the curling club and a Frogman club of underwater swimmers. Then we took over the reorganization of the camp library, which really needed it. When Ken became the editor of the twice weekly camp newspaper and wrote many of the news stories, I became the Library chairman. He also organized a painting club; there were quite a few-amateur painters and they held a very successful Art Show.

Maclean-Hunter Publishing Co. conducted an annual essay contest about the Navy, open to all officers and men of the R.C.N., the winning essay to be published in Canadian Shipping magazine. Ken thought it would. be interesting to try it, and sent in an entry which had first been checked. by the Naval censor. He had the highest clearance for sensitive subjects so couldn't take a chance on sending in his entry unless it had been cheeked. He won the contest and a $100 prize: - worth considerably more then. There was a rather amusing aftermath. One of their news dealers in Ottawa, whose stand was near the Russian Embassy, reported to the R.C.M.P. that the Russians had been buying quite a few copies of the magazine. Of course they could easily check Ken's rank and position, so were very interested in his ideas about future ships. Actually, he had written his essay like a Jules Verne story and thought his ideas were just science fiction. In fact, the U.S. Navy was very upset because: they were working on just such things and couldn't understand how he found out about them [the use of satellites in navigation]. The Canadian Navy was rather annoyed with the Americans because they were supposed to share such projects. At least Ken was in the clear and really got a kick out of the whole thing.

During our last year in Camp Borden Ken was busy brushing up on Naval subjects again as he was going to be given a command starting September 1950. He didn't know which ship yet but was very thrilled at having a sea-going command., there weren't many available then. We were hoping it would be a west coast appointment for a change, but again we went to Halifax. He was given command of the frigate Cap de la Madeleine and. also command of the 9th Escort Squadron of four other frigates, It was a great responsibility. They were away on exercises and other sea time for 2/3 of the time, which I thought was much too much, having been spoiled in Camp Borden. He had this appointment for more than two years, which was longer than usual. But he was very tired when it .was over.

They had quite a few interesting trips, along with all the drudgery of training and exercises. In April 1961 his ship was sent to Barbados to represent Canada at the opening of its first deep water harbour. It was still winter in Halifax, so they really appreciated a chance to get out to the gorgeous beach after the formal ceremony and do some snorkeling.

The end' of August the the Cap de la Madeleine had rather an exciting and unusual experience. They erected two barracks buildings 84 feet long on Baffin Island,. Loading and unloading the barges was a very tricky job; they loaded the 150 tons of cargo in 20 continuous hours into small barges, which then had to be unloaded on the muddy beach at low tide - the tide rises 39 feet in Frobisher Bay. In the end they finished 4 days ahead of schedule then sailed early as they were at the limit of their fuel, with barely enough to reach home, they steamed slowly on only one boiler. (The men used to sing prophetically an ancient song hit called Paddlin' Madeleine Home).

In October the squadron all left for Charleston, South Carolina for exercises with the American Navy. I flew down and met the ships for about 10 days while they were in port. Charleston is a fascinating old city to poke around in, so I had lots to do while Ken was busy. 1961 was a really busy year for them. The Cap de la Madeleine steamed more miles than any other R.C.N. ship.

The end of June, 1962, they left for the south of England with 140 cadets of the University Naval Training Division, then paid an official visit to Dublin. They were the first Canadian ships to visit Ireland since 1956, so they were treated royally during the five days they were there. It was a very busy time, with lunches, dinners, receptions, inspections and visits to important people, They were on radio, TV and in the local papers every day - they had never felt so important before. Ken didn't have a minute off, but the other officers and crew were able to have some liberty to enjoy the hospitality of the local citizens.

It was a rush to get back to Halifax for the ship's maintenance as the squadron was leaving on August 13 for a cruise to Hudson Bay with the U.N.T.D. cadets. There were many problems to solve, as this was the longest Arctic voyage in R.C.N. history without a tanker or ice-breaker along. There were no lighthouses or radio beacons to help out their navigation, and also ice packs to dodge.

