Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

Arriving at Camp Ipperwash in 1960, I was directed to the battalion orderly room, where I was greeted and my name entered on the battalion nominal roll. After all the paperwork was completed and I was told about my assignment to headquarters company, I was directed to that office, where all the routines and paraphernalia were explained to me. After pointing out where I would be working, at the quartermaster stores, I was then told I would be living in H Block 26B. The glimpses I had of the camp as I was arriving that morning led me to think he said Stalag 26B, as I was certain that camp resembled this one. Undaunted, I stumbled around and finally found the hut that was to be my home until we left for Germany in the fall of 1962.

The voice of God
My bed was located right beside a window. I dumped my gear and headed for the Q.M. stores. As I was walking across the parade square, I heard a loud voice come over the air. “Halt! Where are you going?!” I thought it was God and almost fell to my knees. “To find the Q.M. stores, sir!” I replied. “Turn right around and march off the parade ground: NOW!” he said. Of course, I obeyed, and later found out that my first thoughts were very close to the truth; the regimental sergeant major is god of the battalion and the parade square is his holy domain.

Fitting right in
I found the Q.M. stores and reported in. By now, it was almost closing time, so the clerk quickly introduced me to everyone available, gave me a quick glimpse of the stores and told me to follow him. He led me outside to the parking lot and we drove to the wet canteen without even asking if I drank or not. The canteen wasn’t open yet, but that didn’t deter him. He just dragged me around to the back door, pounded a couple of times, and we were admitted. Since the bar was legally closed, and you never knew when the orderly officer or anyone else with authority might come along, the bartender took us into the walk-in cooler where we had a couple of pints before supper. Talk about being taught the ropes; I was learning very quickly.
After supper, I was asked to join two of the guys on a tour of Thedford. First stop, just inside the village, was the Legion. It was located off the main road and back in quite a piece so the residents wouldn’t complain about noise or other things that might go on in an establishment that served booze. After a glass or two, we went to the next watering hold, the Thedford Hotel, which would some time later be renamed The Pink Elephant. In those days, it was a jumping joint.
You may not remember, but there was segregation in those days. Every hotel was separated into a men’s room and a ladies’ and escorts’ only room. The only way to get into the ladies’ room was to have one of the women invite you over. There were times when one of the soldiers who lived in town would go home, pick up his wife, and bring her down so we could all drink on the women’s side.
To add to the fun, there were apartments above the hotel and most of the Main Street stores, and we knew many of the married couples who lived there. We had many a party up there in the days when I was stationed at Ipperwash with 1RCR.
A year later, I married Rita in Germany on February 8, 1963. We celebrated 47 years last week. With love, Tom.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

“I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!”
Those were the words that came out of my mouth the day I slipped and fell on the ice next door. I had been to town in the morning and walked in and out of a number of stores with no problem. Then I went home.

When I got there, I noticed that the BRA truck had come and gone, so I gathered up my blue box, threw it onto the porch. Then I reached for my neighbour’s to do the same, but walking across the driveway, I didn’t notice a small patch of ice covered with a light film of snow. Sure enough, I hit it …

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

It all began about the middle of November. The weather was perfect for the harvesting of corn and beans, and the planting of winter wheat. Also, it was ideal for the installation of Christmas decorations. Dark evenings became brighter and brighter. First, one resident put up a couple of lights. His neighbour then, not to be outdone, put up a few more. Just like clockwork, the fellow across the street sees his chance to outdo the Joneses and erects lights and blown-up Santas or Scrooges. Sure enough, everyone gets in on the game and pretty soon we don�…

