大象传媒

WAITING TO GO 鈥� Following two weeks of hitting the high spots in Montreal, our course was informed that we would be posted to Quebec City on a three month Commando Course. The course instructors were two young army lieutenants, survivors of Dieppe, and Brother did they put us through the ropes! The first week you just 鈥渉it the sack鈥� after supper, but pretty soon, you were able to run and march all day, and then dance and socialize with the very 鈥渙o-la-la鈥� girls most of the night. I still have very pleasant memories of Quebec City, of Yvonne and her 鈥渕ilk鈥� at the Chateau Frontenac, of skiing at Lac Beauport and pleasant walks along the Grand Allee.
One ski trip to Lac Beauport I remember particularly well. Most of us spent our time at the chalet bar rather than on the slopes. A good friend of mine, Lynn Gurry from Deland, Florida had come to Canada during the early summer and had joined the R.C.A.F. and graduated at Winnipeg at the same time as I did. On receiving my commission I was assigned to the number CAN J39999 while Lynn got CAN J40000, two very easy numbers to remember. He had never seen snow till that winter, so naturally had not done any skiing.
This day he donned skis, but instead of getting out on the novice slope, he took the tow right to the top. Instruction had been practically nil, so when Lynn started down, he had no idea how to control his skis. He maintained his balance and picked up a terrific speed. Eventually he hit a bump, lost control, and ended up in a pile of broken skis and broken legs. Lynn was left behind in Quebec City, but met in Lachine on my return from overseas. He married his nurse, a beautiful girl, and maintained that in the year and a half he was left behind, he had not won the war, but had won the Battle of Quebec City.
Eventually leave was granted, and two of my buddies and I headed off for a three day holiday in New York City. For all of us from the Canadian prairie, it was most impressive as we visited some of the well known sites such as the Empire State Building, Radio City Hall and Yankee Stadium. Things were very confused when we checked into the hotel which had been selected for us by a travel agency in Quebec City. As we approached the Check-in counter at the hotel, a big burly New York policeman informed us that this hotel was suspected as being a house of prostitution. We really must have looked shocked as he went on to explain that there probably wasn鈥檛 a hotel in the city that wasn鈥檛 suspected. We enjoyed New York, but we all agreed that it was all too big for us.
On our return to base, we found we would be on the move right away. Next morning, we loaded onto our train for Halifax and immediately boarded a luxury liner, the 鈥淟ouis Pasteur鈥�. Very early one morning in the latter part of March, we started our unescorted dash across the Atlantic. On the seven day trip on our zig-zag course we ranged from near polar to near tropical conditions, had done our turn on submarine watch and had experienced sea sickness. We were quite impressed while still west of Ireland on a very cloudy day, to be met by planes from RAF Coastal Command, and escorted the rest of the way. We landed at Liverpool on the west coast, loaded on to the quaint English train and made an overnight trip to Bournmouth, a very charming resort city on the south coast of England. It was a real contrast leaving the snows of Canada and seeing everything so green and colourful in Britain.
Bournmouth has to be one of the beauty spots of the world, and we spent two very pleasant months there under ideal weather conditions. The scenery was great; the girls were pretty and friendly. We lived in luxurious resort hotels and except fot the occasional sound of air raid sirens from Poole, Southampton and Portsmouth, the war seemed a long way off.
While stationed here, I spent a weeks leave in Edinburgh and a 72 hour pass in London. I particularly enjoyed Scotland, and I just loved Princess Street and the Castle. I was never able to comprehend the coolness and composure of the Londoners when the 鈥渂uzz bombs鈥� came over and the motor cut, and the inevitable explosion occurred. They were most nonchalant about the whole thing, and would carry on as if nothing had happened.
About the third week of May, thrty bomb aimer trainees from Course 89 were posted to
#9 A.F.U. (Advanced Flying Unit) at R.A.F. Penhros in Caernarvonshire in North Wales.

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