A NAVAL OFFICER'S WAR

I mentioned earlier my first impression of the Royal Canadian Navy in its rela-tionship with the Royal Navy. I now want to set down my view of the RN after five years of close observation. In so doing, let me admit at once that I write con amore, almost without qualification; it was love at first sight. Indeed it was ahead of first sight; there was an impression before we met. I entered my naval career with a mental picture of the classic naval type and of the style and culture of the RN; the reality was never unfaithful to the vision. Even after all these years, I cannot hear the first few bars of "Heart of Oak" without feeling my back straightening and pulse quickening.

Not that it was all sweetness and light. The history of the Royal Navy over the years included many examples of cruelty, injustice, arrogance and sordidness. But all evolution is inexplicable.

The wastrel child of model parents, the brilliant product of wastrel parents, the almost universal failure of the "great man" to produce even a tolerable offspring regardless of (or perhaps because of) the benefits showered upon him; all these mystify us.

The Royal Navy miraculously combined its past ignobilities with inspiring courage and fortitude, style, self-esteem and historical awareness to create one of the greatest institutions of state in any country, in any era. This picture of the RN never dimmed for me in all my five years of contact, nor did I ever doubt that the Naval Service of Canada had had the benefit of the inheritance.

That being said however, I must add that the RCN clung to mother's apron strings too long. Anybody reading Tony German's excellent history of the Canadian Navy, The Sea Is At Our Gates, will see why. This tiny force, minimally supported by the Canadian government, struggling through the years from its initial founding in 1910, depended on and was almost totally subservient to the RN. And like a child who is around the house too long, this resulted in arrested development.

Some of the RN's characteristics were alien to the Canadian ethos. An example (and I think an important one) was the segregation of the service into three categories: RCN, RCNR and RCNVR.

While the distinction would obviously have been needed within the records, I believe it was a mistake to proclaim it through differences in the officers' uniforms. While the RCNVR took great pride in its branch of the service, there was in my opinion, a subtle derogation which adversely affected the spirit of unity in the whole. Moreover, while it was inevitable that, especially in the beginning of the war, the important posts of command should go to the best trained category of officers, it always looked like the old boy network turning over nicely. After all, there they were with their straight stripes. Had we all been the same, like the army and the air force, nobody would have noticed, particularly on the few occasions when the professionals messed it up.

This anomaly was corrected after the war. But it was done in the context of the programme for total unification of the three branches of the armed services. That misbegotten, self-serving project was carried through staggering with clumsiness and total disregard for morale and tradition, which are surely the most important factors of all in shaping and maintaining a body of men trained in the arts of war.

We did manage during the war, to show our separate Canadian identity from the RN through the Canada badges on our shoulders and the maple leaf painted on our funnels. This was both necessary and effective.

It has been suggested in some postwar "docudramas," in which fantasies-otherwise known as creativeness-of film makers have had full scope, that the RN behaved snobbishly to Canadian "colonials." This is an article of faith in the Canadian media. I never saw any of it. On the contrary, while there was a higher standard of training in the RN, which may at times have led to an appearance of condescension on technical matters by staff officers in British ports, the social attitude was never "superior" and was unqual-ifiedly convivial.

I remember the warmth of the greeting I got from shore authorities in Londonderry, Greenock and Belfast. Even at Derby House in Liverpool, Headquarters of C-in-C Western Approaches, the unquestioned focal point of the Atlantic Battle, where a visiting small ship's captain found himself in rather exalted surroundings, the attitude always was: "Well Pictou, what can we tell you, what can you tell us, and what can we do for you?"

On one of my visits to Liverpool, I was asked by Captain "Johnnie" Walker, DSO and three bars, the most famous anti-submarine ace of the whole war (twenty U-boats destroyed by the Second Escort Group which he so brilliantly led) to come and see him. At the time he was serving as Captain D Liverpool, in an undemanding shore job for the express purpose of having a short rest. I remember him as quiet, unassuming and immensely confident. He asked me many questions, gave me invaluable advice and paid a generous tribute to the Canadian naval effort, conducted with much less training than would normally be provided.

Walker's short respite ashore was not enough. Shortly after his return to the sea he died of exhaustion at the age of forty-eight, and was given a most moving and impressive funeral, comparable almost to that of a head of state. He was buried at sea from HMS Hesperus. I often wondered why this man, clearly one of the greatest of Britain's warriors in World War II, a major contributor to the very survival of his country, had not received greater recognition, such as knighthood and flag.

I conclude these few comments about the Royal Navy by stating that even in its diminished role in the world today, it carries such a powerful force of culture and style that its quality is without doubt as great as ever. It left an unmistakable mark on me and I look upon its influence with affection and admiration.

