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I am proud to have served in the Canadian Forces albeit for a relatively short period. I’d like to think I was competent. Along the way I had the privilege to meet some heroes who might not be the first in mind for everyone on Remembrance Day. Here’s a few I’ve been thinking of
Paeta Hess von Kreudner. Paeta and I ended up joining the Calgary Highlanders in 1982 and did our basic training together. I was in high school and Paeta was a few yrs older so we didn’t really hang out but even then he was clearly a hard charger, a soldier’s soldier.
In 2006 Major Hess von Kreudner was serving as an unarmed UN military observer in southern Lebanon when fighting broke out between Israeli forces and Hezbollah. Along with 3 other observers he endured Israeli artillery bombardments while reporting on Geneva Convention violations
That all ended when an IDF guided 500 lb bomb was flown into the door of their bomb shelter, killing all 4 instantly. IDF said the targeted attack was an accident despite the base having been in the same position for 30 years, painted white and marked with UN signs and flags.
The idea of the IDF being an aggressor didn’t fit with the Cdn government of the day so it was written up as an accident. End of story.
I met Terry Riordan when we both arrived at Royal Roads Military College in 1983. Terry was promoted from the ranks. I was 18, Terry was married to a beautiful lady, had a daughter we weren’t allowed to take to the Christmas Ball and already had 10 years as an MP.
Terry was as a kind, gentle man. Not to say he wasn’t tough when he needed to be. He still had to do Phys Ed with teenagers, weekend drill practice, the whole bit. He was a peer but also a mentor.
Remember Gulf War syndrome? All the soldiers who came home to the US, Canada, UK and elsewhere with mysterious illnesses, weird cancers? Remember how the military said it was unrelated to service in the Gulf? Certainly nothing to do with the depleted uranium ammo used...
Terry was sick and nothing made sense. Finally a urine test done as part of a private study showed highly elevated levels of uranium. Terry died the day after he received the results in April 2000.
His widow had his brain and organs studied independently. The results showed conclusively that his death was due to uranium poisoning. I don’t honestly know if the government ever compensated Terry’s family or others who suffered due to their service in the Gulf.
I’m sorry I don’t have a picture of Terry.
Jim Decoste. I crossed paths with Jim on phase training in Gagetown New Brunswick. Like Terry, Jim had been promoted from the ranks. Jim had been an NCO in the PPCLI prior but still had to demonstrate his ability to lead a platoon. He was essentially a peer of our instructors
Jim rolled with it, completed every assignment with consummate skill. He was a mentor as well as a cool head and calming influence.
The scrub in Gagetown is pretty thick so we would hang out compasses over our shoulders on night patrol so we could follow the glowing dot of the person in front of us. One night Dan Botari woke up a bear right in front of us.
No offence to NB wildlife but Gagetown black bears are not a huge threat; it was probably more scared of us. Of course it was hard to tell not being able to see the hand in front of your face.
Number 1 rule on patrol is noise so we stood quietly trying to decide what to do as the rest of the patrol moved on oblivious to our plight. Still recall their compass dots dancing like fireflies into the distance. Jim calmly had us back up until the bear had enough room to scoot
Jim was with 2nd Bn PPCLI on UN duty in Croatia in September 1993 when he was killed by a drunk driver. Ive never been able to shake utter banality of this. Croatia wasn’t Afghanistan or anything close but it could be dicey - snipers, armoured vehicles destroyed by land mines...
I was grateful that no one in my own platoon died although a couple were evacuated due to their injuries. And this amazing man was killed by a drunk. Jim Decoste is a hero of mine.
Anyone who knows me knows I’m wordy but one more, my grandfather Walter James Cromarty. Grandpa volunteered with the Seaforth Highlanders of Scotland in 1916. He had just turned 18; by volunteering he was able to choose his unit. He was going to be drafted anyway.
He never talked about the fighting but shared a few stories. He was the company runner so he got to wear pants. The rest of his crew wore kilts. When it was muddy, the mud would ball up on the kilts and rub their legs till they bled.
In the spring of 1918 he got his blights, a shell fragment caught him in the knee. He said it was while he was eating lunch under a tree near the town of Soissons
Now I’m never going to excuse Grandpa of telling fibs but Soissons in the spring of 1918 was also at the very heart of the German spring offensive. I anticipate the scene wasn’t quite as pastoral as he suggested.
Grandpa’s favourite war story was that after he recuperated he received a bit of leave. His was ordered to report on November 11, 1018. Well, there was a bit of a party going on in Edinburgh and long story short, his CO had to bail him out of a Scottish dungeon for being AWOL.
Grandpa still ended up back in France before being discharged later in 1919. When he and friends returned home though, the Spanish Influenza had claimed many of the lives they were fighting to protect.
Grandpa followed his brother to Canada a few years later and ended up farming in Alberta. He was the county reeve for many years and later served in the Veterans Guard in WWII, as a POW camp guard and later guarding munitions in Esquimalt.
So Grandpa survived the war, made a place for himself in a new country, raised a family and served his community. And in his last years all of those old memories can back and at night he relived his time in the trenches.
Grandpa’s scars didn’t show on the outside but he carried the burden of his service the rest of his life. I often think about the burdens that so many veterans carried despite making it home in one piece. Thank you all for your service.
