Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

It was early November 1953 when my fellow apprentice soldiers and I arrived in Montreal by train. It seemed to us a huge city. We were staying at the Royal Canadian Ordnance Corps on Hochelaga Street, and after debarking from the bus, we were taken to the administration building to be documented. My name was listed as Thomas John Lessard, and not the way it should, John Thomas Lessard. I tried to explain the error and was told by the clerk that it was on all my paperwork and would take too much time to rectify. He said, “This is the army. Live with it.” As a result, I have been correcting it all my life.
Carrying on, we paraded to the quartermaster stores to be kitted out with uniforms, bedding, schoolbooks, rifles, etc. Our medical was set for the next day.
We made our way to the barracks, which was a two storey, typical military structure. Ours had classrooms upstairs and downstairs, along with a laundry room, dormitory style bedrooms, our own administration offices and NCO quarters.
It wasn’t until the next day that we discovered the worst thing about our camp. After we were rudely awakened in the morning, we were told that we had 10 minutes to get cleaned up, dressed and get outside to parade to the mess hall. When we stepped out the door and into the crisp November air of Quebec, we were greeted with one of the most God-awful smells any of us were to meet the rest of our lives. Situated a couple of blocks away was an Imperial Oil refinery neatly on the west side of the fences. A couple of the weaker stomached youngsters turned around and went back into the building, only to be quickly escorted out again. The mess hall was a couple of streets west of where we were, which made the oily stench worse — as if that were possible. Anyway, we struggled through the smell. That was the first of my experiences with army mess halls, and the food was actually very good. Being 16 years old we had pretty good appetites, and were even allotted extra rations.

Last Monday, my wife (her name is Rita, and she’s cute) and I took at drive to Londesborough to try to find the hall at which we would be going for a wedding reception the next Saturday. Since there were no restaurants in town we carried on to Bayfield to DJs. Everyone I know is aware of this establishment. I remembered my sister telling me that an old school chum lived in this town. We looked him up and, sure enough, after 60 years we met again. Being older now, we each have minor medical problems, but still are pretty chipper. As he had to visit his doctor, we had a short but wonderful meeting. Like mine, his wife is in pretty good shape. We both chose our life partners very well.

Happy birthday Donald Dinney, Christopher, Will, Connie, and Olivia Lessard.
Congratulations to Liette Clarke and Jeff Burton, who have a new baby girl.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

My military career of 18 years took me to many places I probably would never have gone on my own. When I joined the RCOC in 1953 at the age of 16, I was sent to Montreal, where the ordnance corps school was located. For a kid that young who had never been away from home, it was quite an exciting experience. One of the best times was when we had to do our qualifying on the rifle. We had to take a bus to Mt. Bruno off the island and into the Gatineau hills. Beautiful country.
After completing my training, which took almost two years, my first posting was to 27 COD on Highbury Avenue in London. For the first two months, I was living in Wolseley Barracks, but was told that I had to move out and find a place on the economy (in other words, an apartment or a rooming house). One of the older guys showed me a rooming house on Hale Street, just a ten-minute walk from work. The lady who ran the place had two small children and 21 boarders whom she fed and housed. She found room for me on the third floor (at one time the attic) with seven other tenants, all army. We ate and lived – and caroused – together. It was a very interesting time. They certainly taught me a lot, about half of which they shouldn’t have.
A little more than a year later, the Suez Crisis occurred. Up on the notice board, a request for volunteers was posted. The first name to be entered was yours truly. Off I went to Egypt for the better part of a year. Six months after I returned, there was a request on the board for a storeman to go out to Wainwright, Alberta, as increment attached to the RCEME workshop for a three month summer exercise. I got the job, but when I reported in, I was told that I would be the C.O.’s batman-driver. That was a pretty cushy duty. It was a surprise for me to find out that my brother-in-law Sam was stationed in Calgary with the Queen’s Own Rifles, at whose camp we bunked before heading north to Wainwright. I didn’t realize until then that my sister was living there; they showed me a great time.
Back to London. The next year I was back to Alberta again. Another good summer.
I wanted to go to Germany and the only way to get there was to get posted to the 1st battalion, the Royal Canadian Regiment stationed at Ipperwash. I didn’t even know where that was. I soon found out and was pleasantly surprised to experience one of the best camps I was ever to live in. The other in consideration was Lizard Flats in Cyprus.
While with the battalion, I had three years in Germany, two tours in Cyprus, two summers in Petawawa, one in Gagetown, winter exercises up north, and a month in Jamaica. If not for the army, I wouldn’t have gone on an upgrading course in Montreal, where I met my future wife. She travelled with me to Germany, where we married and had our first two boys. Rita turned 69 earlier this month (happy birthday).
Happy birthday this month to Bob and Jessica. I hope everyone is enjoying this beautiful spring weather. It’s nice to be alive.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

(Editor’s Note: Please remember that these are memories of a time long ago, and the activities described in the following story are neither condoned nor recommended.)

My buddy “Bobbie” and I were walking back to the barracks one summer evening when, out of the blue, he says, “Let’s go to Port Huron.”
The canteen was closed and the hotel in town would be closing at midnight. With Ontario being on daylight saving time and Michigan on standard time, the bars were going to be open for a while, especially considering some of them stayed open until 2 a.m. in those days.
Away we went. With very few OPP around and the speed limits higher than today, it didn’t take too long to get to our destination. At the bar we went to, there were already a number of Canadian military enjoying some time off. We closed the place.
Bobbie was in pretty rough shape as we got to the car and took off. I was able to hold my liquor better than he could, but he still wouldn’t let me drive. About halfway home, he turned his head to barf out the window, and sure enough, t was closed. You can just imagine the mess.
Undeterred, we continued home. We pulled into the parking lot at the rear of the camp, turned off the motor, and staggered to the barracks. It was about 4 a.m. by this time, and we had to be up at 6 a.m.. Because we didn’t leave camp by the front gate, we didn’t bother getting passes, which I suppose meant we were AWOL, but we never got caught on any of our excursions.
The afternoon was very warm and sunny, and we didn’t get back to the car until after duty at 4 p.m. Our first mistake was opening the doors. The odour and flies were enough to make us throw up, but neither of us did.
We had to haul our rears back to the shack and get a bucket, soap, rags and tools. The door panel had to come off, and the glass had to be taken out. With the sun shining on the car all day, it was like an oven inside and Bobbie’s heavings from the night before were caked on the door, glass and floor. I’m sure we didn’t get it all off because the smell lingered for what seemed like forever. It took us until about 10 p.m. to get the car cleaned as best we could and put back together.
We were sweaty and smelly, so we we drove down to the beach and cooled off in the lake. We were thirsty and I remembered that I had picked up a six-pack in Port Huron. I don’t know why it hadn’t exploded from the heat, but it was still intact. When I opened a can, the beer shot into the air and left me with about half a can of warm liquid. Undaunted, I drank it up and grabbed another. Bobbie wasn’t interested. I wonder why.

Thanks to Gary D. for all the help you gave me and Rita during my rehab this winter. You are very much appreciated.

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 with my prosthetic leg. Down I went, and looking back on it now, I think my leg must have landed on the cement step.
What now?
I lay there contemplating what to do. Rita had worked all night, so I thought she would be upstairs in bed, but I called her name a number of times anyway. Luckily she was still up; she ran out and tried to help me up, but my stump was too sore. She ran in, got a blanket, rolled me onto it, and dragged me over to the porch, which had a railing. I still couldn’t get up, so she went inside and got my wheelchair. She laid down a rug, rolled the wheelchair onto it, and engaged the brakes. I crawled backwards and inched my way up. She pushed me to the steps and, because we don’t have a ramp, I had to use crutches to make my way into the house while Rita brought the chair in.
My stump was swelling rapidly, and I asked Rita to fetch some ice. I called Tele-Health, and the nurse said I should go to the emergency room in Exeter for an x-ray. It took us an hour to get outside, into the car and to the hospital; we arrived at 2 p.m.
The waiting room was empty, so I reported to the reception. The doctors were in a meeting until 4 p.m. or so, so we waited until a new receptionist came on duty at 3 p.m. She sent a nurse out to take me into triage, where she took my blood pressure and sent me back to reception to be documented. I was wheeled into examination at 4 p.m. The doctor had a look at my knee and arranged an x-ray.
After the x-ray, the doctor returned to tell me that the results were inconclusive because the swelling was too hard to see through. He was going to make arrangements at Strathroy hospital for a CAT scan as soon as possible.
The next day, the orthopedic specialist’s nurse called at 10 a.m. and asked me to be at the hospital by 11:15 a.m. That was impossible because Rita wouldn’t be home until 11, and the hospital’s an hour away, so she scheduled me for 1:30 p.m. the following day.
The test done, the doctor told me I have two faint cracks in my femur, put my leg in a half-cast, and sent me home. Can’t walk for three months!

It’s an odd coincidence that exactly 35 years prior to the accident, Rita also spent December 16 at South Huron Hospital. It was a much happier event, though, as she was giving birth to our last child, Casey.

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’t require street lights. The majority of the houses have been well laid out, but as is to be expected, some go way overboard. I would imagine this lighting will take a downturn when the so-called “smart meters” come into use.

Electrical problems II
I looked forward to attending the annual lighting of the park in Exeter on a nice evening at the end of November; last year’s lighting was cancelled because of snow. It was disappointing, then, that it wasn’t better organized this year. The donated hot chocolate from Tim Horton’s must have been picked up too early because it was lukewarm, but it was appreciated and polished off nonetheless. The entertainment had a rough time getting the sound to work and so were set back half an hour. When they were able to get started, the countdown to the lighting began, 5-4-3-2-1. Nothing. Soon, the lights did come on. Actually, half of them lit and were followed by a loud bang. Eventually all came on, prompting oohs and ahhs from the kids. We couldn’t sing the two songs that followed because we didn’t know the words. Before the scheduled end time, I followed a large number of revelers to our cars.