On August 6, 1945, the Americans dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima and, three days later, on Nagasaki, obliterating 200,000 people. We all have our personal view of the justification of this act. While a strong case is made for the defence-that the bombs cut the war short, thus saving, perhaps, even more lives than were lost in the blasts-I have always held the opinion that this was one of the war crimes of history. There was no military objective; it was not a case of "collateral loss;" it was a deliberately planned slaughter of the innocents. The heavy bombing raids in Europe at least created alarm systems and shelters, enabling the civilian population to seek whatever protection was available, however inadequate. This may seem to be splitting hairs when one considers the raids on Tokyo which accounted for 100,000 casualties at a time; but, horrible as they were, there was a difference.

At Hiroshima, on a bright, sunny day, with children playing in the streets and their mothers in the shops, the single aircraft circled overhead and, without warning, dropped its dreadful instrument of carnage, incinerating within seconds tens of thousands. And worse, killing over time thousands of others by radiation.

The argument that this act of savagery saved lives does not stand up: the lives that were saved were members of the fighting forces who, in the nature of their activities, had accepted the risk of death. They were, to put it bluntly, expendable in battle. If Hiroshima was excusable on the basis that the end justified the means, then this argument can be used to defend most of the other great crimes against humanity; they too can usually be said to have had worthy ends as their objective. The means you choose determine the ends you get.

Some questions arise. Would the Americans have dropped the bomb on Germany? In my opinion, not without warning. America hated and feared the Japanese whom they had found easier to demonize. Yes, Germany was their enemy too, but in a lower category of disapproval.

Would the Germans have dropped the bomb (not very far behind the Americans in producing it) on London? Yes, certainly. The total amorality of the German rulers guarantees it. Would the British have agreed to drop it on Germany? Not, again, without warning. Records indicate that there was some reservation in cabinet about the saturation bombing of Dresden and Hamburg. Sir Arthur "Bomber" Harris' promotion of that policy meant that he never received full acclaim or the customary rewards-such as a peerage.

I will never understand why, at that stage, it wouldn't have been possible to reach the same objective, the surrender of Japan, by dropping the bomb on some barren island or even over the open sea. The utterly cataclysmic effect of the explosion would, it has always seemed to me, have been enough to convince even the Japanese warlords of the futility of further resistance. And if, incredibly, it did not, then at least some justification for the massacre would have been provided.

How shall I describe my private attitude to the war, from beginning to end of my service? It was certainly curious, when looked at in comparison to my contemporaries and shipmates. And, especially towards the end, I wondered if there was not some psychological element missing from my make-up.

There was clearly nothing missing in my offensive spirit. I wanted to win, and I had no inhibitions when it came to the conduct of warfare. The enemy was there to be killed or to kill me and my friends. Though I could never claim to have fulfilled the Christian injunction, "Love your enemies; bless them that persecute you," I never hated them. There were those, some in high authority, who maintained that the war could never be prosecuted effectively without hatred, and the more, the better. I couldn't subscribe to this. I also had strong views about prisoners and made it plain in my ships that any breach of the international convention that prisoners be treated the same way as our own men would result in instant court martial.

My attitude to the war itself was unorthodox. Victory and all its celebrations left me inexplicably bereft. My spirit thrived only in adversity. War seemed to evoke nobility only when we were the underdog. When others were caught up in the final exultation, I thought of those dark days in St. John's at the beginning, when we were losing, when it hardly seemed possible we could ever win, when every time we went out to sea, it was a question of how far our pitiful defences would avail against so powerful and ruthless an enemy. This had stimulated a strong sense of dedication. Reverence for the underdog seems, oddly, to be a British characteristic. The retreat and utter defeat of the British Expeditionary Force at Dunkirk in 1940 is remembered with greater pride than any of the victories.

In the late summer of 1945, I received my discharge. So ended an unforgettable experience, marshalling all my capabilities, setting the pattern of my thoughts, kindling my ambition, crystallizing my confidence. I looked forward with eagerness to whatever the world had in store for me next.

EDITOR'S NOTE:
And so, with a great deal of regret, we reach the conclusion of this marvellous series of retrospective accounts of Tony Griffin's experiences as a young RCNVR officer during World War II. I am pleased to report that the series has been received with great interest, and in some cases, inspired debate. It has also attracted the attention of Canada's foremost naval historians. Tony went on to a distinguished career in the private sector following the war, including Chairman & Director of Guardian Capital Group Ltd., retired Chairman of Triarch Corporation, Home Oil, Scurry-Rainbow Oil, Halifax Insurance and, a retired director of some twenty-five companies in Canada, the US, and the UK, including the famous London banking house, S. G. Warburg. He was released in 1945 from the RCNVR in the rank of Commander, and is a Life Member of NOAC Toronto Branch. I can't thank him enough for allowing us to share this insightful account of one sailor's years at war, excerpted from his privately published autobiography entitled Footfalls in Memory.

episode 1
episode 2
episode 3
episode 4
episode 5
episode 6
episode 7

(Originally Published in Vol. VII, No. 13, Winter 2000/01 issue of Starshell)