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

I was privileged to attend the Grand Bend Legion’s Remembrance Day dinner on Saturday November 7.
My first order of business was to purchase a nice cold beer at the bar. Next was to find where Rita was sitting. My sister-in-law Joan, who volunteers at all of the occasions, directed me to the table, which was right in front of the head table. I’m usually the type who goes to church and sits at the back, so I felt hemmed in sitting in the front: too far from the bar. I felt embarrassed getting up and walking down the middle aisle for refreshments and back up to my seat with all the people eyeing me, so I didn’t. One beer to last me all through the evening? I don’t think so.
Anyway, after the guest pastor said grace, we made our way to the food tables. Legion members and guests are always so friendly and laid back at these functions. Even though everyone is hungry, no one pushes or complains if things don’t go as smoothly as they would like. Once the super volunteer ladies had everything in place, the lines began to move. Plates were filled – some with lots of food and others with less, depending on the individual. I just said, “Keep it coming,” because I didn’t have to cook it. The beef was cooked like no restaurant can do it. These ladies – God bless them – know how to put on a meal that has no equal.
After we were filled with food we were treated with the guest speakers thanking the veterans and those who never made it back to Canada. One speaker made reference to a Canadian who had travelled to France and at immigration he was asked for his passport. Fumbling for it in his pocket, the French officer said, “Don’t you Canadians know that you have to have your passports ready when you come to France?” The Canadian replied, “The last time I was in France was at Dieppe in 1944 and none of you Frenchmen stayed around to check my passport.”
The guest of honour was a young RCR corporal who had recently returned from a tour of duty in Afghanistan. This soldier did himself proud in his presentation. He shows us slides depicting the environment in which he served: pretty desolate. The conditions reminded me of my tour in the Gaza Strip in 1957. He spoke of the living conditions his unit was forced to put up with. The temperature change between day and night can be very disturbing. The ground does not absorb the heat like it does in Canada and therefore, it can drop from 50 C at noon to 15 C at 4 a.m..
He stressed that he and his comrades try very hard to represent Canada well to the locals, sometimes succeeding and sometimes not. They do think that they are making a difference.
Every year the Legion is making improvements to educate Canadians of the importance of remembering those who have and still do give their lives for all of us. I witnessed this in the number of school children attending the cenotaph ceremony on Wednesday.
I have one request: one of my uncles was torpedoed twice in the North Atlantic while working as a boiler man in a convoy heading for England. He was a civilian, but was never recognized by the government. We need to consider changing the rules for how civilians serving in the theatre of war are recognized for their contributions.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

(Continued from last issue)
The saga of the sewers continued throughout the town with no end in sight. Rumours abounded that the sewers would be finished by December, and the road paved the following year. These optimists must have been talking about another town.
Once the sewers were laid and some paving done, we were told we could hook up. One resident, whose house is situated about 70’ back from the road, was having a bathroom installed in his basement. This required digging deep to make a hook up. The engineers must have misread his instructions because the hook up did not even come close to the sewer intake, which was much higher. The only solution was to dig up the road and put a new intake connection lower down on the main sewer. Unfortunately for the resident, his water was shut off so they could lay the pipes, and his septic tank had already been detached, so he and his wife had no bathroom facilities. The authorities told him to rent a “porta-potty”. Instead, he moved to his trailer for a few days.
For about a year, because of the sinkholes and settling of the roadway, we enjoyed a feeling of driving on a motocross track as we traveled to and from our home. Another year went by with no trucks or tourists going through town, which meant no business for our local gas bar and variety store.
To add to our woes, an inspector found cracks in our new bridge, and it had to be closed for repairs. Detours again.
When hook up time arrived, we were told we had nine months to complete the process, which involved getting estimates from different plumbers and contractors.
The best estimate for our house was $1500, while others were quoted $3000. Our contractor was quick, neat and clean, and took just over three hours to complete the job for $1400. Other people had estimates of as high as $9500. After contacting our contractors, they ended up saving close to $7000. Perhaps there was some greed involved? Some residents are still not hooked up.
Last July, we received a notice saying we had to choose how to pay for the sewer service: either cash up front, or over 20 years at six per cent interest. We had two weeks to comply. The deadline was on a Monday. One of my neighbours was away on holidays and didn’t get the notice until the Sunday before the deadline. Not enough time to arrange for the cash. Another senior citizen arrived at the municipal office the day after the deadline with money in hand and was told she was too late.
To add to her misery, this woman has been trying to sell her beautiful home for quite some time, but prospective buyers are turning away because of a messy property across the street. The same thing is happening in the east end of town, where a neighbour’s yard is littered with cars, trucks, machinery and household articles.
We are pursuing a way to bring to the attention of all residents the bylaws referring to keeping their residences and yards in neat, tidy and good repair. Bylaws are accessible at www.town.southhuron.on.ca under By-Laws: Property Standards 41-2002. Have a look, and then look at your own properties. Pat yourself on the back if you’re up to date.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

Not long after Crediton’s bridge repair was finished and traffic resumed (but not back to the amount we had before the bridge was condemned), tenders were requested from all companies vying for contracts involved in the sewer project.
Finally, the shovels hit the ground. No financial aid was available with no prospects of any in the future; once you start to dig, no grants are available and you are on your own.
Slowly, the main drag was excavated, leaving the town a mess and traffic delayed and rerouted. “It’ll all be completed in a year,” we were told; fortunately for them, they didn’t stress which year that would be. There were plenty of engineers, foremen, heavy equipment operators, and even some labourers on the job from morning until night.
Daily, they ran into unforeseen snags: underground springs, sinkholes, and unknown pipes and wires were among the surprises. By the time they were halfway through town, Centralia was almost completed (by a different company).
As the project continued up to my area, as I was sitting on my porch reading a book and resting my feet and legs on cushions, I was suddenly pelted by rocks and water hurtling toward my house. I had to scramble to get my shoes on, pick up the cushions and chair and my book, open the door and squeeze inside. It was quite a chore and damp to boot.
I looked out my window to see what happened, and saw five people laughing at my stumbling efforts while standing over a hole on the north side, watching the eruption from the water line. Someone told me they didn’t realize there was a line at that location. It just so happened that I was the only one on the street sitting outside watching the entertainment, which led me to suspect that the break was planned.
What goes around, comes around. Later that year, they were working on a manhole in front of my sidewalk and the men needed some water. One of the crew went to the side of my house, took down my hose, brought it to the hole and tried to turn it on. Nothing happened. So, back he went to turn the tap up to full blast. Still nothing. I watched him return to the hole and hollered to Rita to run downstairs and turn the water on. You should have heard the hollering from the hole – no one was holding the hose! My turn to laugh.
To be continued…

