Marking the end of World War I in 1918 with thoughts on war and peace over 100 years

Me with my Dad 1942

As Remembrance Day approaches, and this year we mark the 100th anniversary of the end of World War I on November 11, 1918,  my thoughts as they often do at this time of year return to a service in St. John's Anglican Church in 1948, three years after the end of World War II.

In 1948, Rev. Canon H.A, Sims, the Rector, and veteran of World War I was conducting a service to dedicate a prayer desk given to the church by the family in memory of my father, Flying Officer James E. Morris. He was killed on active service in the RCAF in 1943 during World War II.

I was seven years old in 1948, at an age where I was starting to come to terms with the fact that he was not coming home. 

Yes, I had my mother, Muriel E. (Hunt) Morris, my grandparents Edythe and George Hunt and  Lil and Harry Morris, as well as my aunt and uncle Elsie and B.W. 'Bubs' Zufelt and my Zufelt cousins, my aunt Marion Morris --- and my friends in Chapleau. All played a most important role in my life.

In his incredible book, 'The Ordeal of Total War', Gordon Wright tells us that Sir Winston Churchill once commented that the effects of World War II, will be felt by those affected by it for at least 100 years. Trust me, Churchill was right. I am just shy of 77 now, and have lived with that war every day of my life.

During World War II. and in the years since, there have been countless families and children. who like me and my family, were affected by war, and acts of terror, and each time, which is almost daily, I shake my head a bit, and wonder why. But, I know, I care and I understand the lasting effect of these events on our lives.

After World War I, my family and so many others lived forever after with the aftermath of that war. My grandfather's brother was killed in action, while Grandpa (Harry Morris) served in the famous 227th Regiment. Two of my grandmother's brothers Griffin and Charles Mulligan also served.

Let me share some thoughts expressed by Canon H.A. Sims, at the prayer desk dedication service. They seem as appropriate today in our troubled world as they were three years after the end of World War II.

Canon Sims

In part, here is what Canon Sims a World War I veteran,  said:

"There is not the slightest necessity for civilized men to destroy their civilization in warfare. Nothing is settled by warfare which could not be better settled in some more reasonable, humane and decent way.

"Warfare is caused by men  who have allowed the spirit of the devil rather than the spirit of God to determine their thinking.

"Peace comes only from those who make it; who work harder at making peace than men working at making war.

"We must make peace by working hard at overcoming ugliness with beauty; overcoming meanness with generosity; overcoming lies with truth and by overcoming evil with good."

I have shared the thoughts of Canon Sims in other columns, but feel they are worth repeating. They are a message of hope in a world that often seems hopeless but to me at least the light still shines in the darkness.

Jim Roberts Vietnam veteran

My good friend Jim Roberts, an American who served in the United States Marine Corps in Vietnam, and moved to Canada after returning home wrote a wonderful letter a few years ago. Here is part of it:

"I just want people to be happy. Friends are the fruit cake of life, some smelly. some cooked in alcohol, some sweet, but mix them together and they are all my friends... This is what I want: I want people who are sick with no cure to be able to be cured. I want children with no families to be adopted. I want people to never have to worry about food, shelter and heat. I want peace and love for everyone."

To mark the end of World War I 100 years ago, in the next two columns my cousin Michael McMullen, who co-authored 'The Chapleau Boys Go To War' with me will share his research into the 227th Regiment. Lest we forget!!!!

My email is mj.morris@live.ca

Remembering Flying Officer Jim Morris: 'Every day is Remembrance Day' for 75 years

Rotary Park

By Michael J Morris

Rotary Park in the very heart of Cranbrook's downtown core has been one of my favourite places in the city ever since I arrived here 29 years ago just about now.

Over the years I have often stopped there to rest when on a walkabout of that part of the city, but this time I had a special reason for a visit. The cenotaph and Wall of Honour are located there, and for me it was the place to go and spend a few moments in quiet reflection on a long ago incident that affected me and my family and the lives we have led.

Seventy-five years ago, on July 16, 1943, a Wellington bomber took off from an air force base in England. It was to be a short height test flight around the airfield only.

