Remembering the Training

I distinctly remember the day when I was first recruited to the training camp now known as Camp X. I was lying in the shade, in a futile attempt to escape a June heat wave at a camp in Ontario. I was spoken to by the Commanding Officer, who ordered me to report to the Canadian National Exhibition.

Shortly after I arrived, I was joined by several other women. We were all packed into an army Jeep, and then transferred to a civilian car and in less than three hours, we arrived at Camp X. Back then, I had no idea what it was. All we knew was that it was a secret camp. We were directed to a building that had been transformed into a Hungarian reception room. Our training started that very night. All the new recruits were gathered together, to drink good Hungarian wine! Naturally, we did not look upon this as a training exercise but more as a reception before actual training began. Our trainers, however, took it more seriously. They were watching us closely. The purpose of the exercise: to learn to be able to drink as much as was possible and still hold your tongue.

From there, training went on for every day and every night. Daytime instruction dealt with the basic skills, which included the “art” of silent killing, sabotage, Partisan work, recruitment methods for the resistance movement, demolition, map reading, weaponry, and Morse code. As we progressed, nighttime instruction were added. The training was nothing short of intense. Every minute of the day was filled. We were either running or crawling; we never walked anywhere. Exercises were repeated over and over until it was pounded into our heads and muscle memory. Until each reaction was so automatic that it became literally a part of us. We were put through mock missions; imagine having to enter a dark room in an old farmhouse where a bag of gun parts would be found. We were expected to find the parts, assemble the weapons and come out shooting within a certain time frame. We were put through obstacle courses and missions throughout the city. We were expected to accomplish mock missions without being detected by local police or civilians, who were ignorant of our practice session. If we were ever caught, we were expected to talk our way out of it. As long as these exercises were properly executed and no one was injured, there was never any objection from the Camp instructors. There was always someone available from the Camp to serve as “damage control” after the agents had left the scene, and the agents knew that the Camp authorities would always cover their tracks.

We had to “hit” many local targets, including General Motors in Oshawa, the port of Toronto, and especially the Toronto/Montreal rail line.

We had to be able to shoot a target with a revolver or a pistol from a distance of twenty feet. To do this, we were subjected to long hours of practice and training, most of which was carried out in the underground firing range. There was no light. Shooting was done by instinct, by sensing movements, even perhaps utilizing the sense of smell. We had no other option – we must hit the target, we HAD to. I was trained, grilled, almost tortured mentally until I hit that target. That was all there was. It was just part of the training.

Our night maneuvers were horrible. We were often transported to an area and were told to find a certain place and infiltrate to complete the mission. Upon the completion of this, we – starving and exhausted – would be picked up by a Jeep and more often than not, we would not arrive at the camp. A new “situation” would arise and force a change of plans. We would be given new targets, alternate routes and missions to complete.

It took twelve weeks for me to complete my training that summer of 1943. I emerged from the rigorous, extensive training of Camp-X, hardened beyond any other military, physical, mental, or emotional experience that I would endure in life. However, it truly opened my eyes to the contributions of Canadians to the war effort. Here I was being trained to become a member of the allied forces’ elite team of spies, along with trainees from all over the world. This team of spies would be responsible for countless sabotages all around the world to German supply ships, transportation systems, communication systems and military operations. They would obtain crucial German intelligence detailing military strategy, future plans and operations. Collectively, their actions would save millions of allied soldiers’ lives and provide allied forces with precious opportunities to strike back at the enemy. When I discovered this, I truly realized the importance of Canadian contributions to the war effort. I realized that much would have been lost without Canada and I felt a strong sense of pride and accomplishment in that moment. In that moment, I truly experienced what it meant to be Canadian. Were you previously aware of any vital Canadian contributions to the war? If so, how did it feel to know you were a part of it?

