Story Time: Bury Me At Sea (2)

"Bury Me At Sea": A Father's Final Voyage

A WW2 Navy veteran's request becomes a son's great adventure

Previously from...

The Bombshell and the Pain

I was then about twenty years older and still didn’t have a good, concrete suggestion or idea concerning how my parents could each have their final wishes related to burial satisfactorily fulfilled. However, with the aid of my youngest sister Jane and younger brother Kim, I began to walk my father through the initial steps of my mother’s burial arrangements, and later, armed with advice from a good friend about how to deal with my father’s wishes, I felt the entire matter could be resolved fairly easily.

And, yes, the matter was eventually resolved, far better than satisfactorily. Each parent received the burial they desired and deserved.

Fulfilling their conflicting wishes, however, turned out to be much more complicated and harder work than I imagined and would lead me to stand one day about ten years later, very tired and quite alone, on a slippery shelf of rock beside the Atlantic Ocean with a wooden boat full of ashes in my hands.

(You missed Part 1? Please click here to view the first instalment of "Bury Me At Sea."

* * * * *

Mother’s Death Breaks the Silence

Sunday, November 19, 2000 -

I visited my mother at Versa Care, an ‘old age home’ outside of London. I was accompanied by my older son David and his son Jackson. Jack was only about two years old at the time and will not likely recall the uncomfortable scene.

My mother was almost totally uncommunicative because of Parkinson’s Disease, dressed in her well-worn burgandy housecoat and pajamas, and I lifted her head and shoulders carefully so she could see Jack in David’s arms. She was quite stiff and I don’t think she recognized any of us.

I recall her shared room was quite small, didn’t smell the best, and had a window to surrounding barren fields. My mother was in her last days and we didn’t stay very long.

Sunday, November 26, 2000 - 

I went for an early morning run with friends and afterward stretched and cooled off outside the Running Room store located at the corner of Richmond and Hyman streets in London. A Running Room staff member exitted the store and unexpectedly spoke to me.

“Your wife called and left a message. You’re supposed to call home.”

So I called home, suspecting all was not well. My wife Pat gently told me my mother had died. My demeanour changed during the few minutes I spent speaking to Pat and a friend asked if I was okay as I walked toward my car.

“My mother died while I was out running,” I said, without stopping. And I was soon home.

It’s true, the best laid plans can go awry. My mother died on the day I’d planned to take my father to see her for the first time at Versa Care. He wanted to see her and I know she would have wanted to see him, because during their last visit together, at Trillium Retirement Home (mother’s last place of residence) in their hometown of Norwich, they had been very happy to see and visit with one another. Their conversation had been close, heart-felt and - to a degree - animated, and when it came time to go my mother declared she wanted Doug to stay longer.

“Don’t leave me,” she said.

My parents' wedding picture circa February, 1946

But there was nothing to do but go.

And on November 26, instead of taking my father to see his wife I visited him with tragic news.

Once home from the Running Room I asked siblings who lived nearby - and already alerted that our mother had died - to join me in the trip to my father’s small room at London’s Psychiatric Hospital on Highbury Avenue.

Before I visited my father, however, my brother Kim Douglas and I drove to Versa Care to see our mother for one last quiet visit. The two hours that passed there were likely full of dramatic weight from front to back but I can only recall four things.

First, my brother and I had to wait to see our mother’s body and have it released to a funeral home because a coroner had to see her before we did. Because mother was the third person to die at Versa Care during the week, her death had to be investigated. I doubted anything suspicious had happened. Parkinson’s had done its job. But I minded what seemed like a very long wait, and all the while I felt helpless, and out of sorts.

Second, when I had a private minute or two beside my mother’s bed, I stroked her arms as I’d done when she was alive but drifting away, and noticed her arms and hands looked in many ways like mine. We were indeed mother and son.

Third, when I lifted her in my arms and placed her upon a waiting gurney I realized how light and frail she had become. Surely she weighed less than ninety pounds.

Finally, I watched intently as the back door of a waiting hearse closed and she was taken away. As the car turned onto the county road I felt I’d seen my mother for the last time.

(I didn’t know at the time, but family members would be given the opportunity to see her momentarily just hours before she was cremated.)

The next thing I recall about the day's events is the walk my sister, brother and I shared in the hallway leading toward my father’s room at London Psychiatric Hospital on Highbury Avenue. We were dressed in our Sunday clothes and I was anxiously wondering what to say and how my father would respond.

But I needn’t have worried. He was braced for bad tidings. He was aware we were going to deliver serious news before we even reached his door.

“I could hear your leather shoes and the way you walked coming down the hall,” he said. And together we mourned our shared loss.

The countless remaining events of that day in November, 2000, are nothing more than a blur. I spent hours tracking down the whereabouts of an older sister and dealing with an all-knowing uncle and controlling aunt. I welcomed an array of guests to our home, fielded numerous phone calls and attempted to sort out many inevitable and pressing details. On more than one occasion I felt overwhelmed and recall snapping at a brother-in-law who just offered a small bit of advice.

However, later that day and through the next week my family (including our marriage partners) can be described as supportive and helpful. Together we made many necessary arrangements concerning the preparation of Edith’s obituary, her cremation, and a family gathering or wake in the family home according to her wishes. Without incident we assembled to read and act upon her last will and testament.

That being said, at some point, perhaps in early to mid-December, I realized storm clouds were very likely upon the horizon. Burial plans would have to be made, a grave site purchased, a grave stone engraved, and I recalled my mother didn’t want to be buried alone. About that she had been adamant. 

As well, my father still wanted to be buried at sea, as he had wished and vividly expressed twenty years earlier.

Most of the pressures I felt on November 26 paled in comparison to what I thought lay ahead during discussions with my father.

Fortunately, while anxious thoughts filled my mind I received two gifts that brought some relief.

The Italy Star, one of a few among my father's WWII medals

More to follow.

Edith and Doug, an early Christmas together circa 1953

Please click here to read Bury Me At Sea (1)

Unattributed Photos GH

Story Time: Bury Me At Sea (1)

Bury Me At Sea: A Father’s Final Voyage

A WW2 Navy veteran’s request becomes a son’s great adventure

Staff photo from The Brantford Expositor, Dec. 1943

Introduction: 

I have composed a few stories while organizing material for my blog "1,000 Men, 1,000 Stories: Canadians in Combined Operations" beginning in February, 2015. I describe the stories as "written along the way" as I grew more interested in research related to my father's 'Navy days.' He was a proud WWII veteran of not only the RCNVR but of Combined Operations from June, 1941 to September, 1945, one of about 950 - 1,000 Canadian sailors to initially volunteer for the unknown. Thus the blog and a goodly number of stories of my own, to help myself and others get from the unknown to the known. Curious, I say.

