Our Stories

A hum, filled with excited chatter, permeates the room. Occasionally, laughter rings out as students document and listen to the stories their grandpal has to tell.

“The residents had a really good time. They love the kids; they absolutely love getting to see them and hang out with them and it’s just a good time,” said Laura Kennery, director of resident programs and admissions at Maple Grove Care Community in Brampton. “Any intergenerational program is amazing.”

The grandpal program paired residents at Maple Grove with Grade 7 students from Sunny View Middle School. Each resident was paired with a group of three to four students, who would ask them questions about their life.

“The residents were telling the students about their family and friends, what they did when they grew up, what they did for a living. If they were a truck driver, they spoke about all the things they got to see across Canada. Someone else talked about how many times they moved, and that they were actually from Germany,” said Laura. “It was interesting to hear some of the stories.”

Students did not have a list of questions, and instead the conversations were left to take on a life of their own. At the end of the three visits, the students created a mini-biography of the residents for their social studies class. A few weeks after their final interview, the students went back to Maple Grove to present their grandpal with their mini-biography.

“I really liked the book,” said Carmen, a resident who participated in the grandpal program. “My granddaughter, she’s 11, she read it all and she said, ‘Oh Nan, what you going to do with the book?’ I said, ‘I’ll put it in the library here, where others can read it.’”

Sixteen grandpals and 50 students took part in the program, which ran in two sessions. One class of 25 students would meet with eight grandpals in the morning, with the other class and grandpals meeting in the afternoon. While the intergenerational program has many benefits for both the residents and students, one unexpected benefit was that it gave two grandpals a chance to speak in their first language. 

“We were able to work it out so they were paired with students who could speak Punjabi, so they could actually talk in their mother tongue,” Laura said. “I thought that was really nice, because the residents were able to connect on a different level, instead of always having to think about what word to say in English.”

The students also had a great time in the program.

“They’re coming back again in December, just to do Christmas carols and see their friends again,” Laura said. “They’ve been very excited and very happy.”

When asked if she would do the program again, Laura’s answer was a resounding yes.

“YES! Absolutely, it was a wonderful!” she said. “I think any intergenerational program is amazing, and the residents have pride that they’re helping the students with a project… So yeah, we would definitely take on something like this again.”

“Okay, I’m bringing the Cheesies!”

That was the first reaction of one of the Barrie Colts players when Maria Morra, director of resident programs and admissions at Owen Hill Care Community in Barrie, said that the players would be welcome to join the residents for bingo. Cheesies are often used as prizes on bingo night, and the players were all excited about returning to the home for a second visit.

Their first visit saw the Colts surprising veterans, residents and family at Owen Hill with a three-hour visit, several boxes of pizza, and a signed jersey and poster. Residents gathered together in the multipurpose room, eager to meet a ‘surprise hockey guest,’ having no idea that the entire team would be coming in to see them.

“Oh it was a lovely surprise,” said Winnie, a resident at Owen Hill and veteran of WWII. “It was very nice of them to meet us and say thank you to me as a veteran.”

Maria scheduled the surprise visit in honour of Remembrance Day, thinking that it would be a nice tribute to the veterans.

“We thought, because it was Remembrance Day, it would be nice to have something to give tribute to our veterans, because they’re such a big part of our society,” she said. “It is so important to remember them and thank them.”

Owen Hill is a fairly small care community, so even though nearly half of the residents came to the event, everyone was able to get one-on-one time with one of the eight players. Most tables had about three residents and one or two players, who were quick to fill the room with chatter.

“It was very intimate, quaint, and very personable… the players didn’t feel like they were walking into this big auditorium,” Maria said. “The residents were in awe… because the Barrie colts are such a big part of Barrie, and a lot of these players get drafted for the NHL.”

Harry Hadden, a resident at the event, was president of the Barrie Colts hockey team when they won the championships in 1977-78. His wife was kind enough to bring in his jacket for him, something the players loved.

“It was very nice of the young men to come and visit,” Harry said. “You know they don’t have a lot of time, because they need to practice and they have a busy schedule. The advice I gave them is to go home every night and get rest… it’s important, you know.”

During their visit, the players asked the residents about their favourite activities, unsurprisingly, many residents mentioned bingo.