K

Remembering a Difficult Mission

I remember waking up on a warm summer morning on August 1944. My pillow felt so soft, I didn’t want to get up. As usual, at least I’m still sane, I thought to myself. I somehow pulled myself up off the mattress, stretched and went downstairs to get something to drink. I looked out the window as I sipped my tea. The sun had just started to peek out over the horizon, as if it too was only just waking up. I finished my tea and went to the washroom. I looked at myself in the mirror. I was tired and exhausted, in more ways than one. I felt I had essentially lost a part of myself in this war and in my work. I wondered if it was worth it, especially now, as I looked at myself in the mirror. I didn’t know if I’d come back this time. I wondered if there was anything I should take care of, if I had any unfinished business I should attend to. I took a quick shower and brushed my teeth. I looked down at the long cylindrical tube that was my toothpaste. I was going to miss it. It was my last Canadian possession, my last reminder of home. But now, I was French, born to my French parents in 1918 at the Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital in Paris. I was a Nazi supporter. I had a fear of airplanes and so had never before left the country.

I sighed as I looked at my new id, passport and birth certificate. Another new name, another new alias. Another new person. My alarm clock rang. I grabbed my bag and walked out the door.

Remembering a Difficult Mission

After months of research, planning and training, Operation “Rabelais” was initiated at 0700 hours. I infiltrated into Nazi occupied France in August of 1944. I parachuted down into France and unfolded the miniature motorcycle inside my parachute container, called a “Wellbike.” I quickly packed up my parachute and left the drop zone. My destination was a French Resistance base in southern France. Other agents had arranged my arrival and contacts. At the base, I was acquainted with several commanders and leaders. I was shown my work station and I wasted no time in setting up my communication unit. My mission was to provide intelligence information to Algiers, coordinate Resistance forces and ensure the safe arrival of airborne troops. After supplying the Resistance with a detailed list of instructions, I set off for the local government building. I was a Nazi supporter that was transferring to a new branch after my recent promotion. I spent several weeks there gathering detailed information about supplies, German maps, plans, reports and the itineraries of important German officers. After I had all the information I needed, I returned to the base to inspect their work. Everything seemed to be going according to plan. However, I was truly naïve to think that things would go smoothly for the entire operation. One of my co-workers had begun to suspect my behavior. He had been following and watching me for several days, thus forcing me to take extra precaution when I carried out my mission. The last piece of information I required before phase one was complete was a map detailing German retreat positions. My co-worker’s suspicion had been increasing despite the extra precautions and it was enough to motivate him to talk to his superior. It just so happened that it was this superior who had the map I needed. Despite having no evidence, he was able to convince his superior to keep the map in his personal briefcase he watched and kept with him at all times. I was forced to make a rash decision and deviate from the initial plan. I had a copy of his schedule – me and his secretary were good friends – and it was simple to find a time when he was alone. Everything went according to plan. It was happened in an instant and I doubt he felt much pain. The only problem was I was seen – by my co-worker. He sounded the alarm. I grabbed the documents, put them into a waterproof case and ran. The exit strategy was an emergency exit route that had been prepared by the agent who had preceded me. I took the underground route to a river and detonated the explosive charges placed on the walls. I swam to the other side of the river, where a Wellbike was buried two feet from the shore. I arrived at the Resistance base just as allied troops began to parachute in. Shortly after I had dismounted my bike, I was greeted by another agent. My part in this operation was over. I had succeeded. I was to take the vehicle waiting for me and drive to a rendezvous point, where I would be picked up. It was up to my replacement agent now to initiate phase two, whose details I am ignorant of. This one operation is arguably the most difficult assignment I had ever been given. I was relieved to finally be going home. Have any of you been faced with seemingly impossible challenges that you still had to rise up to? How did the challenges affect you as a person? Your country? Also, I wonder, have any of you experienced situations like those I was put in?

K

Remembering the day that Canada declared war against Germany

I remember hearing the news on September 1, 1939; German troops swarmed across the Polish border and unleashed the first Blitzkrieg (surprise attack) the world had seen. Hitler had been planning his attack since March- ever since German troops occupied the remainder of Czechoslovakia. I was shocked that Hitler was this powerful and I predicted that he would be striving for world domination. The world was also surprised as it was breaking news everywhere. Everyone was talking about Hitler and the Blitzkrieg.