Preface:

“It would cost a small fortune today to retrace the places I

had been to and seen under the White Ensign.” (1941 - 45)

Leading Seaman Coxswain - Gordon Douglas Harrison

“I can afford to retrace the miles I travelled to bury my

father at sea in 2010. But I don’t know if I possess the

strength and determination to find the exact spot on

Pennant Point, south-east of Halifax, N.S.” (2104)

Son of a Leading Seaman Cox'n - Gord Harrison

Bury Me At Sea (1)

The Bombshell and the Pain

The Navy was in my father’s blood and when he spoke his mind, on a Sunday afternoon during the early 1980s, about wanting to be buried at sea, his voice rang with surprising intensity and passion. His plea was made forty years after his service with the Royal Canadian Navy Volunteer Reserve (RCNVR) had ended, and produced the same shocking result inside my parents' house in Norwich, Ontario as a firecracker thrown into a crowded elevator.

My mother spoke next from her seat at the dining room table with equal intensity and passion. I can hear her voice to this day.

“What is going to happen to me?” she said. “Am I going to be buried alone? I want to be buried with my husband, not alone.”

The expression on her face was pained and riveting. “Husbands and wives are supposed to be buried together,” she said.

Uncomfortable silence reigned momentarily. My wife Pat and I looked back and forth at one another a few times, eyes as big as saucers, and expertly glanced out the nearest windows, in search of our two sons (they had earlier run across the street to play at a school yard), while wondering how to respond to what my parents had just said.

My father likely didn’t realize he was only adding fuel to the fire when he stood, collected a postcard from a nearby shelf and gave it to me with some explanation. I looked for the first time at a now well-known photograph of the statue of a Canadian sailor that stands outside The Museum of the Atlantic in Halifax, a city to which he had travelled (I learned later) in 1941 to continue his training, begun a few months earlier in Hamilton, with the RCNVR. Seeing the photo helped me understand my father was doing a bit of thinking about his past connection with the Navy, but it certainly was not a salve to the wound he’d opened in the heart of my mother, his wife of forty years.

Statue at base of Sackville St., Halifax: More details here

I cannot recall one word I added to the ensuing, prickly discussion, but during the drive home I expressed the feeling to my wife that I was supportive of both parents because I loved them equally and wanted each to have their final wishes fulfilled. I also cannot recall having even one sensible idea concerning how the conflict between my parents could be resolved.

Within the year, I believe, my mother tried to deal with her seemingly imposed lot by pursuing a plan to be buried at her mother's grave site, situated in the Norwich Cemetery, about six blocks from my parents' house, but the idea was rebuffed by at least one of her three brothers. Whether my parents ever got closer to resolving the issue together, I do not know. I didn't often think heavily about the day of my father's bombshell and mother's pain in the ensuing years but was forced to revisit the issue shortly after my mother died on the morning of November 26, 2000.

I was then about twenty years older and still didn’t have a good, concrete suggestion or idea concerning how my parents could each have their final wishes related to burial satisfactorily fulfilled. However, with the aid of my youngest sister Jane and younger brother Kim I began to walk my father through the initial steps of my mother's burial arrangements, and later, armed with advice from a good friend about how to deal with my father's wishes, I felt the entire matter could be resolved fairly easily.

And, yes, the matter was eventually resolved, far better than satisfactorily. Each parent received the burial they desired and deserved.

Fulfilling their conflicting wishes, however, turned out to be much more complicated and harder work than I imagined and would lead me to stand one day about ten years later, very tired and quite alone, on a slippery shelf of rock beside the Atlantic Ocean with a wooden boat full of ashes in my hands.

More to follow in this short but mighty story.

My parents did occasionally put their heads together

My parents' grave stone in Norwich, Ontario

I did bury my father at sea on a Sunday in June, 2010

Now older and wiser than in the 1980s? GH

Please click here to link to Gord's Journal: "Buried my father at sea"

Unattributed Photos GH

Story: 'A Good Life' by Eldred (Ed) Whelan

A Canadian in Combined Ops Looks Back on His WWII Service

"I was one of 28 who volunteered under Cmdr. Mountbatten..."

Navy vets, WWII. L - R: Doug Harrison, Norwich; Ed Whelan, Guelph;

Arthur 'Gash' Bailey, London ONT. June 1988, Guelph

Photo from the collection of Doug Harrison

Introduction:

In earlier entries pertaining to photographs of WWII Navy veterans while attending Navy reunions I shared the above picture, and the ones that follow. Some information about some of the veterans of RCNVR and Combined Operations has been provided in the earlier entries and readers can click here to link to Photographs: Aging Navy Vets Reconnect at Reunions (2).

As well, recently, an important link to three rare and significant books full of veterans stories (re RCNVR and Canadians in Combined Operations) was provided and within readers will find submissions provided by the three veterans above and many, many more.

Excerpts of stories by/about Combined Operations veterans Harrison, Whelan and Bailey follow:

A Good Life by Ed Whelan, LT(E) i.e., Engineer, RCNVR

Preface: Honour is due to the oldest responder to the Questionnaire now entering his tenth decade. It is an honour to be able to print his letter which accompanied his Questionnaire. Since this letter Ed has suffered a slight stroke, and now lives at Oxford Lodge, 135 Oxford St., Guelph, Ontario.

The preface was written by David Lewis (above), seen here with

other veterans of Combined Ops in London ONT, mid-1990s

Back, L - R: Art ('Gash'), Clayton*, and David Lewis (David wrote and

collected stories for St. Nazaire to Singapore (two lengthy volumes)

Front L - R: Doug and Al (full names are w top photo)

(*Clayton Marks wrote Combined Operations which inspired Mr. Lewis to do some writing/collecting of his own).

The following is by Ed Whelan:

I will try to recall as much of my Combined Operation's experience as possible but you should know something of life previous.

Came to Canada at age ten years, an orphan of Dr. Barnardo Homes**, raised on a farm until seventeen years of age and became employed with a textile firm.

(**Doug Harrison's mother entered Canada as a child in the same manner).

During the depression of 1929/30 I worked four days a week, I was advised to take a course in Diesel engineering which I did by correspondence and attained an 80%-plus on this. I attended Hempill Diesel in Chicago for their practical course, concluding with a permit to operate Diesels up to 750 H.P.

It was with this permit that I applied to the Naval Branch at HMCS York, Toronto. There they said I had no place for my qualifications but would advise me later. I was informed to apply in May, 1941 to HMCS York and was taken in for basic training for a few weeks. On completion I was forwarded to HMCS Esquimalt, BC, to work on the boats which had been taken over by the navy.

