Jim McPhee- My story, Page 7 continued

Change of Guard

In any case, after a couple of days, the administrative personnel arrived, informed us that there was still a war on, and that the Russian army could not be responsible for us outside the perimeter of our camp. The wire fence was repaired and it was obvious that we were still prisoners, but now our jailers were Russians instead of Germans. As I remember, there was still very little food being distributed, and there was no sign of us being repatriated. For prisoners who had been through what we had been through, this was very hard to swallow. Also, some of our number had encounters with Russian soldiers, who had robbed them of personal items, like watches, rings, and badges, at the point of a gun. The Russian soldier appeared to us as very undisciplined, more often than not, apparently intoxicated, and exhibited extreme volatility, one moment being very friendly, the next raging and threatening. As well, there was still hostile activity, as evidenced by small arms fire nearby.

Every day the camp became more and more crowded as wandering POWs and displaced persons arrived at the gates looking for food and shelter. Tents were erected in various parts of the fields around the camp to accommodate these people, some of whom were in extremis. One day mortar shells landed in the camp grounds, reminding us of the volatile conditions. After about a week, and the arrival of the Russians, we were notified by the administrator that we must all be registered by the Russians before we could be repatriated. When and how this would happen would be determined in Sagan or in Moscow, but it was expected that this would start in a few days. After we were all registered, we would probably be taken to Odessa on the Black Sea, and be repatriated by sea. This, in spite of the fact that we knew that the Americans occupied Germany right up to the Elbe River, only sixty five miles away, at Magdeburg. Most had no desire to be tourists of southern Russia or Ukraine, but wanted to go home by the most direct route, and the shortest distance.

At about this time, the disputes over the politics of Poland, and indeed, of the whole of Eastern Europe. There was a provisional government for Poland, formed during the war, called the "Lublin Committee", based in Britain, consisting of Polish dignitaries that had escaped to Britain in 1939. The British and Americans wished to have this body recognized as the legitimate interim government of Poland pending free elections. Russia did not agree with this at all, and obviously wished to, and did, install, a communist regime. Harsh words were being exchanged over the matter, and the situation was becoming very tense. Great anxiety was generated within our ranks, regarding the whole mess, and some feared that we might be held as pawns in this disagreement. As a result, some of us began to contemplate escaping from camp and making our own way west to the American zone. As a matter of fact, every day, more and more struck out. Some were apprehended by the Russians and returned to camp. We were warned by the senior British Officer, that it was extremely hazardous in the countryside, that the Russians would no longer recognize us as POWs, if they found outside the camp. There were rumors that the Russians had rounded up the Russian slave laborers and Russian POWs, and had shot them as collaborators. In this highly volatile and tense atmosphere, we were becoming desperate and more and more impatient.

On May 7, 1944, there arrived in camp, a convoy of American trucks from Magdeburg, to evacuate the American and British prisoners. There was great exhilaration, as the prisoners clambered aboard the trucks, anticipating the start of their journey home. Suddenly a corp of Russian troops arrived with machine guns on their arms, and the POWs were ordered to get out of the trucks. Everyone was devastated and outraged. The empty trucks left through the gates, and we were left to imagine our fate.

Larry Goheen and Jim McPhee Escape

During our stay at Luckenwalde, I had become very good friends with a young man from Saskatchewan, name of Larry Goheen, and as a matter of fact, we had trekked together during the terrible march. Following our great disappointment, we sat down, discussed the situation, and decided to take our chances on escaping the camp, and making our own way back to the American lines. We gathered what little food that we had, and decided to go out through the fence that night. Over the past two weeks, we had seen many horrors. We had made a trip through the Russian prison compound, where we saw the worst conditions that could be imagined. The living quarters were absolutely filthy, smelled to high heaven, and made our horrible living quarters seem like a hotel.

One bright spot was a chapel that the Russian prisoners had built in part of a hut, with icons, paintings, and an altar fabricated from scraps of lumber, tin cans and cardboard. Finding such a structure amid all that squalor was unbelievable. In the chapel were some dead bodies. In the barracks were skeletons of men who were not even capable of standing, and who our medical office said would probably die. With all the other unpleasantness of the place, we decided that we had to take our fate into our own hands, and get out of this terrible place,--- and maybe get home. We had scouted the perimeter of the camp, could see the truck convoy had set up a bivouac about a mile or so away near a wooded area. We also knew that close to the camp fence, there was an irrigation ditch, deep enough to conceal us once we got outside the fence. As soon as it was dark, we were on out way, under the fence, down the ditch to where the American trucks were parked.