On September 10th of 1939, Canada declared war on Germany for a couple of reasons. War was declared in response to the fact that Germany had invaded Poland the previous week. Also, Britain and France declared war on September 3rd as Germany failed to withdraw their troops from Poland.

I remember the chaos on the streets when Canada declared war on Germany. My fellow male citizens were running around the streets wanting to enlist in the Canadian Corp. so they could support Canada in battle. Men were swarming around enlistment offices. I saw some people crying, especially women, since they knew their husbands would be going to war. Some citizens were not very warmhearted about going to war. Canadians were unprepared because we were still trying to get over the 10 year depression that was experienced. I remember some males were very excited to go to war because they wanted to join the war effort and support Canada. Posters were being put up as soon as Canada declared war on Germany. The advertisements to enlist appeared on everything from billboards, shop windows and theaters, to buses and streetcars and even matchbox covers. The streets were like a sea of indecisive people; having to make a decision weather they should enlist or stay at home and support for their families.

I knew what I was going to do. I remember seeing a poster that said to enlist to become part of the RCAF, which encouraged women aged 21 to 41 to join. From the poster, being a combat pilot seemed intriguing. I wanted to try something adventurous, since the majority of my life was uneventful, so I enlisted in the Royal Canadian Air Force. I was scared when I enlisted because being part of the RCAF would change my life. I would be leaving a lot behind.

What do you remember about the day Canada declared war on Germany? What decisions did you have to make? Was this decision a good or bad choice?

Remembering the Weapons

Some people remember the explosions and the bombing. Some people remember the alarms. Some remember the battlefield and marching into the fray uniform-clad with their trusty rifle. My memories of the “battlefield” were much different; in fact I don’t think it ever was one specific place for me. I never marched into the fight with my uniform and fellow soldiers. There was little to no glory in what I did and most were ignorant of my existence. It had to be that way, yet I was probably helping the war effort before most soldiers’ numbers were dry. I guess that’s what it means to be a spy.

Whenever I chose my set of equipment, I always thought that it could never hurt to have a few extra tricks up your sleeve, especially when just about everyone could be an enemy. I had shoes with concealed heel blades, a cigarette case that would detonate upon being opened, the multi-purpose “Peskett”, which had wire for strangling, a knife and a heavy weighted ball. I always carried around a decent amount of coins, many of which I attached a small, swivel blade to. They frequently came in handy when I needed a small projectile to stall for a small but crucial amount of time.

My “uniform” was a specially outfitted wardrobe of civvies. All my clothes had a number of secret pockets and compartments where I would store my equipment. The seams of my shirts, dresses and skirts were made to be able to hold thin pieces of paper. Usually this was to make delivering messages easier and more discrete. I had a set of holsters that could be worn on my legs and stockings that could conceal other small items. Despite this, to a civilian, I fit right in with society. I simply woke up every day and led the life of a “normal” woman. I woke up, got dressed, ate breakfast, went for a morning stroll and caught up with friends. I wrote letters to my “husband”. I worked as a waitress at the restaurant down the street. To the average person, I was a harmless housewife living her life as usual at home, far away from harm. This couldn’t be further from the truth. The last place I called “home” was Canada, and that was a very long time ago. Every minute I spent on my assignment in that city was the equivalent of being in the heat of battle. The second I was discovered, it was over. I was always weary of my surroundings, always vigilant, although it never seemed that way to any person watching on in the streets. The enemy was everywhere, but nowhere to be seen. Their weapons were just as illusive. Usually once a weapon was revealed by either ally or enemy, you died or the enemy did. We never really found out what the enemy’s entire arsenal was, but some things are just standard issue – silenced pistols, small daggers, a “saboteur’s knife” and an assortment of other knives and blades.

It was rare that any of us ever actually engaged another person. Most hits were well planned, quiet, assassinations. Upon discovery, running was usually the only option, since “actual” soldiers are much better equipped and would probably be able to easily overpower me.

The methods and conditions under which my “battles” were fought were much different than those of other soldiers. Do you think you would have preferred my way of doing things? And, would you have liked to been a spy? And why?