“The players turned to me, and I said, ‘Yep, you’re welcome to come,’” Maria said. “I even talked to the community outreach contact, and she said they had a great time, and that when they got back to the [hockey] club they were telling the other players how much fun they had and how great it was to meet the veterans and the other residents… So we’re going to plan in the new year to have a bingo night with the Barrie Colts.”

Opa’s trunk stands tall, its branches reaching up and away, trying to gently grasp the wispy clouds above. Heavily scarred, the trunk is so wide that 11 people could not wrap their arms around it. It is the truest symbol of this 1,000-year-old Douglas fir tree’s age.

Authors, poets and playwrights often visit Opa, hoping for inspiration. It is one of only two old-growth trees remaining on Bowen Island, which was cleared of almost all its old trees by the 20th century. 

Residents at Peninsula Retirement Residence in Surrey paid the Opa tree a surprise visit after exploring Snug Cove, a tiny town on Bowen Island. The group of 11 tried to wrap their arms around the tree, but could not quite make it. They described the tree as “awe inspiring”.

Below is the first-hand account of Peninsula resident Roy McLean’s encounter with Opa.

Roy McLean: “Certainly, for those of us who were viewing the tree for the first time it was an awe-inspiring sight, and the most noteworthy part of the trip.

Thinking back to my reaction at the time… I was amazed at its height, but after walking around it, I was even more impressed with its circumference.

As I viewed the various indentations and the scars on its surface, I thought of what the person, or persons, would be like, so long ago, as they attempted to cut it down with a crude axe, a cross-cut saw, or something even prior to their use.

I knew in advance that the tree was at least 1,000 years old, but as I stood there viewing it, it made me fully realize just how long it has been standing there with us. Wow, what a story it could tell.”

The near-beer flowed freely around the campfire as residents laughed and chatted over the crackling flames. Insects hummed in the distance, and delicious smores were liberally passed around.

“I enjoyed the whole day, it was very exciting,” said Irene, a resident at Trillium Retirement Residence and Care Community in Kingston. “The music was very good, weather was perfect and the food was good. The day went by too fast.”

“It’s just a really great day, and you know, weeks later we’ll still bring it up, what a great day it was,” said Jackie Arnott, director of resident programs at Trillium. “It’s a chance for residents to get outside and kind of get back to nature and enjoy the fresh air.”

Trillium’s third annual camp day, a brainchild of Carol-Anne Woodcock, was a huge success, with over 60 residents coming out to the campsite over the course of the day. The campsite, which is also the Rutherford Girl Guides site, is only a 15-minute drive from the residence, meaning that they can shuttle residents back and forth as the day goes on.

“We do a number or trips back and forth to Trillium,” Jackie said. “We’re lucky enough we have a site just on the edge of our town that feels very rustic… and we bring in entertainers that play guitar. We do bonfires at night, and have BBQs. The residents have a great time sitting by the water and enjoying the music and fresh air.”

There are usually 10 residents at the site during the day, but that number can swell to 24 around lunch and dinner, when they do a BBQ meal.

“[There’s] a lot of reminiscing going on,” Jackie said. She explained that a lot of people worked in factories around the site, or had connections to the Girl Guides, meaning that nearly everyone has a story to tell.

“They enjoy being by the water front,” Jackie said. “Just to come and enjoy the music, and sit and enjoy the fresh air and have those conversations and reminisce with each other.”

There are a few walking paths down near the water that residents can walk along, or they can tour the cabin.

“We often have family involved as well,” Jackie said. “We encourage family to come out… We have a large family participation that comes out and supports us.”


The team members at Trillium work together to keep the day running smoothly. The large event requires planning and hard work from everyone at Trillium, and they pull it off beautifully.

“It is quite an organizational feat, with lots of excel charts,” Jackie said. But it’s worth it.

“They really enjoyed being there, they enjoyed the music,” Jackie said. “One gentleman brought his harmonica and played along with the music and another one was tapping… and just really enjoying being in that space.”

The needle slides up and down through the fabric, pulling thread with it. Its rhythmic hum is a sound most of the residents are used to, having listened to it most of their lives.

“We’re a majority of an Italian home here, so [sewing is] one of these things that these ladies are used to and they did it in their home,” said Alexandra Gordon, manager of recreation and volunteer services at Villa Leonardo Gambin in Toronto. “That they’re still able to do it is really amazing.”

Villa Leonardo Gambin has a sewing station on one of their floors. Residents have been using it to develop wheelchair pillows and sensory blankets for other residents.

