-by Beverley Phillips
“We will remember them.”
The familiar response of the Act of Remembrance sounded in the Captain Angus L. Macdonald Legion in Inverness on Saturday, November 7th, as they held their annual Banquet of Remembrance.
Comrade Herbert Jeromel opened the evening with a prayer written by Wanda Lawrence of the Chippewa Nation. “Someday,” he said, “an arrow will be broken, not in something or someone, but by each of humankind, to indicate peace, not violence. Someday, oneness with creation, rather than domination over creation, will be the goal to be respected. Someday, fearlessness to love and make a difference will be experienced by all people. Then the eagle will carry our prayers for peace, compassion, and love, and the people of the red, white, yellow, brown, and black communities will sit in the same circle together to communicate with mutual respect, and to experience the presence of the Great Mystery in their midst. Someday, comrades, can be today, for you and me, together, we can make a difference.”
Following the meal provided by M. MacDonald and her staff, toasts were made to veterans and absent comrades. Comrade Eddie MacEachern then introduced the guest speaker, Francene Gillis. The Inverness Oran columnist has earned several Atlantic journalism awards and has written three books: A Rose in November, Where did I go?, and And Momma Cried: The True Story of War, Brotherhood, and Regular, Remarkable People. Just released in October, And Momma Cried calls on us to remember war mothers through Philomena Gillis and discover the heart and humility of those who fought for us, and what they sacrificed for their families and us.
It was Gillis’s grandfather who inspired her “to listen to people who don’t talk much.” “Most veterans did not talk about war,” she said. “They did not want loved ones to carry the burden of what they saw, heard, felt, or experienced. Some whispered bits and pieces to their spouses on pillows in the dark, but never the full story.’
‘Even as veterans desperately wanted to forget, living in their memories, were the dead bodies everywhere, floating on icy ocean waves, tripped up on barbed wire, or lying lifeless on foreign soil.
None who survive come back from war the same.”
She noted the stories that stuck with her, of Jeromel and Leo Cox from Mabou. “Herbie’s sincere, moving account of war’s effect on his family, and Leo’s Dutch story of German occupation and oppression stayed with me for over 35 years.’
‘Leo shared of Germans bombing his neighbour’s house. By the time they could get to them, the toddler was out in the field, holding a raw carrot, trying to “feed” his dead sister, whining and crying, for her to get up. Veterans shared such stories, and I was in awe. I knew, as a teacher and writer, I had to dig deeper.’
‘We never know a person unless they allow us in, and we take the time to know them.
‘Unless I ask and truly listen, I may never know you. That is what I want us to do today – truly listen, hear the silent echoes, and realize that everyone has a story.’
‘It was not until the Second World War veterans started dying that the realization hit me – we were losing our primary sources: firsthand accounts.
‘We need stories for connection like the one of a 102-year-old war veteran on his deathbed, dealing 80 years later with the fact, he was late for roll call.
‘His sergeant grabbed his younger trench buddy for what should have been his assignment. Enemy planes strafed the truck his replacement was travelling in… A bomb blitz. All were killed.”
Gillis reminded the listeners that those who went to war are real people with rich lives, that they “are persons first, individuals, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins, sons, daughters. They are more than the soldier, gunner, signaller, infantry label. More than a regimental number, their rank, or dog tags, and more than a casualty in war. Like us, they had childhoods, crushes, interests, personalities, and dreams – it is vital that we do not forget and dehumanize warfare.”
She introduced us to Joe, Danny, Richard, and Pat, sons of Duncan and Philomena (Moran) Gillis. Danny and Richard were Inverness Legion members. Danny belonged to the Cape Breton Highlanders, and Richard was part of the West Nova Scotia Regiment.
“The boys grew up on a farm in Glencoe Mills,” she said. “They knew hard work, up at 4 A.M. to the smell of Philomena cooking bacon, and their father roaring at the bottom of the stairs.”
Joe was a half-brother and enlisted in the U.S. Army, but health issues kept him from going overseas.
Danny enlisted in 1941. “Soldiers do not join the military as single entities,” said Gillis, “war is a family affair.’
‘Men and women leaving home and going into danger has to be the scariest, most heart-wrenching family farewell ever. And so an excerpt from Danny’s leaving.’
Reading a piece from her book, Gillis said, “Sweet aromas greeted me as I ambled into the house. Momma was kneading bread, hands white, working in her favourite place at the kitchen counter.
I walked up behind her as she punched, flipped, and turned the satin dough, put my arms around her, and bent my head on her shoulder. My eyes welled up in a hug that said, ‘I love you.’
“What’s this, dear one?” she asked as she turned to face me.
“Have to talk,” I said, wishing I didn’t have to. Our petite momma, sensing that something was up, shifted back to the counter and gave her dough more attention than me, slapping and whacking it on the counter, afraid that if she stopped kneading, she’d have to listen.