I must apologize for being vague about certain specifics and details. Despite being retired, certain pieces of information are classified by a number of organizations and governments I have worked for in the past. Thank you for your patience and understanding.

K

Remembering Difficult Missions

Since I was one of the first women RCAF pilots, I was typically responsible for helping other women train to become part of the RCAF. This responsibly was not very easy, seeing that most of us women were accustomed to cooking, washing clothes, and taking care of the family at home. However, since the job of a housewife involved picking up the pieces of their family, the women I trained had good work ethic and they were willing to learn. I was very courageous and wanted to explore something new. Training to become a RCAF pilot was hard work and you had to be motivated to become one.

There wasn’t much action back at home except for training women to become RCAF pilots. The most difficult mission happened when I was shipped overseas to replace a male RCAF fighter. War officials overseas were experiencing a shortage of personnel. Men were needed for actual combat duties and for training duties at British Commonwealth Air Training Plan schools across Canada. Combat divisions overseas needed support and additional troops. To let as many men as possible fight for Canada and fulfill wartime duties, some of us were called to the front line of fighting. We took over many responsibilities once held by men.

Women RCAF pilots were mainly part of the second line of wartime operations, encouraging males to get prepared for battle. It was completely different for me. I was terrified. I said my final goodbyes to my loved ones and got shipped overseas to Yorkshire, England. Let me tell you, being separated from loved ones and not having proper love was very difficult to live with. I felt emotionally broken.

Battling against the German air force was not the best experience. Knowing that at anytime your life could be taken from you was horrifying. Having thousands of German pilots shooting at your allies was not a happy encounter. I was glad I made it out safe, despite the fact that many were killed.

Remembering the Newspaper Headlines

Each and everyday, new headlines were released regarding the progress of the war. Some days, and these days were by far the worst, devastating news was released that Adolph Hitler and his German forces had conquered and ruined yet another region or colony. There was always news of how Jews were discriminated against and mistreated, and though it was unjust, no one dared oppose Hitler. However, it was not until after the war that people found out about the extent of the injustices the Jews faced. The news of war had been nerve-racking for me; I was no more than a young Canadian girl working in a factory, just trying to do my part and make ends meet. When I had signed up to work, I had just been hoping to make some money and help out my country. I had never really considered how emotionally stricken I would be by the knowledge that I was taking the place of a man who could be dying at any moment. Though I did not know these men, I became spiritually attached to them and truly understood the horror and fear they were experiencing at war. At the time, they were fighting in England. As I recall, in 1940, Hitler targeted Britain and brought chaos and devastation to the country for nearly a year. How could anyone know for sure that he wouldn’t do it again to a weakened Britain while our troops were there?

I tried not to concentrate on the war headlines, simply because I was afraid of what I might hear and what would happen next. For the most part, I stayed in the factory working long, tiring hours and concentrated on my work and keeping up with my male counterparts; or what still remained of the male workers who were not at war. I was proud of myself for being deemed suitable to work in the factory, but that didn’t mean I could slack off. I had jobs to do, and if they didn’t get done, our men would suffer and the evil German bullies would triumph. My pride quickly died out when in late 1943, news of the strike at the Rolls Royce factory in Glasgow broke out. Women were striking for better wages, and at first, I couldn’t help but think that maybe they were being a little greedy. The money should have been going towards the war effort, where it was needed most. Who really wanted to experience more of the devastation and suffering that was endured during the First World War? Besides, the money we were making wasn’t great on any terms, but it was enough for us to live. When the female strikers went on a street demonstration in Glasgow, protesters pelted them with eggs and tomatoes. Days later, when the truth came out, protesters put an end to their pelting. No one at my factory could believe it when they found out that unskilled males were being paid more than the women, and equally skilled men were being paid nearly double!
This was devastating for all of us female workers; but we continued to work despite the fact that we were being underpaid for our skilled work. I kept in mind that the forces needed our services. Headlines soon emerged that the Glasgow women had won a part-victory; they returned to work on the pay of a male semi-skilled worker. Women at my factory all agreed that, though it was still unfair, wages were at the very least improved from what they were before the strike.

