Sheila and I were at the Theatre Morin Heights play and, arriving early, we found a table right up-front – a table for four. Who would join us? We remarked that, while we knew a lot of people doing the organizing, there were few other familiar faces. Soon, though, we were joined by the two other members of the audience that we knew best, Shirley Adelson and Brenda Burridge. The play, Perfect Timing by Kristi Kane, was a romp, just entertainment, with nothing to think about after. Adding to the humour of the playwright’s craft, the play featured some local talent, retired or close to it, portraying much younger people in a comedy of romantic misunderstanding. There were two notable young actors too, portraying women in their late teens and early twenties. Both were naturals, but astonishingly, they were also portraying ages that were not their own: They were both 14. The story’s throw-away lines and the acting made it all work.
It is relaxing to go to a show for the pure entertainment of it, without any other agenda. Somehow, though, one always takes something away from such an event, and for us that day it was conversations during the intermission. Sheila got things going looking for Adelson family news. Sheila has known the Adelsons since her high school days.
The conversation touched on our son’s return from England, where he had lived for 18 years, and some of his impressions. Shirley mentioned her arrival in Canada, also from England. Brenda knew Shirley had come from England, but Sheila was taken by surprise and asked her when she came.
“It was 1939 or 1940. I was nine years old and we came on a ship, part of a convoy, just after the declaration of war with Germany.” This was significant to me. I know people do not like to see themselves as a part of history, but I was suddenly listening with greater intensity. The ship, I learned, was filled with children and some parents, evacuated from Great Britain to Canada for their protection.
In September 1939, the Duchess of Atholl brought 997 passengers here from Britain, before being commandeered the next year for the transport of Canadian troops to England, and it certainly did not return empty. In the face of the war, the spirit of cooperation was so great that, shortly after their arrival in Montreal, another family offered Shirley’s family their own house in Outremont for the summer months, while they went away to the country.
Brenda mentioned that her grandfather, the captain of some of the earliest icebreakers, came out of retirement at the beginning of the war to advise the navy on navigating in the North Atlantic. He was Captain John O’Hearn, with many stories to tell, passed on to her family, about the early icebreakers. For example, in the earliest days, icebreaking on parts of the St. Lawrence had to wait until farmers had finished transporting their produce across the river on the same ice that the ships broke.
What fascinated me was seeing that these two women’s families were connected through international events well before they ever met. We rarely think about these things while they are happening, but they are etched into our history, recoverable to eventually give events life again. You rarely know that something you are living will prove significant to future generations. Listening to Shirley, Brenda and Sheila talk, I could see those times, how knowledge was being shared and where it wasn’t. Shirley and Brenda both have a deep awareness of those events, Shirley because she lived them and Brenda through the stories of her family’s service to the military. Everyone alive in Canada at that time was affected by the war, lived in that reality and saw their lives change. Aside from her grandfather, Brenda had two uncles who served. Shirley’s own father served with the RAF, and one of her uncles was transferred to Canada as a flight instructor.
War was something every young man assumed he would experience first-hand. In the 1800s and earlier, there was a pride, a sense of honour in that. My great-grandfather served in 1885, and his record shows how celebrated the soldiers were, and describes the efforts his leader, General Strange, and their opponent, Big Bear’s young chiefs, took to assure that no-one was hurt unnecessarily. Upon the company’s return, there was a fanfare and celebration. Yes, there are vicious wars, but not all wars were vicious.
Then came World War One, the first industrialized, mechanized war. People still volunteered to serve with pride and honour – my own grandfather served on horseback. They were celebrated as heroes upon their departure, but many returned broken, disillusioned and often abandoned by their own society. Even so, the pride of service still was apparent when World War Two began, and again people volunteered. My own father served, also in aviation, but he died when I was a child. When I was a young man, I asked an elderly neighbour what military service had been like. Others I had asked just went silent. After a moment of nervous reflection he said, “When your war starts, join up fast so you can learn how to survive.”