The last entry in the pilot's log book written later by the squadron's wing commander was, "Aircraft exploded in air."

The usual telegram was sent by the war office, expressing regret that Flying Officer James E. Morris, my father,  was killed while on active service in the Royal Canadian Air Force, July 16,1943. Similar messages would have been sent to the families of my father's crew who were on the flight with him. The crew members were five Canadian boys, from Ontario, Alberta and Saskatchewan, brought together  because of Canada's participation in World War II.

Dad shortly before he was killed 1943

Upon arriving at Rotary Park, I stopped at the cenotaph located in about the exact middle of the park, and read the inscription: "To the honour and memory of OUR BOYS from Cranbrook district who gave themselves for liberty." Every one of those inscribed on the cenotaph, like me, had a family and friends, and I shared a moment with them.

I headed over to the Wall of Honour, a project spearheaded by the Cranbrook Firefighters and Branch Number 24 of the Royal Canadian Legion where the names of those who served their country in the Boer War, World War I, World War II and Korea are inscribed.

As I stood looking at the wall with the Canadian Ensign, Maple Leaf and Union Jack flags fluttering above me, I thought what a truly amazing project it was to have undertaken and to all those who made it a reality -- thank you.

On the other side of the Wall of Honour is  a mural entitled Valour Remembered and a plaque says it was done as a Millenneum Project from the time Cranbrook and district had people involved in the Boer war in 1900 to 2000. The mural was painted by the distinguished internationally acclaimed Canadian artist Joseph Cross, who lives in Cranbrook.

The latest addition to the site is a Garden of Remembrance opened in June 2011.

I sat down on a park bench for some reflection.

My Dad and Mom on Wedding day 1940

Although I didn't know it at the time, July 16, 1943, was destined to be the most significant turning point in my life, and I wasn't even two years old when my father's plane exploded in air and crashed over the English countryside during World War II. In fact, that date had a profound effect on my entire family. Nobody was ever quite the same again. Of course, in 1943, I wasn't really aware of what life was like for my mother, Muriel E. (Hunt) Morris, my grandparents Harry and Lil Morris and George and Edith Hunt, my father's sister Marion, and the close relationship they all had. 

Me with my Dad 1942 Only photo of us

My grandmother Hunt was in England at the time working as a war nurse and my father had visited her the weekend before he was killed. She attended his funeral and burial in Ripon Cemetery, Yorkshire, England. Grandpa Hunt was with us in Chapleau.

Jim Morris 

My father, like so many who joined Canada's armed forces during World War II was an ordinary Canadian from a small town, in his case, Chapleau, Ontario where he was born and raised, called upon to perform the exceptional. There was absolutely no doubt in their minds whatsoever that it was the right thing for them to do. I am sure there are many here in Cranbrook who felt the same way.

After his death, The Evening Telegram of Toronto reported that my father took to flying in his early teens and became associated with several of Canada's early bush pilots who were operating in the Chapleau area. Actually he was going down to the waterfront and getting rides and learning to fly planes, thinking that my grandmother didn't know what was going on. But she did. Mothers always know!  

In 1940 my father enlisted in the RCAF at Moncton, New Brunswick. He became a flying instructor and was posted to No. 10 Elementary Flying Training School at Mount Hope. He was among the first instructors in the Commonwealth Air Training Plan. In 1942 he went overseas. I was born on November 3, 1941.

On November 11, Remembrance Day, we pause for a moment, and for some of us, for much more than a moment, to remember all those who died in war. For those of us affected so profoundly by war, we live with a day of remembrance each day of our lives.

My mother who likely never missed a Remembrance Day service, once told me that "Every day is remembrance day."  I thought of my mother's words before I headed off to Rotary Park and knew it was the right thing to do.

Stephen Hayter, the executive director, of the Commonwealth Air Training Plan Museum in Brandon, Manitoba, has agreed to include my father's  RCAF material in a display there.