“Residents can walk down the hall and see another resident with the wheelchair cushion they made on their wheel chair and be proud of that work they did,” Alexandra said. “They’ve also been working on cushions for the bazar. So they’re producing things that they like to do and that helps them reminisce about what they did previously.”

Recently, Villa Leonardo Gambin had an art show to showcase work residents have been doing in the weekly art classes. Over 100 family and friends of residents were welcomed into the home where they enjoyed wine and harp music. They also had a chance to purchase artwork completed by the residents. The art was sold by donation, with all proceeds going back into the art program.

“We know how important it is to really have those different aspects of your loved one, so we had discussed what we would like if they were our family,” Alexandra said. “I said ‘you know what, if someone had given me the opportunity to purchase something that my grandmother had made I would do it in a heartbeat.’”

Colourful paintings, imaginative crafts, beautiful quilts and knitting designs were on display at the art show. 

“I am proud to show my work to others,” said Maria, a resident at Villa Leonardo Gambin who had several knit pieces in the art show. “Knitting is a pastime and a passion for me. I used to knit for my family and friends, and now I knit for my grandchildren.”

A photographer was at the show, and residents were asked to choose one of their pieces to be photographed with.

“That sense of pride is really there,” Alexandra said. “To be able to exemplify that was really nice.”

There was also a slide show of residents putting together some of their works – which included painting and building a Muskoka chair.

“We’ve been working closely with our art therapist as well as our recreation therapy assistants to create different pieces of art work,” Alexandra said. “Residents use different mediums, sewing materials, paint, crayons, tinfoil – really anything you can think of."

On top of weekly art sessions, Villa Leonardo Gambin also has an art therapist come in twice a month. The residents’ love of these programs is what inspired the art expose.

“We just saw the way that our residents responded to art, the impact that it was having on their social wellbeing … the happiness that it brings them. We decided that it would be really important for us to share that with their family and friends and for them to be able to show

off their skills and what they’re doing,” Alexandra said.

“It was a beautiful night, and I am so proud of the residents, as well as my team, for completing such a beautiful event,” Alexandra said.

The Olympic Games came to Cheltenham in a whirlwind of volleyball games, 100-metre dashes and javelin throws.

“Everyone had a blast, so we’re going to do it again,” said Sabrina Ruffolo, recreation aid at Cheltenham Care Community in Toronto. “The residents are already planning the winter Olympics.”


Cheltenham’s three floors went head-to-head in four Olympic events. The 1st floor’s Team Pleasantville, 2nd floor’s Team Cedar Trail and 3rd floor’s Team Rose Garden competed for a pizza party and ultimate bragging rights.

About 60 residents participated in the events. Thanks to the size of the games, residents got a chance to talk to people they wouldn’t normally see and get to know each other better.

“The Olympics were actually quite fun because the residents got into it and got competitive with one another on the floors,” Sabrina said. “While the events were happening there was a lot of chit-chat between the floors. They also encouraged each other, and of course encouraged their own floors.”


Cheltenham considers itself to be a sport-loving home, with many residents enjoying active games and activities, according to Sabrina.

The little boat sailed across the open water almost silently, having no idea of what could be waiting below.

In 1944, 18-year-old Mary Greenwood made the 70-killometer trip across the open waters of the Bay of Fundy in what she calls “lifeboat situations.” During the two-and-a-half hour trip she had no idea that German U-boats were likely slumbering beneath her.

“When I went to take my course we went from St. John, NB, to Digby, NS, in lifeboat situations with our life packs, sailing all the way across,” Mary said. “We were 18, we didn’t know why we were doing this, nobody told us. This is it, we’re doing it.”

Mary was born in August 1926 in Toronto, Ontario. Her grandfather and both of her brothers served in the Navy, so when she came of age, with WWII going on, there was no other logical choice.

“Well the war was on, I was very patriotic, and I am from a Navy family,” Mary said. “There was no way I’d do anything else.”

Mary signed up for the war in the fall of 1944, and was quickly drafted as a sick berth attendant, the equivalent of a civilian nursing assistant. During her training, she worked in Halifax, NS, where most of her patients came in because their feet were in terrible shape from working in submarines.

At the time, girls weren’t allowed on the ships, and because she was only 18, Mary never went overseas. Instead she worked in a hospital in Victoria, British Columbia, for most of the war where she often had as many as 12 patients to look after, with only one nurse on the floor for her to report to.