The fix is in
This week, we were visited at our old municipal offices by a large delegation of electrical contractors. Maybe the work on our new community centre will begin soon. I’m looking forward to the completion of our recreational facilities in about 2011. If it turns out the way it’s planned, it will give Crediton and area residents something to cheer, deservedly after the mess we put up with these past few years.
I was hoping the new sewers would end the smells that sometimes permeate my house and those of my neighbours, but it seems that someone is still sending paint thinners and sewage into the storm drains. The smell of the thinner was so strong that I called the South Huron offices to send someone out. A man arrived, checked my house and basement, and went out front and lifted the manhole cover. He sniffed and said, “Yep, that’s paint thinner.” I asked him what I could do about it, and he told me to shove a rag into the drain hole, which I did. After a couple of days, the odour was gone. We still get occasional sewage stink through the house, but I’ve never heard back from South Huron. I don’t expect I ever will. Maybe when everyone west of me is hooked up, I won’t have that problem.
Merry Christmas!

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.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

On a warm, sunny day in November 1957, some of us were told to pack our gear (what little we were allowed to take out of the country) as we were leaving for home. It didn’t take long as I’m sure most of us had been ready to go since day one.
When the big day came, we were driven to El Arish, where there was an airport that had been used by the air force since we moved to the Gaza Strip. On the tarmac awaiting us was a C119 (flying boxcar), in which we were to fly to Naples, Italy. Boarding the plane, the only seats to be found were “bucket seats”, the same as you see parachutists use. Talk about luxury! Our in-flight meal was a boxed lunch consisting of a sandwich, a juice drink and an orange to tide us over.
Once in the air, we could look out at the brownish white desert on one side, contrasted by the beautiful blue Mediterranean Sea. I don’t recall exactly how many hours it took to cross to Italy, but it was about six. We flew between mountains into a valley in which Capodichino Airport is situated. Gorgeous scenery.
Transport awaited us to take us to a hotel used by the U.N. as a rest area for the troops. The accommodations were quite a contrast to what we were used to, coming from a tent in the desert with outdoor plumbing and a washstand in the open with shower stalls. The hotel’s fantastic rooms had real soft beds, carpets, a super dining room with decent meals, and it was situated in a place named Garibaldi Square. You could put the whole town of Exeter in the square and still have room left.
We had four days to explore before we were to continue our journey. I hired a calèche (horse-drawn carriage) for a few hours the first day, sent the driver to purchase a bottle of good Italian wine and to show me around. The square was spared during the Second World War, it seems, because the buildings are old and the architecture is beautiful. After a year in the desert, the noise of the city was almost overpowering.
The second day, I joined a tour bus and traveled to Pompei. This city was destroyed when Mount Vesuvius erupted. It was completely covered and most of the people killed. The parts that had been excavated by the 1950s showed a lot of what life was like in the old days of the Roman Empire. It must have been quite a city.
I spent the rest of my time wandering around Naples. The day of our departure, we were taken badk to the airport for the final leg of our journey to Montreal. Our airplane was called a North Star. Guess what! Bucket seats and box lunches again. When we got airborne we were told that the pressurization was on the fritz and we would be flying below 8,000’. Since we left most of our clothes in Egypt because of posible diseases being carried in them, all I had on was a pair of shoes, no socks, pants and a shirt, no shorts and a beret. The plane was cold as it was November and there was no heat. We stopped in Gibraltar for refueling and headed for Goose Bay, Labrador. While there, we were informed that the weather had closed in Montreal, but it might be clear by the time we got there. Luckily, the weather was fair enough for us to land in a snow squall.
We cleared customs while we shivered and were given passes and train tickets to our hometowns. At the time, my home was Waterloo. When I stepped off the train in Kitchener, it was four below and snowing. I still had no clothing, so comingoff the desert five days before, it was a bit chilly. The best way to warm up, I figured, was to go directly to the Station Hotel and help the bar sales.
A few hours later I hired a cab and walked into the house. You should have seen the look on my parents’ faces.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

“Hey, Tom! Have you ever been to Tillsonburg?” No. But I’ve been to Jerusalem.
It happened while I was stationed with the UNEF in the Gaza Strip. Somehow my name came up on a list of possibilities of taking a tour of the Holy Land. (I think someone organized a push to get rid of me for a while, and when push comes to shove, you shove.) I accepted the opportunity.
We boarded an Egyptian aircraft at El Arish, which is an airport in the Mediterranean Sea not far from Rafah (in the Gaza Strip), where we were stationed. Except for black robed Bedouin women, we had seen no other females. Because we were foreign military and the war had recently ended, women were not allowed to show themselves in public while we were around.
Boarding the airplane, it was a pleasant surprise to see attractive, well endowed, smartly dressed young ladies offering us pillows and refreshments. What a shock to the system after months away from life’s delights.
Due to the turmoil between Egypt and Israel, the fact that we were aboard an Egyptian aircraft meant we were not allowed to fly over Israeli territory. Instead, we had to fly south across the Sinai desert, up along the Persian Gulf across part of Jordan and into Jerusalem. We were put up in a hotel between the old and new parts of the city. Yes, it had a bar.
The next day, our tour guide took us to see the mosque called the “Dome of the Rock”, the Holy Sepulchur, the street best known as the Way of the Cross where Jesus carried his cross to Calvary. We also toured Bethlehem and the Wailing Wall.
The next day, we hopped on a bus to see the River Jordan, where John the Baptist baptized Christ. From there, we headed to Jericho and the Dead Sea. After picking up some souvenirs and tasting the local wine, we donned our swimsuits and dove in. It’s true that you can’t sink in the Dead Sea! It’s 1300 feet below sea level and there is no outlet for the water, so it evaporates and leaves the salt. I found out by experiment that I could lie down in the water with a tray beside me holding a newspaper and none of us sinking.
I would heartily recommend that trip. I’m sure a lot of changes have been made over the last 52 years, but most have to be for the better.

You know it’s going to be a bad day when your twin forgets your birthday. Happy birthday to Will, Christopher, Connie and Olivia.
Hurry back to health Diane!

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

The time came to get out of the desert, so a two-week leave in Beirut, Lebanon was set up for us.
We trucked to Gaza City to catch a Greek yacht for our journey. I seem to recall that there were 20 of us on the boat. We set out to sea in the Mediterranean at about 10 a.m. on a bright sunny day. Around noon, we were served lunch. Grouper floated in olive oil and a huge garden salad with a beer to wash it all down. The meal didn’t sit too well with me, so I went to the head. It consisted of a stall with a hole in the floor and two railings to hang onto. The rolling motion of the boat made it quite a humourous event.
By 3 p.m., we were pulling into Beirut harbour, and after passing through customs we spotted a store that sold liquor. A bottle of C.C. could be had for $1.50, so two buddies and I purchased a case, which should have lasted the duration of our stay.
A bus took us through Beirut up the mountains (5000’) to a resort hotel called the Beit Mery. It was a wonderful restful accommodation for us. The air that high up was cool compared to the city.
We stored our gear in our rooms, got cleaned up and then went to the front desk, where we left most of our money in a safe. Lebanon was a very inexpensive country coompared to a lot of the places I had visited. Being Canadians with the United Nations, we were treated very well. Some of the people in Beirut didn’t think much of the American military (following the 1958 Lebanon crisis).
Beirut at the time was the financial capital of the Middle East, and was a beautiful city. Fantastic clubs and restaurants abounded. We tried to go to all of them but unfortunately there were too man for the short time we were alloted.
One day, I walked on my own into a market full of shops and people. Big mistake, going alone. I was swarmed by about 20 kids. Some kept me busy while others picked my pockets. The cops had to rescue me. I was given a dressing down and turned over to the United Nations after spending more than three hours in protective custody.
Another time, we were sitting in a bar having a drink and a look around, when out of nowhere appears a gang of Brazilian soldiers. As they walked by our table, one of them reached out and grabbed my buddy’s beret. We took off after them and ended up on the street in a brawl. Along came the cops again. Another visit to the local lock-up and another recovery by the U.N. We never did get the beret back.
At the end of our holiday, we were getting ready to leave and we were told to hurry up as there was trouble at the airport; it seems the Americans were involved in some kind of skirmish. We hurried and left behind a beautiful country with some wonderful memories, all courtesy the Canadian people and the United Nations.
Happy belated birthday to Brittany & Joan!