In an email to me, Mr. Hayter wrote: "It is your father's story that we wish to preserve for future generations...Your father's name is also listed in our memorial book They Shall Grow Not Old which also states that he was part of #432 Leaside Squadron (Saevitir Ad Lucem), and that his Wellington aircraft #JA 119 crashed one and one half miles west of Malton, Yorkshire."  

Me 2018. a Michael Pelzer photo

As I was leaving the park I noticed another plaque in memory of Soren Johnson, a horticulturist who was instrumental in tree selection for  Cranbrook Rotary Club in 1928 that created the beautiful urban forest in the downtown core.

What a beautiful place it is and what visionaries the members of the 1928 Rotary Club were to create it. And thanks to Cranbrook Firefighters, Branch Number 24 of the Royal Canadian Legion and all the rest who were involved in creating the Wall of Honour. 

They shall grow not old, not at all, for you will always remember yours as I remember mine. My email is mj.morris@live.ca

Following the American Dream from Chapleau and reuniting with my 'seven sisters' in a lasting bond of over 70 years

After my father, Flying Officer James E. Morris was killed while on active service in the Royal Canadian Air Force on July 16, 1943 during World War II, my mother  Muriel (Hunt) Morris decided we would remain in Chapleau, but stay in  touch with some of my parents' close friends made when he was a Flying Instructor with the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan.

Iven and Arlene Nichol came to Canada from the United States after the war started in 1939,  and Iven joined the RCAF, then became, like my father, a flying instructor at Mount Hope near Hamilton.  Iven was one of hundreds of Americans who came to Canada to join our nation's armed forces before their country entered the war in 1941.

Jim and Muriel Morris

J.L. Granatstein, the former CEO of the Canadian War Museum and historian described the BCATP as "the major Canadian military contribution to the Allied (Second World) War effort." It was a program to train air crew members from the Royal Air Force, the Royal Australian Air Force and Royal New Zealand Air Force and RCAF in Canada. By the end of the war more than 130,000 air crew members had been trained and more than 100 aerodromes and landing fields built across Canada.

My parents met Iven and Arlene in Hamilton, and more than 70 years later, I am in contact with their children. In a real way, I have been able to follow the American Dream through their family, beginning shortly after the end of the war when Mom and I travelled by train from Chapleau to Illinois to pay our first visit.

In Illinois circa 1947 names below

It was on that trip that I visited Tom Sawyer's caves in Hannibal, Missouri in Mark Twain country and fell in love with marching bands when they took us to the Illinois State Fair.

As Iven moved up the corporate ladder, the ever growing family moved to Pittsburgh where we  visited often and I saw my first Major League baseball game.

But most importantly, I still recall Iven telling my mother that the next day he was going to take me and their oldest daughter Sandy for an airplane ride over Pittsburgh. My mother was not in favour, but Iven insisted that given how my father died, it was something that had to be done. Iven won and to this day I am grateful to him.

But, he wasn't done. We had arrived in Pittsburgh by train, but Iven arranged for us to fly back to Toronto on a commercial flight which was the first time my mother had flown.

We visited them In Stamford, Connecticut too and my mother made regular visits for many years. I had my first slice of pizza in Stamford.

In 1955, Iven, his father-in-law and a friend came to Chapleau on a fishing trip. I was in Grade Eight at Chapleau Public School and J.M. Shoup, the principal who had served in World War I and  World War II let me skip classes to go fishing with them one afternoon at Poulin Creek. To his great credit, Mr. Shoup understood how important it was for me to go fishing with one of my father's very best friends from World War II

In Chapleau 1955.. names below

After my mother died in 1989, I was going through her address book and found a number for them in Florida where they had moved to retire. I called and had one long last chat with Arlene. Iven had died a few years earlier.

But, how did I get back in touch with the Nichol children?  Actually they found me. In 2009, I wrote a story about watching the Stanley Cup finals between Pittsburgh Penguins and Detroit Redwings, mentioning that I was cheering for Pittsburgh because as a kid I visited Iven  and Arlene Nichol who had lived there. It appeared on the Internet.

Some time later there was a comment posted on it from Susan: "I am one of Iven and Arlene's daughters. They loved to entertain so I am not surprised that they showed you some American life." Needless to say, I was amazed.