“We were very busy and we had a lot of responsibility,” she said. “We thought the nurses were gods. Whatever they said was right.”

The hardest patient Mary looked after during the war came wrapped in an oxygen tent. The tent came over the whole bed, giving him a personal no-smoking zone. He’d developed an infection in his lungs, slightly more severe than pneumonia.

“He was quite sick, he was the sickest person we had,” she said. “I was real nervous or him, like you know, keep alive ― and he wasn’t anywhere near dead, but to my 18-year-old mind it was a big responsibility.”

The soldier did survive, and was eventually sent back home.

Mary stayed in Victoria for half a year after the end of the war, waiting for those who had joined the service before her to get home first. She enjoyed her time there, and has fond memories of her stay.

“I can remember, because we did the same thing in Toronto for training, going out to the park to get a hotdog or hamburger or something to eat in my pyjamas with my overcoat on. I did the same thing in Toronto Western, we went up on the roof to watch the fireworks at exhibition time and stuff like that. There were little things we did that were a little off, but we got away with it.”

After the war she stayed on in the reserves, and finished her schooling at Toronto Western Hospital as a nurse.

“I always wanted to be a nurse. In my day you were either a nurse or a secretary. Those were the two fields that you were given. My mother wanted me to be a nurse, and I trained at a good hospital.”

She said that her work in civilian and navy hospitals were similar, except that in the navy hospitals her patients were generally between the ages of 18 and 25. After the war, most of her patients were Japanese prisoners of war. They were transferred to her from another hospital, and so were usually in good condition by the time she looked them over.

“I was treated very well,” she said. “In those days they treated nurses and ministers with respect.”
After she had completed her RNs, Mary worked in the Navy for another four years ― two in Halifax, NS, and two in Cornwallis, NS.

“Of course in Cornwallis, it was a training centre, so 90 per cent of people were 18 year olds,” Mary said. “They got a little rowdy… I was a little shy when I was a young lady, but when they got a little rowdy I’d go down and say ‘these aren’t nutty bars on my shoulder!’ because you had your stripes up on your shoulder, and they’d go ‘OH!’”

As a reserve nurse, she had to work two weeks in the summer and one evening a week at a military Naval Base in Hamilton on top of her civilian job. Still, there were some perks.

Whenever royalty came over from England, an ambulance was required at the airport, meaning that Mary saw her fair share of royalty.

“We saw Princess Anne on two different trips… and when I was on the reserve in Hamilton we got to see the Queen Mother.”

During her time in Hamilton, Mary was invited to dine at a hotel where the Queen Mother was staying. After the meal she was walking around, thinking of socializing with some peers, when the unbelievable happened.

“They laid a carpet right down beside me, a red carpet, and I looked over and there she came, she didn’t stop of course, but you could have touched her! They were exciting times.”

Mary never took a break from service or got married, and she believes it’s part of the reason she was promoted higher than her peers. After spending six months as a sub-lieutenant she became a lieutenant.

One year, during the New Year’s celebrations, Mary noticed that the commander of her base couldn’t stop grinning. When she asked him “what are you smiling about?” he said he’d seen the lists for the new year, and that she was up for a promotion to Commander.

“And my god, New Year’s came and we got the message and I was very happy. I didn’t have to do anything different, except what I was doing, but it was nice,” Mary said. “I’m proud of it, I’m proud of getting in. But I’m no better than anyone else.”

She was the only nursing commander in Canada’s reserve force.

A navy commander is the same rank as a lieutenant-colonel in the army. After eight more years in the navy, and now in her late 50s, Mary decided to leave. She had put in over 22 years of service.

“I left because I thought I’d been in long enough and there were other people coming up in through the service.”

She retired from civilian nursing at the age of 60.

Today, Mary is 90 years old and a resident at Woods Park Care Centre in Barrie, where she lives with her cat. She speaks to her many nieces and nephews fairly frequently, and has one good friend left from her time in the war, who she speaks to every night.

“It’s very nice to talk to her every day,” Mary said. “Every single day we talk.”

Outside the plane, the world was washed white.

Don Monroe, a Flying Officer and flight instructor in the Royal Canadian Air Force, squinted, trying to see past the blizzard that had destroyed his visibility. He had been doing a cross-country trip in Ontario near Godridge when the spotty weather turned into a full-blown storm.

