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Watching our Olympic athletes compete brings to mind a figure skater from years ago, who just happened to be a member of The War Amps.

Norman Falkner was born in 1892 in Saskatoon.  As a small boy, he learned how to skate.  He was a bit of a klutz though as skates in those days had little or no ankle support, so his weak ankles would buckle and he would topple over.  This ineptness barred him from playing hockey and joining the Church team.  At fourteen, his scoutmaster taught him some exercises to help strengthen his ankles and soon his ankles were much stronger.  It was, however, too late for hockey, as all the other players were well ahead of him.

After completing school, Norman took up speed skating and what was called ‘fancy skating’ back then.  He taught himself to figure skate by reading books on the subject and he became very good at it.

In 1916, he enlisted in the Army and was soon training in Brandon, Manitoba. 

After six months of fighting with the 21st Battalion in France, he was wounded and his right leg had to be amputated mid-thigh. 

He was invalided back to England in November 1917.  The estate near Northampton, which was being used for the convalescence of war casualties, had two lakes, one of which froze fairly solid during the coldest weather.  That was enough to get the skater in him thinking about skating again.  He sent for his skates.

After many attempts and many tumbles, he finally managed to stay upright.  He learned that by bending his knee and throwing his body weight from side to side, he was able to propel himself forward. 

Upon returning to Canada, he continued skating and just got better and better. 

Over the years, after starting a career with Ontario Hydro, Norman took skating gigs and performed at rinks all over Canada and the United States.

Some of his performances included places like the Maple Leaf Gardens, between periods when the Maple Leafs played hockey.  His pro skating career was from 1926 to 1936.  He was also a fantastic golfer.

Norman Falkner died in 1985 at the age of 92 in White Rock, British Columbia.�

In February of 1999, a Polish military attaché in Ottawa, armed with a famous story of a white horse, approached the Canadian Prime Minister’s office.  A visit to Warsaw was being planned for Jean Chrétien, our then Prime Minister, and I was fortunate enough to accompany him to Poland.

The occasion of the PM’s visit, at least in part, was to commemorate a remarkable monument which was eventually placed in front of the Canadian Embassy in Warsaw.   The shrine is outstanding.  The Polish people had found a large oblong-shaped stone measuring ten feet long and five feet high.  The next step was to locate a similar-sized stone in Canada.  The Polish community in the Ottawa Valley took up the challenge.

A similar-sized stone was found near Barry’s Bay, Ontario.  It was shipped to Warsaw.  The two egg-shaped stones were the basis of the twin-pillar monument which bears the following inscription:

“THESE TWO STONES

ONE FROM CANADA AND ONE FROM POLAND

COMMEMORATE THE CANADIAN AND POLISH SOLDIERS

WHO FOUGHT SIDE BY SIDE

DURING THE SECOND WORLD WAR”

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Valentine’s Day brings to mind flowers and sweets for loved ones.  It also brings to mind that, sadly, most young Canadians know Laura Secord only as a popular brand of chocolates.

Laura Ingersoll Secord was the young wife of James Secord, a settler in Queenston, Upper Canada.  Laura was born in the United States and had relatives across the line.  She was very loyal to the British Crown and committed to the defence of the colony.

James, a sergeant in the 1st Lincoln militia, was wounded in the battle of Queenston Heights and was rescued from the battlefield by his wife.  Due to his wounds, James was allowed to stay in his home instead of being marched off as a prisoner of war, however, several American soldiers were stationed with them.

Laura’s story begins on June 21, 1813 when she overhead the soldiers talking about an upcoming surprise attack on the Canadian Forces under FitzGibbons at Beaver Dams. 

Knowing she had to get word to FitzGibbons, she set out at four in the morning to walk the 32 kilometres to where he was staying.  She told the soldiers she was going to visit her sick brother and set out.  After a brief visit with her brother, she continued down the old swamp road.  Knowing she couldn’t risk taking the main roads, she went through the swamp in the mid-day heat, mindful of rattlesnakes and wolves. 

At nightfall, she reached the Niagara Escarpment or ‘The Mountain’ as it was called.  She finally reached the top and after her 18 hour ordeal was exhausted and lost.  She stumbled through the woods and into a clearing where she was surrounded by Mohawks and Caughnawagas, loyal Allies of FitzGibbons.  She persuaded them to bring her to him as she had important information for him.

Laura arrived in time to warn FitzGibbons of the impending American attack. 

Thanks to her warning, the Canadian forces were prepared and when the Americans arrived, 50 soldiers and 200 warriors stood ready.  Most of the Americans were captured and the battle was over.