After they returned to Halifax they had to go to sea again very soon patrolling due to the Cuban war scare.. He returned just before Christmas and heard about his next appointment. He was to go to the Naval Reserve Headquarters in Hamilton as Director of the Sea Cadets.. Ken left Halifax in mid-February, and I stayed behind to sell our house. He came back on leave in March to help pack up. and move to Burlington near Hamilton. Leslie stayed. in Halifax with friends until June to finish High School.

Ken enjoyed. being on land again, for a while at least, and his work at H.M.C.S. Patriot in Hamilton was a change. It was interesting to catch up on the changes in the Sea Cadet world after so many years. He had a trip West to visit some of the Corps in early May, then in June went to the other extreme and visited some of the outports in Newfoundland. in La Hulloise. Actually that summer he did almost as much travelling as in Cap de. la Madeleine, there were so many Corps he wanted to visit as soon as possible after taking over this appointment. The summer was busy with Cadet Training Camp in Nova Scotia. I went along on many of the nearby inspections, it was interesting to watch the Cadets doing their drill, they were all so very serious and did very well.


Ken went to Halifax the end of November for a few days and on his return trip the plane crashed just after they left Montreal. There were about 130 people lost, it was a terrible blow to Leslie and me. She was going to Dalhousie University then so I went to Halifax immediately to be with her for a week. We needed to be together then. The Navy held a memorial service in the Chapel at H.M.C.S. Stadacona and his ashes were buried at sea. We felt that he had spent so many years of his life on the sea that it was most appropriate.

1963

Letter from Rear-Admiral- Budge to Leslie

Dear Leslie,

We have never met, yet I feel I know you well. I have an only daughter, a few years older than you and probably brought up in a similar manner to yourself ... . I therefore think I can understand the bond that was, and will continue to be, between you and your father. Although this is probably one of the greatest moments of sorrow in your life, I thought that you might like to know what we of the Navy thought of him. It may bring comfort, and help you in the trying days ahead..

Your father and I first met during the last war, early in 1943. I was then a Lieutenant with some 20 years of service, engaged in working-up Corvettes. Your father was a young Reserve Lieutenant who, at the time, was working-up Fairmiles. In spite of his youth and lack of years in the Service, he had an instinctive knowledge of the Sea and in the handling of men. By his smart appearance, by his frank, cheerful and engaging manner, he made himself acceptable it once.

Since that time our paths have crossed on many occasions. In every duty that he had been given, even the dull ones, he performed well, always showing that flare for leadership that was evident at our first meeting:. He was a man of many talents. I have a picture painted by him and would like you to see it some day. Perhaps your mother has told you its story but I would like you to hear it from my point of view.

I was captain of H.M.C.S. Quebec, one of the two cruisers that we had at that time; your father was in charge of the Damage Control School in Halifax Dockyard. and from the roof of the school, he painted a picture of my ship while she was alongside of #5 Jetty. Later, whilst having lunch with me on board, he told me of this, saying it was not much of a picture but would I like it. I protested that it should not be a gift. In order to make me accept it he said. “I would be glad if you would take it, as my wife says she is sick and tired. of seeing it hung in the bathroom." A remark so typical of his modesty. However, since that time, this picture, of which I am so fond has hung in my home - you probably know how we sailors regard our ships. Another of his talents was his writing, which was excellent. Whilst I was in Ottawa, reports of proceedings from every ship in the Fleet came across my desk, generally all very dull stuff.. The exception being those from H.M.C.S. Cap de 1a Madeleine; these were always read by all, as they were of such interest, being so well put together. Outstanding among them were his reports of his visits to Povungnituk and Frobisher Bay – both of which were much quoted in the Crowsnest and the national press.

Not only did your father win the trust and affection of the Navy, but during his service at Camp Borden, that of the Army as well. This was another duty that he carried on in Seamanlike manner, as I had the opportunity of seeing for myself when I visited the Camp in 1969. He was probably the best known Commander in the Canadian Army. I have met many soldiers who did not know the name of our Chief of Naval Staff but who were quite familiar with Commander K. E. Grant. I have so many memories of him, his courage and determination in the Assault Course at Cornwallis; his splendid leadership in the Frigate Squadron, where he was admired and respected by all.