“All of a sudden it was a blizzard! White out!” Don said. “I was flying and I couldn’t see anything. It was all white.”

He dropped his plane down to 100 feet, trying to find his way back to Godridge. He had to follow his compass until he hit the shoreline, after that he swung north.

“I couldn’t find Godridge, so I turned south and followed the coast along. Finally I could see it. It was a 10-hour flight.”

Don was born in London, Ontario in June 1918. He joined the reserves as a teenager and enjoyed taking the machine guns apart and putting them back together.

“When the war came along they took all these young guys into the army,” Don said. “And of course we had to have a medical, and I had a medical and they said ‘you can’t go.’”

When Don asked why, he was told he had flat feet, and that he wouldn’t be able to march. “I said, ‘I can walk from London to Toronto and back.’”

But he still wasn’t accepted, so Don took matters into his own hands and joined the air force, where marching wasn’t much of an issue. He was 21 years old.

Don got married in 1942, while he was in training for the air force. He and his wife met in 1940, while he was working as an accountant at an automotive factory. She was the foreman’s daughter, and the two crossed-paths when she came in to work.

In 1943, Don’s wings were presented to him by WWI hero Air Marshal Billy Bishop at Aylmer in Ontario. He then went to the airport in Oshawa, Ontario, where he trained young pilots to fly Tiger Moth airplanes. In the two years he served as a flight instructor, Don logged 1,500 hours in the air.

He was then sent to England as a Flying Officer, and flew Hurricane and Spitfire fighting planes. He was stationed in Germany while the Allies were doing the thousand-plane raids. Don said the airport he was at always kept their lights on, even at night, despite the danger of enemy attack, because their planes often came back with wounded men.

“I was the duty officer of the control room one night, and at about 2 o’clock in the morning a German plane came across,” he said. The German plane was shooting 200mm cannons.

“I could see the bullets coming right at me,” Don said, “but they were going by me, to the railway station.”

Though not the German pilot’s immediate target, Don wondered about his future plans. “I thought that guy was going to come back and get me, but he never did.”

After the war ended in 1945, Don left the air force. He moved to Oshawa with his wife and got a job at a car dealership. Together, he and his wife had three children. Now 98, Don is a resident at Traditions of Durham Retirement Residence in Oshawa, where he enjoys doing anything active. He regularly plays bocce ball and horseshoes with his neighbours.

When asked if he would change anything, Don said no.

“I would have lived the same,” he said. “I had a great life and a wonderful wife and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

The waters in the Bristol Channel are clear and glitter in the sun. In the fall of 1944, the hum of a single airplane broke their serenity as it streaked across the sky.

Arthur Stiff, who was a Hurricane Fighter Pilot in WWII, was searching for a bright-yellow tugboat carrying 50 escaped prisoners of war. The German pilots had escaped their camp in Wales and stolen a yellow aircraft tender, which is a small boat used to refuel sea planes. The escaped prisoners were making their way down the Bristol Channel and heading for Ireland, where a German U-boat was stationed to take them back to Germany.

“Now, the Bristol Channel is so big that it’s like looking out at an ocean, you can’t see from one shore to the other, it’s just too wide,” said Arthur.

The yellow boat was spotted at about 1 p.m., and Arthur flew out to keep an eye on their position, hoping that the British Navy showed up before the U-boats.

After nearly half an hour of circling the boat, Arthur could see the British Navy on the horizon.

Arthur was born in Toronto, Ontario, in May of 1922, to a fur-trading family. As a young teen he “was stuck on” making and flying model airplanes, which at the time were powered by an elastic band. He’d also often ride his bike out to Wilson Heights on the weekend to watch people learning how to fly Tiger Moth airplanes.

“That’s what got me into planes and the desire to be a pilot, the desire to fly rather than be in the army or the navy,” Arthur said.

In 1943, at the age of 20, Arthur married Florence, whom he had known since he was 16. Arthur signed-up for the air force only a few months later, leaving his new wife and his job at the family business, before he turned 21 and was conscripted into the army.

Arthur received his wings in March 1943 in Camp Bordon, Barrie. After that he should have had two weeks of leave to spend with his family, but the air force had other plans.

“Suddenly I’m shipped overseas from getting my wings,” Arthur said. “They rushed us down to the east coast and sent us over to England. There were 12,000 military people onboard that ship, but they were rushing us to get us into England prior to the D-Day landings.”