(Editor's Note: The first drafts of sailors from HMCS Stadacona, Halifax, followed much the same path after volunteering for Combined Operations in late 1941. Once overseas in January, 1942, they were sent to Havant and Hayling Island on England's south coast, and soon thereafter to Inveraray and Irvine in Scotland for more training aboard various landing crafts, some commando training included. Their first action was the Dieppe raid, i.e. Operation Jubilee, August 19, 1942, followed soon there after by Operation Torch, the invasion of North Africa, beginning in November, 1942. The invasions of Sicily and Italy followed in 1943.)

Ed Whelan continues:

I received my first Mention in Dispatches in May 1943 and the other one in August 1943. They were for recognition of the performance of our boats.

On returning to Halifax after leave, I was told by the naval authorities I would not be returning to England but that there was a mine sweeper down at the dock and they wanted an engineer. I was a Sub-Lieutenant in charge of machinery of HMCS Transcona (details re ship at Wikipedia) and stayed with her until I received word from my wife's doctor that I should resign my position which Captain G. put through, and was passed out June 20, 1945. I returned to my hometown in Orangeville. But on 9 July, 1945 my wife passed away.

I have wondered why you wished this information or is it just curiosity? I am now in my 91st year with degrading hearing and eyesight, living alone and not the best of health, living in a rented building for the past twenty-five years.

As found in St. Nazaire to Singapore: The Canadian Amphibious War 1941 - 45, Vol. 1, page 17 (click here for access to Volume 1)

 

Art 'Gash' Bailey (left) and Ed Whelan, Oxford Lodge, Guelph, 1988

In Volume 2 of St. Nazaire to Singapore we find a few words from Art Bailey (aka 'Gash', a navy term for leftovers) another Canadian in Combined Ops. 

Mr. Bailey shares the following, as part of a response to the Canadian Combined Ops Questionnaire:

The above excerpt appears as found at St. Nazaire to Singapore, Vol. 2, page 391. Click here for access to the online book. And click here to read a passage by Bob McRae re Dieppe and circumstances related to the death of Richard Cavanagh.

Photo as found at page 65, St. Nazaire to Singapore, Vol. 1

'Gash' finishes his brief recollection with the following:

Stop me if I am wrong, but when you (David Lewis, writer/editor re St. Nazaire to Singapore, Vol. 1 and 2) were in Roseneath did you not have me out in front of a work party to show them how to swing a sledge hammer? We were irrigating the land for the prospective camp and damn the rock was hard. Would you believe that a couple of the guys accused me of showing off? And here I was trying to work off a hang over. 

Though David Lewis, in his preface to Ed Whelan's letter above, makes mention of Ed's Questionnaire, it does not appear along with Art Bailey's and those belonging to several others. If other excerpts belonging to Ed can be found, I will add them to this post.

Please link to an earlier entry, Story: Normandy - Operation NEPTUNE Part 2

Unattributed Photos GH

Story: The Mine - Difficult Manoeuvres, 1944

The Mine: LCI(L) 310, 264th Flotilla

By John T. Corcoran, AB (Able Bodies Seaman), RCNVR

Lyme Bay is west (left) of Weymouth, S. England. Poole is to the east,

near Bournemouth. Photo Credit - Travel the UK

The following story appears in a rare set of Canadian texts, compiled by David and Catherine (Kit) Lewis and Len Birkenes in the mid-1990s, entitled St. Nazaire to Singapore: The Canadian Amphibious War 1941 - 1945, (Volumes 1 and 2). Links to the set can be found on this site under the click-on Heading "Books re Combined Operations" (right hand margin). The books open by telling us they were inspired by Combined Operations by Clayton Marks of London, Ontario.

 The Mine by John T. Corcoran (Editted by David Lewis)

"It's strange how reading something like this (i.e., "Combined Operations", by C. Marks) opens other doors of past events that have been forgotten with the passing of time. One could recall a certain event, but it seems each one of us saw it in a different light, if he could recall it at all. This got me thinking about the mine incident outside Weymouth. I have been telling it as I saw it for forty-nine years. I may have added a bit now and then, but basically it was the truth. But to make sure, I checked my diary and one would think it a different event altogether. My diary must be wrong." Page 227

Mr. Corcoran (with, in GH's opinion, a big assist from David Lewis) then goes on to tell his story about the mine.

The story involves the Third Canadian Flotilla of landing crafts, after leaving their station in Southampton on March 24, 1944, and their participation in "difficult and advanced manoeuvres" - in the company of RN and US landing craft - in Lyme Bay near Portland.

Tank landing craft and infantry landing craft putting out to sea during

exercises near Portsmouth and Isle of Wight area. Photo taken on landing ship

infantry (LSI) EMPIRE MACE. Photo credit - WW2 Today

LCI(L) 310 was lead ship on a perfect day for exercises, upon water "still as a mill-pond." As they sailed east into intense reflections from the sun, Corcoran was amazed to behold such a large formation of Allied landing craft - and then - something else dead ahead. As bow lookout he began to jump up and down and wave his arms for attention.

"Then we saw it - 30 yards ahead - an ugly mine three quarters submerged."

No date is given in the recollection but an onboard diary reports:

April 8/44 - really dark - calm - hit something in water.

Too late to take evasive action (men aboard could only "wait and watch"), the craft hit the mine with the centre of the ship's flat-bottomed bow. LCI(L) 310 shuddered, "every rivet" seemed to shake, but the mine did not explode.

The mine rolled under the hull until it crashed and banged into the twin propellors. 310's stern jumped a bit, then the mine popped up 20 yards behind, with horns torn asunder and sporting fresh gashes from the props.

What to do? 310 was instructed to "Stay and protect" until an MTB (Motor Torpedo Boat) arrived to tow it back to a nearby Navy base.

The crew of LCI(L) 310 soon discovered they were unable to easily proceed with the exercise with severely damaged propellors. They were soon informed to "Proceed to HMS Turtle at Poole for inspection and repairs." Off they went in order to cover the distance of about 40 miles before dark.

Ship's staff soon learned (from an RN Intelligence Officer) that Germany had dropped "suspension mines at different depths" in Lyme Bay a few years earlier and the ones not cleared by minesweepers had since corroded and leaked but posed only a nuisance. We read, "He tells us that after we were scared out of ten years' growth!"

Rehearsal for D-Day, likely in S. England, on or near Lyme Bay

Photo as found in Combined Operations by C. Marks. Page 23

An onboard diary not only reveals the incident occurred in early April but repairs were not completed for 2 - 3 weeks.