Then I received an email from Janet, another daughter. There were eight daughters, seven of whom are still alive.

Janet explained: "My nephew was asking my sister Susan if his grandfather was on the internet.  She did a search and your blog came up from your report on the 2009 Stanley Cup where you reminisced about Pittsburgh and your visits with my family Iven and Arlene Nichol.  You can imagine my sister’s shock and my nephew’s joy to find that small paragraph so kindly penned about our parents/grandparents."

Laurie, in her first email wrote about my mother. "I too am a product of that American Dream! I am #7 of the 8 girls in the family and I fondly remember my Auntie MOO!  She was always my favorite visitor and covered me with love like I was the most special child. I know she had much love to give and she shared that love with so many! I miss her so much and I am blessed to have known her love!"

Just recently Laurie sent me a message that sums up so incredibly well the bond that was created during the war and continued to this day even when we have not seen in each other in years, and our parents are now gone. "I know that you and your mom were very important to my dad. He and your dad were like brothers and when he spoke of him, you and Auntie Moo, his heart would swell and his eyes would be moist with tears, he loved you all that much!"

The Nichol children called my mother Auntie Moo, my father's nickname for her, and Laurie also commented that she lived in a "a fairy tale land called Chapleau, Ontario."

Sandy, the eldest of the family shared that her father came to Canada as he was upset that the US was doing nothing to stop Hitler and he felt so stongly about it that he enlisted in the RCAF.

"Since you know him I'm sure that this makes perfect sense to you.  He held such strong convictions and felt that Hitler needed to be stopped.  He went to Canada and enlisted and I suppose it was pure happenstance that he was sent to Hamilton.  The real irony is that after all of that, he was never sent to Germany to bomb the Nazis, but was left behind to train others to do what he wanted to do himself."

He did tell of several scary experiences where he was nearly killed by his students. "I remember one story he told that when he gave final instructions to a student about to take his first solo flight  and as he climbed down from the cockpit his wedding ring got caught on a rivit on the wing and he was dragged down the runway as the student  was about to take off. Dad managed to free himself just in time, but from then on he never wore his wedding ring.  Mom didn't have a problem with that and was grateful that Dad was OK."

Me and Sandy, Illinois, circa 1947

"Another time he said he had his student 'buzz' the house just before the lesson was over so Mom would know to come and pick him up.  As she waited at the chain link fence for him to land the student crashed the plane and Dad was tossed free of the wreckage on the other side so Mom could not see him.  She was sure he was hurt or dead when he walked around from behind the wreckage and she could see he was fine.  He always told these stories with that rather 'dirty laugh'  that he had and usually went to get another scotch.'

Sandy concluded that it was nice to have a "brother" and that I had "seven sisters" in the United States.

As we mark Remembrance Day, I decided to share this very personal story about the lasting bond of over 70 years, begun at the beginning of World War II when a young Canadian couple, Jim and Muriel Morris met Iven and Arlene Nichol from the United States, became friends and the relationship continues to this day.

They shall grow not old!  My sincere thanks to Sandy, Pam, Jeanne and Janet, Lynne, Laurie, and Susan. Beth  passed away at a young age. My email is mj.morris@live.ca

Top photo: Iven, Arlene, children, my Mom at Greater Pittsburgh Airport circa 1952

Mom, Iven, Arlene, in front are me and Sandy in Illinois circa 1947

Party photo in Chapleau: from left Harold Kennedy, Jiggs Goldstein, Bubs Zufelt, Beth Goldstein, my Mom,  Paul Behrens, Marion Morris,  Iven Nichol, Elsie Zufelt, Harry Morris (my grandfather)

John Gillespie Magee was an American who joined the RCAF and was killed on active service in 1941.

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . .

Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

— John Gillespie Magee, Jr

Edythe Mary Hunt described as gallant Red Cross nurse attending wounded from Dunkirk expedition in World War II

Edythe Mary Hunt planned to return to her home in Chapleau from England on September 1, 1939 on the SS Athenia  just as World War II broke out.