Did you know that Exeter’s new radio station, MyFM 90.5 is on the air? Rita and I have listened for a couple of days and so far found it pleasurable. Easy listening music, local news, and talented DJs. Keep up the good work, MyFM.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

It all began many many moons ago. This is the saga of the bridge, sewers and roads.
“We need a new bridge,” they said. “And your septic systems are shot, and have to be replaced by sewers.”
Detour signs began going up, which meant there would be no entry or exit at the east end of town. Jordy’s Gas Bar immediately felt the brunt of this move as there was no through traffic. This detour had one positive effect on the town. The “race track” (the main road) was virtually shut down and there was no loud truck noise. One negative effect was that, as my wife and I have to clean the Huron Park Post Office, we were obliged to go down Parr Line to Mt. Camel Road and turn left at Airport Line to get to Huron Park (quite the detour).
We took up residence in Crediton on November 8th, 2002; first-time home owners we were. Two weeks later, we received a notice in our front door inviting us to a meeting at the town hall that would explain everything we needed to know about the upcoming installation of sewers. No one had told us of this project prior to this. It was a bit of a shock to find out that it was going to cost us up to $20 000 per lot. From what I have been told by many residents of the town, this sewer project had been in the planning since 1995. Prior to amalgamation there was, so I’ve been informed, $1 million in a fund in the Stephen Twp. budget for just such a project, but that money disappeared when we were taken over by South Huron. At the meeting we were told that requests had been made to COMRIF for federal and provincial assistance to cover two-thirds of the cost, leaving us to pay the remaining third. This would have been no real hardship to most Creditionites. It sounded good, especially to those whose septic tanks were in bad shape. We organized the citizenry of both Crediton and Centralia after we were told that there would be no COMRIF funding because the fund had been depleted.
The push was on. Signs were made up with “No Grants. No Sewers” inscribed on them. Most of the households of both villages attended the next council meetings to voice our displeasure with the powers that be over their caving in to the MInistry of Environment to push the sewers through without any financial aid coming in. I even had sign boards, which I wore, and paraded around in front of the town hall. It didn’t do us a lot of good. It was no money out of councillors’ pockets (all residents of other towns), so they didn’t seem to be bothered by our woes. Projects will proceed with utmost speed.
Thank God for Diane Faubert Tripp. She took it upon herself to make an appointment with the provincial Finance Minister, who was going to be in Goderich. From him, she received $1 million to be shared by the homeowners in both villages, amounting to $3500 per house.
You get a get a gold star in heaven for your efforts, Diane.
To be continued….
Happy Birthday Millie Lessard and Patsy Gray. You both look just as pretty as you did 60 years ago. Love you both.

Tales from the 2009 Lessard reunion

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

My Sunday morning began at 2:45 a.m. when I woke to a bright light shining through my main floor bedroom window. I first thought that someone had forgotten to turn off the ballpark lights, which are directly across the street from my house. I got up and looked out the window and saw a black pick-up truck sitting in the park driveway. While I watched, the truck pulled out and drove away. The strange thing about this incident is that our main street had just had new curbs poured on Friday afternoon. There were pylons posted across the entrance to the park, and on either side of the curb were ditches across which the average vehicle would not dare to traverse. This person did, driving over and flattening the pylons. At seven a.m. when I crossed the road to water the Communities in Bloom planters, I put the pylons back up in their original locations and went back home. After breakfast (about an hour later), I went back out to sit on the porch and read a book. I glanced across the road and saw that, lo and behold, the pylons had been moved off the roadway and another nut had driven in and out again. These pylons are regarded about as much as the stop sign at Crediton Rd. and Airport Line. Lots of people don’t stop. Many don’t even slow down.
Anyway, at 11 a.m. Rita and I loaded into her sister’s van and headed out to Wildwood Park near St. Marys for my family’s ninth biennial reunion. The rain was so heavy on the Kirkton Road that I thought we might have to pull over. By the time we arrived at the campground, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Thankfully, the area we rented had a pavilion.
It was great to once again see all of our brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, cousins and in-laws. One cousin came from Houston, Texas; other family members came from as far away as Calgary. Mike’s in-laws came from Sudbury and camped for the weekend.
The sun came out and brought the heat and heavy humidity that we often see this time of year. The games began with all types of fun for everyone. I entered the water balloon toss, but was quickly ejected (arthritis set in and I dropped the balloon. This is my excuse and I’m sticking to it!). My grandson was my partner for the next game, and we won second prize.
I was sitting in my chair having a beer and watching all the antics going on when Ryan approached and asked me to be his partner for the three-legged race. He told me to stay where I was, and lend him my artificial leg. That was easily done. He took my leg and with my sister’s help, he tied it to his leg. He didn’t realize how heavy it was until the race was over. It was the easiest medal I’ve ever won.
My sister Pat made a beautiful large cake with a portrait of my father and his nine sisters in the icing. One half of the cake was made white, and the other chocolate, so you could have a choice.
There were draws for plenty of prizes which family members donated to raise money to cover the costs of the 2011 reunion. As is tradition, the day ended with a family photo.
A wonderful time was had by all. Parting is such sweet sorrow.