In the many talks I have had with your father since he took over his duties at Hamilton he was always so helpful and co-operative but, above all, I shall always remember that bright cheerful grin of his – his warm-hearted personality and good humour.

He was always so smartly turned out, either in uniform or in plain clothes – such a smart looking Naval Officer and an example to all. I admired and respected your father and you, his daughter, can be so very proud of him and (because of this) you will grieve greatly. This, he would know, but also feel that it would have been his wish for you to be able, in time, to laugh and sing and to enjoy yourself. There is an expression that he and I frequently used – it was “This too shall pass away,” and although time will heal your grief he would want you to retain happy memories. Whilst your loss is the greater, I too shall miss him, along with all those in the Service who knew him as I did. In every respect he was a tremendous man.

It may hurt you now to read this, Leslie, but I have tried to make it a tribute to a great sailor and if I may venture to direct an expression to you, one that I feel he might have said himself - “Never forget that you are a sailor's daughter.”

With deepest sympathy,
Yours sincerely,

Patrick D. Budge,
Rear-Admiral, R.C.N. (Ret'd)



I added this letter from Admiral Budge, because I felt that he gave such a wonderful and true description of Ken's personality.

To Timbuktu and back, 1: Bamako

It turns out the only way to get to Mali is through Paris, and the best way to get to Paris from Calgary is through Amsterdam. So that's what I did. But if I'd done that at any sort of civilized hour I'd arrive in Paris 30 minutes after the flight to Mali left. So I started off a day early and spent the night in Paris.

Any reasonable person would have gone to Paris days early and taken in the sights of the City of Light. But Paris doesn't hold a lot of appeal for me any more since the last time I was there I broke my wrist. All I did this time was sleep - for 14 hours straight - and hang around the airport. Charles de Gaulle airport has about as much charm as Heathrow with a few high-priced designer shops thrown in. It was a relief to get out of there.

Three of the eight of us on the tour arrived in Bamako together at 9:15 in the evening, Saturday January 22. We got out of the airport about 11:30 after our bags finally made it off the plane and into the baggage retrieval scrum. It was hot, it was crowded, many of the people we were jammed in among hadn't bathed in recent memory, and it was all very strange. Fortunately the great Barou, co-leader of the tour along with his American wife Cynthia, tracked us down and assured us that everything was going to be all right. And it was.

We drove through dark and mysterious streets to our dark and mysterious hotel: Hotel Comme Chez Soi, one of the highest-rated in Bamako. To me it seemed at first to be a little quirky and primitive, with a toilet that left puddles and minimal lighting, but viewed in the context of other places it was fantastically luxurious. And it had air conditioning (and a swimming pool).

Sunday, January 23
We woke to the sounds of donkeys, roosters and motorcycles - the background music of life in Mali. I met the others on the tour at breakfast:
- Ann from Port Townsend, Wash. (actually I'd met her the night before - she was my roommate)
- Liz from Tacoma, who'd sat beside me on the plane from Paris
- Susan and Steve from Brooklyn; she a retired therapist, he a retired teacher who had worked in Nigeria in the 60s
- Dianne from Toronto, a retired nurse
- Anne from California, another retired nurse and good friend of Dianne's.
And we met our leaders and their helpers:
- Cynthia from California
- Barou, her Malian husband
- Papou, Barou's near-cousin and lifelong friend
- Dra, driver of our van.

As soon as we could get moving we set off for the National Museum of Mali and its textile exhibit for a preview of all we were about to see. There was a sculpture outside the museum that we particularly enjoyed: a lifelike version of the dominant form of transportation in the city.

A fine lunch in the museum restaurant, and we were off again to the Donniyaso Centre where a master marionette maker trains young people in art and music (and literacy). Their marionettes are really life-size costumes worn by dancers. They put on a spectacular show for us - my Flickr page has a video I made there.



