Christmas stories

[bossi]

"... it's the reason for the season ..."

Christmas on the battlefield
George Blackburn missed holidays with his family during WWII due to his work as an artillery officer
By Pat MacAdam, from The Sun, Sunday, December 19, 2004


Christmas should be home and hearth, family and friends and turkey and trimmings.

George Blackburn, Military Cross, Ottawa, missed five Christmases away from his family. He also missed three straight Christmas dinners serving as an artillery officer in Europe during World War II.

He missed dinner in 1942 because "we were sent off in a jeep to collect some British ack-ack blokes on isolated gun sites." They were so well camouflaged that by the time "we found them and got back there wasn't even a spoonful of gravy left."

Christmas Day, 1943, he was designated orderly officer for the day and was "stuck alone and forgotten in the deserted regimental office, waiting in vain for someone to bring dinner."

The day wasn't a total loss. At midnight, a fellow officer, Lieut. W.G. "Sink" Sinclair, arrived "with a deck of cards, a cribbage board, two glasses, and a bottle of gin -- but no food, of course."

For Christmas, 1944, Brigadier Cabeldu decided that dinner would be our "most memorable meal since leaving home. He even sent his Belgian liaison officer, who was an Antwerp wine-exporter in peacetime, to the south of France to select and bring back an exotic range of the finest vintage wines his educated palate could locate."

Airborne attack

The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft a-gley.

-- Bobbie Burns

George's division was ordered to mobilize for action against an imminent German airborne attack related to the Battle of the Bulge.

The Dutch Underground reported that enemy airborne troops intended to take Antwerp to cut off British and Canadian armies in Holland.

The only food George had that day was early morning coffee. It wasn't until soldiers in the caravan of vehicles began singing "Si-lent night -- Ho-ly Night -- all is calm -- all is bright..." that Brigadier Cabeldu turned and exclaimed: "My God, gentlemen, it's Christmas night!"

One of George's fellow artillery officers was Lieut. Jack Bigg.

Jack missed six Christmases away from his family.

He was a peacetime RCMP constable who applied for permission to enlist. At first, permission was refused but the Force relented and told him he could have his release to join the Provost Corps.

Jack wanted action so he dropped the other shoe.

He advised his superiors he was married secretly to Gladys and they had a daughter, Phyllis.

The RCMP had archaic regulations that dictated a constable must first serve five years before applying for permission to marry.

Jack was clearly in violation of regulations and was booted off the Force. He was 25 when he joined the army as a private but was commissioned very quickly.

He was born in Meskanaw, Sask. His father was John Diefenbaker's room mate at college. After the war, the RCMP took Jack, by then a captain, back and assigned him to the RCMP's punishment duties -- a constable, red serge in summer and Buffalo fur coat in winter -- on Parliament Hill.

Somehow, he caught the eye of the RCMP commissioner, was promoted to sergeant and was being fast-tracked for promotion to officer.

The RCMP sent him to college and he earned a law degree from University of Toronto in 1953. The RCMP realized he didn't have detachment experience so he was posted to northern Alberta.

In 1958, he was persuaded by John Diefenbaker to run as Progressive Conservative candidate in Athabasca, an Alberta riding that had never elected a Tory in its 33-year history.

Jack thumped a veteran 18-year Liberal MP by 5,278 votes. He won three more elections with majorities between 4,124 and 6,658 votes.

Jack told George Blackburn he was instrumental in persuading John Diefenbaker not to resign when Opposition Leader George Drew's Tories were buried by Louis St. Laurent's Liberals in federal elections in 1949 and 1953.

"Mr. Diefenbaker was cleaning out his desk when Jack called on him in his Parliament Hill office. He was going to pack it in and go back to Saskatchewan to practise law until Jack twisted his arm."

George Blackburn was a forward observation officer with the gunners.

His "O Pip" or "Oboe Peter," as observation posts were known, was a windmill. It was there he spent the winter of 1944.

From dawn to dusk, and sometimes at night, his observation post spotted active enemy guns and mortars. They kept enemy-held territory under constant observation.

Forward observation officers served well forward of their own lines and as close to enemy lines as they dared. They had one of the highest mortality rates of any unit in the Canadian Army.

Obvious landmark

George's windmill OP was such an obvious landmark the Germans concluded no one would be stupid enough to choose it for a spotter's blind. Stealth was essential. This meant no fires for cooking or heat, no lights and no matches struck to light cigarettes or pipes.

The subterfuge worked. George remembers that the enemy "didn't even fire so much as a rifle bullet" at the wooden structure.

"Dog" Troop received orders to pull their guns out of action and tow them back a few miles to the village of Groot Linden for 48-hours rest and maintenance.

George's OP crew was recalled from their frigid windmill "visualizing warm billets and maybe even real beds." Their Christmas wish-list was simple -- hot meals, warm beds and flush toilets with warm seats.

It was not to be. George's billet was a room in a modest house in the village. It was "a clammy, unheated, narrow ground-floor room off the living room, devoid of all furnishings except a kitchen chair and a Singer sewing machine."

He was so cold his hand could not hold a pen to write letters. The Dutch owners of the house invited him into their kitchen where a "big range" glowed.

The father was painstakingly writing Christmas letters from St. Nicholas to his two children. The only gift he had for them was a "homemade cardboard house obviously coloured with wax crayons."

George jumped to his feet and rushed to his room where his ammunition box "full of goodies" rested alongside his bedroll.

"A can of real Canadian red salmon, a bag of saltwater kisses, a bag of gumdrops, two giant-sized chocolate bars and a full pound of salted peanuts make quite a respectable pile when you dump them on the kitchen table before the astonished father.

"The tearful, joyous reaction of the man and then his wife -- on hearing him cry out -- is almost enough to make tears come to your eyes. You point to the things and say 'St. Nicholas' and then point upstairs to where the kids are sleeping.

"Then you point to yourself and wag your head 'no, no' -- and repeat again 'St. Nicholas' as you point at the candies and peanuts. When finally they understand that the kids must think the stuff comes from St. Nick, they smile and nod vigorously and wipe away their tears.

Great ceremony

"The father, with great ceremony for your benefit, tears up the letters he had written to the children and throws the bits into the stove.

"The lady insists on giving you a cup of tea and after you've had your tea, they wring your hand and escort you to your bedroll. And you go to sleep feeling absolutely wonderful."

It is far better to give than to receive.