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

With Rita away in the sunny Dominican Republic, I was reminded of my trip to the Middle East when I was 19. There I was in January 1957, debarking from an aircraft carrier in Port Said, Egypt and embarking on a new experience. We boarded trucks to travel down the Suez Canal during the crisis that had started months earlier. We were headed to Ismailia and the junction of the Sweet Water Canal, which runs to Cairo and the Nile River.
About 30 miles along the Sweet Water is the village of Abu Sueir, which has an air force base. This is where we spent the first couple months of our tour. What was left of the Egyptian army had a unit station on the air base, and we camped on the other side of a fenced-in area.
One night when I was on fire picket, I happened to come to a gate along the fence line that separated our camp from that of the Egyptian air base. As I turned the corner to check the other side, I startled an Egyptian sentry, who lowered his rifle – with bayonet fixed – and walked right into me, stabbing me in the stomach. Luckily, I was wearing my great coat because it stopped most of the thrust and I suffered only a slight wound. I was able to continue my patrol, and when I passed my tent, I stopped for a few minutes to clean the wound and put a bandage on it before continuing the duty. The potential for an international incident meant there was no way I was about to report that goof-up.
This mission was where we were introduced to Stella. The beer, that is, in quart bottles. They came in wooden cases like the old Coca-Cola ones, and sat outside in the heat with no coolers to chill them. The beer was skunky, but because it was all we could get, we had to put up with it. It took about a week or so to get accustomed to it, but by then it started to taste pretty good.
Our opportunity at playing tourist saw us take a bus tour to Cairo. Driving by bus along the canal and seeing the way people lived was like stepping back in time to the days of the Pharaohs. The Egyptians used the canal to wash their clothes, bathe, and brush their teeth using their fingers. We passed a prison with the chain gangs working outside. We also saw 15 men pulling a dhow (a single-masted sailboat) up the river. The dhows are loaded off freighters in the Suez Canal at Ismailia. These men walked along the bank pulling the dhow to Cairo – against the current.
When we reached Cairo, as we stepped off the bus we were met by a woman trying to sell us her baby for about $0.50; she said should couldn’t afford to feed the baby and herself. We sure didn’t need a baby, so we all chipped in and gave her some money to buy what she needed and went on our way.
Because of the war, Cairo was very quiet. Very few people or vehicles were about, nor were boats traveling down the river.
As all tourists do, we went for a camel ride around the pyramids of Giza and the Sphinx, and watched a man run up and down the pyramid. These monuments are amazing pieces of construction. The blocks are so immense, it makes you wonder how people could move them and place them into position. I realize it took years and incredible manpower, but it’s still hard to fathom.
Our next tour was to Mount Sinai. We traveled south on the Sinai desert by Jeep, stopping at small oases to rest and refresh ourselves. There is a lot of history at Mount Sinai, where Moses was said to have received the Ten Commandments. It is a very hot and dry area in the desert, and leaves me pondering how the Jews survived all their years wandering here. We were met by monks who gave us a choice of going up the side of the mountain by basket or making the long climb to the monastery itself.Being in good physical condition, most of us chose to climb while a few of the older (and obese) men rode the basket. This mode of transportation involves a basket secured by a long rope attached to a pulley situated at an opening in the monastery wall and operated by monks inside. It was pulled up and brought inside so that intruders couldn’t use it when raiding.

Children in Crediton recently celebrated another Christian tradition, with the annual Easter egg hunt held Saturday. Seven hundred eggs were strewn across the ball diamond and park areas. Some of the eggs had papers with numbers on them inside. If you found one of these, each represented a correspondingly numbered prize. Every child received a hot dog and other treats, and super weather meant a great turnout.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

Frankenmuth, Michigan is a beautiful little town on I-75 between Saginaw and Bay City. The big attraction is a Santa’s Village, but it is also known for having a variety of excellent restaurants and parks. It also has its very own brewery, from which you can purchase buckets of beer of various sizes at a convenient window without even entering the building. I know, because this was my first stop.
How did we get there? Well, as usual, we purchased tickets from the Albatross and of course that was the embarking area. Those days, the bar was closed on Sundays, but it amazed me how much liquid flowed. When bar crowds don’t have to drive to their destination, they naturally enjoy their spirits.
The bus arrived and off we went. This trip, we had no problems at the Sarnia-Port Huron border. We stopped at a restaurant shortly after crossing the border and had a snack. From there to Frankenmuth it’s about two hours, a pleasant bus ride of rolling countryside and small towns and villages. The only different between that part of Michigan and our part of Ontario is the license plates.
When we arrived at our destination, the heat got to me and I took a little nap under a tree while the rest of the gang spread out. I awoke after a short time to find a parade passing a block away. My wife disappeared somewhere leaving me without funds. Wandering around, I met my buddy Gig and we hooked up together to watch the parade. When it was over while searching for the rest of the busload, we stopped at the brewery where Gig treated for a couple of buckets. After a time we carried on downtown. We were passing a hotel when, all of a sudden, there was a commotion and the next thing we knew the troopers were escorting old Lawrence out of the establishment. We approached them and asked what the trouble was. It seems that Lawrence was giving the employees a hard time and creating a disturbance. We told them that he was with us that we would look after him. They were kind enough to agree after giving us a warning. Off we went with Lawrence between us until we came to a pretty little shaded park where we propped him against a tree. By this time we were dry again. Gig spotted a store a short ways away and took off. He came back with a brown paper bag containing two bottles of wine. It reminded me of our days in Cyprus on the second tour. Anyway, we didn’t take long disposing of the grapes, ensuring that Lawrence had only a couple of sips each round.
The sun was heading west by this time, so we headed back to the rendezvous with the bus. My wife and her friends were there to greet us. Off we went home. I never did get to see Santa.
Congratulations Bill and Christine, who welcomed Johan Robert March 4, a little brother for Will. Happy Birthday to Rita, April 5!

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

It all started on my birthday this October. My boys bought three tickets to see Montreal (my favourite) play Buffalo in Buffalo. Hearing this, another son and my grandson wanted to go, too, so they bought two more tickets. Then a friend of Billy’s thought it would be a good plan if he could go with us.
I left Crediton in the morning and left my car at my eldest son Tom’s house in London. His seven-year-old daughter, plays hockey on a Devilettes novice house league team that had a tournament game at 10:15 that morning at the Western Fair sports complex. We had plenty of time, so we stayed and watched them play. It was her turn to play goal; they won 3-1. Great game!
As soon as it was over, Tom and I left for Burlington, where we were to meet the rest of the gang. Clipping down Highway 403 at 120 km/h, we didn’t see two cruisers sitting on the median. As we passed them, I noticed the lights start flashing. I said to Tommy, “Uh oh! Here goes a couple hundred and a some points.” But, as it turned out, they weren’t after us.
About half an hour later, Tommy’s phone rang. It was Billy calling to see where we were and to tell us of a change in meeting places. Tommy wasn’t looking in his mirrors and wouldn’t you know it, a cruiser passed us. Thankfully, considering the new cell phone driving law, he wasn’t looking our way.
On we went to our new rendezvous point, Mississauga. We picked up four in our group and headed off to Niagara Falls and the Wolfs Head Lodge, where Bill’s friend, our last rider, was staying. GPS is a wonderful invention; it directed us right to the door.
After loading up, we headed to Fort Erie and the bridge. The crossing is a very busy place. We had to show a passport or two pieces of identification (including one with a photo). The guard checked everybody out and when he came to me, he said that I wouldn’t be able to cross.
We asked why and he said it was because of my attire. I was wearing a Habs shirt, Habs helmet/hat, Habs coat, and Habs scarf. One of my sons piped up and said, “At least he’s not wearing a Leafs uniform.” After that, he let us go and told us to have a good time.
We arrived in Buffalo early and decided to go for supper at the Pearl Street Grill and Brewery, a restored warehouse in the city’s historic district. When we got to the entrance, we were told that there was at least an hour wait on the main floor, but if we wished to go up to the third floor, there would be lots of room. The first floor was for dining with entertainment; the second floor was an arcade with pool tables, dart boards, shuffle board, and gaming machines. The third floor had a bar, all you can eat buffet with salads, wings, roast beef, pasta, gravies, sauces and rolls. The tables were round and candlelit. As more people arrived, walls were opened to show more tables and chairs.
After dinner, because it was a long walk to the arena, the boys pushed me in a wheelchair. Arriving at the arena, we were fronted by red, white and blue shirts, coats and hats. I thought we were at the Montreal Forum. The mass of Montreal fans reflects the fact that the Hamilton Bulldogs are a farm team, and use the same Habs uniform. The HSBC staff and volunteers were excellent; we were treated with respect and assistance that would be hard to beat.
There was plenty of hollering, singing, booing and cold beer, and even though the Habs outshot and outplayed the Sabres, we went down to defeat. Wait until next time!
Happy anniversary Rita and Happy Birthday Glenn.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

I was born in Windsor, Ontario in 1937, the seventh child. I had three brothers and three sisters.
My mother was very handy with the sewing machine and needle and thread. She would get hold of Maple Leaf flour bags, take the stitching out, bleach the bags and then join them and make pillow cases, sheets, underwear and curtains. A lot of the time, the bleaching wouldn’t remove all the wording, so the shorts would have the Maple Leaf logo still visible.
My father was a tool and die maker and a part-time car racer at Detroit and Port Huron tracks. He built a house on Riberdy Road, out by the airport in Sandwich East. It was a two-storey building with a semi-detached garage and a good-sized Victory garden.
Everyone was urged to have their own garden during the war. In the summer, as the crops ripened, I’d take a salt shaker and start at one end of the cucumber row, pick a cuke, wipe off the prickers and eat and eat until I was full. When the tomatoes were ready, I’d take on the task of wiping them on my pants or shirt, lick them, add salt and enjoy the taste of fresh vegetables. My sister dug into the onions, which she loved and I didn’t.
Wartime meant rationing. Every family or eligible person received a ration book and coupons with which to purchase meat, butter, gasoline, tires, etc. Every Sunday, my dad would have his bacon and eggs for breakfast. If we were lucky, we’d get the drippings, in which we’d fry bread. It was a real treat. Butter was in very short supply so we’d use lard on our bread. My grandfather, who had a house across the street, would invite one or two of us over for breakfast. It consisted of porridge with ice cream on it. Mmm good.
In the back of our property, there was a huge farm owned by the Walker family, on which they grew acres and acres of cattle corn. When the corn was still edible, we’d pick a few dozen and set up a table on Walker Road (the main street leading to downtown Windsor) and sell it. We’d tell everyone that it was Golden Bantam corn. I understand that one of our customers was Mr. Walker himself.
When there was no corn in the fields, we were able to witness the coming and going of military aircraft of all shapes and sizes either in training or heading to the war zones. Once in a while the “air raid” sirens would go off and we’d have to pull all the blinds down and turn off all unnecessary lights until the “all clear” sounded.

