The Long Road Home
Letters to Ollie 1916–1917
I am sitting in my stepfather’s study, at his desk, looking out the window in front of me. It has been twenty odd years since I’ve been in this area of the house. Everything looks quite different now.
At this vantage point, up on the second story of my parent’s house, I can see clear across a mowed corn field. The field was cut down a few months ago, in the fall. All that remains are ghostly stalks sticking out of the ground. The corn, I am told, has gone to feed cattle and other livestock, in and around the Annapolis Valley.
As I gaze upon this field, it makes me think of fallen soldiers, mowed down in battle by machine guns. Their lives cut down, just as this corn was. All that remains are images of the past and memories that fade quickly.
I think of this because of sepia and black and white photographs that line the walls, and the various war souvenirs that sit upon shelves and in glass cases around me.
In one corner there are medals from the first and second war. In another, a German hand gun is protected behind glass; a Lee Enfield rifle, long out of commission, rests beneath. There is also a pair of binoculars from the First World War. My stepdad tells me his grandfather, Jack, brought these relics back with him from France, where he fought in the trenches along the Western Front with his brother, Maj.
As I look around the room I see pictures of farm life from the turn of the last century. In one photograph a woman is standing in a barn wearing a long dress. Her head is covered with linen cloth and she looks to be churning butter in a barrel. Another shows two men riding in a horse drawn wagon. One of them is smoking a tobacco pipe. In another picture, a group of men gather around a large fallen tree. In the foreground two of the men hold a giant two-man hand saw. Another shows two men in military uniforms, standing in the long driveway that leads to this house from the main road. They smile for the camera.
The interior of this house looks very different on the inside since my parents completed renovations. The room where I am sitting was once part of a larger room. When the house was built a hundred and forty-five years ago, the children who grew up here shared this room with seasonal workers, hired to bring in the harvest each year.
Benjamin Palmer built this house in 1878. Originally, it was intended as a wedding gift for his granddaughter, however, she was weary of the long driveway that led from the main road. She feared, should there be an emergency, she would be unable to get help quick enough, especially in the winter, when clearing the driveway of snow was a big task.
She wanted to live closer to the main road, so Ben halted construction on this house and built another for his granddaughter, closer to the main road, where she and her family would have easier access to all the amenities the nearby town offered.
This house stood empty for four years until Helen Palmer, Ben’s youngest daughter, married James Archibald Hudgins in 1883. It seems Helen was unfazed by the long driveway. She was delighted to leave her parent’s house and move into a ready-made home on her ancestors’ land.
Helen and Archibald had five children together. Frank was the first born, then came his sister Olive, then Freeman Leroy (who went by the name ‘Jack’), then Major, and then the youngest, Ethel.
The family had a mixed farm that was, for the most part, self-sufficient. They planted an apple orchard, grain, and hay. Livestock included chickens, swine, along with a few cows and horses. Although self-sufficient, they were never prosperous.
Tragedy struck the family when Archibald suddenly passed away in 1896 when he was forty-eight years old. Helen became a widow at twenty-six. Her eldest son, Frank, became head of the household when he was fourteen.
Jack And Major Enlist
With Frank and his mother running the farm, Jack took on work at the local saw mill and then became a lumberman, cutting trees in woodlots around the Annapolis Valley. Major helped in the field and with all other chores that go along with being a farmhand.
Strengthened by the harsh realities of farm life, the boys were prime candidates for the 85th Battalion, aka, The Nova Scotia Highlanders, when it began recruiting soldiers on September 14, 1915.
Major was the first to sign enlistment papers in Halifax on April 4, 1915, five months before the battalion was officially authorized.
For many young men at the time, an opportunity to leave a mundane life of farming and see the world, at the expense of someone else, was very appealing. Recruiters shamed young men into believing they were cowards for not joining the fight. Gatherings were organized and speakers warned of the dangerous threat from foreign overseas nations who were sure to take freedoms away. Their way of life would vanish if they did not sign enlistment papers.