Monday, January 24
We hit the road early to go to the Grand Marché, the huge marketplace. Our mission was to get some bazin, cotton damask that we were going to dye using traditional methods; the rest of our visit would take us to see some of the craftsmen who turned the bazin into the clothing every fashionable Malian wears. We visited a man who folds and ties and wraps the fabric so some areas are protected from the dye, and another who sews tiny, tight stitches into it to protect it.

And then we went upstairs to a room on a roof where an acre of men with sewing machines do intricate embroidery on nearly-finished outfits. I honestly don't know how they manage to do such work so fast.

And finally we got to rest at an instrument-maker's stall while he demonstrated his drum and Liz (a retired music teacher) got lessons on the kora's little sister.

Lunch at a Lebanese café (all good restaurants in Mali seem to be run by the Lebanese) and we were off again to visit Tantou, Mali's most famous dyer. We watched tied and untied bazin being swihe pounders' hut, where strong men spend the day whacking the daylights out of nearly-finshed and soaked in vats of intense color, rinsed and swished again in starch. Then to tished fabric. The desired end result is something that looks like coloured wax paper, stiff and shiny. Once you're looking for it everyone seems to be wearing clothing made of this stuff.

And that was Bamako. Tomorrow we're off to Ségou.

To Timbuktu and back - my trip to Mali

Mali. The third poorest country in the world. Home of Al-Qaeda and Tuareg terrorists. A place you need at least 8 shots before you visit; where you have to take anti-malaria medication daily while you're there and for a week after; where you're crazy to eat the lettuce and almost certainly will get gut-twisting turista anyway. Why would anyone want to go there.

I did.

Last November I was browsing through Piecework magazine, a lovely little magazine about fibre arts and crafts around the world and through time, and I saw an ad for Behind the Scenes Adventures and their tours of parts of the world of interest to textile people. Something about their trip to Mali seized my imagination and wouldn't let go. A few hours later I'd signed up.

So that's how it came to pass that on January 20 I found myself, all on my own, flying across the Atlantic to Amsterdam.

Over the next few days I'm going to show and tell you something about my adventures.

Our Pacific voyage

Here's a summary of my Facebook posts from our trip to New Zealand, Australia & the South Pacific. Sorry to all my friends who rely on this blog instead of Facebook to see what we're doing.
Photos are on Flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/lesliel/sets/72157624107939831/, http://www.flickr.com/photos/lesliel/sets/72157624109084617/, http://www.flickr.com/photos/lesliel/sets/72157624201407911/, http://www.flickr.com/photos/lesliel/sets/72157624415481150/.

Touristing in Alberta

It seems shocking that we've covered a large part of the world's surface and hadn't (until last Thursday) been north of Red Deer in our own province. So we decided to deal with that.

A couple of months ago we reconnected with Ron's cousin Ralph at a family reunion. When Ron was growing up Ralph was one of the old kids and not part of his circle at all. Funny how 50 years can change all that. Five years don't make any difference at all now. So we were delighted to discover how well we clicked as friends.

Ralph and his partner Raymond live in Edmonton. I'd been to Edmonton on business in 1989, but that doesn't really count as a visit. We needed to see the place, and Ralph was eager to show it to us. So last Thursday we drove up that way via Custom Woolen Mills, an extraordinary fibre factory in the middle of nowhere somewhere east of Carstairs, giving us a chance to get off the highway and into some real farm country. I picked up a Turkish spindle and some slubby, bumpy wool to spin with it.

I'm afraid I'm hooked on spinning now!

Friday we discovered that Ralph missed his true calling: he should have been a tour guide. He drove us all over the place, showing us the Edmonton he loves. We shared lunch with two of his lovely daughters, Judy and Jodi (we'd met Judy at the reunion, too) at a fine sushi restaurant, and then "did" the West Edmonton Mall - you haven't seen Edmonton unless you've seen the Mall.

Ralph's daughter Shelly came over after dinner to share my birthday cake (apricot-pistachio torte: yum!).

Saturday morning was a trip to the Edmonton farmers' market, where I picked up more wool to spin - actually hand-dyed kid mohair from the supplier's own flock. Oh dear, I'm going to have much too much spinning to do, just like I have far too much to knit. Then, off to Mannville and cousin Charlene, via Vegreville's giant Easter egg.