The following is from the official accident report dated April 11, 1944 (perhaps submitted by Lt. David Lewis):

       ....The report of collision with a submerged object while carrying

       out night exercises with the 264th LCI(L) Flotilla. The extent of the

       damage is unknown at present and cannot be determined until ship

       is put in a slipway.... A good lookout was kept, a reliable rating on

       the forecastle head reports he did not see any object. LCI(L) 302

       passed through the same position a minute previously and neither

       saw nor hit any object.... 

By the time the crew of LCI(L) 310 returned to Southampton many signs of the vast buildup to D-Day Normandy were in evidence. 

We read, "It wasn't the same Southampton we left eight weeks earlier. Then it was comfortable.... but now it is jammed."

The last diary entry (May 18/44) states:

"With repairs completed and trials and manoeuvres finished, we returned to Southampton ready to conquer the world."

A bold statement, is it not, three weeks before D-Day Normandy?

Please link to the complete story by J. Corcoran and D. Lewis. Pages 227 - 229

Please note the Canadian Maple Leaf on Bill Gunther's metal helmet.
Photo as found in St. Nazaire to Singapore, Vol. 2, Page 226

Please link to Story: A Mediterranean Lighter Man

Unattributed Photos GH

Story: A Mediterranean Lighter Man

A Mediterranean Lighter Man, D/JX 227023

By Bill Prout, Royal Navy and Combined Operations

Excerpt from Combined Operations, C. Marks. London, Canada

The following story is found in Combined Operations by Londoner Clayton Marks. I include it on this site about Canadians in Combined Operations because Mr. Prout's recollections would mirror Canadians in a similar situation during WW2 and adds to our understanding of duties, frustrations, dangers and memories WW2 veterans of Combined Ops would express in detail if able.

MEDITERRANEAN - LIGHTER MAN by Bill Prout 

It was at Tripoli, North Africa, that I finally got drafted from LCT 17. I had been aboard her a long time. First the siege of Tobruk (this lasted about ten months) then still more trips to Tobruk running supplies of gas, ammo, food, etc. for the Eighth Army that was hanging in there. Finally we had to evacuate the place and run the gauntlet of tiger tanks firing at us as we ran out of the harbour. Fortunately we made it back to Alexandria alright.

Shortly after we had to evacuate Alexandria, after a nightmare trip with the fleet, during which the "Medway" with a large contingent of Wrens, and the "Maidstone" (sub depot ship) were tin fished among several others. Our small craft could not keep up with the convoy and we had to break off. We finished up in Haifa. After a day or so we left for Cyprus and during our stay we ran convoys to Beirut. After that we sailed through the canal to the Bay of Suez, where we helped with the offloading of tanks, etc. for Montgomery's push up the desert from El Alamein.

HMS Maidstone. Photo and more details at Wikipedia

When the big push came, our first trip was to Solium where we floated barrels of water ashore to the Army. We continued with the Eighth Army, Derna-Tobruk-Mersah, and finally into Tripoli Harbour. So it was into Tripoli Castle for me. Officers stayed in Navy House just across the street. I thought that at last I may get a cushy number. I was a little bomb happy anyway. Soon I was piped to report to the regulating office, and I was a dispatch rider. There were two of us working shifts. We had an Italian "Guzzi" motor bike but unfortunately it did not last long because after a couple of days, the other guy totalled the bike. A few days after this I had to report to a Commander Boord at Navy House. He had been the gunnery Commander on the "Rodney" and little did I know the exciting times I was to go through with him

Just going back a bit, I mentioned that when we were finally able to get into Tripoli Harbour, I was shocked to see an Italian hospital ship that had been sunk. A couple of us rowed out and went aboard it. It was still full of ammunition and all kinds of war materials. So much for the big red crosses painted on it. I went aboard the "Tevere" many times after this but nobody would come with me. I had a hobby of dismantling live shells and grenades and used to make explosive charges that we dropped in the water whenever we needed fresh fish. I used to give the disarmed grenades away for souvenirs.

Now, back to my driving job. The vehicle was a large American station wagon. There was another guy that used to come with us on our many trips. He was the Commander's steward (servant). We travelled up and down the North African coast, staying overnight at whatever unit we were visiting, airfields, Army Headquarters, etc. I didn't know at that time that Comm. Boord was briefing these units about their parts in the Salerno (Italy) landing and that he was in charge of this. We had just returned from one of these trips when he told me that his job was finished and he would not be needing me anymore.

I had enjoyed working with him and the prospect of maybe being sent back to our base in the desert didn't appeal to me. I told him this and he asked me if I would like to go with him. Still not knowing what I was in for, I said I would. The next morning I was ordered to drive a Navy Commander to an ammunition dump (all captured enemy arms) that was about 150 miles north of Tripoli at a place called Sfax, not far from Algiers. This Navy Commander was the Duke of Argyle. He was a commando and seemed to me to be in his late sixties. He told me to ignore all speed limits as we had to board an Infantry landing ship at 4:30 that afternoon. This I was happy to do and poured it on. Arriving there, we picked up Luger pistols and Schmeiser sub machine guns, one of which he gave to me. Also magazines of ammunition and I knew then it wasn't a picnic we were going on.

We made it back to Tripoli on time and after picking up my gear from Navy House, I reported on board. As there was already a full crew on board, I was a spare hand but not for long. I was appointed as steward to a B.B.C. correspondent, his name was Frank Gillard, and soon we were steaming out of the harbour and as we came into the open sea it began to get quite rough. I guess Gillard didn't like this as I never saw him again during the whole trip. We sailed along very peacefully and finally we were off the toe of Italy and the Island of Sicily. After passing through the Straits of Messina, we headed to the Port of Taormina. This, I think, was on the northeast side of Sicily. The sea was calm and in the background we could see Mount Etna. Very impressive!

Arriving there, we found a large invasion fleet anchored off the harbour entrance. We joined them and took on a few supplies and food and water, then the troops we were to land came aboard. At this stage we didn't know the destination but when we finally got under way it wasn't long before we were assembled and briefed on the operation. It was to be Italy, just south of Naples. Only thing was, that we were to be a decoy force. The plan was that we were to give the impression that the landing was to take place north of Naples, so we steamed on northward. The plan was that we would keep on this course until we were spotted by the enemy reconnaissance planes. As soon as this happened we were to turn around and head for the beaches south of Naples. We got past the Island of Capri and on the mainland of Italy we could see Vesuvius just behind the town. About that time we were spotted and we immediately changed course.

It was September 9th, about 7 p.m. and still light. Suddenly we had an announcement that Italy had surrendered. This had been broadcast from radio Algiers and everyone cheered as we thought the landing would be easier. As darkness came on we sailed on our way and up to now we had seen no action.