Laura received no formal recognition for her heroic efforts until 1860, at the age of 85, when the Prince of Wales, while visiting Canada, read of her account and sent her 100£ for her valiant efforts. 

Laura and James had six daughters and one son.  James died in 1841 and Laura died in 1868 at the age of 93.  They are buried side by side in Drummond Hill Cemetery.

A statue of Laura Secord stands as part of The Valiants Memorial, which honours fourteen valiant men and women, representing many others, who gave outstanding wartime service to Canada during the last four centuries and is erected around the Sappers’ Stairway on Confederation Square in Canada’s national capital, Ottawa, Ontario.

In an earlier blog entry, I spoke of when Sir Douglas Bader described men who had lost their lives in action as being ‘all heroes.’  He would undoubtedly include officers like Glen Hughes in his statement.  Glen had reverted from Captain – a cushy job in the Reinforcement unit – to get into action. 

Lt. Glen W. Hughes’ parents were homesteaders in the Grandview and Neepawa districts of Manitoba.  So anxious was he to join in combat that he reverted to the lower rank of Lieutenant after D-Day.  He had seen many of our young officers come back as casualties and had seen reports of those who were killed in action.  Therefore, when Hughes performed the unselfish act of reverting to Lieutenant, to join the Winnipeg Rifles during the dirtiest part of the Normandy campaign, it was the bravest thing of all.

When he joined the Rifles in Normandy after the battle of Caen, he ran into many in the unit who knew him well.  He had been employed as a Phys. Ed. Teacher at Kelvin High School in the Fort Rouge and River Heights districts of Winnipeg.  He knew many of the Rifles and, more to the point, many of them knew him.

On joining the Regiment, he was given an infantry platoon.  Although he had little or no opportunity to gain combat experience, he was a good leader and his men looked up to him.  This was not too difficult.  His six-foot athletic frame and his commanding bearing were indications that his platoon was in good hands.

After distinguishing himself in the battle, he exhibited another trait of a real hero.  He consulted with the CO, Lt. Col. John Meldram, saying that he wondered if he really was fit to command troops in action.  The CO asked me to sit in as I had known Glen, in fact, had played basketball for his High School team.

He could not be certain and did not want to take the responsibility if his inexperience in action could cause the death of eager young riflemen.

Some who did not know Glen might mistakenly conclude that he, himself, was suffering battle exhaustion.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  He was quite accustomed to showing leadership.  He wondered if the CO had some magic formula for measuring the battle readiness of his officers.  Lt. Col. Meldram was quick to realize that Hughes, a well-known Winnipegger, should never be sent back through the medical chain of command.  The danger of being pegged as lacking courage was only too real.  This could represent a burden which would follow him after he returned to ‘Civvy Street.’

He was the perfect candidate for the Regiment’s system of dealing with situations of this nature.  In this case it could not be called battle exhaustion.  Rather, the situation would best be described as ‘love’ for his fellow man.

When he consulted the CO, he was not out to ‘save his own skin,’ as they say.  He just wondered whether he was to blame for some of the casualties, as he had very little training as a combat officer.  At that particular time, the average life span in action of an infantry subaltern could be measured, not in weeks, but in days. Glen knew all of this.  With his volitional action, which brought him face to face with the merciless troops of the Hitler Jugend 12th SS, he was putting himself to the final test.

His friends in the unit knew that he was having doubts as to whether he could command troops in battle.  Every day he saw first-hand the high rate of battle casualties, including former students he had known at high school.

During a quiet chat, the CO offered Hughes the opportunity to go to a Battle Exhaustion Centre.  He quickly rejected this.

As an alternative, he was told that he could ask for a few days of LOB (Left Out of Battle).  He would spend some time with an unofficial group which was made up of Black Devils who had had their share of combat.  Such men were against being sent home and having to live with the knowledge that they were unable to meet the standards necessary for combat. 

Hughes chose to ‘bunk in’ at this special unit, established at the rear echelon of the battalion.  He would find good fellowship and an opportunity to discuss his doubts about his ability to command troops.

A few days in these surroundings were sufficient to convince him that he could indeed withstand the rigours of combat and, at his own request, he was sent back to an infantry platoon. 

Friends attested that he had left ‘the tent,’ full of desire to get back to his unit.  The story has a sad ending, and his marble headstone can be found in Beny-sur-Mer Cemetery.  It shows he was killed in action on August 12 ‘44 at the age of 28. 

Hughes Island in Jordan Lake, Manitoba, was named after him as part of the Manitoba Government’s highly praised initiative to ensure that Manitobans killed in action would be remembered.