by Janette Craig

Created on: November 01, 2008

Thankful for the Care Given

In 1912, my father was born in Scotland. Even back then babies were born to parents who had only been married 6 months. In those days, the parent's marriage date was part of a birth certificate, or maybe that is only in Great Britain. The stigma of almost being an illegitimate child was there, staring you in the face, every time you looked at your birth certificate. Did he wonder if his parents would have married if things would have been different? Did his parents have a good marriage? These are thoughts my father never shared with me, and I had never thought to ask.

From the stories my father told me, he had a relatively normal childhood, and graduated high school, valedictorian of his class at age 16.

That same year, he opted to emigrate to Canada, rather than further his education. He had a very adventurous spirit, and made his way to the west coast of Canada, settling in Kamloops, British Columbia. From pictures I have seen, he led a very active life, working and playing baseball in the minor leagues.

When the great depression hit, he, along with thousand of others, rode the boxcars back and forth across Canada looking for work. If there was something available, he would stay in that town until there was no more work, and then hop the boxcar again and move on to the next town.

In 1939, at the age of 27, the Second World War was declared. My father went back to Great Britain and joined the British Army. He attended R.O.C. and became an officer in the forces and fought battles in Italy and Germany. He was the commander of a Tank Division, and was eventually awarded the Victoria Cross for bravery, when under heavy enemy fire, and without thought to his own safety, rescued 12 men from the burning tank.

During a leave, in 1940 he met and married my mother, and 9 months later my brother was born. Two years after that, I was born. I have very few memories of seeing my father during the first 5 years of my life, as he was still in the army and stationed overseas.

In 1947 my father left the army and returned to Canada, where we joined him the next year.

This time, he settled in Northern Ontario in a town where the trees were used to produce paper items. He was Superintendent of Roads in a work camp, so once again was away from home a lot. As a small child, I was always waiting for this handsome man to come home.

My father was only 5' 8" tall, but in my mind he was 7 feet tall. He has a head full of curly wiry black hair, a strong nose, grey eyes

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