Happy anniversary to Tommy and Connie. Happy birthday to Brenda MacDonald.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

My family moved from Windsor to Waterloo in 1944 because my dad was starting a new job. Since my siblings always told me that I was adopted and that I was a German, it didn’t sit too well with me living a German community during World War II. But I struggled through it.
It was winter when we arrived, and we had seen no snow in Windsor. What a pleasant surprise. As I was only seven years of age, I wasn’t very tall and the snow piles were over my head. Our house was on a hill on Allen St. W., so it was no problem to fly down the street on our sled for about three blocks.
Most of the schools had outdoor rinks. If we wanted to skate or play hockey, we had to scrape the ice, and sometimes help to flood. There was a shed with a potbelly stove where we could thaw out our skates, as well as our feet, which were usually frozen after a short time on the ice. Our school had a hockey team, and when I was old enough, I tried out and was accepted as goalie. I also played in the bantam team. I wasn’t the best, but I put in a good effort. Our house was on a corner, so on the side street Bill Lavigne and I played a lot of shinny – almost everyday. Winter was a wonderful time of the year, even though I had to do a lot of shoveling and ice chopping.
Summer was good, too. Kitchener had an outdoor swimming pool that which was quite far from our home, but if we left early enough, we’d get there for opening. Most of our time at the pool was spent lying on our towels, soaking up the sun so we could get a sunburn. We knew that after the peeling of our skin was over, we usually ended up with a tan. Nobody told us about the perils of cancer.
One time, my older brothers took me to Waterloo Park to swim in the lake. I didn’t know how to swim yet, and could only dog paddle for a short distance. I got out too far to get back. Luckily Billy Armstrong saw me and dove off a platform and rescued me. From that experience, I forced myself to quickly learn how to swim.

Sunday, the Lessards will enjoy a biennial tradition as my siblings and their families meet at Wildwood Park in St. Mary’s for a reunion.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

I think it was 1969 that word came down from the top that the battalion was going to fly to Jamaica for a month of jungle training. This was during the month of March, as I recall.
After all the paperwork was done, we held QM parades to issue jungle gear, suntan lotion, and anything else the army felt we would require.
You won’t believe the job that was set aside for me! Bobby Somerville and I were to run the wet canteen under the supervision of Sgt. Joe Crosky. No climbing mountains or sweltering in the jungle for us.
Anyway, we trucked to the London airport and were loaded onto Hercules aircraft. Man, Oh Man! They are a beautiful piece of military equipment. We were seated in bucket seats along the walls, as in the centre were vehicles and other gear. We had a super flight with good weather. Over Florida, the pilot took the plane down so that we could see the coastline and all the sandy beaches.
Arriving in Jamaica, we were greeted at the Kingston airport. Because of an upcoming election, no one was allowed to go into the city (too much trouble brewing).
We were marched to awaiting Buffalo aircraft, which are a smaller version of the Herc, and transported over the mountains to a banana plantation in the northeast sector of the island. The Buffalo can land on a very short runway, which it had to do.
The plantation, we were told, belonged to a Canadian who allowed the government to use it. Our tent was situated under palm trees right at the edge of a beach. What a great spot. I had only seen places like this in the movies.
If we wanted to go to town, we had to get a pass and hop a truck to Port Antonio, which was only about a half hour drive. Bobby and I had to go there a few times to pick up supplies of ice or dry-cleaning. There was generally a cruise ship in the harbour. Some of the guys had a field day as shopkeepers took Canadian Tire money at par.
That month was probably the easiest and most relaxing during my career. We were not very happy about leaving, but could not complain too much since we had missed a month of Canadian weather. Most of the guys had acquired a pretty good tan and looked relaxed.
The army in those days was a pretty good experience. Next up: getting ready for a second tour of Cyprus.