Once they landed in England, Arthur was transferred from the Royal Canadian Air Force to the British equivalent: the Royal Air Force. He would stay with them until the end of the war.

“Now we landed in England knowing how to fly,” Arthur said. “But we don’t know how to fly in a war.”

Arthur underwent additional flight training in England for six months. The D-Day landings took place only two months after he arrived in England, and though he didn’t fly in them, he can remember seeing the planes coming back in.

“I witnessed the parachutists flying over in squadrons of planes and returning with the cables hanging out of the side door where the parachute is,” he said. “They anticipated 10 per cent air losses on the D-Day landing, and instead of having 10 percent air losses they had .05 per cent. They thought the Germans were holding their air forces back, knowing that the landing was imminent.”

They later learned that the Germans hadn’t been holding back ― they didn’t have the air force the allies believed they did. Regardless, because their losses were less than expected, many pilots in the Allied Forces were kept in Britain as part of the reserves.

Back in Canada, Florence, Arthur’s wife, worked as a telegraph operator. She received Morse code messages from Ottawa, most of them containing horrible news from overseas that she would have to help deliver to a soldier’s family.

“I had to have a minister deliver the messages to anyone who had lost someone… and the thing was, I was always hoping the next one wasn’t for me. Every message, but I was lucky,” Florence said. “It was difficult, but I wasn’t the only one in town that was having a tough time. You can’t feel sorry for yourself. There are others who have the same problem.”

Even though he wasn’t usually in the line of enemy fire, Arthur and his friends faced other obstacles during their missions, the worst of which was the weather. Arthur said that often when they flew out it would be to clear skies, only to have the fog creep in 10 minutes later, destroying their visibility. To make matters worse, they had 2,000 foot mountains behind their runway, and when the fog settled down-to 500 feet it would hide the mountain peaks. On top of this, four to eight planes could be coming in to land at the same time. The maneuvers often got quite dangerous.

“You were practically skipping over the trees, but you didn’t want to take your eyes off the ground. That’s a hairy situation, we didn’t like it at all,” Arthur said. “We flew in weather, most of the time, where the birds wanted to walk.”

It was while Arthur was coming in from a cross-country trip that air control came in over the radio.

“I’m out in the air coming back into the airport. As I join the final flight into the airport, they come on the air and they say ‘Flying Officer Stiff, you’ve just become a new father. We just got a telegram in from Canada. Congratulations.’ And then they proceeded to talk me in, meanwhile there’s 2,000 people listening to all this going on, you see, so when I got down, everyone knew I was the new father.”

Arthur was treated to drinks at lunch. Later, he received a letter from Florence.

“After that first baby was born I wrote to him and said ‘you’re having the next one,’” Florence said with a laugh.

After the surrender of the Germans, Arthur was sent by boat back to Canada, with 30 days leave, before he was to be sent to fight against the Japanese.

“I’m going out to fight the war in Japan, and while we’re in the mid-Atlantic the Americans dropped their atomic bomb, and the war, suddenly, was over like that,” he said. “By the time we landed in Quebec City the war was over. And I say, I can still almost break out in tears now. What a joy it was. We were the second troop sent home after the Second World War, and they had tugboats in the river, playing jazz music.”

He travelled back to Toronto by train. At the time, Florence was staying with her family in Midland, Ontario.

“I didn’t see my son until he was 15 months old,” he said. “I used to say to him, ‘Tom do this’ and he’d look at me and he’d say ‘who the heck are you?’ you know, and I was used to, as a military officer, when I told someone to do something they’d snap their heels and do it, you know what I mean?” he said with a laugh.

“And I told him I wasn’t his bat boy,” Florence said.

Arthur laughed. “Yeah, that’s right she did.”

Five years later they had a daughter. Arthur went back to school and became a teacher. He taught industrial arts, math and science in North York for 25 years. He and Florence recently celebrated their 73 wedding anniversary and are happily enjoying their retirement at Woods Park Care Centre in Barrie, which is only a block or so from their daughter’s house. When asked if they would change anything, they both said no.

“We lived happily ever after,” Florence said.
 

They stood together in the mess hall. Waiting. Wondering. There had to be an important reason the entire ship had been gathered, but what was it?

Gordon Weaver was born in Welland, Ontario, in April 1922. He joined the Canadian Army in 1942, at the age of 19, out of a sense of duty. He chose to join the infantry because he had no experience on either a plane or a ship. After signing up, he was almost immediately sent to England, where he trained in the country side for three years, often watching the bombs fall on London.