Our home was about five miles from the Detroit river, where there was a 30-foot diving tower and a beach. I remember my oldest sister telling me about the time she and my second oldest brother had 26¢ between them to get there and back and to have a treat. The bus to the beach cost 5¢ each to get there, and 5¢ each to get back. That left a nickel for popcorn.
When they reached their destination and were walking out to the pier, a lifeguard stopped them and asked where they thought they were going. “To the diving tower,” they replied. He pointed to a spot in the river and told them that if they could swim there and back, they could go to the diving tower. They were about 10 and eight years old at the time.
Well, they were good swimmers and had no trouble completing the task, so he allowed them to continue to the tower. When it was time to go home, instead of taking the bus they spent the fare on food and walked the five miles home. It was late when they arrived and my worried parents asked why they were so late. They replied, “You always tell us to take our time getting home.”

To the Crediton Community Centre committee: Thanks for all the work you’ve done and for a great effort in raising the money required to renovate the hall!
Jim: Hope you get well soon!

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

On the 16th of December, 1974, at the South Huron Hospital maternity ward, a cute little guy named Casey Kyle Baxter Lessard was brought into this world. In those days the mother and baby stayed in the hospital for a few days. In the interim, Father Moody visited Rita and Casey and inquired as to his names. Rita told him and his reply was, “They aren’t saints’ names!”
“No,” said Rita, “but we are going to baptize him with the name John,” to which the good Father asked, “Which Saint John?”
“Why Saint John the Baptist,” replied mom. This pleased the priest very much because that was the name of the saint from which his name was derived.
I went to pick up Rita and Casey on the fourth day. We bundled into the car for the trip home. There was a detour along the way because I had promised the staff and customers at the Club Albatross that I would stop in on my way home. Well, they were ecstatic at seeing mom and baby.
I believe it was Alice who suggested that someone phone in the birth announcement to the Times-Advocate newspaper. When asked what the baby’s name was, she gave a list of all the staff and patrons’ names. The girl at the T-A said she couldn’t print that many names for a baby, so we settled on his given ones.
This boy grew up quickly with a super personality and a quick and generous smile. His brothers Tom, Glenn, Mike and Bill were very good to Casey and helped us much in teaching him all he needed to know.
Following grade school at Mount Carmel and high school in Exeter, he entered the University of Western Ontario. While there he became interested in radio, television and journalism. Moving on to study journalism at Fanshawe College, he started developing his interest in photography. A few years later, he returned to school for photojournalism at Loyalist College in Belleville.
His last job as an employee was with the Haliburton and Minden newspapers, at which he was praised for his professionalism. “Enough of working for someone else,” he said, and set up a small business of his own, which everyone now knows as the Grand Bend Strip.
I hope you will all join me and my family in wishing Casey a very happy, prosperous 34th birthday and future. Keep up the good work, and as Santa would say, Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night. P.S. that includes you, too, Anjhela. Love Tom and Rita.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

In the spring of 1958, there was a posting on the board for an increment to go to Wainwright, Alberta for three months attached to the RCEME (Royal Canadian Electrical and Mechanical Engineers) workshop. Of course I applied, and was accepted. I boarded the train in London and met up with the unit in Toronto. The CNR, in its wisdom, gave us our own car along with a porter.
In those days it was generally accepted that most of the men were not averse to having a beer or two. We had a number of Korean and WWII vets with us, a couple of whom tried to teach us younger fellows how to drink. At Sudbury, we had a stopover of a couple of hours while we waited for the cross-Canada train to link up with us. First thing we did after disembarking from the train was to hop a cab and head for the beer and liquor stores to load up. We were going to be on the train for at least two and a half days, so we didn’t want to run dry, but that is what happened.
The porter got word that CN detectives were going to board the train at Fort William (now Thunder Bay) looking for booze, so we collected money and lists from all the guys. They elected me to do the shopping; I got off at the station, jumped into a cab, drove to the appropriate stores, loaded up and headed for Port Arthur (10km down the track).
Arriving at the station, I watched our car for a pre-arranged signal from our porter. It wasn’t long before I got the okay to pull up to the train, unload our booze, pay the cabbie and get on board.
We went our merry way to Calgary and our marshalling area. Calgary had only one drawback for me. At the time, I was a Legion member. One day at about 1 p.m., one of my buddies and I were looking for something to do when we spotted a Legion branch downtown. Hoping to play some pool or darts, we entered the building. We were met at the door and were asked what we wanted. We told him and he asked if we were members of this particular branch. I told him that I was a member back in Ontario. No good. He then asked if I knew any member of this branch. I said no. “Sorry, if you’re not a member of this branch, then you are not allowed in unless signed in by a paid up member.” By the way, we were in uniform. So much for western hospitality.
Despite this experience, I was so impressed by what a beautiful country we live in. I had hitchhiked across in 1956, but had never been able to see it the same way as from a dome car. The north shore of Lake Superior has to be one of the most spectacular sites in our land. The flora, fauna, tunnels and wild animals are breathtaking. I have been all over the States, to Europe and the Middle East; put them all together, and they run a distant second to Canada.

Or, how to get into real trouble

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

Many years ago, there was an upcoming municipal election looming. I resided in Huron Park where there was probably the largest number of voters in Stephen Township. I was pretty well known as a helper, a doer and a goer in the community, therefore, I was approached to run as a candidate. My backers said no one else in Huron Park would runagainst me. Ha ha. When it came time to declare our intentions to run, three Park residents submitted their names. Well, you can guess the outcome; none of us got in.
The next time I was asked to run in an election was with the UAW. I was at the time an employee at one of the union plants. The UAW committee was dominated by mainly women. We were not very pleased with the situation and felt that there was enough dominance at home. Since we couldn’t do anything about the homefront, we thought there was a chance to change things at the union level. Guess what? I won. Whoop dee doo.
There was only one small problem. I had no idea how to do any of the objectives of a president. I tried but to no avail and had to resign and send the job back to the ladies. I began to take courses with the UAW to learn what unions are intended to do for the workers.
One course I took at Port Elgin (which is the UAW school) was a women’s course; there were two males and 128 women. Boy, did I learn a lot.
I was later involved in some intense negotiations, which at times were scary. One set was held in Stratford. The deadline was set for Sunday at midnight. All day at a motel, with the company reps in one room and four or five of us in another, an arbitrator moved back and forth between the rooms bringing offers or rejections for the two teams. The men back at the plants had barrels, signs, picket duties and wood for burning all set to go.
At about 11:30, word came down that the company people wanted to see us in their negotiating room. Up we went. They were all smiles and we were told they had accepted all of our demands. Then the party began.
In the 40 years that I have lived in Stephen Township, I have never been approached by a federal or provincial candidate to give them my vote. I have had correspondence with parliament members and did go with a delegation to see Carol Mitchell in Goderich about funding for our sewers, which were being shoved down our throats.
We finally got some help but not by politicians but by the super efforts of one of our residents. She went and talked to the provincial finance minister and somehow got us $1-million, which worked out to about $3,500 per household. As I resident, I thank you for that.

In the London Free Press two weeks ago, how to reach your federal party:
Conservatives – www.conservative.ca
Liberals – www.conservative.ca
Who are they backing?
Since Rita and I always use our right to vote, we are going to do so a little differently this time. We don’t know any of the candidates, but we do have favourite colours. Mine is red and hers is green. Now our ballots are not a secret.

What to do when you have to go

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

At Protective Plastics Limited in Huron Park, we built fiberglass reinforced plywood panels, roofs, and doors for the trucking industry. You didn’t need to be on dope to work there because after a day in the plant you were pretty well flying.
As in other companies, PPL had its share of entertainers. For instance, while standing atop 50’x11’ roofs, grinding at the excess resin, all of a sudden the air supply would stop. You’d check the grinder and the hoses and then holler for someone to turn the compressor back on. “It is on,” someone would reply. It wasn’t until you were frustrated that someone would pop up from under the trolley that the mold was on and yell, “Surprise!” The son of a gun was under there crimping the hose to stop the air supply.
Over in plant #5, there was only one washroom. One morning about an hour in the shift, one of the employees had to go. He got to the washroom only to find it was occupied. He told the occupant repeatedly to hurry up, but to no avail. He finally couldn’t wait any longer and ran to the next building to do his business. The stall stayed occupied all day meaning that the others had to travel to do their thing. When you looked under the stall door, there was a pair of boots with coveralls down on the top of them, so you surmised that it was truly someone in there.
What had happened was a prankster entered the stall and placed the boots and coveralls to look as though there was someone there, locked the door and crawled out underneath and went to work.
Another time, he put a pair of boots at the toilet facing the back wall, took off the tank cover, disconnected the water hose so that the water kept running (to make a sound as if someone was urinating), exited the same way as before and carried on as if nothing was amiss.
There are many humourous stories of the fine crews that made their living in those plants in Huron Park, and the atmosphere was such that you were happy to get to work each morning to find out what was going to happen that day.

Oh where, or where, did our little vacuums go?