Charlene had arranged a tour of a Hutterite colony for us that evening. What an interesting place! About a hundred people share the work and earnings of a large piece of land, making everything possible and living almost completely self-sufficient lives together. They were completely open and willing to answer every question we could think of about how and why they live like they do. And they gave us some awesomely delicious pie to finish off the evening. I don't think we could live that life - you have to work too hard - but I think they're the richest people we've ever met; they have more than enough of everything a human being could ever need.

Sunday Charlene, Paul and the two of us visited the Ukrainian village near Edmonton. Interesting place - old buildings rescued from destruction and set up in groups as they would have been in the 1930s or earlier. Each building is staffed by a young person who acts in character for the time and place, very knowledgeable and able to answer all sorts of questions. Definitely a place worth another visit.

Sunday night we spend with cousin Gay and her husband James near Wetaskawin. After moving from High Prairie last winter they lived in their RV for a couple of months. It worked out so well for them that they bought a 5th wheel to live in permanently; they have their two homes parked next to each other in a small RV lot just outside Millet. They put us up in their RV that night, leaving us full of admiration for their ability to get along together for a long time in a very small space. We're certainly not made of such stern stuff!

Monday we made our way homeward via Rocky Mountain House, where I picked up more fibre for spinning - bison this time, from a couple who raise bison and non-allergenic horses just outside of town. I envied their two little kids who had the run of the place and looked full of health and life. Every child should have that much fresh air and sunshine!

Rocky Mountain House reminded us of pre-tourist boom Canmore, very plain and not at all affluent - but you wouldn't call it poor, because it was tidy and well-kept. Its greatest treasure is its historic site, well worth the couple of hours we spent exploring it. The Canmore museum has been celebrating the bicentenary of mapmaker David Thompson, who was based in Rocky for some time, and I found their display on his life interesting in comparison.

We were going to spend the night in Lake Louise or someplace like that, but the weather began to turn rainy, so we retreated to our own mountain resort home. It's still the most beautiful place in the world, but the rest of Alberta isn't too shabby, too.

We're home

As usual, I neglected to let people know we made it home safely. I didn't know there were that many people reading this blog, but several have expressed surprise at seeing us around Canmore - "Aren't you still travelling?" So this is formal notice that we made it back home.

And the picture to the right is what we faced in Toronto. We knew there would be a bit of a temperature difference - we left Santiago on a 35C day - but did it have to be this much?

Canmore is its usual beautiful self and much less wintry than Toronto. Thank heavens for chinooks!

I've just finished uploading pictures to Flickr, so have a look.

Do we gotta go home?

So here we are in Santiago, within hours of having to leave for the airport, and I really don't want to go. Chile is very much to my taste (in every sense of the word), and I'd love to spend more time here.

To continue our voyage north from Antarctica...

We made our way through some of the fjords on Chile's coast, dropping in to visit a glacier, heading out to the rough Pacific beyond Chilean waters so the gamblers could have their casino, nipping back in to see the Darwin Channel – and there we were met by a pod of porpoises playing in our bow wave and wake. Oh wow! Wonderful. Amazing. Awe-inspiring. There were cameras going off all along the starboard rail, but I don't think any of us got a good picture, not even the ship's photographer. You just couldn't tell where they were going to come up. I have a few splashing tails off at the edge of one of my pictures, and that's the best I've seen. Never mind; the images will stay clear in our minds for a long time.

Landed again at Puerto Montt, still in southern Chile but in a more temperate climate – rather Vancouver-like from what I could tell. We'd signed up for the “Traditions of Chile” tour, which turned out to be the best I've been on. They took us out to a small resort town, Puerto Vargas, in an area originally settled by Germans in the mid-19^th century. It's a pretty town on the edge of a lake with a view of two only slightly dormant volcanoes not too far away. So that took care of the requisite shopping opportunity; then they took us to an estancia (ranch) owned by a former Chilean rodeo champion who is dedicated to preserving the traditions of the Chilean huasos (cowboys). They greeted us with food and drink (setting the tone for the afternoon), folk dancing by a group of talented teenaged girls and boys with music on guitar, paraguayan harp and tormento (a percussion instrument kind of like a washboard with a sounding box). They showed off their Chilean horses – a special breed that's probably very close to the original Spanish horse, intelligent, gentle and nimble, and able to run sideways. Then they took us out to the rodeo corral and gave us a demonstration of the Chilean rodeo – kind of a bullfight that does no damage to the bull except to his dignity: the idea is to get him running around the ring several times in a perfect circle and then stop him with the horses. There's a lot of skill on the part of the horses and riders, and the sideways running comes in handy. There was more food, music and dancing, and then we had to leave. Alas!