Meanwhile the B.B.C. correspondent I was supposed to look after had recovered and was doing his job. I was put on an Oerliken ack-ack gun in the bows. My helper was a very young Scots boy who was just out from England and it was his first time in action. I left him for a few minutes and went aft. Knowing the ropes and being a leading hand, I was able to wheedle a jar of ship's rum and soon we were both very happy and didn't give a damn. As darkness fell the enemy bombers started on us and we were bombed all the way into the beaches. We had four big anti-aircraft cruisers with us and our combined barrage was frightening. We had many near misses but as far as I knew, there were no ships sunk. The ship I was on was an Infantry landing ship and troops we were taking in were part of the 56th London Black Cat Division. Our landing beaches were named Roger Amber and Roger Green and the operation overall was commanded by General Mark Clark. We were attached to the Fifth American Army.

So there we were approaching the landing beaches. The mine sweepers had swept us in to within about a mile from shore and by this time we had left the escorts behind. All seemed peaceful as we came closer and beyond the beach we could see a field of wheat or somesuch crop. Suddenly it was no longer quiet. There were quite a lot of German 88mm guns set up in the field. No doubt they had been waiting for us to get in closer. The noise was shattering as they all opened up and a few craft were hit and ran out of control. We kept on, luckily without getting hit. I must explain that we were landing infantry and when we hit the beach a ramp was run out from the bows, actually there were two ramps, one on the port side, the other on the starboard. I was stationed on the starboard one and my job was to run down the ramp first, jump in the water with a long rope, one end of which was attached to the end of the ramp. As I waded ashore, I laid out the rope and when I got to the end of the rope I would tie it around my waist and lay back on it, the idea being to guide the troops ashore.

Troops coming ashore from Landing ships, during Operation Fabius, an invasion

exercise in Britain, 5 May 1944. Photo Credit - The Observation Post

We hit the beach, my ramp went down and I ran down it and jumped into the water and went under. I had to swim just a few feet, paying out the rope. I made for the beach, turned around as I tied the end around my waist and looking back at the ship, I saw that the port ramp had jammed. As I stood hanging on to the rope, I realized that coloured balls of light were zipping past each side of me. I was still waist deep in water and the zipping lights were, of course, tracer bullets from the Spandau machine guns in the field that had now been brought into action. Still the port ramp had not come down, the troops couldn't come ashore as they were now pinned down by the machine gun fire. I was still in the water, expecting to be hit at any moment and I remember thinking that if I only get wounded, I'll still fall over and drown.

Well, I couldn't drop the rope and run so I stood there yelling "get off there you b-----ds" and such but it didn't do any good. They would have been chopped down had they tried. Suddenly a destroyer came close in to the beach, turned broadside on and let go with everything into the German gun positions. Then it quietened down, the other ramp came down and the infantry came off. No sooner had they when again the 88s started up. By this time they were hitting our ship. The landing had been really rough, the losses were high and many boats were on fire and drifting with what was left of their crews. The Americans landed further up the beach, were repulsed, and had to pull off and come in again when it got a bit less hectic.

Still standing in the water, I began to wade back to the ship which was still being hit and it was then that I felt the rope being pulled out of my hand and realized that they were going astern leaving me on the beach. I watched as the ship backed off into deeper water and saw the two ramps drop off into the sea. My mate from the port ramp joined me and together we trudged up the sandy beach.

When I had jumped into the water I was wearing khaki shorts and shirt, my trusty desert boots with the thick Indian rubber soles, a steel helmet, my Schmeisser sub-machine gun and loads of clips of ammo. My Combined Ops and Royal Navy insignia were sewn on my epaulets. I was young and fit, believe me, but I was very tired, having been manning a gun on the way in for nearly 12 hours, then the landing. Just the thought of it now, how nice to be young. Oh well!

Arriving on the beach among the carnage, bodies, bits of bodies, the wounded, the disabled vehicles (some still burning), it came home to us just how bad it had been. But now the tanks and guns were coming ashore and already the Infantry was beginning to go inland. When we had been briefed for the operation, after leaving Sicily, we were told that the two places they hoped to take the first day were a small place named "Battipaglia" where the enemy was in force, and also a small airfield at "Montecorvino". They both took quite a time to finally capture.

We hadn't been looking around the beach for more than five minutes when I was grabbed by an Army Officer, who despite my trying to explain to him that I wanted to get back to my ship, was despatched with an Army Signaller to set up a forward post. The two of us set off into the corn field and so there I was now, attached to the Army, the 56th London Black Cat Division. We had crept about 200 yards through the corn field when we were spotted. The Signaller wanted to go on but I dragged him down as the bullets zipped through the corn above us. Then the silly b-----d started to put his antenna up. They would have zeroed in on us as soon as they saw that so I convinced him that we stay put until the rest of them came up, which they did. Then I left him to it and went ahead with the others.

By this time, we were almost on the outskirts of Battipaglia, about a quarter of a mile away from a tobacco factory. This was their next objective. It was occupied in force by the Germans. I say "their objective". Mine was to get back to the beach and to somehow get back to my ship. By this time quite a few prisoners had been taken and I finally managed to get back by escorting about a dozen of them to the beach, where they were put into barbed wire compounds that had already been erected. It was then that I got my Luger pistol off of a German Officer. Funny thing, before I went ashore, Commander Boord (the one I was driving in North Africa) had jokingly asked me to bring him back a Luger and now I had one if I should ever see him again.

So I was back on the beach again. I had been with the Army over 12 hours. Now there were quite a lot of ships unloading and troops coming off. Trying not to look too conspicuous (in case I got nabbed again) I walked along trying to figure out how to get away and get back to my ship. Suddenly one of the numbers on a ship hit me. I realized that was the last ship I used to send McGravie's letters to. Hoping he was still on board her, I decided to find out and so on I went. I found the Duty Officer and was taken to the Captain. After explaining what had happened he sent for McGravie. The last I had heard from him was that he was in the United States picking up a ship.

Naturally, McGravie was taken aback to see me. I must have looked a mess, dirty, red-eyed from all the sleepless hours, then the trauma of the landing, being with the Army and all the noise and excitement that was crammed into those hours. We were talking on the quarter deck when suddenly the dive bombers came at us. Those J.U.87s used to dive almost vertically and at the bottom of the dive they let their bombs go. On top of that, as they dived, they would emit a noise like a siren, really frightening. Fortunately they missed us. By this time the ships' company were sitting down to dinner, and I mean dinner! This ship had come directly from the States so it had been loaded with all the good food, etc.