Such was the type of meeting Maj attended. I picture him with a few of his friends taking the train from Kentville to Halifax. At least one of them has a flask of some good whiskey tucked away on the inside of his jacket. They’ve already made their minds up that they are joining the fight in France. For them, the aggression the Germans have imposed on Belgium and France are a real threat to the sovereign state of Canada. They’ve talked about joining the fight since they read about Germans invading Belgium, when war started over a year ago. Now they are ready.
Some of their friends chickened out and did not get on the train with them that day. They curse and call them gutless sissies, passing around the flask as the train tilts and sways on the track.
At the meeting in Halifax, they are told of a new battalion to be formed if they can get enough recruits. Siol na fear fearail, is to be their motto. Breed of Manly Men, Nova Scotia Highlanders. Get in now, the speakers cry, and you will be part of this elite squad!
They were offered $1.10 a day for their service if they pass the medical exam and are recruited. Not bad considering what Major earned working sporadically as a farmhand.
Major took the train back a few days later. He didn’t tell his family right away, choosing instead to keep the secret close to his chest. Why bother telling them anything? If the war ended before he was called into service, what was the point? Recruiters told him they would be in touch when they needed him.
That day came a few months later when a letter, addressed to Major, appeared in the letter box. Perhaps mother saw the letter first. Letters with government letterhead must have raised concern as such mail was not common.
She wouldn’t have had to open it. Perhaps it was Frank, or Olive, who retrieved the mail that day. Ethel, maybe, was curious and showed the letter proudly to her mother. Look mommy! Maj got a letter today!
At any rate, the letter is there, on the kitchen table, when Maj comes through the door that evening in mid September, 1915. Perhaps he’s been drinking cider and hanging out with his friends, or out in the field, slaving away at the land.
The family is sitting around the table. Maj sees the letter on the table. Grinning his famous grin, he places his jacket on a hook near the door in the kitchen from where he has just walked in. “Yeah mom, I’m going to France”, he says. “There’s not much more to it.”
Jack stands up. His hands on the table in front of him pushing away the chair he’s been sitting in. “I’m going with you”, he says. “I can’t let you go alone.”
Mother is quiet for a moment. “There’s going to be a lot of extra work for Frank with you boys gone”, she says, softly caressing her cheek with the back of her hand.
“No worries mom”, Frank says. He’s leaning on the kitchen counter where, underneath, plates and cutlery are hidden by a thin linen sheet. “We’re all in this together.”
Olive is out somewhere with her fiancé. Major told her the news months ago. Ethel is at a neighbour’s house.
A New Battalion
On the 6th of November, Major and Jack are in Halifax signing papers. They are both assigned to the same 85th Battalion, Nova Scotia Highlanders. Intended to be a labour battalion, who, more than likely, will not see any combat. They are one of many reserve battalions to be sent to France to build roads, lay tracks, drive horses, dig trenches, and fill sandbags.
Of the four part Nova Scotia Highland Brigade, including the 219th, 185th, and 193rd battalions, the 85th enjoyed some seniority and thought of themselves as special. And they were. Very, very, special soldiers.
This level of superiority caused friction between the 85th and 219th battalions who were stationed together, at Aldershot, Nova Scotia, from December 1915 until October 10, 1916.
At noon, October 10, Jack writes a letter to his sister Ollie. The friction between the two battalions is tense, the way two hockey teams may go at each other, calling each other names and prying for a row:
“Oh yes, we are still alive. The 219th hasn’t buried us yet but expect they will this PM. The boys are sure rubbing it into them yelling, “I WANT TO GO HOME TO MA.” We even paraded up through their lines this AM. and they cheered us to beat the band. It’s a damn shame the way our fellows hoot at them for it’s only some of the damn fools that started it.
