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The Lucknow Sentinel, 1994-11-09, Page 4Page 4 - Lueknow Sentinel, Wednesday, November 9, 1994 Published weekly by Signal Star Publishing Ltd at 619 Campbell Street Lucknow, Ont. P_0, Box 400, Lucknow, Ontario NOG 2H0 528-2822 Fax (519) 528-3529 Established 1873 Thomas Thompson — Advertising Manager Pat Livingston — General Manager/Editor Phyllis Matthews Helm — Front Office . Subscription rates advance: Local Regular $20°° within 40 ,ni radius G S T incl. Local Senior $1700 within 40 mi, radiosG S T incl. Out.Of-Area (40 miles)- Regular $32.24 - Senior $29.24 G.S.T. incl. Foreign + U S A $96:9 Publications mail registration no. 0847 held at Lucknow, Ont. Changes of address, orders for subscriptions, and undeliverable copies (return postage guaranteed) are to be sent to Lucknow Sentinel at the above address. Advertising is accepted on the condition that in the event of a typographicaLerror, the portion of the advertising space occupied by the erroneous item together with a reasonable allowance for signature, will not be charged for, but the balance of .the advertisement will be paid at the applicable rates. II• Remember thern_- by Lane Gardner :. On November 11th Canadians will remember in different ways. Air Force will remember their fighters and bombers and battles of the sky. Soldiers will remember the tanks, the guns and the continent invasion. Sailors will remember H.M.C.S. - ships and those of the merchant marine. Together we remember most of all the people who paid the supreme sacrifice -and did not return. We remember our Merchant Seamen Who faced cruel weather conditions of the North Atlantic coupled with the dangers of submarine attacks. Early in World War II Allied shipping lost one 10,000 ton vessel eve y 10 hours, day and night for 31 days. In spite of these adversities Merchant 'ships made 26,000 safe crossings and delivered 180 million tons of supplies to British Isles and in turn to our troops on the continent. • War ended, enemy submarines were destroyed or captured and the last convoy to be escorted arrived and• dispersed, the operation may be described in point by the following poem. The Last Dispersal The bunting unfurled on the halyard. The Commodores word was terse, Terse means sweet and the ships repeat With their fluttering flags disperse. A warm wave sighed through the convoy Through the disciplined frozen ranks, The chill ungrips and the flow of ships Crumbs along Its flanks. The motor craft that was throttled For days to 'a galling nine, Begins to careen at good fourteen And breaks from her ordered line. The breathless tramp on the quarter Goes back to an easy eight, Tankers part from the convoy's heart At a lumbering peacetime gait. This Is the last dispersal Pray God. the word Is true, The single course of a welded force Splays out in a freedom new. • Each to his port of choosing Each on his favorite track. The channels clear of its close sown fear And the perilous tide turned slack. Each to his own broad fairway, As the bloody page was turned, The quiet dead of seas ahead Clamored the truth we learned. That each ship lived by the other Whatever her turn of speed, A free world still means a selfish will Bent to a consorts need. Lane Gardner is a life member of the Royal Canadian Naval Association. He lives in Lucknow. ' Lest we forget A witness remembers by Rebecca Hoperaft I remember. I remember those young recruits, often only days into Europe, huddled under my 'canopy. They spoke lovingly of those they had left at home. I remember their fearful anticipation of each morrow, and how I admired their unwavering resolve to put an end to the threat to their freedom. I remember. I remember the dust storms raised by the growling tanks that prowled the 'countryside like predators from another world. They seldom went around, just through or over. I remember their turret blasts, harmonizing, as if they were the drums of death's best symphony. I remember. I remember the growing done of approaching aircraft. The noise of the groundfire they would provoke was often muted by the blast which signalled the success of their mission. 