Meals were served in cafeteria style and holding my tray, I was just amazed to see two pork chops dumped on it. The server asked if I would like another one, which I turned down. I didn't know if my stomach could take such rich food as I had been living on canned herrings in tomato sauce, corned beef or sometimes spam. For bread we ate ships' biscuits, like a hard dog biscuit. Usually we had to soak them to be able to bite them, so you can imagine what a feast this was to me. Real potatoes, real vegetables, and for dessert, ice cream. Just unbelievable! After eating it was time for me to sleep. After having a shower, which was another unheard of thing for me, I had a few slugs of ships' rum and went to sleep in McGravie's hammock.

When I awoke, we were at sea. It was still daylight. After a while, I got a message that the Captain wanted to see me so I went up to the bridge. He was a nice fellow and during the conversation, he took a fancy to my Luger pistol and wanted to give me five pounds for it. This I refused, telling him that it belonged to my Commander. He accepted this and told me that he had contacted my ship and as soon as we were close enough, he would return me to it by boat, which he did. I thanked him and asked him where we were bound for. When he told me Tripoli, I was happy. I said goodbye to McGravie and we arranged to see each other in Tripoli.

Arriving there, I was back in the Castle but this time in the ratings quarters. Quite different, I must say. McGravie and I got together a few times and after a couple of days I had orders to board a small South African ship to go back to Alexandria en route to my base in the desert.

The Jan De Waal was only about 150 feet long and she had been a duty ship on the boom (a big steel net across the harbour entrance) to keep "U" boats out. Her job was to drag it open to let ships in or out. There was just a small crew and the Skipper, who was a fishing skipper in civilian life, and just an ordinary guy. He swore like the devil.

Being a senior hand I was soon working with the crew but the only watches I used to stand were on the wheel. This I always enjoyed.

So we sailed peacefully back to Alex...and to base.. ..Bill McGravie and I joined the Royal together at Devonport, and our friendship has lasted over fifty years. He was a member of R.C.N.A, London Branch, and now lives in Shreweport, Louisiana.

Please link to Story: HMC Landing Craft Infantry, Large

The book Combined Operations by Clayton Marks has now been reprinted and is available for distribution and sale. If interested in learning more about the book please follow the links:

New Publication For Sale
Original Publication and Content Details

Unattributed Photos GH

Story: HMC Landing Craft Infantry, Large

The Character of an HMC Landing Craft Infantry, Large (LCI(L)

By David J. Lewis, Kit Lewis and Len Birkenes

Troops coming ashore from Landing ships, during Operation Fabius, an invasion

exercise in Britain, 5 May 1944. Photo Credit - The Observation Post

Introduction: The following short story is found in St. Nazaire to Singapore: The Canadian Amphibious War 1941 - 1945, Volume 2, written and edited by David and Catherine Lewis, and Len Birkenes. Only the first two paragraphs are written as they appear in the book.

The Character of an HMC Landing Craft Infantry, Large (LCI(L)

It was LCI(L) 311, nicknamed by her crew The Gook.* If it had not been for Churchill's political manoeuvring she might never have been seen in European waters. As it was, her kind was turned out by the dozen in American shipyards.** Had it not been for Pearl Harbour, we might just turn up our noses at the likes of her being classified as a "ship". As my only appointment as a Captain, how can I classify my feelings about having been Captain of LCI(L) 311?

She had metal plates welded together to make up 159 feet, nine inches length by 23 feet of war vessel breadth. She was really a hull-wise assembly of steel boxes welded together. Some of these boxes could be used for diesel fuel or water storage. A pair of four Grey Diesel engine assemblies drove her two variable pitch propellers. The engines always turned outwards but they would push forwards, pull back or just spin the prop, depending on the bias of the pitch applied in the engine room to the propellor blades. The long waiting period for the pitch to change from ahead to astern was another of the hazards in ship handling which accounted for many bumps coming alongside.

Illustration and details as found in St. Nazaire to Singapore, page 220

Captain Lewis goes on to describe the craft's profile, "gangways that allowed the hundreds of military men she would carry to invasion beaches to descend to the shore", armaments, and the winch and kedge anchor system "which would pull the craft off the beach when it came time to leave". The camouflage paint scheme gave the LCI(L) "a menacing profile reminiscent of a Sea Serpent, in particular the Loch Ness Monster." Lewis adds that US ships were painted battleship grey, "much less stimulating".

He remarks on her seaworthiness. It was "splendid once she was at speed" in coastal waters but because of her flat bottom and shallow draft, she was a pain to steer out at sea on a windy day. "Her bow tended to wander off downwind," he says. More weight would have been helpful, like "200 pongos sitting around on board".

The Gook's crew is mentioned (RCNVR, 2 - 3 officers, 21 other ranks). "We were gathered from the length and breadth of Canada. The Chief Engineer.... was a Newfie". Names are listed, i.e., Lt. Jack Anderson, Lt. Ian Barclay, Coxswain James Cameron*, Chief Engineer Philemon Haggett, Chief Motor Mechanic David Williams, "Fuzzy" Houston, Gilbert, Murray Baker, Everett Smith, Hadesbeck, Kindersley, Prouk, Sig (Ken) Shepherd, T.O. Glen Parks, ABs (Able Bodied Seamen) Bears, Lallemand and Nick Sparks Lawson.

*Coxswain (helmsman, torpedo coxswain) James Cameron

Photo credit: James' son, Dan Cameron

Lewis writes that the practice of naming the Canadian landing craft went back to the first craft (Little Joe, Wave of Destruction) that were used during "the first big exercises we participated in on the beach of Troon, Ayrshire in the spring of 1942". We learn that a name became known informally in the beginning and "was a surprise to the officers, nearly but not always welcome". And an insignia was often "developed and painted by the crew's natural artist", with a notable exception recalled.   

Illustrations and details as found in St. Nazaire to Singapore, page 222

How did The Gook come by its name? LCI(L) 311 was described as a "benign, amiable and reliable gnome on the ocean waves.... except when approaching immovable objects at speed". Were crew members thinking of The Schmoos from the Lil Abner cartoon strip?

 Photo Credit - Al Capp's Shmoo Comics

The full account of LCI(L) 311 (and others receive mention) can be found St. Nazaire to Singapore, Pages 220 - 222.

*In the first "Combined Operations" book edited by Clayton Marks, the D-Day and Normandy log and statistics of LCI(L) 311 appear, pp 141 - 150. The log which Jewell Marks (Clayton's wife) was to transcribe was found in one of LCI(L) 311's storage spaces. The Gook had been tied up for some time in New Zealand. The log was brought to Canada by a friend of Clayton's. It was written by the late LT. Jack Anderson, RCNVR, The Gook's Number 1.