On up the coast for one more day at sea to give us a chance to pack. As we were moving about the cabin trying to fit things back into the suitcases we'd take the occasional glance out the window, and twice we saw whales right beside us. Just a glimpse of a fin or two, but definite whales. There were fishing boats out there, too, so I assume the whales and the people were after the same thing.

Landed in Valparaiso and got bussed through pretty mountainous scenery to Santiago. The next morning we navigated the metro system to the Plaza de Armas to experience the Mercado Central. We saw more kinds of seafood than I ever suspected existed and had some abalone (not all that good) for lunch. Prowled around the area some more, seeing the wool shops close for Saturday afternoon just like in Buenos Aires, and found the Museum of Precolumbian Art that Evan's friend had recommended. It is indeed a lovely place full of objects collected mostly by one man on the basis of their beauty and artistic merit, not scientific interest. They were well displayed with bilingual signs giving all kinds of useful information about what they were and the cultures they came from. Definitely a place we're glad to have seen. In the evening we went up a small mountain that's a park near our hotel and had dinner in a fine restaurant with a view of the city and the sunset on the mountains opposite.

The next morning we picked up the car Evan had reserved for us and drove south to the Colchagua Valley wine district, finding our hotel in the pretty town of Santa Cruz with no trouble at all. We enjoyed the brunch Evan had arranged for us, then booked a few wine tours for the afternoon and next day.

We saw four totally different wineries – I never suspected they could be so different. One was new and modern with its building designed along feng shui principles and its premium wine ageing in casks to the sound of Gregorian chant. Another was in an old estancia; they treated us to a horse-drawn carriage tour of their fields and a sampling of raw wine from one of their vats (smells like baby poo, one young mother in our group commented). A third had a lift to carry us up the mountain side to their display of native Chilean cultures (including Easter Island, which of course belongs to Chile) and their observatory with a collection of meteorites. The fourth, my favourite, was just a competent winery in beautiful old buildings, although the owner did like to display his collection of antique cars there, too. They have an elegant small hotel attached; my idea of a good thing to do would be to stay there during the wine festival around the second weekend in March.

It was wonderful being able to get out into the countryside and see a few things on our own. It was my first time in South America when I didn't feel like I was in Turkey. The old farm buildings are definitely sui generis, unique to Chile – long, low brick buildings with wide roof overhangs, one room thick, enclosing a central patio. The ones we were in felt cool and breezy even on a hot summer day. There were gardens full of flowers everywhere, and orchards of apples, pears, peaches, citrus fruit – whatever, all ready to be shipped to wintry Canada. It was all quite lovely.

Back to Santiago pretty well uneventfully, except for some fun trying to get back onto the highway after we got off to fill up the car, and more fun when we turned one street too early to get to the hotel. Never mind. I don't think divorce is immanent.

So today, after we've found some way of packing our souvenir wine safely, we'll leave our stuff at the hotel and head off into the city again, back to the Plaza de Armas area to find my wool shops and see what we missed there (handy hint: in South America look for the Plaza de Armas in whatever town you're visiting; that will be the old and interesting part of town), maybe back up the mountain to have one last look, and then (alas!) off to the airport for a day of flying and waiting to fly.

Final impressions of South America: don't miss it, but learn some Spanish first. Surprisingly few people speak useful amounts of English here. Fortunately Spanish is not all that hard, at least at the basic bodily needs level, but I sure wish I knew more. And I'm going to learn more. I must come back.