We approached an NCO and asked him if he would take us with him when he went back through the lines and across the Elbe River. We both had American army uniforms from the Red Cross, although they were badly worn and not too well maintained. The sergeant readily agreed to do what he could, we slept by his truck, and early next morning we were on our way. At one point we were stopped by a Russian patrol, the leader of the unit indicated that we were to follow them for clearance. It was obvious that the officer was drunk, as were the soldiers. After following the Russian patrol for a short distance, the sergeant told the driver to swing off at the first road, and shake off the Russians. The maneuver was successful and we continued our way. The sergeant explained that we would have to avoid any check points, as we continued our way to the Elbe River, and especially when we were crossing the river, as we had no valid identification, and would certainly be detained. However, he reassured us that he knew a way to get through, which turned out to be a bridge which was demolished, but had enough superstructures above the water, that it could be crossed on foot. This demolished railway bridge was our passage to freedom, which we crossed by hanging onto the railings and wading where necessary. On reaching the west bank, we were in the American occupation zone, and finally free again.

American Hospitality

We were met by an American soldier who directed us to an army camp where we were greeted like long lost brothers, and we joined a crowd of newly landed POWs, which had made their way back to the west as we had. We were taken to the mess hall where we were served typical American army rations, the first real meal that we had seen for months, and for some, it had been for years. It was all like a dream banquet, something that we had been talking about day and night for months and years. The white bread was unbelievable, looking like angel food cake, and the stew, vegetables just magnificent. The mess sergeant apologized for the poor grub--- he didn't know we were coming, and had to give us what he had on hand. The food was to us so fabulous that we thought that he was joking, but finally we realized that he was serious. We thoroughly reassured him that we were very appreciative of everything, and we could not think of a better first meal. As usual under such circumstances, our stomachs filled quite quickly, and we were not able to eat as much as we thought we could. After eating, we were given sleeping accommodation on G. I. army cots, which felt like the most luxurious beds possible. Beautiful spring time weather further added to our contentment, and when we had settled, we joined the soldiers around a camp fire.

Most of the soldiers were African Americans who amused themselves by telling very tall tales about how clever and well trained and enduring were their coon dogs back in the states. We spent the night at Magdeburg in a barrack, sleeping soundly in our super comfortable beds, fitted with bed sheets. What luxury! Next morning we piled into an army bus and moved on to a place called Hildersheim, where we were billeted in a former military officer's club, in very luxurious surroundings. We got to enjoy these very comfortable digs for a couple of days before there was transportation to take us to Brussels, Belgium.

This was my first and last flight in a Dakota air craft and my first flight since being shot down six months before. In Brussels we were lined up, showered, de-loused, given clean clothes, and again accommodated in military quarters in an old hotel. The de-lousing procedure was crude but effective. A pressurized hose was placed down the pants, and in turn, the shirt, and a blast of D.D.T. powder administered. That was the end of the infestation that we had endured which had been with us for many weeks. It is hard to imagine the relief that we felt at being rid of those tenacious little blood suckers. Looking back, I now know how fortunate we were to have avoided typhus fever, which probably would have been lethal to many. The old hotel in Brussels was very comfortable, and we really enjoyed being treated like human beings again. To the people of Brussels we were heroes, able to roam the streets at will, nothing being off limits. However, we had little or no money, probably fortunately, as we were feeling very good to finally be free, and able to wander wherever. Although I cannot remember attending a pay parade, I do think that we did receive some spending money.

Pub Crawling With Larry

I remember pub crawling with my friend Larry. One place had a bar in front and a brothel in the back. My friend Larry was very interested in the girls, but of course could not partake because he did not have enough cash. However, he did pursue the madam, without success. Because he was an air man who had done his part in liberating Brussels, he tried to talk her into servicing him for love. When she became occupied with paying customers, he slipped behind the bar, and picked up two large bottles of champagne, and successfully spirited them out of the premises, hidden in his new battle dress tunic [the ones that we had been recently issued after we had been deloused]. Some way or other, we got back to our lodgings where he disposed of the most of the champagne by himself. As I remember, it tasted like sour apple juice to me, and he was quite welcome to it.  From that time we drifted apart as it became obvious that Larry was a serious alcoholic, to the extent that he was beyond the possibilities of an enjoyable friendship. My family background just would not let me drink like he did. The loss of his companionship was difficult because he was such a decent person when sober, and because we had been through such difficult times together.                             