On September 3, the Athenia was torpedoed by a German submarine and sunk in the Atlantic Ocean, but she was not on board. At the last minute, she had cancelled her passage, deciding to stay in England for what  was expected to be a short war.

She joined the 130th Durham Nursing Unit of the British Red Cross, and finally returned to Canada in 1944 aboard the Queen Elizabeth  arriving back in Chapleau on October 19, four and one half years after she went to England. 

To honour all women who served in time of war, as we mark Remembrance Day, I decided to share the story of Edythe Mary Hunt, during World War II, as compiled by my cousins Betty (Zufelt) Gartner, Anne (Zufelt) McGoldrick, Joan (Zufelt) Cotter and Leslie (Zufelt) Morin. To us, she was "Nanny", our grandmother.

My sincere thanks to them for writing Nanny's story -- and a special thanks to Betty and Anne for answering my questions and sending me information. Except where noted, all information comes from my cousins.

Nanny with daughters Elsie left and Muriel right on 80th birthday

Our grandparents, Edythe and George Hunt, arrived in Chapleau in 1913 with their two daughters, Elsie, my cousins' mother, and Muriel, my mother. Elsie married B.W. 'Bubs' Zufelt and my mother married J.E. 'Jim' Morris.

Nanny went to England in the Spring of 1939 upon learning of her mother's failing health but her mother died before she arrived. Her sister Sal  lived in England.

After she joined the nursing unit, for a time she was on a night shift "walking through the rubble from the bombings with air raid sirens wailing." 

She went to work at The Infirmary "using a flashlight or 'torch' as it was called, with thin black paper over the light, carried light down on the ground. She was on call to various Red Cross hospitals in Britain over the next few years, nursing the lads returned from the infamous Dunkirk expedition. As well as many wounded British, she also attended to German prisoners."

Back in Chapleau, the family collected and wrapped food parcels to send to her and her sister Sally as well as other relatives since food in England was becoming scarce.

"The blackest day of the war came when the news arrived on July 16, 1943, that Muriel's husband, Flying Officer Jim Morris  and all his crew had been killed when the Wellington which they were testing exploded in mid air. The funeral a few days later in Ripon was heartbreaking as Jim was their dear boy".

When my father went overseas in 1942, my mother and I had returned to Chapleau, and were living with the Zufelt family and spending time with his parents, Harry and Lil (Mulligan) Morris.

After Nanny returned home, she told me that my father often rode on his bicycle to visit with her and our Aunt Sal, and had been there the weekend before he was killed.

By 1944 when the Atlantic was becoming clear of German submarines, she applied for passage back to Canada. She travelled on the Queen Elizabeth and sailed totally in the dark at nights on the Atlantic arriving in New York on September 17 and Chapleau on September 19.

I still recall her arrival. She got out of Uncle Bubs' truck in her uniform, and her arm was in a sling. I was so impressed, but really I couldn't wait to go and tell my friends, Mr. Hopper and Mr. Brownlee that my grandmother was home, and that Hitler had wounded her. She had actually sprained her wrist.

The Chapleau Post of November 3, 1944, described her as "one of the gallant Red Cross nurses who received and attended the wounded who returned from Dunkirk."

She told the newspaper that the "thrifty British manage very well and one never hears any grumbling or complaints from them." She was amazed at the amount of food and goods on the stores in Chapleau and so much of it unrationed.

My cousins noted that it "took several weeks for this unshakable lady to learn to cook and bake again as she was not used to such an abundant supply of food. She picked up the pieces of her life and carried on with her family, church, lodge and Legion until her death on October 19, 1966."

Their history of our grandmother's role in World War II concludes with a reference to the meaning of the word indomitable -- invincible, unyielding, resolute, firm, persistent, courageous. 

"Every one of them describes Nanny Hunt and that is how we remember her." Well said! Thanks Betty, Anne, Joan and Leslie. My email is mj.morris@live.ca

In Nanny's prayer book is the following from the King's Speech, at Christmas 1939

"I said to a man who stood at the gate of the year,

Give me a light that I may tread safely into the darkness,

and he replied:
Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God,

that shall be to you better than light

and safer than the known way."