This story is
inspired by actual events. All characters and incidents are real. Can’t say
that about their names.
This is a marvellous story. A journalist can
hunt for years and never get to the beginning, never mind the end. It fell into
my lap; all I did was go into one of my favourite watering holes in Montreal on
a blustering, grey fall day in late October. The trees were bare, the streets
were empty. It was a Saturday.
The snow flurries had started in the morning and I
knew, after a many winters in Montreal, we would have a blizzard by the
afternoon.
I got dressed at a leisurely pace, drove down town heading
for my watering hole for a lunch time drink.
The pub had road side windows. It was fun to see the
city being white washed with snow!
My favourite table was occupied by three gentlemen.
They were the only people in the pub.
I ordered my drink. The three were looking at me, or
rather my beard and turban with interest.
My drink came. I lifted my glass in a toast to the
three and sipped.
One of them, silver haired, supporting an RAF moustache,
smart looking returned my toast. “Cheers ole chap! You speak English?’’
“and French” I replied.” We are in Quebec!’’
“Sante!” Yelled the second. He was a Quebequois.
“Bon Chance!’’ I replied n French and raising my
glass, took a sip.
“So!” yelled the third person. “Prost!” and he
chugged from his large beard tankard.
The drifting snow outside was mesmerising. It was a
silent symphony fuelled by a rum and coke.
“I say ole chap! Do come and join us. No good
sitting and drinking alone!’’ it was a crisp English accent with just a slight
slur!
“Oui! Vien ici !’’ said the Frenchy.
“Ya! Kommen sie hier. Bitte” German.
Amazing! This could only happen in Canada, a country
of immigrants. English French and German being spoken at the same table, thanks
to being lubricated by alcohol! I had not got around to Punjabi.
I joined them purely out of curiosity. The drinks
would help.
At three o’ clock the waiter came with a tray full
of snacks.
“Gentleman, that’s all I have. Heavy snow coming.
Get home quick or you will be stuck here!’’.
“We are stuck here!’ Said the RAF moustache. “We all
have rooms here. Think about dinner!’’ smart thinking that. I also checked in
at the hotel. Drinks over, snacks finished we disbursed.
Before we
split the three introduced themselves.
“I am Kurt from Germany,” and I shook a very firm
hand pumped just once. Very military, I thought.
“Squadron Leader Ashton. Christopher Ashton and a
very firm hand shake again.
The third man also put out his hand. A little weak I
thought, but the balding head said he was ahead in years from his companions. “Captain
Henri Lapointe from Newfoundland.
“Good we will meet here again at 7 this evening,”
said Ashton.
They were all punctual. We exchanged greeting and
sat down.
Well said Henry, “We are in Canada so we will drink
a national drink, Canadian club with ginger ale!’’.
And so it was. Everyone put Canadian $50.00 on the
table to cover expenses. It was a well rehearsed move. This was not the first time
the trio were having a reunion. I kept wondering what it was all about.
They were as curious about me as I was about them
but politeness prevented us from prying.
Patience! I
told myself. Another drink or two and politeness and inhibitions will be the
first casualties.
The conversation was very personal, about each others
families, their work and activities. Their meetings which were annual affairs
were held in different countries, different cities. One thing was confirmed a
tremendous camaraderie existed between the three. They were all soldiers. They
had all served together? An Englishman, a Canadian, a German? Which army?
Where? The longer I sat with them the more questions sprang in my head.
Their conversation was invigorating, interesting, humorous
and covered a multitude of subjects.
What was the common denominator for their
friendship?
We had dinner and retired for the evening the German
Kurt, and Henri excused themselves for Sunday.
Christopher invited me for an English breakfast. We
would meet at nine o’ clock.
English breakfast! My favourite. Two fried eggs,
bacon, cheese, fries. Fresh toasted breads, bitter marmalade!
This was followed by a Mimosa cocktail. Champagne
and orange juice.
“It helps the digestive system!’’ clarified
Christopher as we downed the second one.
I offered to show him snow covered Montreal. He was
absolutely thrilled as I got out the Mustang. He had never sat in Mustang only
heard about it.
We drove
around the city. I made it a point to get information about him and his
friends.