About May 15, 1945 we were loaded into a Lancaster bomber and flown to Ford airport in southern England. Most of the personnel on the Lancaster were from India and I think that they were Sikhs with their turbans. From Ford air port, we were bussed to Bournemouth, to await a ship home to Canada. At Bournemouth, I was informed that I had received a commission, just as I was shot down and taken prisoner. This was a surprise! Immediately, I had to purchase an officer's uniform and kit, leave the sergeant’s mess. The sergeant’s mess suited me much better, being much more informal, and the NCOs being more down to earth. However, my pay doubled, and the accommodation, food, and other perquisites were quite gratifying. Having all the housekeeping looked after by maids and batmen, and having no duties, we were at liberty to explore the town and countryside. Streetlights brightened the night, and a feeling of carnival was in the air. Dances, parties, hikes along the sea shore occupied much of the time. The beaches were still strewn with tank traps and barbed wire.

A standing pass allowed overnight trips or longer, as long as we registered with the Orderly office. London, not too far away, beckoned, and a group of us managed to get there by train. Some way or other we were able to talk the railway out of charging us a fare. In London we split up to visit our own particular interests, which to me were the places that I had studied in British history. Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, St Paul's cathedral, London Bridge, the Tower of London, Trafalgar Square, Hyde Park, the Serpentine, was all fascinating. Here, there and almost every where, there was bomb damage, and in places, complete devastation. There still was a lot of various air craft traffic around, which still produced a problem for me, after the bombing and strafing that we had been subjected to in Germany, One always had a great urge to duck under the nearest shelter.

Homeward Bound on the Louis Pasteur

Early in June, 1945, my name appeared on a repatriation draft order, we were bussed to Southampton to board the Louis Pasteur, a pre war French cruise liner, and we were on our way home. This trip was a far cry from that we had taken a year previously, going in the opposite direction. As an officer, I now had a cabin with one other person. Meals were served in a dining room, with white linen table cloths, napkins and regular cutlery and dishes. Waiters attended and there was some choice of foods. Of course, black out at night was not necessary, June weather was very pleasant, and the Atlantic crossing was without incident.

Louis Pasteur returning to Canada with troops

The photo at left and the note from Mr Brouard comes from the excellent site : www.stoenworks.com/Louis Pasteur.html This site depicts the many travels of the Louis Pasteur, and many travelers, and their families have written in with photos and stories about the Louis Pastuer, which is also the topic of a book by Brouard.

Mr. Byers Jean-Yves Brouard, author of the book "Le Pasteur" (shown at the beginning of this site) writes the following:
 
"This photo ... is published in my book on a large double-page (pp.72-73). It shows "Pasteur" in 1944 or better in 1945 before summer I suppose, arriving at Halifax (Canada), under British flag (the French flag is seen at the top of one of the masts thanks to an idea from the British merchant marine, who wanted to honor France to have launched such a beautiful liner (when "Pasteur" was a liner in 1939). Ship is grey.

The first sight of land aroused feelings of great excitement, and a great longing to see my family again. As we disembarked at Halifax we were greeted by a welcoming committee which offered us ice cream, all kinds of cakes, cookies tea, and cigarettes. From the area we were directed to the railway station  boarded a train and were on our way, only this time we had a sleeping car, As we traveled through the Maritimes we were greeted by cheering crowds. At a small New Brunswick town called Campbellton there was a kind of informal reception, with a marvelous spread of all kinds of food and non-alcoholic drinks. Speeches were delivered telling us what excellent fellows we were, and expressing gratitude for the job that we had done. At Lachine, Quebec, we were put up in the station where we had been before going to Halifax a year and a bit ago. There we were interviewed, almost like a debriefing, and had a medical examination. Montreal, a few miles away beckoned and the boys felt that it was party time again on home turf. However, the welcome that we were becoming used to was not there, and we had to go into town in groups to ovoid hostile action by the zoot suiters, young French Canadians that were still angry about conscription.


My friend Larry was in bad shape. One morning his bed was unoccupied; I found him lying on the grass, unable to stand or walk because of over indulgence. During the stay at Lachine, I again failed to see him in a sober state, and after leaving there, I never heard from him again. After a very few days, we were given leave, and left on the last leg of my journey home. By this time I had become very good friends with Edwin Clinton, a native of Algoma, from just north of Thessalon, Ontario, so that we were on the same train home, through Ottawa, Mattawa, North Bay, Sudbury, then to Bruce Station.