Must quit, will write when we reach Eng. Tell John goodbye for me and the rest of the boys.” — Jack [Hudgins, John Letter: 1916 October 10]
Major, at this time, just a week or so before he thought he’d be on a ship heading for England, came down with a bad cold. This may have been from the inoculation shots he was given. He worried he might be left behind and forced to join the 219th and be separated from his older brother. A fate he was not so keen to enjoy.
Despite still being sick, he joins his battalion and boards the S.S. Olympic, sister ship of the R.M.S Titanic, chartered by the Canadian Government to transport troops from Halifax to Britain, on October 13, 1916.
Witley Camp
The boys land at Witley Camp, in Surrey, England, on October 16, 1916. Here they spend time on guard duty, cleaning and sanitizing living quarters, long drills, and filling sand bags for about six months. They run for miles, with packs weighted and full of combat gear.
When on leave they take trips to London and see the usual sights. Guided tours of the city attractions are offered by other officers. The fee is $1.50, a bit more than a day’s wage for the Canadian private soldier in 1916.
Work at the camp is not easy, but there are moments the boys cherish. Jack writes to his sister on November 2:
“We have had a pretty strenuous day of it. We started out this AM. Soon as we got our breakfast and walked until about 10:30 then we went to Hyde Park to see the King review some troops. I tell you it was grand both the King and Queen were there so you see it was worth going to see. After the review we went to Kensington Gardens and the Albert Memorial and by that time it was nearly 1o’clock so we thought we would call it half a day’s work and go home to dinner. (Of course it was raining) but it was worth getting wet to see. We have got to hand it to the Englishmen; they certainly have a beautiful place here to spend the time. Wish you could see some of the places. It’s no good to read about them for no mortal man can describe them.” [Hudgins, John Letter: 1916 November 2nd]
In the mess hall the brothers eat a steady diet of greasy mutton and long for home cooked meals they enjoyed on the farm. Soldiers from the 219th and 193rd have been drafted to go to the line in France. On December 5th, Major writes Ollie, telling her of the awful food, wishing he was there to join in on the pig roast she spoke of in a previous letter. He is feeling homesick as his friends from home in other battalions leave for France:
“I guess we will be busted up all right. One draft went this morning. Not a very big crowd but she is gone. They took more from the 219th and 193rd than they did from us. Joe and Peter went with the rest, it don’t’ seem much like home now so I don’t give damn how soon they call on us …I wish I was home to get a piece of that pig. I bet I could eat half a pig myself in a day. We get a lot of mutton here and it is so fat that you would have to steel guts to stand it.” [Hudgins, Major Letter: 1916 December 5th]
At Christmas the boys receive gifts of candy and open cards sent from relatives. Mother, Frank, Ollie, and Ethel, send candy to share with other soldiers in the brigade. By this time it seems there isn’t so much rivalry between the four battalions. They witness the loss of their fellow soldiers as drafts continue. Men from the 219th do not return. The 193rd now sends men to reinforce the 185th.
The 85th, because of their status perhaps, have not sent as many men to the line yet.
Around January 20th a bad case of the mumps is circulating around the camp. Jack and Major are forced into quarantine. By the sounds of it, they are almost relieved that they will get a break from the strenuous training and work load they share.