We went to my favourite eatery. A vintage French
Canadian place with period furniture and saw-dust on the floor. Only candles
for light.
The speciality was ham cooked in maple syrup. Very
French Canadian. That’s what we had. It was washed down with a California Pinot
Noir.
A large Armagnac with black coffee closed the meal.
Christopher was thrilled. “I have never had such a delightful
meal and drink. Those two have no idea what they missed!’’ he said.
This was the opening I had been waiting for.
“They are very nice people’’ I said, “Have you known
them long?’’
“Since 1944!
“Really how did you meet and where?’’
“1944? There was a war on. Where did you meet?’’
“In the middle of the Atlantic!’’
“But there was a war on’’ I repeated.
“Yes! We were at war. We were fighting each other!’’
I sat in silence and listened to the Squadron
Leader’s story.
“The German U-boats were playing havoc in the
Atlantic. Millions of tons of essential supplies from America had been sunk by
U-boats. They were just too good.
“In England we formed an anti-U-boat Squadron. I was
the leader. We had only three planes. The Westland Lysander was suited for this
mission of reconnaissance and U-boat hunting.
“The Lysander was a single engine aircraft. It is
never recommenced to fly a single engined plane over the sea for obvious
reasons. Britain was short of everything. If the U-boat menace continued we
would have lost the war.
“Other than the single engine, everything was in
favour of the Lysander. Overhead wings, providing the pilot with excellent
visibility. Fixed under carriage, so an extra fuel tank could be carried. This
was removed and the plane modified to carry a thousand pound anti-U-boat
torpedo.
“This simple humble civilian Lysander became a feared
predator in the Atlantic by the U-boats.
“Only one problem. “Since the external fuel tank had
been removed, the range had been reduced.
“I could only go so far out to sea, then had to
return to base.
“I would be given the co-ordinates where to find a
killer U-boat.
“As I neared him, he saw me and made a crash-dive. In
a flash he disappeared from view. The Atlantic was as smooth as a village pond.
The captain of the U-boat was Kurt.
“In the distance I saw a fishing trawler and decided
to check him out.
“It was a lobster fishing trawler flying the British
navy flag. The captain was Henri. I circled overhead, we were friends we waved
to each other and I headed back to base.
“Henri and Kurt were on friendly terms. Every few
days, Henri would go over to the U-boat flying a white flag. He would give a
few fish to Kurt, have a chit chat and go back to his fishing. He would also then
promptly radio back to British Navel headquarters about U-boat activity in the
Atlantic. Henri was Royal Navy!
“The hunting mission went on for weeks. The U-boat
commander had figured out my maximum range and stayed a couple of miles beyond
that, taunting me.
“On a couple of mission, on a sunny day I saw his
sub-mariners sun bathing on the surfaced U-boat, soaking up vitamin-D!
“Summer was slipping away and in a months’ time
flying would be impossible.
“I decided on a do or die mission. It was a clear sunny
day, no clouds, low winds perfect flying weather.
“The U-boat saw me and made a crash-dive. Dam’- I
lost him. The Canadian trawler was a couples of miles away.
“I circled a couple of times and left. Not really! I
made a wide circle, low on the horizon and came back. The U-boat fell for my
ruse. He came up to periscope level and was looking for me in the east. Seeing
nothing he surfaced. I approached from the west, just skimming the waves.
“The U-boat was a sitting duck! From about a hundred
yards away, I released the torpedo. It was a direct hit. I circled a few times
and finally two life boats appeared.
“But I was in trouble. I was dangerously low on
fuel. No way I was going to make it back to base. I headed for the Canadian
trawler, gave him a distress signal and since it was a calm day I ditched close
to the trawler. The captain put out life boats to come and pick me up.
“Then the trawler captain headed for where the
U-boat had sunk. The only thing that survived was a single life boat with two
people in it.
“We got them on boat. One was the captain, in full
Nazi Kreigsmarine uniform. The second person was a badly burnt and seriously injured
sailor. We give him a sea burial.
“The captain of the U-boat was Kurt, the captain of
the trawler was Henri, the pilot of the Lysander U-boat killer was me!
“That’s where we met. In the middle of the Atlantic
during the war.