Reunited with Family and Friends

From Sudbury, I had called my Aunt Flora Lediett, to tell her that I was in Canada, on my way through on the local train. I told her that my parents did not know that I was coming home today as I was embarrassed to meet them in an emotional encounter in public at the railway station. On the short stop at Blind River, where Aunt Flora lived, I went down on the platform and there was my Aunt, Uncle, and my cousin Norman. We had a very animated visit on the platform, but, of necessity, a very short one, and I was on my way again. As soon as my Aunt arrived back home she telephoned my parents, and of course they were at Bruce station when the train pulled in.  That day I was a real emotional mess, and in my memory, it is like a dream. Of course, I remember that my mother, father, my brother Neil was there but I can't remember who else if anyone. Quickly, I picked up my kit bags, piled them into the old Ford, and we were heading toward home. In the car, my mother kept pinching my leg. Apparently, when the air force sent my belongings home they sent only one shoe, and she had it in her mind that I might have lost a leg in action.

The news that my grandfather Cooper had died a few weeks earlier was a great shock, as he was a wonderful grandfather, one of my all time favorite people. When the news had come through in November, 1944 that I was missing in action he had remarked, "We will never see Jim again", No doubt, he remembered losing his son Lex in the war of 1914-1916. Cancer of the bowel was his terminal disease, and although he had a very distressing few weeks, he did die in his own home.

Among my very earliest memories, was the building of my grandfather Cooper's home in Dunn's Valley, in the early thirties. This was quite a grand structure four story house, finished in stucco, in which was embedded, quartz pebbles. When the sun shone on Grandpa's house, it sparkled like a diamond. In the small Dunn's valley graveyard, my grandparents Cooper grave is neat and well kept, the stone reading “Pioneers, A day of work well done, a night of rest is won". Although I was glad to be home, and with my family again, things did not seem to be the same, and I knew that I had to find a different kind of life somewhere else. My brother Neil and his wife Gwen, had taken over the home farm, and were living in the family home along with my parents and youngest sister Muriel. My eldest brother Murdoch, and his wife Thelma and family had taken over the farm to the east, where my father had settled when he was first married, and had built a house about 1935. My grandfather McPhee, and his wife, my step grandmother, had moved out of the community to Rydal Bank. My eldest sister Sarah Harrison lived in Sault Ste. Marie, my sister Jessie Mills lived in Ophir not far from my parents. Sister Ethel Broad lived in Dunn's Valley near Skookum Lake, with husband Fred, and her three children, on the family homestead. Shortly after the war, Ethel and Fred moved to Skookum Lake, where they began a tourist resort business, including the guiding of persons interested in fishing and hunting. Florence, who was two years older than I, lived in Sarnia, where she worked in a bank. Muriel, who was two years younger than I, and who always was considered to have "delicate health", lived with my parents until her death at the age of thirty two. She had a congenital heart defect, and developed diabetes a year or two before her death, in the early nineteen sixties.                      

During my furlough, following repatriation, I visited many friends, relatives, and spent a few days at the home of my friend, Edwin Clinton in a small hamlet called Hooverville. Located about twenty miles north of Thessalon, this settlement disappeared under the water of Tunnel Lake, when the hydroelectric dam was built on the Mississauga River about nineteen fifty. Eddie's father and brothers were active in the tourist business, guiding the bush sportsmen to the best fishing and hunting territories. Eddie and I had a great time exploring the bush on foot and by canoe. On one expedition, we crossed a lake, Cummings Lake, by canoe, accompanied by two American tourists. Shortly after embarking, a wind came up to such an extent that we had doubts about making it to shore, In those days it was not the custom to wear life jackets, so that, if we had capsized we would probably have drowned. The wind was in our faces and the waves too high to turn and run with the wind, so that we just had to keep the paddles going until we reached the shore ahead some nine or ten miles distant. The relaxed life style of the Clinton's, was very attractive and appealing, so much so that Eddie's ambition was to stay there for the rest of his life, and make a living at whatever came along. He eventually purchased a small general store that he and his wife are probably still tending.