Three weeks later Jack’s letter explains how he is feeling cooped up, watching drafts of his battalion, the 85th, join the line in France while he is forced to stay separated from the rest of the brigade:
“Will try and write you a few lines but can tell you don’t feel much like writing today. The Bn. I suppose is in France and here we are penned up here in the hut for mumps. There are six huts of us left behind and whoever gets the mumps will be cut off the strength and left for good. So you can imagine how [I] feel.” [Hudgins, John Letter: 1917 February 11th]
On March 4th Major writes Ollie:
“Dear Ollie:-
This is Sunday evening and I am going to try and scratch you a few lines to let you know that we are still clear of mumps but expect to come on with them most any time. But we are hoping to keep clear of them now for it is two weeks since our last case went out and we are scrubbing out our huts every two or three days with creolin and every damn thing we own has to go out of doors every morning before breakfast but that is about all we do now. We don’t go out at all until nine o’clock. We are getting fat as pigs doing nothing and getting fed pretty good. If we don’t get out pretty soon we won’t be any good for anything. But I don’t give a damn if we only go to France but am afraid our chances are small for half of the boy plan to go tonight if nothing turns up. That will leave about 80 of us and I am afraid they will fill our places up with a draft, but they may not.” [Hudgins, Major Letter: 1917 March 4th]
Vimy Ridge
After spending almost three months in quarantine, fighting off mumps, Jack and Major join the 85th Battalion at the Western Front. They are stationed at the heart of the Canadian Sector, near the ruins of an old abbey named Mont-Saint-Éloi. A make shift city has been set up and comprises over 100,000 Canadian soldiers. It is considered a part of Canada itself and is bigger than any other city in Canada, with Toronto and Montreal being the only exceptions.
With in the grounds every Canadian soldier enjoys all the amenities a person finds in any major city. They play baseball, have soccer tournaments, go to the cinema and theatre, and read newspapers. There is beer, liquor, drugs, and women; all to help soothe battle torn soldiers, returning from the crater line at Vimy Ridge, just over ten kilometres away.
To get to this carnival of a city, Canadian soldiers dug large tunnels in the chalk that lay beneath them. It was the only way they could travel freely in groups without detection from the enemy. They called this system of tunnels “The Subway”.
The French were the first to dig tunnels in the chalk bedrock that lies beneath Vimy Ridge, an eight kilometre escarpment on the western edge of the Douai Plain. The Germans have held control of this ridge and the rich coal fields below in the plain since the beginning of the war.
They learned to tunnel with relative ease, using vinegar to soften the chalk and remove it in chunks. When German trench lines were discovered, the French mined beneath them and set off charges of ammonal, a mixture of ammonia nitrate and aluminum powder, to blow the entrenched enemy to bits.
When the British XVII Corps, formed in France in January 1916, under the command of Lieutenant General Byng, they relieve the French Tenth Army in February 1916, French forces are able to consolidate their defences at Verdun. The British and Canadians improve upon the original trenches left behind. They also begin a months long campaign of mining and setting off ammonal explosives under German trench lines.
Over seventy German trenches were destroyed this way, leaving no man’s land full of huge craters. Into these craters, both sides throw masses of razor sharp barbed wire.
In addition to this, the Canadian Corps begin a series of small, but terrorizing trench raids in the dead of night. These raids have a terrible psychological effect on the Germans as they sleep, sometimes more than a kilometre from the front line, with reasonable reassurances they were safe from attack. These night crawling Canadian soldiers quickly gain a reputation among the Germans as being vicious and cruel warriors.
The Germans called them savages who fight without honour on the battle field. The Canadians have had enough of civility after being gassed and bombed to death at the Somme a few months prior. Now the gloves are off.
Stories begin circulating among German and Allied forces alike. The Canadians are sneaking into trenches and using homemade weapons to gouge out eyes. They decapitate their sleeping foe and switch heads onto other bodies, leaving one or two wounded, still alive, so they can share their horror with fellow comrades.
These small raids were more effective than large scale raids the Canadians conducted at the Somme. Instead of killing their enemy and capturing German trenches, the smaller raids, now being utilized at Vimy Ridge, attack and retreat swiftly, leaving the trench in the hands of the Germans.
Other stories circulate. Canadians are throwing cans of corned beef to starving German soldiers after bombing their supply lines. The Germans, feeling grateful for this moment of Canadian compassion, cry out for them to throw more food. Instead, they get lit hand grenades tossed at them.
On another occasion, a Canadian guard surreptitiously slips a live grenade into the pocket of a German P.O.W. Needless to say the poor chap did not survive.
