Chapter 39

The trip to CampIpperwash was uneventful if long and hot. The bus route was very circuitous with several stops to pick up cadets at various points. I met several other cadets who were on the same course, and would be in my company. They had all been to camp before, and were surprised I hadn't. My new friends were very helpful at bringing me up to speed on camp routines so I wouldn't look and act a dork. Unlike many civilian camps, where newbies are hazed, and subjected to practical jokes that make camp induction a nightmare for them, these people were part of a team that as a group were looked up to and respected by the other courses, and they couldn't allow a new member to fall behind. I was that new member. There would be time and opportunity enough for practical jokes later when we knew each other better; camp induction was not the time, and they gave me all the help and advice they could. Their information turned out to be accurate and extremely useful and I fell into camp routine smoothly.

I was truly thankful of the advice my new friends gave me as the summer progressed. Being able to keep 'my nose clean' was very helpful in dealing with the camp clerk who seemed to take a dislike to me and chided me over the least little thing. Many of the staff were Regular Force and had been seconded from their regiments to fill administrative positions at the camp. I noticed the clerk wore Signal Corps flashes on his tunic and was the first I'd seen from Sigs. As that was Bob Sr.'s old unit, it registered -- recognition by association.

The clerk seemed to spend a lot of time around our company lines, but as we were the advanced training group, there was always paperwork to be signed, so I thought little of it. Whenever he saw me, though, he always managed to find fault — my boots weren't shiny enough or the crease in my shorts wasn't sharp enough — always little nit-picking things designed, it seemed to me, to make me lose my temper. I never rose to the bait, and it was always, "Yes Sergeant! No Sergeant! I'll fix it straightaway, Sergeant!"

I won't bore you with the details of camp life except the basic daily routine: on the deck, bed made and ready for inspection at six, breakfast, morning parade, training, lunch, more training, supper, barracks cleaning and uniform prep for the next day, lights out at ten. The routine varied a little with the exception of Reveille and Lights Out — that never changed, seven days a week. Using the weekends, three months of training was crammed into less than two.

After supper, we were on our own time as long as the barracks got cleaned and our uniforms were parade-ready for the next day. The amount of actual free time we had depended to a large extent on teamwork. We got so we could have the whole barracks polished and gleaming in just over half an hour. Polishing boots and pressing uniforms became a communal event and formed part of our social time together. People would come and go, taking breaks to pick up a snack at the canteen. We generally enjoyed our evenings.

I wrote home to my family every day, especially during the first month, but as I got settled in and the routine varied only a little, I ran out of things to say, so the letters dropped off to two or three per week. In one of his letters to me, Dad wondered how long it would take before the letters home slowed, saying he'd gone through the same thing during basic training in 1940.

All through July, I wrote the girls EVERY day. They were at the cottage then, having left a couple days after I did for their usual summer stay. I missed that part of the summer sorely, as, the girls aside, I really enjoyed myself there.

I knew August was going to be a busier month as the July training was put into practice on overnight exercises. I warned the girls I wouldn't be able to write as often then. When you're madly in love, you can never seem to run out of sloppy things to put on paper. I was right too, about a letter waiting for me when I arrived at camp. It was from both of them pouring out their love and the paper was tear-stained. They wrote part of it as a joint effort, and each had a personal section as well. All their letters that summer followed that format — the joint part was their 'newsy' portion and how much they missed me as a pair; their private sections, written on separate sheets, were their personal takes and usually gushed with love.

I called home and the girls a couple times, but all we had were open pay phones and the line up to use them was usually so long it was almost impossible to get to them. If you did, there was always someone telling you to hurry up, and there was no privacy at all. After a particularly long wait in the rain to use the phone, and still didn't get to use it, I wrote the girls and told them what had happened and not to count on any calls; I would if I could, but it was just too difficult. I was sharing only half a dozen or so pay phones with over 1500 other homesick and lovesick cadets.

The food at camp was great, at least in our mess. The staff was mainly civilian, and they hired many local students, mainly girls, to work the serving lanes. There was a pretty girl named Patty who put me o' mind of Carol in appearance, and as I became a familiar face in her serving lane, we became friendly.

One evening near the end of July, I was returning from the canteen with some treats I'd bought, and noticed a figure sitting huddled on the back step of the mess, which had just closed. As I drew nearer, I saw it was Patty, huddled into a ball and sobbing. Wondering why this young girl would be here crying like this, I pulled up and took a seat beside her. I spoke to her several times before she heard me.

I asked Patty what was so wrong. Did she get fired from the mess or something like that? She just shook her head. "Well just what is the problem?"

Getting her sobs under control, and a little embarrassed at first, she finally confided that it was a boy problem. Her boy friend was a cadet in my company, Roy Searle, who was also from the local area. Because of camp rules, they weren't allowed to openly fraternize, but they still managed to see each other to steal the odd kiss, hold hands for a few minutes and talk. Tonight he had broken off with her, not because he didn't love her, but he couldn't handle the attitude of her parents — he was a coloured boy.

I knew Roy fairly well and counted him as a friend. He was excellent company, intelligent, witty, and just all-round nice people. How anybody could dislike him simply because of his skin colour was a totally foreign concept to me. Patty told me her parents, actually her mother and stepfather had allowed her to date him, but then their attitude, especially her stepfather's, changed when they saw the two of them getting a little serious, and started giving her a hard time over their interracial relationship. Her stepfather even started making rude, thinly veiled racial comments whenever Roy was at the house. It eventually got to Roy, it festered while in camp, and finally he told her they had to end it; he still loved her, he just couldn't take it any more.