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

A lot of strange and wonderfully humourous goings-on occurred in Huron Park in the 70s and 80s.
One time I was employed in the stock room at Hughes Columbia Yachts and was asked by my boss to come in on a Saturday morning to help him do an inventory of all the boats.
Each boat had a kit lock up, in which was stored most of the parts and installation equipment for the employees to use and install in and on the boat. Well, we got at it and spent about four hours checking items against the boat inventories.
At about noon, one of the lead hands approached my boss and asked if he could find a vacuum cleaner as the one off his line had gone missing. We hunted all through the plant to no avail. It seemed all the vacuums had disappeared. This was a strange occurrence. With all the vacuums in the plant gone, someone either went to the store or brought one in from home.
An investigation eventually found out what had happened. Word got around that one of the employees need a few dollars. He rounded up all the vacuums, took them home and had a yard sale.
Case closed.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

Back in the good old days – the early 70s, that is – there was a company in Huron Park by the name of Hall Lamp. It was a large employer that produced taillights and mirrors. The company used most of the industrial park’s hangars.
In the southwest corner of Plant 3, the shipping department was staffed by two very competent forklift drivers and a clerk typist who knew virtually everything there was to knw about shipping, especially how to get those shipments across the border by car, truck or airplane. Her name was Julie.
Now in that office there was a baseboard that ran around the perimeter; it was about 5” high by 3” wide. Along the baseboard ran one of Julie’s pets – a mouse. She would place peanuts, candies or whatever she had left over from her lunch on the baseboard. You could walk in almost any time during the day and watch that mouse chomping down on the goodies.
A year passed and Julie felt it was time for a birthday party for her pet. Arrangements were made at the Club Albatross, decorations were purchased, a cake was made and invitations were sent to all management personnel and a few workers who we knew could get away. The mouse had a mouse house that we took to the bar, in which it had a TV set, a portrait of Mickey on the wall, and a sofa with two little mice seated watching a Disney “Mickey Mouse show”, probably Annette and the Mouse Club.
The day arrived and everyone gathered at the Albie on the dance floor. Tables were set and balloons and hats were provided. A toast was made and everyone sang “Happy Birthday”. Then we ate and imbibed a little more while presents were opened. It was a wonderful party. S/he got lots of neat gifts, mostly food.
One day a stray cat arrived on the shipping office doorstep. It was a cute little dirty furry mess. Julie, the animal lover, took it into her domain. It had to have some place to stay so a house was provided with a blanket, a bowl and a litter box; we called it “Julie’s cat house”. Of course, with a little imagination, you can figure out what we called the cat.
We had a lot of fun with that cat and it got along well with the mouse. An elderly foreman, Vic, would take the cat home every weekend for a cleanup. He rigged up a length of twine and tied a foam seal from a Chrysler taillight to use as a leash and would take the cat for a walk through the plant. The women on the lines loved that cat.
One day Julie set the cat on her desk and he pawed the electric typewriter. The words that appeared on the sheet of paper made us realize we had been calling him the wrong name. Apparently his name was OIY OIY.

Come on out to the Crediton Harvest Family Fun Day September 6 at the park. Lots of entertainment, fun and games, and plenty of good food. Get your tickets for the top prize of $5200 worth of gas in aid of our building fund.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

Hey kids, who wants to go to the beach?
That was a stupid question to ask on a hot summer’s day. I ended up with nine kids loaded into my good-sized car. I put some pieces of cardboard in the trunk for the sand dunes and off we went. In those days, there were no restrictions on seatbelts or number of people in a car.
We arrived at McPherson’s corner and turned west. Just behind the restaurant there’s this huge dune, where we pulled over. The kids jumped out, grabbed the cardboard and climbed the hill. Going down is fast and easy. There should be a skilift erected to take you back up. The kids don’t mind the climb, but I did it once and quit.
After they had worn themselves out, it was back in the car and off to the beach. Someone spotted a store in Port Franks, so we had to buy popsicles. You have to keep kids happy, and the popsicles kept them quiet for a little while.
At the beach I gave them all instructions about staying close together and keeping close to shore. I stood at the edge of the water and kept counting one to nine continuously so I didn’t lose anyone. An hour or so of swimming and it was back to the dune for another hour or so, then back to the beach. I must have ended up with enough sand in my car to fill a sandbox. We had a great day and all arrived home safe and sound.

Kids aren’t the only ones who like to play in the water. The Optimist Club of Huron Park periodically held dances in the rec centre on the industrial side. One night in particular, we had a good crowd and everything was proceeding well until time to close. As a member of the setup and cleanup committee, I looked around for my helpers. Most of them had disappeared.
I did a lot of cursing, but it didn’t bring them around. Finally they began to show up. It seems they had slipped through the side door, gone into the dressing room to strip, and then went skinny dipping. One person kept a lookout while the rest had a good time. I found out that this had been going on for some time.

Be sure to get your tickets for the Crediton Community Centre building fund draw. You could win $5200 worth of gas. Watch for sellers in your area.
Plus: Remember to purchase your tickets for the Crediton Roast Beef Dinner held on August 19th –5:15-7:15 at the Recreation Hall in Exeter.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

The air force had recently moved out of Huron Park when we moved from London in April 1968. There were very few tenants in the community, so when five of us army guys moved in, we had our choice of houses. Gradually, as time passed, word got around and the houses filled and the community came alive.
It’s probably hard for people who haven’t been to Huron Park to realize how good of a place it was to live.
For example, we had an arena and a curling rink, two swimming pools (one public and one private), a four-lane bowling alley, and recreation centre with basketball and volleyball courts. There was a tennis court, a walled-in lit baseball diamond, and a quarter-mile track surrounding a soccer field. All of the above were situated on the industrial side of the county road.
On the housing side, the elementary school had two ball diamonds, and a play area with slides, teeter-totters, and a sand box. The school had a large gymnasium with the standard basketball courts and a stage.
The school contained classes for kindergarten to Grade 8, and later included Huron Hope school for special needs children.
There was plenty of employment in Huron Park. We had a postal outlet, IGA grocery store, fire department with full- and part-time firemen, and a garage with a mechanic and gas pumps. The airport had (and still has) a well-lit combination of runways and a searchlight. Centralia College of Agricultural Technology occupied dormitories and classrooms vacated by the air force. There was a veterinarian department with meat inspectors and labs. There were roughly 300 students at any given time, and the college employed cooks, kitchen staff, caretakers, cleaners, teachers and administration staff.
Numerous companies occupied the various large hangars and smaller buildings. Hall Lamp (450 employees) leased most of the hangars assembling taillights and mirrors. Hughes Boats built sailing yachts for customers from around the world. Accumold blasted dies for the mining companies. Dunline built pads for the oil fields. Acme Neon Signs employed crews. The Club Albatross supplied after-hours refreshments for the tired workers. They also ran a snack truck for the industries.
I have probably left our some of the smaller outfits that operated in the early years. My apologies.
Many changes have been made since that time. Companies have moved out and new ones have moved in. We, too, moved out only a few years ago, but it remains a great place to live.
(Editor’s note: 1960s RCAF Centralia is the setting for former resident Anne-Marie MacDonald’s 2003 novel The Way the Crow Flies, a fictional account of Lynn Harper’s murder at RCAF Clinton, of which Steven Truscott was convicted and eventually acquitted.)

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

During the years I worked (mostly part-time) as a waiter and bartender at the Club Albatross in Huron Park, there always seemed be someone ready to cause some kind of annoyance.
I recall one night I was working along when two men and a woman came in, sat down and ordered drinks. We became chatty and were having a bit of a time telling jokes, etc. Other patrons began arriving so the three got up to leave. They said, as they were heading out, “We’ll see you later.” I replied, “I hope so.” Little did I know it would be so soon.

The bar quickly filled up to almost overflowing. We had two bartenders, three waiters and two doormen on duty. Business was brisk when all of a sudden, every door in the building was opened and in poured 38 OPP officers.
This was shortly after 9 p.m. They blocked all the doors and had officers inside the washroom. After closing the bar, they began to send people into the dining room to be checked for ID and whatever else they were looking for.
At one table on the dance floor, they found a 14-year old girl with a glass of beer. She was dolled up to look like she was in her 20s. When she entered the building with three other patrons, she immediately went to the women’s washroom while her friends found a table and ordered a pitcher of beer and three glasses. After a short time, the teenager made her way to the table. One of the friends went up to the bar and got another glass. No one served the girl, yet the waitress in her area was charged with serving a minor.
The OPP overlooked a number of minors in the room where I was working. Maybe it was because the three undercover cops who were in earlier gave me a break for being so friendly with them.
People were getting antsy after a while because they couldn’t leave and weren’t able to get a drink. One fellow stood up and gave the Nazi salute and hollered, “Zeig Heil! Zeig Heil!” Well, the cops rushed over and ordered him to sit down and shut up.
Another man (a local company manager) got up and started to leave. Four cops confronted him, telling him he wasn’t allowed to leave and that he had better sit back down. He told them that he had come in to have a drink and if he couldn’t get one here he would go somewhere else where he could drink. They insisted that he would not be allowed to leave until the raid was over. He became so adamant that one of the inspectors came over to find out what the commotion was all about. After assessing the situation, he told the officers to let him go. I don’t think anyone else was allowed to leave.
The sting stunk. They didn’t nail anyone else. Since the bar didn’t reopen that night, we lost a lot of revenue and because we couldn’t sell any drinks, we lost all of our potential tips. All the raid did was create a disgruntled crowd of patrons and animosity toward the OPP. And it must have taken a big chunk out of the police budget: 38 personnel and their vehicles don’t come cheap.