In defence, Canadians claim that one of their own had been captured during the early part of the war. A picture circulated depicting a Canadian soldier, nailed to a wall with his arms spread in Christ-like fashion. Crucified, his body is riddled with bullets as smiling German infantrymen pose for the photograph.
Canadians are quick to note, when criticized for acts of cruelty, that they were the first to be gassed by the Germans at Somme. The Germans successfully tested their new chemical weapon on the Russians, at the Battle of Osowiec Fortress, aka, The Attack of the Dead Men. It is a unique combination of chlorine and bromine gas, that turns into hydrochloric acid when in contact with water. The results are horrifying.
Whatever the case may be, the new tactics of strategic bombing to cut the German supply lines and, at the same time, prevent them from advancing, was working in the Allies’ favour. Germans now feared the Canadian soldier.
Despite the hatred that was growing with intensity as the war raged between them, the Germans and Canadians share a common foe; the rat.
On June 6th, 1917 Jack describes what it was like to spend a night with the rats on the crater line at Vimy Ridge:
“The only thing that’s left here is rats and they are sure thick. Can’t step without falling over them. We are sleeping in an old trench here and the beggars kept travelling over my face all night. We had some biscuits and guess they thought they ought to have their share of them. The biscuits are put up in penny packets so Mr. Rat don’t try to bust them open but snigs them out by the packet.” [Hudgins, John Letter: 1917 June 6th]
The wounded needed to be brought inside and protected. One bite from a hungry rat, starved for the taste it enjoyed after feasting on corpses in no man’s land, could kill a man in three days. There were no penicillin or sulphur drugs to treat the wounded. The poisoned rat bite caused a man’s face to swell and blacken. Death was inevitable after such an attack.
On April 9, 1917, it is Easter Monday. Major is near Vimy Ridge as he writes Ollie a letter:
“Dear Ollie:-
I am sitting on the ground in an old barn trying to think of something to write. We came across to France over a week ago and went up to the Bn. but they make us come back to the school to take a two-week course. And yesterday we celebrated Easter by taking a 15-mile march with everything we own. The whole school moved and now we are in billets. There is 65 of us in a barn but I don’t mind. It is kind of fun only it is kind of cold and damp for even if it is supposed to be the summer it snows every day or so.” [Hudgins, Major Letter: 1917 April 9th]
You can hear the youthfulness in his writing. He can’t say much about the battle which has already begun early that morning at 5:30am. The censors read every letter before it gets delivered to his sister. This is simply a message to let his family know that he his still alive. Words don’t have much meaning and yet they could be the last ones he writes.
Soldiers often wrote such letters, hoping they would be cheery enough to meet the censor’s approval and reach their intended targets. They are messages in bottles, written after being briefed about the fight they were soon to engage in. If I should die, they say, remember me to my family.
On April 24th , Angus Morrison, a friend of the family writes such a letter to his friend Mr. MacMahon, Ollie’s husband:
“I suppose you saw the account of the big fight of April 9th. Our Battalion was in the thick of it and came out with honour. Of course we paid the penalty but our casualties mere light compared with the work done. The worst picture was holding after driving the enemy out. Of course a blinding snowstorm came on and then rain. And we were five nights out. No blankets or fires. It wasn’t at all like a Sunday school picnic.”
He writes that he has taken a few souvenirs from the Germans, but regrets not being able to send them home. They are at a camp he is unable to return to.
In the next lines he confirms that Jack and Major are still alive. He has seen them in person and they shared a good time:
“You cannot imagine how much I enjoyed seeing the boys who came in last night. Jack, Major and I bunked together and fell asleep talking sometime this A.M. They, in company with the rest of the Battalion except the reserve Co., went in the line just now and may be in for a few days, we move tomorrow. So as the boys were too busy this morning to drop you a line I offered my poor services. I know you are not the kind to worry so I can tell you probably they will be taking a few more chances now than they have yet.” [Hudgins, Major Letter: 1917 April 24th]
The Canadian Corps, fighting as a single unit, achieve their objective of capturing most of Vimy Ridge by the evening of April 9th. The campaign is a success, despite the 85th Battalion and the rest of the 4th division being bogged down in the mud and unable to keep the strictly measured pace behind the artillery barrage.
