One of the best things about working as a journalist – which I did for a rather short period of time – was interviewing a lot of different people about different things that they are very passionate about.
I once interviewed a WHO scientist about vitamin A supplements and why they gave them along with polio vaccines. I talked to a representative of the United Nations Association of Canada who was celebrated having de-mined a minefield. I got to scrum Jean Chretien and interview Jaromir Jagr.
One of the interviews I will always remember was with a man called Donald Jamieson. I don’t remember how the story came about, but I was routed to him as a journalism student because he had a story to tell.
Mr. Jamieson was in his 80s when I went to his home, and I was very nervous about talking to him, but he was rather determined to share. I think I spent over an hour with him as he told me about his experiences on D-Day, landing on Juno Beach.
The news of the story that I was covering was that this elderly gentleman was about to head back to France to be a part of the opening of the Juno Beach Centre. He had been part of the campaign to get it built.
He told me how, as they approach the shore, he was watching his commanding officer who was killed in front of him before they landed. He brought out a photo album.
This man was so different from my grandfather, who barely ever talked about the war at all – but if you ever called a ship a boat you would hear about it.
Gramps was part of the Battle of the Atlantic – it was something he read books about and watched documentaries about, but didn’t talk about until after his youngest brother died. He told me that made him think about what memories can be lost if he didn’t share.
Once on a trip to Halifax he took us aboard a frigate that was in the harbour. He showed us the sleeping quarters and I tried to imagine my grandfather sleeping in a hammock that was directly below someone else’s hammock. Like, inches.
When I was younger he mainly made jokes about peeling potatoes, eating Spam and being seasick (I don’t know if they were related). He failed to talk about how he deciphered code, how his ship acted as a convoy escort. I think he was in his 90s when he told us about racing a hurricane up the coast.
When he moved into the Perley Rideau he was surrounded by other vets who proudly displayed their photos and medals outside their rooms. His medals were in a box. He allowed us to pull them out and put them in order to pin on his jacket when they celebrated the anniversary of the Battle of the Atlantic at the War Museum. He was one of a small group of remaining survivors, and it was a sight I never expected to see.
I also took possession of some of his memories when he made that move, and one thing was a small black binder in which he had written several notes.
I said to him ‘You kept a war diary’ and he replied ‘No, we weren’t allowed.’
“But you did.”
“Yes.”
So here I have a historical record (including some of his coding notes that maybe were top secret at some point). I have letters he wrote home to his parents.
I do not have him anymore, but I have these.