1 remember those who had to parachute from their flaming craft into the jaws of the enemy below. I remember. I remember the aftermath of battle. Smoldering ruins, blackened tanks, and broken, scattered bodies, all surrounded by an eerie stillness. I remember the occasional wailing call for help arising out of the carnage, as yet another soldier sought to evade the icy fingers of death. I remember. I remember the war's end and the massing of troops for transport. While many were jubilant in victory, more seemed dazed by the nightmares that had severely thinned their ranks. I remember those hollow-eyed men and know that none ever questioned freedom's price. As the wind blows my aging boughs, I can see the poppy fields marked with crosses. And I. remember. ' Thi essay placed first in the intermediate division of the Royal Canadian Legion's essays, . poems and posters competition for 1994. Rebecca lives in Embro, Ontario. • Take time to remember On August 19, 1992 - The 50th Anniversary of the DiePPe' Raid, in Dieppe, France, I saw: the cliffs, the castle, the rocks that got caught in the tank's tracks, my grandpa's comrades, my grandpa's friends singing "Kiss Me Good Night Sgt. Major," the sea that was once the color of red because of all the blood from . the 'soldiers, the graves of the fallen comrades, Sister Agnes , that had saved Canadian soldiers lives, monuments, Grandpa marching and flags flying, bands playing and French people waving Canadian flags, hugs and kisses, laughter and tears, the Calgary Tankers reminded of. August 19, 1942, the French children and adults staring at aitd -lining ' up to have their pictures taken with my grandpa, the hero, the people yelling, "Bonjour .and . Merci for saving our lives." The French people shouting loudly "Viva Le Canada." This means long live Canada. We must take time to remember. on Remembrance Day our Canadian heroes, the dead.ones Thi poster placed first in the black and white senior division of and the ones still living, that' fought the Royal Canadian Legion's essays, poems and posters forfreedom. competition. The artist. is Paul Hogarth, Of Mount Pearl, This poem.placed first in the junior. Newfoundland. • division of the Royal Canadian Legion's essays, poems andposters competition for 1994. The author is Mame Willis, of Stettler, Alberta. Memories . in the corner of his mind by George Walker . Remembrance Day is almost upon us, and I've got this song in my head. It's Vera Lynn singing "The White Cliffs of Dover." Lots of people might think the song, is a little too corny. But not you and I. The things it conjures up are all too real. I'm obviously not one of the generation who fought in World War II. But I grew up hearing my Grandpa's stories. Thos8 long ago days came alive to me. Best of all is that they've stayed that way. The stories touched on many things; I heard how Grandpa, like thousands of other young Canadians, trained in various parts of Britain. plueky`Britons survived the continual onslaught of the Blitz. I have a program from a show Grandpa saw back then. It was at the Brighton. Hippodrome on Nov. 25, 1940. Top of the bill that night "was Max Miller, a popular radio comedian. There was also this reminder: "If an air raid warning should be received during the performance, the audience will be informed from the stage." The people got to see a show that night. And it was an evening when the bombers gidn't come. My grandfather told me about nights of guard duty along the English,Channel. The beaches were covered• with barbed wire. A guard kept his eyes open for enemy parachutists. Hitler's propagandists tried to wage psychological war. But their lies had no effect on determined. Canadians. There was a job done; a war to win. The scene shifted to wartime France. The boys found a stray dog. I have seen a picture of them all with their new mascot, one of the little things that apparently meant a lot. Those young Canadians didn't. know if there would be a tomorrow. Grandpa told me about close calls he and others had. He spoke about some of those who didn't make it. There was a young dispatch rider Grandpa knew.' He travelled on a motorbike. One day, he hit a land mine. There is a photograph of his burial service, Grandpa was older than many of the boys he served alongside. They called him Pop. He had worked in a laundry before the war. Eventual- ly he wound up doing the same thing in the Army. But still and all, the war was never far away. My Grandfather came home to his family in 1944. It was shortly after that mom married dad. After he left, the place where he worked came under attack. A lot of the fellows grandpa knew were killed. He never forgot those days. Though my 'Grandfather is gone, I will never forget his stories of the war. It's a different world in the 90s. Those days are so far away. But people today can easily understand what it all meant.. Those Canadians who went away lived in a different world. Still, they were just like us. These men and women had hopes and dreams, as we do. Some of them came home. They fulfilled the hopes, followed the dreams once the war was done. But many of those men and women never came home again. A poppy on my japket. Vera Lynn singing about those white cliffs. Memories of what Grandpa told me. His airtime scrapbook, which my sister is going to send me. These are all powerful reminders I will not forget. I'll pass the stories I heard on to my children one day. It's all 1 can do, lest we forget.