The other three divisions of the Canadian Corps have reached their objectives, right down to the minute of the battle plan; a rare and unprecedented achievement in Canadian military history.
Success is credited to the generals who decided to brief every officer and soldier right down to the private, so that each knew exactly where they were on the battle field. When a senior officer fell, the next soldier knew exactly how to take their place.
The advance of the infantry was precise. They walked a calm steady pace of one hundred yards, the length of a football field, every three minutes. If the soldiers walked too slow, the artillery barrage would pass over the Germans and they would have time to regroup and counter attack. If they walked too quickly, or ran, they would be blown to bits by their own guns.
One German gunner observed these soldiers, with their methodical slow pace, noting how they looked almost hypnotized, as if the whole battle were just ‘a giant bore’ for the Canadians.
The 85th Battalion, along with the rest of the 4th Division, are unable to keep pace when they get stuck in the mud. Sleet and heavy rain mixed with snow did not help matters. The barrage passes over them. As one soldier stated:
“I felt as though I could reach up and touch the wall of sound with my fingers.” [citation needed]
They advanced too slow to keep up with the shelling in front of them. It wouldn’t have mattered much if they did keep the pace. Top brass made a split decision to save one of the main trenches the Germans were using as a headquarters. They intended to use the trench themselves once the 4th Division captured it, saving them the trouble of rebuilding it.
By the time the 85th arrived at their predetermined location, machine gun fire rained down on them from the high point known as Hill 145. The Germans had simply ducked for cover, surprised they were spared from the intense bombing, and quickly set up their MG 08/15 machine guns, a crude but effective weapon.
The 4th Division are undeterred. Control of the ridge rests on capturing this hill. True to their reputation with the Germans, the 85th Battalion, unleashed like dogs of the conquistadors, charge Hill 145. With bayonets, they stab and kill German gunners until they are forced into retreat.
When they reached the summit, the Nova Scotia Highlanders witness German infantry running for their lives. “I WANT TO GO HOME MA!” they jeer, wiping bloody bayonets on their pant leg.
It took three more days of heavy fighting before the Canadian Corps could take another high plateau, known as ‘the Pimple’ and take full control of Vimy Ridge. Soon they drive the Germans out of the Douai Plain and the precious coal fields they desperately need to win the war.
The Capture of Avion Trench
Fighting continued for weeks after the fall of Vimy Ridge. The Germans were still not completely driven from the area.
On June 20th Major writes again to his sister Ollie. Jack, after being gassed, is in a hospital.
“June 20th 1917
Dear Ollie:
“This is Wed. and I received the box you sent on May 20th and Jack had one from home, but he is in hospital somewhere and I don’t know just where but had a field card from today and he said he was going to write as soon as he had a chance. Hope to get a letter tomorrow so am waiting to hear from him for he may be back in few days for I don’t think he was gassed very bad.I opened his letter from you for I wanted to read it before I sent it along to him.
We are all out of the line again for a few days. Don’t know just how long it will be for you made a mistake about seeing Angus’ picture in that group for he was in France at the time” [Hudgins, Major Letter: 1917 June 20th]
Another message in a bottle, sent into the abyss. These will be the last words he writes for his sister.
The 85th battalion keep up their terror of night raids for over a month after they capture Hill 145 at Vimy Ridge. These raids have taken their toll on the German psyche, and the enemy is losing its grip on their defences at the Souchez River. Sensing the German weakness, the 3rd and 4th Divisions pounce and maintain menacing contact with them.