Want $5200 worth of gas from any Esso station? Every Crediton citizen is selling tickets to the gas draw, with proceeds going to the Crediton Community Centre building fund.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

Even though I spent 18 years in the army, I was never trained as a fighting man. My first two years were spent doing some foot drill, learning how to be a storesman and getting more education. Next, I was posted to London’s 27 C.O.D., where I worked in shipping, loading and unloading trucks.
After a couple of years there, I wanted to go to Germany. The only way I was able to go there was to get a posting to 1RCR in Ipperwash. I grabbed the chance and ended up in the clothing credit department, where I stayed for the next eight years (Rita and I were married in Germany, and our two eldest sons were born there). Since I had been with the battalion so long, I figured I might as well transfer and I became a member of the regiment.
A few years later, in 1970, we shipped out to Cyprus. I was still not a trained infantryman.
One night, at 11 p.m., my buddy and I headed out to do eight hours on an outpost that we had never seen before. The men we were replacing were in a hurry to get back to camp, so they didn’t have time to bring us up to date on what was expected of us or what – if anything – had been going on in the area. A Turkish attachment was 100 yards to our front, and the Greeks were 100 yards to our rear.
About an hour into our tour, my buddy became sick and ended up in a corner of the outpost. He couldn’t move, so he would be unable to ride the bike or walk back to camp by himself. I couldn’t leave the outpost unattended, so I was of very little help to him. I tried to call back to base, but our phone was out and our radio battery was dead. It seems the previous crew was in such a rush to get out that they neglected to tell us about the equipment problems, and forgot to mention it to anyone back in camp. The outpost had no communications, and a sick soldier moaning and groaning.
About 3 a.m., I noticed a lot of movement on the Turk side and none on the Greek side. I didn’t know what to do as I couldn’t contact anyone back at base for assistance and as I mentioned this was my first time at this outpost.
I figured I should even the sides, and walked down to the Greek post and asked for someone who spoke English. A sergeant appeared and I told him that the Turks were moving up more troops. I then went back to my station and watched for any Greek movements. Sure enough, there was a rush of troops, so I went to the Turks and told them to watch for the Greeks moving up.
At 7 a.m., when our relief arrived, I told them about our night and equipment problems and explained that I would make out my report and get them new gear sent out. I loaded my buddy on the bike and pushed him back to camp.
When I reported to the orderly sergeant and told him of my problems, he said they were just beginning; the company commander wanted to see me. The CC wasn’t very happy. He told me that the British and UN headquarters were reporting that the Turks and Greeks were on the alert, getting ready to go at it. I explained what happened and that I wasn’t trained to handle the situation; I said I just wanted to even the sides and that my partner was of no use.
I almost became an item in the history books as the man who started the next Battle of Cyprus; turns out the movement on the Turkish side was just a normal shift change.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

After living in Lizard Flats for a few months, the monotony of the same routine and weather day after day with very little excitement, we waited for something interesting.
It just so happened that two corporals living in the signals shack had a disagreement resulting in one throwing the other out – lock, stock and barrel. A complaint was made that Corporal J. was fooling around on Corporal G. with the latter’s donkey. Corporal G. filed for a divorce.
A court was set up on the patio of the junior ranks canteen. Sergeant T. was asked to preside as judge and to hear the case. He was agreeable and set up court during the noon hours.
Both complainant and defendant acquired lawyers. A court clerk and bailiff were assigned to court duties. Also, there were MPs in attendance. Each day after lunch, the judge allotted a certain amount of time for the sessions.
As soon as the complaint was read, the defendant became belligerent and charged after the complainant, knocking over a table and taking a swing. Quickly, the MPs restored order. Each side’s lawyer presented his client’s case and charges were made by both.
Numerous times over the next couple of weeks, the judge had to quiet things down to try to restore order in the court. As the days went by, word got around to the rest of the battalion and the gallery increased to overflowing. It was the best entertainment on the island.
But as all good things must come to an end (it seems some people just can’t take a joke), in the middle of the trial it was brought to our attention that the company commander had received mail from some wives at home who wanted to know what the devil was going on over there.
The trial was quickly dispensed with, and everyone went back to their normal duties. The donkey was never brought to court, and the two belligerents – to the best of my knowledge – never did reconcile.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

Sunday morning. Club Albatross, Huron Park. Hockey game in Detroit.
Most of us arrived at the club early as usual. About three hours ahead of bus departure time.
As there were 45 passengers, quite a bit of alcohol was being taken with us. While we were waiting, it was only natural for us to sample some of it. This went on until bus time.
Where was the bus? Phone calls were made to the bus company. The bus had left the yard on time and should have been here by now. An hour or so later, the bus pulls up to the door. It seems the driver didn’t know where Huron Park was and ended up in Vanastra. This was only the first time he got lost on this excursion.
We loaded onto the bus with only a part of the original supply of refreshments and headed for Sarnia. By the time we crossed the border, we were getting very low on booze.
Just outside of Port Huron, we had the driver pull over so we could restock. With that done, we carried on.
Most of us had never been to the Joe Louis Arena in Detroit, so considering the shape some of us were in, it was inevitable that something would happen.
As we were departing the bus, one of the fellows tripped over a case of beer that had been left in the aisle and he broke a finger.
Once inside the arena, a few of us got separated from the group and arrived late to our allotted seats. It seems that one of the older gents slipped on the cement steps and bounced on his butt a number of times before he could get stopped. He was hurt, but how badly wasn’t evident until we were leaving. He had a difficult time the rest of the way home.
The weather was terrible when we left Detroit. A vote was taken to cross at Windsor and visit our friend Scott at the Recess Tavern in Tilbury. He, his wife and staff were very welcoming during our stay. I was hungry and went next door to a restaurant. On my way back to the bar, I slipped on some ice and cracked my head on a brick wall.
We headed out for home and it wasn’t long before the driver, unfamiliar with the area and disoriented because of the weather, became lost again. Jimmy P. had to take over the wheel and drive the rest of the way home.
When we arrived back in Huron Park, most of the guys were met by wives or others to take them home or to the emergency ward in Exeter. Altogether, seven of us sustained some sort of injury. Overall, a great trip. Score of the game? Who knows?!

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

Years ago Bill Brady, the announcer for CFPL 980 radio, ran a fundraiser for Sick Kids called “The Bunny Bundle.”
Listeners of all ages found different ways of raising money. The fundraiser ran for years.
One night, after work at the Dufferin, the staff was sitting around having a well-earned staff drink. I happened to mention that I was looking for a way to raise money for the cause. One of the waitresses’ husbands (a farmer) was there to pick her up. He stated that he had an old rooster that he didn’t want, and if I wanted it I was to come out to his farm later in the morning and help him catch it.
I arrived at his farm at about 10 a.m. We used an old cabbage crate (which still had a few leaves in it) to put the rooster in for transporting it. I drove back to the hotel and installed the crate on top of the bar piano. The rooster didn’t seem to mind. Next, I went across the street to the little grocery store and purchased six eggs. These I also put on top of the piano.
I started selling tickets at noon for a quarter each, and by 5 p.m. I had raised $99. The draw was made. A fellow in the bar won the first prize: the first half-dozen eggs a rooster ever laid. The second prize – the rooster – went to a fellow who lived in Huron Park but had left earlier. So I loaded the crate and rooster into my car and drove over to the winner’s home, knocked on the door and waited.
His wife came to the door. I told her that her husband had won the rooster. She said, “What the heck am I supposed to do with that thing?”
I suggested she could sick it on him when he got home, and quickly left.
We received a certificate of appreciation from the charity in the mail a week later, but I have no idea whatever happened to the rooster.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

A lot of life spilled through the doors of the Dufferin, most pleasurable, but some not so.
I remember one time early in July of 1970 or 1971, Gig, Des and I planned what we thought was a funny prank. The 12th was coming soon (Editor’s note: July 12, 1690, Protestant King William III – on his white horse, as the legend goes – and his armies defeat the Catholic Jacobites at the Battle of the Boyne), and knowing there were a couple of Irish Catholics who enjoyed a drink or two in the pub, we dreamed up a surprise. My job was to rent a white horse from a farmer down the road. Gig was to play King Billy and Des was to play a drum.
Fortunately the two Irish gentlemen were in the pub when the day arrived. When we brought that horse inside the front door and out the back, all hell broke loose! These gents came running out and started pelting the three of us with stones from the parking lot. Little did we know that the man who owned the horse was visiting the garage across the street. The farmer hollered at us, “Get that horse back to the barn and don’t ever rent another from me again!” The two gentlemen were gone when I got back from taking the horse home.
King Billy and his entourage not only got stoned by the poor Catholic boys, but we helped to empty one of the bar’s kegs. We were happy go lucky RCR soldiers, so we enjoyed the day and started planning future pranks.
If you enjoy this newspaper, please write the publisher or email him. Contact information is on the bottom of page two. Also, if you have a story, don’t be shy. Happy Victoria Day everyone!

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

In April of 1968, Rita and I moved our family from London to Huron Park. There were five of us from 1 RCR who moved at the same time, and we were told that we could choose any house that we wanted. A one-and-a-half storey house rented for $58 per month at a time when oil was 17¢ per gallon. We moved in, and we lived there for 35 years.
In Centralia, there was a hotel owned and operated by Jim and Marg Cook. It was a going concern. There was only a “Ladies & Escorts” room, which meant that if a man was by himself, he would either have to get someone from the L&E room to sponsor him, or he could sit in the small lunch room on the north side. If he chose the latter, he had to buy something to eat. I had a small plate of cheese and crackers and dill pickle for which I paid 50¢; I never ate it. The cook wrapped it in Saran wrap, put my name on it and kept it in the walk-in. Whenever I came in for a beer, I paid the 50¢ and they put my plate in front of me.
In October of ’68, I was hired to work part-time as a waiter in the Ladies & Escorts lounge. Having no experience at waiting tables, the boss assigned me to one group of 15 people who came in every Saturday night. In those days, you were not allowed to serve any more than one glass of beer per person at a time. When the glass was empty – and not before – you would serve another. The matron of this group looked after the money and did the ordering for everyone. I didn’t make any tips but I learned fast.
As Huron Park quickly filled with mostly army families (80 in all) and industries opened, liquor rules relaxed and the bar picked up a lot of business.
The boss asked me if I wanted to learn how to pour draft beer. I said I would love to. There were two taps: one ale and one lager. Ale was the largest seller in those days so we’d load 15 ale and five lager per tray unless otherwise asked. Jim put a tray on the counter and showed me how to hold a glass in each hand and open the tap. I filled one and stood there mesmerized unable to figure out what to do next. The draft kept pouring and Jim just told me to put the glass upon the tray. I did so and then with my free hand I shut off the tap. He showed me again and the next time I caught on and soon had 20 on the tray.
From then on, it was a piece of cake. Next came the training on how to carry a tray with 20 draft on it. The manager Scott showed me how to spread my hand so that there was some flexibility and spring in it. I always had good balance so it wasn’t long before I could make my way up and down the rows of tables, dropping off drinks and collecting empties and making change.
In the following years, bottled beer and liquor came into the area and the Central Hotel and the Shillelagh bar in Lucan, the Dufferin in Centralia, Les Pines in Exeter, and the Dashwood Hotel all worked together, and were all busy watering holes. If we ran out of liquor or beer, all we had to do was phone around to see who had extra and send someone around to collect it. They’d do the same if they were short. The only one remaining today is Les Pines, now called Gar’s in Exeter. Before liquor became popular in bars, we were selling between 20 and 25 kegs of beer per week, and at one point had 23 people working at the Dufferin.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