Did you receive any upsetting news during the war? What did you do to cope with the news and did you fight back?

Remembering Work Conditions in The Factory

Work conditions in the Canadian factories were horrendous, to be brutally honest. We Canadian women worked like dogs to get difficult and demanding tasks done and were given minimal pay. Everyday, I would return from work exhausted, filthy, blistered and cut up. However, I was needed in the factory to take the place of the men at war and I was being paid enough money to support myself.

I worked nine long hours of excruciatingly tiring labour each day in the dirtiest conditions imaginable, and was paid very little to boot. I was responsible for manufacturing gun and ammunition parts that would be used by the Canadian and British forces in the war, and let me tell you, it was no walk in the park! My body ached, my fingers were tired and broken apart from working on the intricacies of the ammo and my entire body was infested with filth and dirt. My fellow women and I had never worn pants before the factory job came about, but now, we were dressed in head-to-toe coveralls and used rags to keep our hair tied up! I always forced myself to be content and kept the vision of victory in my mind, as an incentive to keep working. Occasionally, music would even be played to keep the women happy. The way I saw it, I was making money to support myself as a single young woman and was providing necessary supplies for the military.

By the end of the war, I was even starting to gain the respect and trust of my male counterparts. I had built up enough muscle to be seen as not only competent in their eyes, but trustworthy! Unfortunately, this all changed at the end of the war when the soldiers returned and claimed their jobs back. We were sent back home, as they had told us we would be, and were expected to go back to lives of ‘femininity’ and taking care of the home. I may have left the factory, but I received emotional and physical scars that would last for years. The condition of my hands was a constant reminder of the unbearable labour I was subject to, and I would never forget what it was like to work in the factories. No unemployed housewife could possibly have had so many cuts, so much muscle definition or so much work experience that I picked up by working in the factory.

What were the work conditions like for you? Did you come home with any scars, either mental or physical? Did you ever feel that you were treated unfairly as a woman at war and did you do anything to prove yourself?

Remembering Propaganda

While I was in London working with the Canadian Women's Army Corps at the Canadian Military Headquarters, I experienced a whole new way of life. Everything was new and lots of things came at me from all sides. What struck me the most was the propaganda.

Back in Canada, propaganda was mainly in the form of posters. The government saturated the country with them - they were stuck on buses, shop windows, billboards, theaters...Some of them were inspiring, others motivating. However, this was not enough and conscription was introduced again in 1944.

In Britain, there were also posters everywhere, and some censorship. Newspapers were careful about what they printed, trying to keep a balance between informing the nation about the events of the war and keeping the country calm and upbeat. Newsreels were produced that exaggerated the relationship between Britain and America. BBC was told that they could not report on any government activity until two weeks after it had taken place, so that they could act without the general public pressuring them. The overall aim for British propaganda was to keep the citizens of England hopeful and optimistic, as well as encourage men and women to join the army. Believe me, it worked. Even when the country was being bombed night and day by the Germans, the English remained bright and cheerful.

Once in a while, I would hear a bit of the propaganda going on in Germany, either through the radio or stories soldiers brought back with them. The German propaganda was scary. Everything was under Nazi control - newspapers, magazines, the radio, music, literature...I once heard part of a speech given by Hitler on the radio. It was horrible. Although I could not understand a word of it, the forcefulness with which he spoke, the sickening triumph in his voice, the cheering voices of millions and millions of people...Soldiers came back from Germany telling stories of how the Allies were being portrayed as cowardly murderers, the Americans evil gangsters and Germany as the greatest, finest country of all. Hitler was brainwashing thousands and thousands of people.

What was the most unnatural of the Nazi propaganda was the targeting of the Jews. It was sickening. Propaganda was a weapon of war. In Britain and Canada, it inspired me. In Germany, it was terrifying. It was wrong.

Did you ever come into contact with German propaganda? Was propaganda in your country convincing? Do you agree with me that it was a weapon of war?