**As well, the following information about LCI(L)s was found at Landing Craft Infantry, Large:

Under a contract let during FY 1940, New York Shipbuilding designed and built 48 examples of the LCI(L), an odd-looking 216-ton displacement, 158'-6" landing craft capable of carrying 188 troops right to the beach. All 48 were built in the cavernous covered shipway "O", with several building simultaneously along its 800' length. They were delivered to the Navy between October 1942 and February 1943 and commissioned as numbers 1 through 48. A second contract which would have covered numbers 49 through 60 was cancelled, but plans provided by New York Ship were used by several smaller shipyards (Consolidated Steel, Lawley & Sons, and New Jersey Shipbuilding among them) to build nearly 900 more. Some 14 of the Yorkship LCI(L)s were later conveyed to Britain under Lend-Lease. Most of the remainder survived the war to be struck from the Navy list in 1946, though LCI(L)-01, -20, and -32 were lost in action.

Please link to Story: The Craft of Landing

Story: The Craft of Landing

The Craft of Landing - LCI(L) 255

By Jack MacBeth, Lt. Cdr., RCNVR, (Rtd.)

Crew members of LCI(L) 255, aka "Da Bum", 264th Canadian Flotilla

Photo - Harry Trenholme, St. Nazaire to Singapore, Vol. 2, Pg. 216

The following short passage, found on pages 215 - 216 of St. Nazaire to Singapore: The Canadian Amphibious War 1941 - 1945, Volume 2, is likely introduced by David Lewis. He writes that the passage was reprinted from Jack Macbeth's book entitled Ready Aye Ready by permission of the publisher Key Porter Books Ltd., Toronto, Ontario, 1989. It is claimed that Lt. Harry Trenholme, CO of LCI(L) 255, allowed Lt. 'Happy' Kidder to write the stories in the book.

David Lewis continues in the introduction by saying, "RCNVR Lieutenants Harry Trenholme and Kendall "Happy" Kidder had both served in the Mediterranean aboard RN 'minor' landing craft, the thimble-sized flit-abouts that could carry a jeep or two and maybe a platoon of soldiers into a hostile beach. With that experience, presumably, they were ideally suited to take command of one of the LCI(L)s (Landing Craft Infantry - Large) for the impending assault on fortress Europe. For short runs, these ungainly twin-ramped barges could carry up to 500 troops at speeds of about fourteen knots.

Lewis informs us that Trenholme and Kidder reported for duty aboard LCI(L) 255 in the spring of 1944 "at South Shields on the Tyne." They were to take the craft and crew of twenty to Southampton (southern coast of England) and join the three Canadian flotillas there (already involved in landing exercises).

Caption: Exercise Schuyt 1, before D-Day (Normandy): In this exercise,
the first of two involving LCI(L) 264 Flotilla, the orders called for soldiers
to re-embark as well as land. The weather having roughed up, a number of
soldiers were lost by drowning. Fortunately not so in our Flotilla. This is the
reason that the careful reader will have observed that the soldiers are walking
out to sea rather than into land. Following this tragic lesson (loss of men by
drowning) a crew member took a line ashore from each of our ramps to steady
the heavily laden troops in the water. A perilous task on defended beaches.
Photo - David J. Lewis, St. Nazaire to Singapore, Pg. 214

A Foretaste of the Future: A mad scramble after Exercise Fabius 2 to make
(reach) the anti-submarine gates into the teeth of a Force 9 Wind. Four days
of bad weather was to wreck one of the two Mulberries (artificial harbours
built by the Brits) and imperil the whole of the Normandy Beachhead. 

Photo - David J. Lewis St. Nazaire to Singapore, Pg. 215

Kidder recalls the trip to Southampton:

"Neither Trenholme or I had ever driven one of these big things before, but we seemed to be doing okay until we made our approach to the tidal dock at Grimsby at a pretty fair clip. At the appropriate time, Harry gave the usual order, full astern, to stop her. Nothing happened."

The LCI(L) came equipped with variable-pitch propellors but, without proper instruction, Trenholme and Kidder were both in the dark about how to slow or stop the craft.

"How in hell were we to know?" Kidder says. "So all we could do was grab hold of something and watch open-mouthed as we plowed straight into the dock gate."

The gate was quickly smashed wide open and the LCI's bow buckled. Because it was the time of ebb tide, water poured out of the dock in torrents and freighters were left "sitting there high and dry." Fortunately for our stalwart Canadian officers, though local navy brass didn't enjoy the crash-up, no issue was made of it.

"Happy" Kidder writes:

"Once the damage to our bow was repaired, we were allowed to continue southward (to Southampton)." And one night, while on route, Kidder noticed light escaping from around a poorly fitting door and ordered it repaired "real quick" in order to escape the attention of German guns at Calais.

"Next thing I knew, there was an unholy white flash that could have been seen all the way to Paris!"

Out of the fry pan and into the fire? One can read Kidder's account and its conclusion at the following link: The Craft of Landing

Lewis added this note as well to Kidder's account, "It is sad to report that the ever popular "Happy" Kidder has passed on, as has Jack MacBeth, author of several naval books."

Please link to Story: Hands to Beaching Stations (with Sketch)

Story: Hands to Beaching Stations (with Sketch)

Hands to Beaching Stations

By David and Kit Lewis and Len Birkenes

Sketch of LCI(L) 271 by the war artist of 'Smear'

In the book St. Nazaire to Singapore, Volume 2, one will find many stories by Canadians in Combined Operations, WW2, who served aboard large landing crafts like LCI(L) 271 (above) during the invasion of France at Normandy in June, 1944.

David Lewis, one of the editors of Volume 2, may have written this short, light-hearted piece about the able-bodied crew of LCI(L) 271.

The piece begins as follows:

"This sketch by the war artist of "Smear", the Weekly Pictorial, shows the smooth working team of our LCI(L)s in action - after they found the right beach. By the bow we see AB Roger Gee starting his cross Channel swim with the grass line."

"Roger Gee takes the plunge, lower left, above a few signatures"

The two men at the front of the landing craft, one leaning over the bow with a boat hook, are identified next and we soon learn that it is "Buck" Buckham (formerly of the Prince David, aka "House of David") that is aiming the cannon toward the sky, "shooting down a couple of our own".

Lieut. Jack Dean is mentioned (a veteran of the invasion of North Africa) as are others on the bridge. The light-hearted tone continues with, "On the bridge things are quite calm - for a change."

 "The kedge wire (far right) seems to have two of the pongos tied up to the can"

Stokers and coxswains all get a mention and twenty signatures were secured at the time to authenticate this "revealing document".

The signatures belong to the following Canadians in Combined Operations:

Bev Stark, "Red" Eagleson, Buck Buckham, Glen Baird and more.

Link to Hands to Beaching Stations, concerning LCI(L) 271

As well, please link to Story: Introduction to the LCI(L) 271

Photos are from St. Nazaire to Singapore, Volume 2, pages 212 and 213.