For some reason, I had driven myself to work at Wolseley Barracks in London instead of travelling with my normal carpool (five of us from Huron Park usually rode together).
It started to snow in the morning and by noon, reports coming from the radio indicated the weather was going to get worse. I told my boss I was going home early, and Highway 4 at #22 was still open, so I headed out.
The wind and snow were getting worse as I passed Arva and reached open country, but I persevered. By the time I reached Ilderton Road, the drifting and blowing were causing whiteouts and building up so much that I had to plow through some of them.
By the time I got to the north end of Birr I could go no further. The road was blocked such that I couldn’t go back or forward and had to abandon my car. In those days, we carried our winter gear with us so I put mine on and left the car in the middle of the road and headed back into Birr.
I didn’t have far to go before I noticed – through the blinding snow – the Birr meat shop. Reaching the shop I found that there were already a number of people stranded. The shop was warm and had plenty of coffee brewing. There was also a radio on with the weather report repeating regularly. It was then I discovered that the OPP had closed Highway 4 about 10 minutes after I left London.
The meat shop was not very big. To try to make ourselves comfortable, we used what furniture was there and emptied some of the shelving to enable ourselves to lie down; we figured we would be stranded there for quite some time.
The next morning word got through that the army was sending armoured personnel carriers loaded with blankets and bedding for all the people stranded at St. Patrick’s school between Elginfield and Lucan. I dressed as warmly as I could in my winter gear and went out to the road to await them; I waved them down and climbed aboard. After unloading at the school, I was informed that they were not allowed to go any further north, so I asked them to drop me off at the restaurant in Elginfield.
The place was packed.
There were a couple of other soldiers in the crowd. We were told that the water pipe was frozen, so we volunteered to melt snow and make soup. Supplies were running out and a call for help went out to the Shillelagh bar and restaurant; they sent skidoos with milk and bread.
Later that day, a tracked 16-passenger military vehicle – on loan to the OPP – arrived heading north, and took a few of us to the Legion in Lucan. The fellow operating the hall and bar wanted to go home but couldn’t without someone taking his place. I was working part-time at the Dufferin Hotel in Centralia at the time, so I contacted my boss Scott McNair, and asked him to track down Carl Stuckless, who managed the Lucan Legion. Soon after, Carl called to say I could take charge and keep the hall and bar open. I ran tabs for all the stranded – most of whom were from Centralia and Huron Park – and Scott promised to guarantee the tabs, saying he would collect the money we owed.
It was several days before the weather cleared, and we were all transported home. It was quite the adventure, but I arrived to find I wasn’t the only one who had a story to tell. Our oldest boys, Tom and Glen, had spent five days with Marlene Jeromkin because they couldn’t get home from Mount Carmel school. It was quite a storm!
Do you have a tale to tell? There are plenty of stories out there. Don’t be shy!

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

Many years ago, I had the good fortune of working for a window and door company on Highway 4 southeast of Centralia. At one time during my employment, I was given the task of building plastoramic picture windows. My department was very large in area because I needed room to build windows such as four 5’ by 6’ units with sliders, side-by-side. With the trim, etc., they measured close to 25’ wide by almost 8’ high. I had to do most of the assembling on the floor.
In my spare time, I ran draws and a newsletter. My boss told me that as long as I could produce 12 good units a day, I could spend the extra time selling draw tickets and finding stories for my newsletter. Every Friday, during our afternoon break, I held the draws and we usually had about 13 prizes. You had to be present to collect your prize, so very few people ever took Friday afternoon off.
One day, one of the other workers came to me holding a dead mouse in his hand.
“What in the devil are you doing with that?” I asked.
“This was found in the women’s washroom,” he replied.
I told him to leave it with me, and as a reporter (for the newsletter), I would investigate.
Well, during my search, I found out that the mouse had had a heart attack, supposedly after seeing one of our elderly female employees with her pants down in one of the stalls.
I felt that it would only be right to hold a wake and a funeral for the mouse, which we called Elmer.
Since I had extra room in my area, I set up a small table and draped it in purple cloth. I had an empty “T”-nail carton, which I filled with a block of Styrofoam. After cutting a portion out of the foam I laid Elmer to rest and placed the coffin on the table. One of the employees gave me a box of Kleenex for the mourners, which I also placed on the table. Two unlit candles appeared from someone else, and to top it off, I had a visitation book for guests to sign.
So many people came to pay their respects that the coffin was on display for three days. At lunch hour on the fourth day, I had a minister perform the service; two mourners and four pallbearers attended the coffin. We proceeded outside the building where a plot had been dug. A cameraman took pictures of the burial and the cross.
Elmer will live in infamy.

Happy 45th anniversary to my dear wife Rita!

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, CD

I spent Christmas 1967 stationed at Lizard Flats outside Nicosia, Cyprus, which had at one time been used during the Jewish exodus from Germany to Palestine. It was pretty run-down and in a way reminded us of Ipperwash.
A sergeant oversaw the junior ranks canteen. During the holidays, he would allow only one song to be played on the jukebox: “Green, Green Grass of Home.” Not a very cheery song for the young soldiers spending this time of year away from home. I’m sure the bartenders spent a lot of time mopping up the tears.
I was fortunate to be involved with organizing a Christmas party for the sick children’s hospital. It was the only place on the island where Turks and Greeks mingled. We sent home for toys, goodies and clothes for the kids, and got quite a load. We got one of the guys to dress as Santa, loaded up a couple of vehicles, and made our way to the hospital. The kids were waiting for us. Well, I was never so thrilled and choked up as when I saw the delight in those kids’ faces. They had a wonderful day, as did we.
I wonder if, after 40 years, any who are still alive remember that day. I do, and will never forget those little guys.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard, C.D.

At 27 C.O.D. (the Central Ordnance Depot on Highbury Avenue in London), the only physical training I ever did was playing hockey in the London industrial league. Every Friday afternoon we had a practice at the fairgrounds arena. Our coach was an Indian sergeant who enjoyed his wine. We each took turns every week to go to the Brights wine store at Dundas and Adelaide to pick up at least a half dozen bottles of Katawba at about 50 cents a bottle. At every shift change, before we hit the ice he handed us the bottle to take a drink. When the two-hour practice was over, we were in pretty good shape.
I wanted to go to Germany. The only way I could get there was to take a posting with 1 R.C.R. (at Ipperwash), which was rotating in 1962; I grabbed the chance.
Being corps personnel, we were exempt from a lot of the training that the infantry did, with the exceptions being range firing and a bit of drill, until someone in Ottawa came up with the idea of a ten-miler. I’d never heard of such a thing but was soon to find out what it was.
I was told to get my packs, draw my rifle and report to the rec center. We were formed up, had our names checked off and our packs inspected. Everything I had in my pack was brand new since, being on the quartermaster staff, I had two of everything.
At timed intervals we were sent off in small groups. Off we went out the front gate and down the side road to the beach. Running in the sand with the extra weight was pretty demanding. After a few miles we finally left the beach and headed up the winding hilly road to Port Franks and Highway 21.
I was beat and hollered ahead that I wasn’t going any further. That was a stupid thing to say because the next thing I knew the guy behind me shoved his rifle muzzle into my back and hollered, “Nobody in my group quits!”
I eventually made it back to camp but I didn’t have the strength to carry anyone for the100 yards portion of the ten-miler, so Jack Crowe said he’d carry me. He gave me his rifle, which happened to be the one he used to prod me back at Port Franks camp. Off we went. I don’t know which was worse, carrying or being carried. Next we had to climb a wall and then jump a ditch. We completed everything with time to spare.
That was an example of life with 1 R.C.R. I had a great 11 years with a wonderful group of people.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

