We Will Remember

My mom was born in 1917 in New Glasgow, Nova Scotia. Her father, Pte. Patrick Downey, was overseas. He never came home.

These are my grandparents Elma and Patrick Downey, and my aunt Marguerite. It is the only photo that my mother had of her parents, and I was an adult before I saw it. The war that took Patrick's life, also left his wife destitute and unable to care for her daughters. The temporary solution of parting with them to the care of someone else, ultimately became a permanent break in the family causing a fissure so deep, that my mother and aunt rarely spoke of it and never knew their extended family. After my mother died, I began to look into her family tree. This is what I now know about my grandfather Patrick.

According to his attestation form, Patrick was born at the end of the century in Brigus, NFLD. At this time Newfoundland was a Dominion, a self-governing state of the British Empire, and not a member of Confederation. He was married and a coal miner in March of 1916, and was attached to the 193rd Nova Scotia Highlanders and assigned the regimental number of 901442. The medical section of the form told me that my grandfather was 5'6", weighed 145 lbs., had a fair complexion, blue eyes and brown hair when he enlisted.

This postcard was mailed to my mom's aunt in June of 1916 from Camp Aldershot where four battalions of the Nova Scotia Highlander Brigade and the Royal School of Artillery were being trained in preparation for trench warfare overseas, at a time when casualty tolls were reaching unfathomable levels. All the Highlander troops wore a Balmoral Cap with feathers. Lady Borden, wife of the Premier of Canada, awarded regimental colours to each Battalion, and the 193rd's royal blue was displayed as a blue feather on their cap.

Sir Robert Borden, the Premier of Canada, visited Aldershot on Aug.9th to see the troops. September 26th brought orders to prepare for departure and all leaves were cancelled,meaning many final farewells were never able to be said.

The nominal roll of the 193rd showed that the battalion embarked on Oct. 12, 1916 in Halifax aboard the HMT Olympic, White Star's ocean liner turned troopship, and older sister of the Titanic. I read statistics that showed that this particular voyage transported the highest number of troops, almost 6,000, of the entire war. The troops disembarked in Liverpool on the 18th of October and immediately traveled to Witley Camp in Surrey Hills.

When a call came for the immediate draft of 800 troops, the Nova Scotia Highland Brigade was disbanded and its members spread to other battalions. Patrick was sent for active duty on the front with the 42nd Battalion in the immediate shadow of The Battle of the Somme which had incurred unprecedented loss of life. While Patrick stares life on the front in the face, his salary of $1.10/day with a Separation Allowance of $25.00/mo. was forwarded to his wife and children to survive on. 

Patrick's war records show some things about his war experience, like when he received a gun shot wound to the face. I know he was sent to the 35 General Hospital in Calais. I also know he was evacuated to the 2nd West General Hospital in Manchester, England and recuperated at the Military Convalescent Hospital in Woodcote Park, Epsom. 

I know from reading the War Diaries of the 42nd Bn. that Patrick fought as part of the 3rd Canadian Division CEF, in the 7th Canadian Brigade. In the 7th Brigade he fought alongside the Royal Canadian Regiment, the Princess Patricia Canadian Light Infantry, the 49th Bn, Canadian Infantry (Edmonton), the 7th Canadian Machine Gun Company and the 7th Canadian Trench Mortar Battery. Patrick fought at Hill 154 and Vimy Ridge and he was at Passchendaele. It was a life of time spent away from the front training, and time at the front in mud and wire and terror while making sometimes only yards of progress forward.

These excerpts from the pages of the war diaries are for Sept. 29, 1918 and describe Patrick's last hours. It was the battle for the Canal du Nord and the war was only months from ending. The troops had encountered a belt of wire that they had not been found in reconnaissance. They became completely vulnerable and in a moment paid the ultimate price, Patrick among them.

Patrick is buried in Drummond Cemetery, Raillencourt, France. I will probably never stand at his grave but I was able to obtain a photo of his stone and a copy of his page from the Book of Remembrance in Ottawa. 

I am also grateful to have his Victory Medal engraved with his regimental number, name and battalion. A tangible reminder of my grandfather, but ironic because he never saw or touched it.

I have thought of my grandfather and the Great War in many contexts, probably most often in terms of loss. His personal loss was of course final and complete, but the ultimate scope was so wide. My grandmother not only her husband but her daughters; my mother, her parents and extended family. There are no stories and memories. My mother never heard his voice. There was, for my brothers and I, a lifetime of silence. 

This Remembrance Day however, my thoughts focused on the concept of  service which is integral to my grandfather's story. Patrick enlisted to serve his Queen and country. He died serving them. I have been wondering if "service" is becoming a lost virtue. Most families are a generation or two removed from family members who may have served our country, so the feeling of duty or giving service to our country is becoming diluted and less important. But even more, I feel like society as a whole is becoming less focused on serving in any context, and more on being served, in the sense of it being not only an expectation but a right. There seems to be a pervasive lack of respect for, and being shown to, those who serve us in large and small ways daily. Should we not be grateful for and to them? Should we not have a spirit of service to those we love or could help, whether in ways significant or less so? I guess too, it occurs to me that not only is this a disturbing trend as a society at large, but it also raises the possibility that the service that my grandfather has given may be diminished because it will not be seen as valuable, and respected. I hope this will never be true.

Thank you for your service Grandfather. I will remember.