In nineteen forty six, the road from Bruce Mines to Skookum Lake was lined on both sides by homes, mostly subsistence farms, some tourists businesses, a few general stores, and garages with gas pumps. The hamlets were Rydal Bank, Mount Zion, Rock Lake, Ophir, and Dunn's Valley. There were public schools at each of these places, and churches at Rydal Bank, Rock Lake and Dunn's Valley. A shortage of qualified teachers necessitated the hiring of high school graduates to assume the duties of teaching public school for some years. The above mentioned schools have been closed, and the communities, as I knew them, drastically altered. Most of the people now have jobs in the Sault, and very few work the farms. Shortly before my grandmother Cooper died, she commented that when she had arrived in the area, there were no churches or schools and when she left [died] there would be no schools or churches.                                                              

Airforce Administration

Following my furlough, I was posted to a station located at Eglinton Avenue and Yonge Toronto, at a building which had been the Eglinton Hunt Club. After only a short stay there I was posted to Camp Borden, where they were sorting out the few returning personnel, looking volunteers for the Asian Campaign, which was still going on. However, early in August nineteen forty five, the Americans dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The Japanese surrendered, and it was obvious that there would be mass demobilization. A great need for staff to handle the release centers was upon the military, and those of us who had been repatriated early, were put into training programs to achieve the administrative skills necessary to do the job. As a result, I was posted to Ottawa for a quick course in administration which lasted about six weeks. This was a very pleasant time consisting of classes for six to eight hours a day, and leaving lots of time to explore our nation's capital.

Ottawa is quite a beautiful place, with spacious parks, and at that time, occupied by large numbers of young people who were in a carnival mood, ready for a good time. Accommodation was in a hotel, not fancy by today's standard, but luxurious by what I had been used to for the last three years. My room mate was a Group Captain, which at first was a bit intimidating, but as time went on, and as there were many high ranking officers on virtually every street corner, I adjusted. The Group Captain was a silent type, which suited me very well. One thing that did not suit was a shower which was not protected from the fluctuations caused by the flushing of toilets or the turning on of another tap. The result was a water stream that fluctuated from scalding hot to freezing cold. However, the course was quite enjoyable, the time passed quickly, I learned a lot, and I was soon on my way to #7 Release Center, in Calgary. The station was to the northwest of the city, on a rising piece of land, from which we could look down on the city, and up to the west toward the foothills and the Rocky Mountains. The air was cool and crisp, the atmosphere relaxed, and the people of Calgary friendly and relaxed. Officer’s quarters were very comfortable, and I had a batman to keep my room neat, press my uniform and shine the brass.

On being introduced to my place of work, I found myself in charge of one hundred clerks of varying classification and rank. Fortunately, by this time I was wise enough to spot the sergeant who knew the works, took a liking to me, and guided me through the ropes, so that I did not have any serious difficulty. Of course, I was very green in the field of administration, and could easily have found myself out of my depths. He was a man of probably thirty years, which to me was old; he knew the ropes and appreciated peace and good order. I was certainly very appreciative of his support, and he was appreciative that I acknowledged his know-how. My title was Officer Commanding Reception Wing. I was responsible for assembling the records of the personnel coming through for discharge, sorting out the appropriate records into the order of their progression through the process of discharge. One of my titles was Honours and Awards Officer, which meant that I had to assess from their records, the campaign badges that they were entitled to. To this day, I am amazed that things went so smoothly, considering the thousands of air men that went through during the two and one half months that I was there.

The Future - Becoming an MD

While there I decided that I was going to have a real try at becoming a medical doctor. In the officer's mess, nearly everyone was a medical doctor, there to give the troops a medical assessment and clearance before discharge. One of the things that doctors do when they are together is talk shop, and these chaps were no exception. Even though they were speaking the medical jargon, I found it to be intensely interesting. Also noticeable, was that they did not appear to be that much brighter than the rest of us and I concluded that if they could make it through medical school, perhaps I could also.        

 Many of the officers lived off the station and went home at night, which meant that the mess was not crowded. Often the only ones left were the Roman Catholic padre and me. The padre was quite a sociable fellow that had a real fondness for wine and spirits. We had some very good conversations over many a glass of beer, wine or spirits. Fortunately, by the first of December, the mass of the troops had gone through the discharge process, my job became redundant. At that time I assembled my own records, had my medical, received my discharge papers and was on my way home, a civilian again. While I was in the service, I had some bouts of tonsillitis; apparently my tonsils were quite large, so that the medical officer recommended that I have my tonsils out before starting back to school.

I was to report to my own civilian doctor when I arrived home, and was to do whatever he and I decided. Shortly after getting home I went to see Dr. Victor Grigg, who agreed with the air force M.D. and I was booked into the Red Cross Hospital in Thessalon. By the way, Dr. Grigg was the doctor that delivered me at my parent’s home in McPhee's Valley in 1925. Apart from a very sore throat, the tonsillectomy was uneventful, and in ten more days I felt that I was ready to take on whatever the future held for me. 

Jim McPhee- My story, Page 7 continued