“Ina said that the Brampton boys are being called up.”
“Yes, the Brampton boys who are members of the militia. There are eighteen of them. They are all going. Not every Brampton boy. No one is being compelled to go.” Mother and Aunt Charlotte looked at me with sympathy. Father and Ina shook their heads and continued their conversation.
“And where will the Brampton boys be taken to? Will they go directly to the new training grounds at this La Cartier, or whatever it’s called?”
Ina did not hesitate to disclose the details, which were by that time all very public. “No, they are going to Ravina Rink in Toronto until La Cartier, or whatever it’s called, is ready to receive them. But they do not think that will be very long.”
“Ravina Rink is in the west end of Toronto,” Uncle William offered. “I heard about it yesterday. There is no ice in it now, and it’s a good-size piece of property. I heard Blain say that Jesse Smith, the owner, was going to donate its use to the 36th and a number of other regiments. It can serve as a temporary barracks and training ground until they go to Bal Cartier, or whatever it’s called.”
“There should be a group at the station when the boys leave. There should be speeches, hymns, and anthems,” Father said. He was not particularly supportive of the war, but he wanted the Brampton boys to depart with at least the amount of ceremony accorded to the Excelsiors two months earlier when they left by train for Vancouver. “What train are they catching? Do you know?”
“The 9:30 a.m. from the CPR station,” Ina replied. “But don’t worry about ceremony. The bands have already been called. Mr. Blain is alerting the businesses. He’s trying to encourage as many people as possible to accompany the boys to the station and to be there when they leave.” It was already eight o’clock. Jim had left for work at the Dale Estate half an hour earlier.
We put down our napkins and stood to leave. We proposed to stop at Aunt Rose’s house to retrieve the other members of the family. They were already on the verandah when we arrived, having been informed of the departure moments earlier by our neighbour, Mr. Hudson.
The eighteen Brampton boys did not leave Brampton quietly. They did not leave it without ceremony. Having gathered together at eight thirty that morning, dressed in their militia uniforms, they were paraded north along Main Street, the Citizens Band leading them and hundreds of citizens following them. At Queen Street, they were met by a similar throng of citizens walking south, in this case led by the workers of the Dale Estate under the furls of a massive Union Jack. Jim was near the front of the pack. Together the two groups proceeded west to the CPR station, where they were met by hundreds of others. All of the factories in the area had released their workers to provide the boys with a proper send-off. In the end, fifteen hundred people attended, including some who had fought in the 1885 Northwest Rebellion, the Fenian Raids that ended in 1871, and the Boer War that ended in 1902—some in their old, moth-damaged, now barely fitting uniforms.
After a number of solemn speeches and two heartfelt hymns, the Citizens Band led the assembled in the “Maple Leaf,” “O Canada,” and “Rule Britannia,” all sung with the greatest solemnity. As we sang, I took stock of those there. Most of the eighteen boys were Jim’s age, although none of them were his particular friends. The eighteen did not include any of his Excelsior teammates. They did not include any of his Sunday school classmates. Ten of the boys attended Christ Anglican Church. At least four were older than Jim—three quite a bit older. Two of them had fought in the Boer War, which had ended twelve years earlier. One of the older men was the only married man among the eighteen.
The boys returned to their families to say their final farewells. There was no cheering, no levity, no boasting, just a dignified adieu to those brave boys—those brave men—who volunteered to protect a nation—an empire—well before anyone knew such service would be required. With not a dry eye on the platform, the eighteen boys, the first from Brampton to flock to the colours, entrained for service to king and country.
After the train departed, I walked with Jim down Queen Street on its north side amid those jostling, ten or more abreast, as they returned to their homes and places of work. The pace was slow. At one point, Mr. Thauburn squeezed in between Jim and me.
“That was a wonderful send-off, wasn’t it?” he asked. “I didn’t think there could ever be a send-off better than the one they had for us when we went west in June.” After Jim agreed, Mr. Thauburn asked him about his upcoming school year. Jim answered as we continued moving slowly along the street. We crossed George Street when Roy, pushing through the throng, joined us. He had been walking with a crowd on the other side of the road.
“Hello, Mr. Thauburn,” Roy said enthusiastically. Mr. Thauburn returned the greeting with much less enthusiasm. “That was a wonderful send-off, don’t you think?” Roy asked. But before Mr. Thauburn could reply, Michael Lynch, one of Mr. Thauburn’s telegram delivery boys, tapped him on the shoulder. Mr. Thauburn fell back behind us.
Roy turned to us and shrugged. We knew he was trying to make amends for the annoyance he had caused. His frequent visits to Mr. Thauburn to inquire as to the arrival of telegrams had not stopped on August 7th. Roy could not understand why the 36th had been mustered but his regiment had not. “Don’t worry, Roy. You’ll be called up soon. I have no doubt about that,” Jim said in response to an unspoken lament.
“I’d have asked Mr. Thauburn if he had a telegram for me, but Father has forbidden me to do so. Apparently, I am becoming a nuisance,” he said.
“That you are,” said Mr. Thauburn who, with Michael, was still just behind us.
“I apologize, Mr. Thauburn,” Roy said. “Really I do. I won’t bother you again. I will patiently wait and see if a telegram comes for me before we leave on Sunday.”
“I rather doubt that you will,” Mr. Thauburn replied dryly.
Before Roy could protest again, Mr. Thauburn reached into the inside pocket of his coat, extracted a manila envelope, and passed it to Roy. “Came in at eight o’clock this morning.”
Michael looked at Mr. Thauburn in astonishment. It was now nine forty-five. Mr. Thauburn had breached his two cardinal rules. He had been in possession of the telegram for well over half an hour, and he had stored it in his pocket rather than holding it in plain view.
“Don’t look at me that way, Johnny,” Mr. Thauburn said to Michael. “I wasn’t going to let you or anyone else miss sending those boys off right. Besides, who would have been home to accept this? I knew where I’d find young Roy.”
Six days later, on August 20th, the 260 volunteers comprising the 36th Peel Regiment left their quarters at Ravina Rink in Toronto. Added to those first eighteen Brampton men were twenty-one others who had been members of the Brampton regiment in prior years, hailing from such places as Port Credit, Mono Mills, and Orangeville. Their destination: a new training ground for the first contingent of the Canadian Expeditionary Force, Canada’s largest, in a place we all then knew was called Valcartier.
Chapter 3
SNELL’S LAKE
The telegram required Roy to report to his regiment five days later. He went into immediate action. After hours of pacing, investigation of train schedules, and consideration of other commitments, he finally concluded that the first train he could take to Winnipeg was the one for which he and the other members of his family had tickets: the Sunday train leaving two days hence. It would, his father calmly told him, arrive in Winnipeg well before his