Story: Introduction to the LCI(L) 271

LCI(L) 271: Lessons in Hope and Equanimity

By W. R. Sinclair

The Highland Light Infantry of Canada load onto Landing Craft, Infantry, Large,

LCI(L) at Southhampton, 4 June 1944. Photo credit - Highland Light Infantry

The following short story, about a young officer's early introduction to handling a large landing craft on his own, is found in St. Nazaire to Singapore: The Canadian Amphibious War 1941 - 1945, Volume 2 (pages 209 - 211). The two-volume set of stories, by Canadian veterans of Combined Operations, was inspired by the book Combined Operations by Londoner Clayton Marks and produced in the mid-1990s. The collection is very rare but available for viewing at some large libraries (e.g., Toronto Public) and museums (e.g., Canada's War Museum, Ottawa). As well, it is available for viewing online at Our Roots, University of Alberta in Calgary as a PDF file.

The first two short paragraphs of the story by W. R. Sinclair follow:

"Early in April (1944) it was evident that the refit would soon be finished. Our crew of twenty-one was complete. The youngest was about eighteen and the oldest, the Chief Motor Mechanic, some thirty-five. I was Captain or CO, and twenty-three. We had another officer, the First Lieutenant. He was from Toronto."

"On 14 April, 1944 we had full power trials of our engines down the river Thames. First, we had the Locks Pilot (come aboard and man the bridge), then the River Pilot and finally a "Sea" Pilot as we neared the mouth of the river. That day we received a signal directing us to proceed to Southend-on-Sea, on the north shore of the Thames, for routing instructions."

Sinclair goes on to write that his Landing Craft Infantry, Large or LCI(L) would tag along behind a coastal convoy to Southampton "where the rest of the Canadian LCI(L)s were based." He was happy to hear about "tagging along" at the back because he had "never given a helm order" or commanded the landing craft himself until then. He recalled that the pilots that had come aboard "were uncomfortable working with LCI(L)s", likely because of their shallow draft, high superstructure and big differences in handling compared to a similar-sized freighter.

On Saturday, April 15 Sinclair's LCI(L) arrived at Southend-on-Sea in the early afternoon and anchored in the channel. The next day Sinclair was picked up and delivered by boat to a significant meeting on shore, where he was given sailing instructions - a single sheet of paper - for a lengthy trip (and one that turned out to be nerve-wracking) to Southampton. Though Sinclair was likely relieved to hear certain ships would lead him on his way, news that they "might encounter German E-Boats" would not have lifted his spirits.

Privately, Sinclair told a commander that "(he) had never had any vessel under (his) command" and that he was "most concerned about (his) ability to see the convoy through safely to Southampton."

The Officer put his hand on Sinclair's shoulder and said, "Don't worry, my boy, you'll get there somehow."

And somehow, though "very puzzled and disturbed by (a certain) turn of events", Sinclair made his way to Southampton, crash landing and all!

Readers will find the full story at Lessons in Hope and Equanimity

Please link to Story: 1944 - A Year of Climax, Reshuffle, Achievement

Story: 1944 - A Year of Climax, Reshuffle, Achievement

1944 - A Year of Climax, Reshuffle and Achievement

Assembling the Allied Armada for D-Day

Editted by David and Kit Lewis and Len Birkenes

Troops approach Normandy coast. Photo credit - Imperial war Museum

The following short story is found in St. Nazaire to Singapore: The Canadian Amphibious War 1941 - 1945, Volume 2 (pages 207 - 208). The two-volume set of stories, by Canadian veterans of Combined Operations, was inspired by the book Combined Operations by Londoner Clayton Marks and produced in the mid-1990s. The collection is rare indeed but available for viewing at some large libraries (e.g., Toronto Public) and museums (e.g., Canada's War Museum, Ottawa). As well, it is available for viewing online at Our Roots, University of Alberta in Calgary as a PDF file.

The first paragraph follows:

"The Year 1944 continued and greatly amplified the amazing experiences we have covered to date. It was the fulfilment of what those years had led up to. We did have some weeks and months of leave which passed quickly enough. We found ourselves appointed to different ships and different waters. The Prince Boats were on the West Coast of Canada and getting to them brought us our first east west transcontinental trips, chugging along the CPR track, day after day for five days." (Page 207)

Five Canadians (Combined Ops) take a smoke break at Hornepayne, Ont.

during their 'transcontinental trip' to Comox, Vancouver Island.*

Photo credit - Doug Harrison, RCNVR, Combined Ops

David, Kit (Catherine) and Len then tell readers that some Canadian officers and sailors saw that the Prince Henry and Prince David "were being adapted to being Landing Ships Infantry - Medium", i.e., LSI(M)s, smaller but more heavily armed than LSI(L)s. After a commissioning ceremony the ships, with Canadian crews aboard, sailed via the Panama Canal to New York (on Prince David) and Bermuda (Prince Henry). Shortly thereafter they were "back in the Clyde Estuary at Gourock and Niobe" where they joined up with three Canadian Flotillas of LCI(L), the 260th, 262nd and 264th.

Aboard the LCI(L)s

We read "LCI(L)s were 160 feet long, heavily powered and swifter than any of the other landing craft but presented peculiarities that made them challenging craft. Their crew was 22 with two officers (three officers for invasions). They had four 20mm cannons. Their ability to carry men was 200 for longer distances and 500 as a short trip on a calm sea. As noted before, they could manage the Atlantic successfully, being sent over up to 20 at a time."

David, Kit and Len go on to say that some of the LCI(L)s were plagued with poor equipment that caused inconsistent handling. "Electrical breakdowns occurred.... steering errors were the most dramatic", and bumps and grinds along many a jetty took place "even after the skipper had learned to give engine room orders well ahead of time."

Canada planned to take part in the invasion of Normandy with 30 LCI(L)s for the Canadian troops and later included three LCI(L) Mark IIIs from the US. We are told the LCI(L)s "were good to live in and generally created a closer family atmosphere than had been the case in smaller Landing Craft and larger vessels."

The Canadians aboard the LCI(L)s participated in individual running-in exercises as well as flotilla exercises and witnessed the assembly of the "tremendous force" that was developed to invade France. "Thousands of ships, hundreds of thousands of men, skies full of planes" are recalled, as is the invasion and follow-up duties (albeit briefly).

The full story can be found at the following link:

St. Nazaire to Singapore, pages 207 - 208

*The six sailors, including D. Harrison (and several others), trained raw recruits and participated in other Combined Operations activities on 'The Spit', aka Givenchy III, Comox, from Jan. 1944 to late summer, 1945.

As well, please link to Story: Overlord - Operation Neptune, D-Day, Parts 1 - 6