Remembering Battle

I never knew what war was like until this day. Many of my friends were sent out to assist the Canadian Navy vessels in Northern Ireland in the Battle of the Atlantic. I heard about it back when I was training on HMCS Conestoga in Galt, Ontario; after all, the battle had been going on for a couple of years until I was finally sent to serve in Newfoundland. As the Germans started to use U-boat wolf packs to attack convoys in the mid-Atlantic, it was evident that they would need to free shore-based sailors and that is where Wrens had their time to shine. Boy was it a whole different scene. Our ship, the HMCS Weyburn, was a corvette vessel and its job was to provide convoy escort between Newfoundland and Britain. It was a very difficult task. Captain James Sawyer praised me and a few other Wrens for our skills in communication and intelligence operators. Women were never permitted to serve on board of ships but I did get a chance to work in cooperation with Captain Sawyer. After the war ended, I remember him telling me that over 7000 women served in the Royal Canadian Navy, and their determination was inspiring and significant in the victory for the Allies in the Battle of the Atlantic. Do you remember important battles that happened during the war? How did you contribute to them and how has it impacted your life to this day?

Remembering D-Day

D-Day was the most invigorating battle of the war. It was then that we had some hope of winning. Germany had made many mistakes, Hitler was struggling and we were beginning to close in. I was unable to be directly part of this even. Even though the Women's Army Corps had been in action for more than three years, even though women were given the same rankings as men, we still weren't allowed to fight. But I'm not complaining. I helped in my own way.

I was among a group of women who had been sent to London to the companies that had been set up in the Canadian Military Headquarters in 1943. There, I worked as a mechanic, repairing and building tanks, air crafts, trucks, etc. It was hard work, but rewarding. Although there was a lot of prejudice and sexism, men and women were united in their goal to overthrow the enemy as we worked together on machinery that would hopefully help to bring an en to the war. On the day that then men went over the English Channel to invade, I remember being very afraid. For the first time, I realized that the war was a very close thing. This for me was the pinnacle. My heart was in my throat as I watched men from America, Britain, Poland, Australia, Canada board air crafts and ships, division after division....Their attack was staged for very early in the morning - the ships and planes were starting over by 3-6am; parachuting troops had been dropped down at midnight. Everything was set, there was nothing more I could do. I had done my part. I remember sitting anxiously by the radio, along with women, older men, children, people of all races and nationalities: waiting.

I remember the first news of success - the boys had reached the shores of Normandy; parachuting troops were inland, but all were under heavy fire from the Germans. The stress and tension was almost too much to bear - we were all wondering who was going to come back home. Another radio broadcast: the casualties for Canadians' on Juno Beach were high, but they had made it and were advancing inland. It was a time of fear, happiness, relief and overwhelming sadness. We cheered, for, even though the battles were far from over, the end of the war was insight.

What was significant for you on D-Day? Where were you when it happened? How did people around you react? How do YOU remember D-Day?

Remembering friends that I made/lost

It took almost three years after the war began when the women’s division was created for the Royal Naval Service. And boy, there were people, especially men, who did not know how to react to have women aboard. I remember my former employer believed that all women were prostitutes and I took exception to that. Yet as the war progressed, men were starting to feel more at ease with this new concept. Of course many of the friends I made were women, but I had made some remarkable friends that were men. A great friend of mine, Captain F.L. Houghton, knew I was a Wren with my blue stripes on my uniform, in contrast to his gold. He wasn’t so fond of me at first, with the issue of being a woman at war, but he soon saw my dedication and noticed I had always accomplished every task as he asked. He was in fact the man who introduced me to my husband, and I still keep in touch with Captain Houghton to this day. One of the first friends I made was Commodore Percy Nelles. He was very passionate about his work and never judged me once. A few months after I came, he was called to go on a fighting ship, HCMS Ottawa, a destroyer vessel, to help Britain in the Battle of the Atlantic. After the war, I learnt that out of the 341 Canadian fighting ships, his was one of the 21 ships that were lost. I was devastated. Do you remember some of the friends that you have made? What about the ones that you lost? If so, how did you feel when you heard about the news?