Patty was distraught. She didn't want to end it and could care less what her parents, mainly her stepfather said. Like me, the colour issue was alien to her thinking. She was moving back with her real father and his wife who, while not only tolerant, liked Roy and thought they were a good match. She never got the chance to tell Roy and was deeply crushed.

I asked her if I could help by talking quietly with Roy myself. She allowed as how it certainly couldn't hurt, and said OK. I gave her my shirt tail to dry her eyes and she left to catch her ride home.

I managed to get my friend Roy alone for a few minutes during lunch the next day. I told him about my conversation with Patty. When I told him she loved him deeply and was going to move in with her other parents so they could be together, he broke down. He said her stepfather's remarks really hurt him. Although he was coloured, he'd never before experienced racial prejudice, and now understood what was happening in the States. (The news was full of the Civil Rights issue then.) He was hurting so badly he hadn't given her a chance to speak. He missed her already, and wanted her back but didn't know how to do it.

I suggested he write Patty a note saying he was sorry and wanted to talk, and for her to meet him at their usual spot tonight. I would pass her the note when I went through her line for my supper. Just before supper, Roy handed me a full letter and asked if I was still willing to do this for them. I said, "What are friends for?"

At supper, I slipped Patty the note and told her things were looking good. The sudden hope in her eyes was worth the effort. It was obvious she truly loved Roy. After chow, just as the mess hall closed for the night, Roy disappeared for almost half an hour. When he returned he wore a huge smile and gave me the big thumbs up. I was very happy for them both.

The next evening, just at dusk, I again was returning from the canteen as the mess closed. Patty was once again sitting on the back step, but this time she was smiling happily. I pulled up and sat beside her again. She told me she and Roy were back together and she was definitely moving to her father's house. She'd already talked to him and her step mother and they agreed with her reasons. I put my arm around her shoulder and gave her a hug for sticking to her guns and keeping her man. She leaned in to give me a kiss of thanks on the cheek just as I saw a camera flash. The camp photographer caught the moment on film. The camp photographer was also the camp clerk. He smiled and said it would be a pretty picture for the camp yearbook — boy meets girl at camp and have a summer romance. I told him it was NOT what he thought, we were just friends. The sergeant said while it was a pretty picture, he had to report the fraternization to my company commander. Tired of this weasel, I told him to do whatever he had to do, I knew the truth.

The next day, sure enough, the company commander had me on defaulter's parade for fraternizing with the female staff. He was a fair man, and asked if I had a defense. I told him the whole story; I had helped two friends and got a sweet kiss on the cheek as a thank you. He said he had to verify it with them, but he did believe me and nothing more would be made of it if their stories backed me up. He expected they would. I asked him if it put Patty's job in jeopardy. He doubted it, but she might get transferred to another mess. She did, but Roy was still able to see her. I missed her friendly face in the chow line, but felt it was probably better for all concerned. I never heard another word from the CO about it.

In my next letter to the girls, I told them the whole story, even to being hauled on defaulter's parade for helping Patty and Roy. I was feeling rather proud of myself when I wrote, and may have laid it on a little thick; the opening line was 'Now I'm someone's Knight in Shining Armour.' I forgot to mention the picture the camp clerk took and that he was putting it in the camp yearbook.

The girls usually wrote every day, like me, especially in July. Their letters always gushed love and warmth, and often included second-hand hello's from the aunts and grandparents. Carol usually included some little love-oriented artwork.

Their first letter in August came from the home address. I wondered what was going on as I opened it and noticed the return address. They informed me Bob Sr. had decided to take the whole month of August off to 'spend time with the family.' He didn't get along all that well with the Koorstis's, and lately it had gotten worse. He brought the whole family home to spend time with him. The girls didn't mind at first, thinking they could go out to the farm to spend time with Mom and Dad, and 'smell you, David.' Bob Sr. would have none of that, though, and forbade it, saying he brought the family home to spend time with him, not 'that boy's family'.

Carol's portion of that letter was darker than usual. All through July, she had warned something bad was going to happen. In this letter, she alluded it might already have. She seemed to be tolerant of her father's decision to bring them home from the cottage and nixing visits to the farm. Her normal declarations of undying love were toned down a little and no cute pictures.

Riekie's portion was a long bitch against her father keeping her away from 'my true families.' She didn't like being 'torn' from the cottage, and to add insult to injury, not be allowed to visit the farm. She said she did call Mom and let her know they were back. Her love declaration was as effusive as ever and she always signed hers 'Riekie Scott-Lloyd'.

I felt sorry for the girls, but there was nothing I could do, even if I was there. My reply to this letter was a couple days in the writing because we went on our wilderness canoe trip up the AusableRiver for two days. I barely had time to read theirs before we left.

When we got back from the canoe trip, I expected at least one, maybe two letters to be waiting. There were none. One finally arrived the day after I got back. There wasn't much news; they said it was pretty dead around. Everyone else was on holidays, and despite his claim of wanting to spend quality time with them, Bob Sr. just sat around the house. He told them he was relaxing and just wanted to be 'near' them.

Carol's portion struck a note of fear in me. It was totally devoid of any emotion. She still headed it 'Dearest David' and signed off "I love you, Carol Anne', but in between there was hardly anything of note aside from saying she was spending more time with her father, 'getting to know him again'. The rest of her words lacked conviction, for lack of a better term. She didn't come right out and say something was wrong, but I sure sensed it.

Riekie's note was a little more informative. There had been a 'development', she said, but wouldn't elaborate. Riekie also mentioned Carol was spending more time with their father, even cuddling with him. She didn't like it. Carol always seemed depressed after talking with him. Riekie claimed she didn't have time for the man who 'ruined my last summer before college'. She closed with her usual effusion of love and her usual signature.