“We were in no danger from that, they were definitely after London,” Gordon said.

Almost everyone training with Gordon was his age or younger, and their training was mostly physical. Finally, after years of preparation, Gordon and his team got their orders. They were to cross the English Channel to France and join the war.

Not long into their journey they were gathered together in the mess hall by those in charge.

“We got half-way across the Channel and guess what? The war was declared over!” Gordon said. “We were all relieved and happy. It was incredible in fact, at that time, we thought it was, because they weren’t giving us all the news about the war so it was unexpected for us.”

Celebrations followed the news. Shortly after they docked in France, where they waited for another ship to come and take them back to Canada.

“It was totally uninteresting I guess, I mean other than the fact that we were sitting in the middle of England and training as a group of Canadians,” said Gordon, who is now a resident at Owen Hill Care Community in Barrie. “I mean, at that time of the war there was all kinds of strange things going on, you know? Different things, odd things.”

The map on the wall was updated daily. Markers showed enemy lines, stolen territory and surrendered land. Bernice Anderson looked at that map almost every day.

Born in Glace Bay, Nova Scotia in September 1926, Bernice’s parents both died before her first birthday, leaving her and her elder brother to be raised by her paternal grandmother, Ellen McPhee, whom Bernice describes as “a wonderful woman.”

By 1944 World War II was more than half over. Bernice was only 18, and fresh out of high school. She signed up for the army with one of her oldest friends, whom everyone called ‘Lee’.

“Everybody was going to Ontario to work in the war plants,” Bernice said. All of her friends had signed up to work in them. “[Lee] and I decided that we’d sign up for the war plants, and then it happened to be just further down the street that you could sign up for services, and we figured, well we’ll sign up for both of them, and whichever one we got that’s the one we’d go with.”

Both girls were called by the army and started basic training in Kitchener, ON. Afterwards, Bernice was sent to the No. 1 Canadian Woman’s Army Corps Advanced Training Centre in St. Annes, Quebec, where she trained to drive army vehicles. Lee was sent elsewhere, eventually making her way overseas. The two girls had grown up a stone’s throw away from each other, but they would rarely see one another after that.

Bernice had already been driving for a year, but at the camp she learned to drive jeeps, large trucks and double-clutch. At only 18, she wasn’t yet old enough to go overseas. She was sent to Halifax, NS, where she drove officers, a job she became tired of quite quickly.

“One day I was sitting in my car, and I wasn’t feeling too happy about my job and a captain came along and asked me what was wrong,” Bernice said. She told the captain that she was unhappy driving. “The captain said, ‘well I’ll get you another job,’ and he did.”

Bernice was moved to a personnel office in Halifax, where she worked for a short time before being stationed in Kingston. At the office, Bernice kept track of soldiers’ schedules, making notes about who had leave coming up, who was in the hospital, and who had been discharged from service.

“We watched the war,” Bernice said. “We had a big map on the wall, and we would get reports every day about what was happening overseas, and we kept track of what was going on.”

During her time in the office, she was raised to the rank of Corporal.

After World War II ended, Bernice went back to Glace Bay to live with her grandmother. Shortly after that she married Stewart Hillgrove, who she had known since before the war. Stewart worked as a telephone linesman in the military, and was posted in Kingston, ON, where he and Bernice had two children.

“That’s 70 years ago now,” Bernice, who is now 90, said from her suite at Royale Place Retirement Residence in Kingston. She lives close to her daughter now, and enjoys going down to the legion in the evenings. She enjoys the musical entertainment at Royale Place, especially fiddle music, and goes on almost all the outings. She is described as “a lovely lady,” by those who work there.

“There were a lot of women in the army,” Bernice said. “A lot of them were older than me when I joined, but there were a lot of us.”

The siren wailed, breaking the night’s calm.

Quartermaster Sergeant John Stringer assembled with the rest of the crew. One of the ships in their convoy had been hit with a German torpedo, and there was no telling how many U-boats were below them.

“We mustered and were told that the Saint Alina had been hit, and to look for survivors,” John said. “All the rest of the convoy dispersed, they just steamed into whatever ports they could get into, because nobody knew how many submarines there were.”