Shirley’s father, Joseph Bender, already in his mid-thirties at the outbreak of the war, fought the Battle of Britain as a firefighter and later joined the air force as a navigator. He flew 33 missions and was more than ready for retirement when he was called up for one last mission at the time of D-Day. That close to the end, he died when his plane was shot down. He was buried in the Netherlands. Brenda’s grandfather, in his retirement, advised the naval convoys crossing the North Atlantic, contracting pneumonia while at sea. He was flown home from Greenland, but he did not survive the flight.
A play may entertain you, but stick around for the intermission.
Special thanks to Shirley Adelson and Brenda Burridge
It is relaxing to go to a show for the pure entertainment of it, without any other agenda. Somehow, though, one always takes something away from such an event, and for us that day it was conversations during the intermission. Sheila got things going looking for Adelson family news. Sheila has known the Adelsons since her high school days.
The conversation touched on our son’s return from England, where he had lived for 18 years, and some of his impressions. Shirley mentioned her arrival in Canada, also from England. Brenda knew Shirley had come from England, but Sheila was taken by surprise and asked her when she came.
“It was 1939 or 1940. I was nine years old and we came on a ship, part of a convoy, just after the declaration of war with Germany.” This was significant to me. I know people do not like to see themselves as a part of history, but I was suddenly listening with greater intensity. The ship, I learned, was filled with children and some parents, evacuated from Great Britain to Canada for their protection.
In September 1939, the Duchess of Atholl brought 997 passengers here from Britain, before being commandeered the next year for the transport of Canadian troops to England, and it certainly did not return empty. In the face of the war, the spirit of cooperation was so great that, shortly after their arrival in Montreal, another family offered Shirley’s family their own house in Outremont for the summer months, while they went away to the country.
Brenda mentioned that her grandfather, the captain of some of the earliest icebreakers, came out of retirement at the beginning of the war to advise the navy on navigating in the North Atlantic. He was Captain John O’Hearn, with many stories to tell, passed on to her family, about the early icebreakers. For example, in the earliest days, icebreaking on parts of the St. Lawrence had to wait until farmers had finished transporting their produce across the river on the same ice that the ships broke.
What fascinated me was seeing that these two women’s families were connected through international events well before they ever met. We rarely think about these things while they are happening, but they are etched into our history, recoverable to eventually give events life again. You rarely know that something you are living will prove significant to future generations. Listening to Shirley, Brenda and Sheila talk, I could see those times, how knowledge was being shared and where it wasn’t. Shirley and Brenda both have a deep awareness of those events, Shirley because she lived them and Brenda through the stories of her family’s service to the military. Everyone alive in Canada at that time was affected by the war, lived in that reality and saw their lives change. Aside from her grandfather, Brenda had two uncles who served. Shirley’s own father served with the RAF, and one of her uncles was transferred to Canada as a flight instructor.
War was something every young man assumed he would experience first-hand. In the 1800s and earlier, there was a pride, a sense of honour in that. My great-grandfather served in 1885, and his record shows how celebrated the soldiers were, and describes the efforts his leader, General Strange, and their opponent, Big Bear’s young chiefs, took to assure that no-one was hurt unnecessarily. Upon the company’s return, there was a fanfare and celebration. Yes, there are vicious wars, but not all wars were vicious.
Then came World War One, the first industrialized, mechanized war. People still volunteered to serve with pride and honour – my own grandfather served on horseback. They were celebrated as heroes upon their departure, but many returned broken, disillusioned and often abandoned by their own society. Even so, the pride of service still was apparent when World War Two began, and again people volunteered. My own father served, also in aviation, but he died when I was a child. When I was a young man, I asked an elderly neighbour what military service had been like. Others I had asked just went silent. After a moment of nervous reflection he said, “When your war starts, join up fast so you can learn how to survive.”
Shirley’s father, Joseph Bender, already in his mid-thirties at the outbreak of the war, fought the Battle of Britain as a firefighter and later joined the air force as a navigator. He flew 33 missions and was more than ready for retirement when he was called up for one last mission at the time of D-Day. That close to the end, he died when his plane was shot down. He was buried in the Netherlands. Brenda’s grandfather, in his retirement, advised the naval convoys crossing the North Atlantic, contracting pneumonia while at sea. He was flown home from Greenland, but he did not survive the flight.
A play may entertain you, but stick around for the intermission.
Special thanks to Shirley Adelson and Brenda Burridge