In 1953, I was having a difficult time at my high school, St. Jerome’s in Kitchener. It was an all boys’ school. My grades were bad. I missed a lot of classes and didn’t appreciate the teachers. I’d rather hang out at the pool halls or be caddying at the golf course. I made pretty good money caddying during the summer and setting up pins in the winter, which allowed me to buy my cigarettes, etc.
My 16th birthday was at the end of October, at which time my mother – who was fed up with my shenanigans – told me that if I wasn’t going to go to school full time she would take me to the army recruiting office in Kitchener. It so happened that there were openings for the apprentice-training program. All you had to be was 16 years old. I signed up and my mom co-signed. I received my call up in mid-October. Enclosed was my train ticket and meal tickets to get me to Sunnybrook in Toronto for my physical. About a week later I was ordered to report to the Royal Canadian Ordnance Corps School in Montreal (train and meal tickets again provided).
The apprenticeship included two years education Military Basic Training and group one trades training.
We were the RSM’s favorites in the camp and we could do no wrong. There were officer-training courses going on at the same time; they received all of his wrath.
The majority of the apprentices were borderline troubled kids. But the mess of us turned out all right depending on how you decipher ‘all right.’ Our pay was $49 per month less $17 deduction that included income tax and paying for a blue blazer, gray slacks, white shirt and regimental ties ($5 per month from J.P. Morgans Department Store). We could leave camp during the first year so we didn’t use our civy clothes until second year. It wasn’t much pay, but beer in the taverns was only ten cents a glass, so on Saturday nights a group of us would climb the fence behind the barrack block, take a bus most of the way downtown and find a tavern where no other servicemen were hanging around. Because we were in uniform and the Korean War was just over no one questioned us about age. Two dollars went a long way. No one in our group could handle more than ten glasses at one sitting. We stuck close together and made sure no one got left behind. Getting back over the fence caused a few of us some tears in our clothing but we could always find an excuse when questioned as to why our pants or jackets were sewn up. During the week we had homework sessions from 7 to 9 p.m. but our weekends were free unless we screwed up. There were regular forces N.C.O.C. who trained us in the military aspects of our courses and who also monitored the barrack block. Civilian teachers looked after the academic training.
The two best parts of my two years there were the firing ranges at Mount Bruno outside of Montreal and our driver-training course. Our driving instructor was a WWII vet Sgt. He was quite a guy. Every morning we had to do a thorough inspection of our 3-ton stake truck. The Sgt. insisted that we drink a couple drops from our radiators and taste it to ensure it was antifreeze. We were only kids and didn’t know any better. It was always drilled into our heads never to question a superior. So we didn’t and we tasted the poison.
Most of our driving was done on the back roads of the island where every afternoon coffee break just happened to occur outside a tavern (the Sgt. loved his beer). Anyone without money had to stand guard over the vehicles. As we progressed and became familiar with the trucks and the rules of the road he took us downtown. We never had an accident or a ticket driving during our whole course. It being 1954, there wasn’t near the traffic there is nowadays. It was a great training experience.
When I graduated in 1955 I was posted to 27 Central Ordnance Depot on Highbury Ave in London. I billeted in K Block at Wolseley Barracks, where the 2nd Battalion Royal Canadian Regiment was camped.

Keeping the Peace
By Tom Lessard

About 14 years into my military career – by this point the late 1960s – I was working in the quartermasters stores in Wolseley Barracks as a clerk for the RCR. I’d just come off a court martial, got a $25 fine and was promoted to corporal rank – back-dated six months – all in the same orders parade.
About 11 a.m., a call came through for me to report to the theatre. No one knew why, so I cleaned myself up and marched directly over there. When I arrived, there was a line of about ten other personnel waiting in the hallway, so I joined them. A while later the regimental sergeant major marched in and called us to attention before he moved down the line checking to see if we were properly dressed.
When he finally got to me, he seemed perplexed and said, “What are you doing here, Lessard?”
I replied, “I don’t know, sir. I was told to report to the theatre with no explanation. Sir!”
He responded with, “I’ll see about that.”
After a short time, he called us to attention and proceeded to march us onto the stage, where we were halted and turned left to face – of all things – a full house of our comrades.
I was stunned, to say the least. Some were looking at me and chuckling. I found it hard to keep a straight face.
Next on the agenda was the adjutant who inspected each soldier. When he got to me, he asked the RSM, “What is Lessard doing here?”
The RSM replied, “I’m not sure, sir, but I’m checking into it.”
The next thing I know, the commanding officer is presenting me with the Canadian Decoration (C.D.). My buddies were still chuckling at this turn of events.
After the presentations were over, we were marched out of the theatre and dismissed. The RSM stopped me and told me that he would get back to me about how I got the medal. He never did.
[I had qualified for the medal a couple years before this (you need 12 years of service, which I had already served), but by the time they got enough people to do a parade, it had been so long that people were confused about why I was getting it.]
After being dismissed, I paraded myself over to the canteen and knocked back a few while we all had a good laugh.

Keeping the peace
Tom Lessard, former UN peacekeeper

It’s Christmas Day 1956, and I’m on leave at home in Waterloo. I had to leave at noon, so we had an early Christmas dinner. I hitchhiked to London (my parents didn’t want to drive in the weather). My last ride got me right to the CN station.
Being Christmas day the station was empty and I had a few hours to wait for the train. While I was sitting there, a gentleman wearing CN overalls came over and asked me where I was going. I said, “I’m going to Egypt.” He sat down and we chatted for a while. He looked down at my kit bag and he said, “Lessard. Do you know Warren Lessard?” I said, “That’s my father.” He said, “I’m George Cooper. I’m your uncle!” He had been with the merchant navy and had been torpedoed, and was living with his family in London. I didn’t know I had an uncle in London.
I get on the train heading for Kingston, where I was going to meet up with RCEME (Royal Canadian Electrical Mechanical Engineers) workshop – I was RCOC (Royal Canadian Ordinance Corps). We were forming there in a couple days to take a troop train to Halifax. With a troop train, especially with guys going overseas, there’s always some hanky-panky going on.
We didn’t have too much until we got to St. John, New Brunswick. The CO said “There’s a 45 minute stop in St. John.” We could go out as long as we were back in 45 minutes. It was a pretty dry town in those days, so we got a taxi and had him take us to somewhere where we could get a drink. He took us to a house where they had wine and other stuff. Of course time slipped away and we had to rush out and get a taxi. By the time we got back to the station, the train had departed. We wired ahead to hold the train. They did and we took the cab and caught the train 25 miles down the road. We got on the train and the MPs were waiting for us. They took us down to the CO. It wasn’t a formal orders parade – it was just a chat. He gave us a choice of either working our way across on the ship or he’d throw the book at us. We all said we’d work our way across.
We got to Halifax and all these troops were there – Queen’s Own Rifles and the Royal Canadian Regiment. We found out they were not going. Egypt did not want Royal infantry there, but we were non-combatant support personnel.
We got on the ship, the aircraft carrier Magnificent. We sailed out of the harbour New Year’s and we hit a storm for a day or so. That upset a lot of people’s stomachs. The waves were so high they were on the flight deck. One of my jobs was to inspect the chains holding down the 240 vehicles we had on the deck. That didn’t take too long, so I had quite a bit of spare time. We get out of the storm and two days later – near Bermuda – the CO came along and found me sitting reading a book on my bunk.
He said, “You’re not working Lessard?” I said, “Yes, I’m finished, sir.” He said, “Well, Sargeant Major, we need some more work for him.” So I had to clean the heads.
Every day we were out there and had our grog. We’d go down and meet and they’d pour us our grog in our mugs. A lot of my buddies didn’t drink, so we carried Coke bottles in our back pockets and as they were going by they’d fill them up. We made sure our jackets were covering it and we’d wander off and have ourselves a little party.
We carried on to Egypt, and got to Port Said. British and French warships were in the outer harbour; the Egyptians had scuttled a number of ships in the mouth of the Suez Canal so no one could use it. We anchored off the port. We weren’t allowed off the ship until we had our United Nations armbands and hats.
In the meantime we started to unload the ship into barges – rations and all the other things. They wanted someone to guard each of the barges overnight – it would be a long shift. He put me in charge of one of the barges (I had volunteered). Unbeknownst to me the barge was full of Black Label, Labatt’s India Pale Ale and Dow beer. He said, “Lessard, drink as much as you want, but you’d better be sober in the morning.” I did my duty – I drank my beer and I was fairly sober in the morning. We got our UN equipment and we were taken down to our new base at Abu Suwer and that was on the sweet water canal that runs between the Suez Canal and the Nile River.

Tell us your military story: write us (Box 218, Grand Bend, N0M 1T0), e-mail (web at grandbendstrip dot com), or call (519-614-3614).

Keeping the peace
By Tom Lessard, former UN peacekeeper

I was over in Cyprus in 1970 for a six-month tour. I was with the Delta Company, 1 RCR. I came off the outpost – I had been on the night shift – and I had a couple sandwiches and went into the shack, which was a bombed out schoolhouse. And my buddy Freddy is there and he’s down and out. Right out of it. I asked what was wrong and Freddy says, “Well, somebody stole my wallet.”
I said, “What was in it?” and he said 15 pounds. Fifteen pounds was a lot of money in those days, but his ID card and all his other stuff was in it, too, so I said, “Well what are you doing with it?”
He said the red caps are out looking for it – that’s the British military police. I said, “Well, I’ll go out and see what they’re doing.”
I found them and they were at our outhouse – a three-holer. I said, “Well, did you find the wallet?” and they said, “Yep.” Shone the flashlight down and said, “There it is right there.”
I looked down and said, “Well, are you going down to get it?” They said “No, we’re not getting the d@3^ thing… you want it, you go down and get it yourself.” So I said “All right.”
I went and got four guys, 50’ of rope, I got my respirator, and we took the seat cover off – it’s a corrugated box about 20x20x20 – and two guys got on one side of the wall and two other guys – one on each side of the hole – and we tied a rope around my feet. I had stripped down to my shorts and had just the respirator and a flashlight. They tied my feet and lifted me over the hole. I went down in and as I got past the corrugated steel, I hollered out, “Anybody else down here?”
Well, for Pete’s sake, they started laughing so much they dropped the rope. But I saw the wallet and as I went kerplush, I grabbed the wallet in my hand.
They hauled me out of there and as I got out it must have been 80 or 85 degrees anyway. As soon as they got me out, they just left me and took off. They couldn’t stand the stink and the sight of it.
So I undid the ropes, I called out for Freddy, gave him his wallet, he grabbed it, took his ID card out and threw it right back down in.
I went down to the canteen, which is right at the bottom of the building in the basement. I went in and had a couple of beer and everybody took off. Then I went and had a few showers and that was the end of that.
Six months later our time was up and they do an assessment. Sgt. Ivy, who was my platoon sergeant, wrote down under Tom Lessard: ”Volunteers to get himself in sh!t.”

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