The convoy of between five and 10 ships had been sailing in the Mediterranean. They were headed to Italy, where Canadian troops were already fighting against the Germans. It was 1943. The Saint Alina had been carrying a mostly American crew.

“The ship didn’t sink though, what was left of it sailed into Bizerte Harbour in Africa and sank in the harbour,” he said. “There were no casualties, which is a miracle.”

The convoy would spend a month in Africa waiting for a ship to take them to Italy.

Born in Egham, England, in August 1920, John immigrated to Canada before he was a year old, and he says that Canada is the only home he’s ever known.

After finishing high school, John worked for a lumber company for three years. He had just started studying in Toronto to become a stationary engineer when the war broke out. In July 1940, at the age of 19, John joined the Canadian army.

“The war was on and it was not good for us in 1940,” John said. “I guess at that stage all young men thought it was their duty. We never dreamt the war was going to last six years. I never dreamt it! I thought if I get to England that’s as far as I will get.”

In 1941 John was sent to Aldershot, England, where he served as a training instructor. As new recruits came in he put them through the paces required of general military training. After that, he voluntarily reverted one rank, becoming a quartermaster sergeant, and was sent to Algiers, Algeria, eventually making his way up to Naples, Italy.

“The worst part of the war I spent in Italy,” John said. “The war in Italy was a vicious war, and our people were ― well, I won’t say starved, but half starved. You were always short of everything.”

As a quartermaster sergeant, John was responsible for ordering all of the supplies needed by those under his command, a job he took quite seriously.
 
“I would have to say… I made decisions, it was applicable to a group of men,” he said, when asked what everyday life during the war was like. “When you’re making decisions concerning a group, it has to be the right one.”

After the war, he was posted in Germany for a year, where he was raised back to the rank of Master Warrant Officer. After that he left the army, content to spend some time in civilian life.

He came back to Canada, finished school and wrote his stationary engineer exams, which he passed. He then took a job at Carling Breweries in Kitchener, Ontario. It was sometime after that that he met Regina Alischer. John was 27 at the time, and Regina was 19.

“I remember my mother said ‘he’s too old for you, he’s too old for you!’” Regina said from where she sat next to John. “I said, ‘Mum, I think I like him.’

The two were married in 1948, only a few months later, a captain came from London and made John an offer he couldn’t refuse. He’d go back into the army as a sergeant, and could stay in Kitchener.

“It looked pretty good to me at the time so I accepted. I went home to my wife and I said, ‘I think I’m going to join the army.’ She said, ‘Are you crazy?’” John said with a laugh.

“I didn’t know what that would mean,” Regina said. “I didn’t have a clue.”

John and Regina had three children: Stuart, Bruce and Karen. Because of John’s career, the family moved more than most, including a 2-year-stint in Germany. However, both he and Regina agree that they were lucky, as John’s postings were usually at least three years, and some were much longer.

“We were lucky, we never had that many postings,” Regina said. “Some people in their careers have 12 postings. We never had that many.”

But John also had missions and postings where he had to leave the family behind. Prior to his 2-year posting in Germany, John was posted to a Field Company and sent to Korea for a year. He was there for the peace signing.

“Oh, it was always hard,” John said about being away from his family. “I have a hell of a fine woman. Normally, when you have problems at home they phone, they phone, they phone… and you’ve got this group to look after and then you’ve got your own family, and they don’t always agree. But my wife has never done anything but support me.”

In August 1974, Corporal Bruce Stringer, John and Regina’s son, was on a UN Peace Keeping mission with the Canadian Air Force. His plane was shot down over Syria, killing him and eight other Canadians.

“He was 23-years-old and just married a year,” Regina said. “He’d just bought his first house.”

“His life was just starting to break for him,” John said.

In 2014, at a special ceremony held for National Peacekeepers’ Day, Regina was interviewed by CTV and is quoted saying: “It's a day of great honour… When our son went into the military I tried to tell him, ‘You're giving your life’ and he said, ‘This is my country and what I live for.’”

John retired from the army in 1975, at the age of 55. He had done 35 years of service.

Today, he and Regina live at Woods Park Care Centre in Barrie. Their two surviving children, Stuart and Karen, both live in Ontario. When asked what they enjoy doing now, whether it’s volunteering or just enjoying spending time together, John was quick to answer.

“It’s that last part. That’s the one,” he said.

Regina chuckled. “Thank you, dear.”

“That’s the correct answer,” John said with a smile.