Major is now, by this time, reported missing in action. His tags are lifted from his body and he is declared ‘killed in action’ on June 27, 1917. Avion Trench was securely in the hands of the 3rd and 4th Canadian Divisions by 7:10pm on June 28th.
The Nova Scotia Highlanders send out a patrol and reach the crossroads of Arras and Givenchy, at the hamlet of Eleu dit Leauvette, securing their position. The 3rd Division secures their positions along the sides of Avion-Arleux road. The British 46th Division held Hill 145, North of the Souchez River.
The Germans flood the Souchez in hopes that it will slow the Allied forces, and when they are able to regroup from the surprise attack, they achieve strong counter attacks.
The British and Canadian forces are able to advance about a half mile into the outlying area of Oppy.
On July 3, 1917, Jack, still in a hospital bed, recovering from the gas attack, is yet to hear the news that his brother has been killed.
“France
3–7–17
Dear Ollie:
“I know you will be pleased with this letter for it’s going to be a long one. Am feeling better but none to good yet. Don’t know when I will go up the line. Have not heard a word from Squire or home since I left the line. I tell you it’s Hell laying around. It gives me too much time to think. Nearly went batty up until yesterday, but thank the Lord go to work yesterday and today so time passed quicker. Have no wind it knocks me out to walk any distance. For Heaven’s sake don’t tell Mother for she will worry…” [Hudgins, John Letter: 1917 July 3rd]
On July 14th, he hears the news and writes again to his sister and confidant, Ollie:
“I will try and write you a few lines today even if I can’t say much. Of course you know Major was killed likely long before I did. I just got word yesterday. I heard he was either killed or wounded but made myself believe it was nothing serious. Am not going to say anything more about it. It doesn’t make me feel any too cheerful. But will let you know the particular day as soon as I can get them.” [Hudgins, John Letter: 1917 July 14th]
The Long Road Home
Jack never fully recovered from the loss of his brother, or the gas attack he suffered, as Janet Hudgins, Jack’s daughter, writes in her book, Treason: The Violation of Trust ( Xlibris — August 21, 2008).
He spent months on the hospital ward, unable to help his brother and fellow comrades in battle, a guilt he is said to have carried until his death in 1969.
Eventually he was released from the ward and sent to the front line again. In August 1918, he participated in the Battle of Amiens, where the Allies captured fifty-thousand German troops and five hundred enemy guns.
In true hero fashion, Jack re-enlisted when the Second World War broke out in 1939. He served as a Chief Warrant Officer in a P.O.W. camp and was decorated with the Distinguished Conduct Medal (DMC).
Today there is a huge monument standing at the top of Hill 145 at Vimy Ridge, the high ground that seemed so impossible for the 85th and the rest of the Canadian Corps to retake from the Germans. A long pathway leads up the hill to a great white structure, carved out of Seget limestone.
The white limestone resembles the chalk that lies beneath, where soldiers tunnelled to make their labyrinth beneath enemy lines. I’ve read that throughout all the labyrinth of chalk passage ways, thousands of small maple leafs, resembling the metal badges worn on their cap, are carved into the soft stone. Some say it is the inspiration behind the single maple leaf that appears on a white background of the modern Canadian flag.
I can’t say if Jack ever visited the monument to run his fingers over Maj’s name carved into the memorial wall.
In my mind’s eye I picture Jack returning home, coming up the long drive that leads to this house where I sit now, in my stepfather’s study, surrounded by the souvenirs he brought back from the front line.
Slightly out of breath, he greets his older brother, Frank, at the door. “Ollie sends her love”, he says. She hasn’t arrived yet. Soon she will be there with her husband and their two young children.
Just beyond the front door sits Mother and Ethel at the kitchen table. They are smiling. “Welcome home son”, Mother says. “I’m glad you could make it.”
Ethel rushes toward Jack, eager to give her brother a long awaited hug.
Dressed in uniform, he sets his pack on the ground in front of him. The missing weight from his shoulders makes him feel uneasy. He has trouble finding his words.
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