I reached for the floured surface, cupped my hand over hers, squeezed, and stopped her mid-task. Her body trembled, and I could feel her pounding heart.”
“I don’t want you to go,” she moaned, afraid that speaking loudly would solidify the dreaded truth. Her heart pumped hard and fast.
I wrapped her against my chest, and she cried into my uniform while I patted her back as if she were the child.”
In 1942, Richard was recruited to replace injured gunners and signallers in other regiments. “He drove artillery vehicles,” she said. “Over treacherous terrain, maneuvered makeshift roads, steep, sharp turns, and minefields throughout Sicily and Italy.”
Sharing a memory of Richard’s, Gillis wrote, “An inferno turns night into day. I see what I would rather not see. Bloodied faces, glassy eyes, gaping wounds speckling Hell. Can’t help it; I turn from fallen comrades, friends, grey in the mud, their spirits no longer whistling, grinning, frowning. Let me remember them as the jokers they were, gentlemen and friends. I don’t understand this maniacal morgue.”
She asked everyone to think about what that means personally. “What if Richard Gillis had died? And he should have, 10 times over. I would not be married to the man I am, would not have the children I have, or the grandchildren, or the cluster of family members that are my present and future. Many of you, I suspect, can say the same.”
“Our soldiers of war sacrificed the chance to be comfy by a warm fireplace, eating a home-cooked meal that did not include tough, rotten, old mutton, with a cherished toddler cuddled on their lap asking, ‘And what happened next, Daddy?’”
‘The opportunity for a life after the Second World War, the Germans erased for 44,326 Canadians – the total number of official case files for the war dead. And add onto that the millions of people – ‘that could have been.’”
Pat enlisted in July 1943. Reading the scene from her book, Gillis said, “I’m leaving,” I tell Momma.
“You’re not!”
“I am.”
“Nothing I can say to change your mind?”
Our tears answer. I squeeze my eyelids tight. Must get away before we are both bawling.
“Promise, you’ll come back to me.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Through tears, she nods, makes the sign of the cross. It provides comfort. I avoid the hug.
Bedazzled by wartime pomp and propaganda, I can’t wait to hightail it out. It takes five minutes, and I am running back, hugging like a sobbing child needing his mommy because he scratched his knee.
“I clutch onto her like nobody’s business, terrified to let go. She holds me just as tight, fit to be tied, threatening to spear Hitler with her knitting needles.”
Philomena saw three sons and her younger brother Colin go off to war. “I curse Hitler and his treatment of the neighbouring allied countries,” read Gillis. “Nothing but a coward wielding his trident, throwing people into extermination and prison of war camps, to extinguish them. The fellow above must have cried with the condition the world was in. I figure God cries through a mother’s tears.
‘On Remembrance Day, the boys honour their comrades, attend ceremonies, show their respect.
‘They stand tall and straight in their uniforms, chests out, ribbons and medals their own, but representing all Allied soldiers. Their eyes see far more than mine do.”
Gillis wanted to speak to a modern war mother and called up the mother of her son-in-law, retired Corporal Robert Furlong, who fought in Bosnia and Afghanistan in 2002 as a sniper. “I called his mom in Nfld to ask how she felt,” said Gillis. “She started crying. I quickly apologized, adding I’d get someone else. But no, she wanted to talk.
‘She shares, “Robert called me from Gander and said that the only way he could go overseas was with my approval. It was tough.”
‘A long, weeping pause… “My 17-year-old grandson graduated this past June; he just told us, he enlisted.” I did not know what to say.
‘Robert’s oldest son, my step-grandson, joined two years previous. The day of my tribute to war veterans, October 18, Major Skaarup informed me of the tragic accident at CFB Wainwright in Alberta.
‘Immediately, I called. Was Logan hurt? He wasn’t on the base, but his unit out in the field was the first to respond to the ruins of the firestorm, and to help their critically burned friends.
‘WAR is never far away.”
Her final story was of Philomena’s brother Colin Moran. “Roughly 25 per cent of all non-fatally wounded Allied casualties suffered from mental exhaustion, shell shock, war fatigue, or what is known today as PTSD,” said Gillis, “and many of our veterans came home struggling to cope with the Hell they lived, leading to generational and family difficulties. Philomena’s brother came home alive, but he died overseas.”
“We can never repay them or their families,” she said, “but we can pay tribute by sharing stories, listening to silent echoes, and supporting our military.”
Gillis thanked those who served, and encouraged them to share their stories, for “Remembrance Day holds a sacred promise – to ensure that the reverence and voices of our war veterans continue to echo with the passage of time.”
As the evening of Remembrance came to an end, Jeromel wrapped up with these closing words.
“Let us, as we part, remember our duty to our branch, our comrades, our country, and our sovereign. May we ever strive to promote unity and the spirit of comradeship, never forgetting the solemn obligation we have assumed as members of the Royal Canadian Legion, and remembering them, may we ever pray, Lord God of hosts, be with us yet, lest we forget. Lest we forget.”