Currie Barracks was located in south west Calgary. When we arrived at the CPR

train station, army trucks were waiting to take us to the base. We did not mind that

at all, for the winter of 1943 was very cold with lots of snow.

To reach the base by city transit from downtown, one needed to take the

base. This was really the only public transportation choice. The street car was usually

packed with military personnel. Besides the army base for men there was another for women,

and an air force training base as well.

Advanced training took on a faster pace. Everything was done "on the double". For

instance, when in formation (other than on parade) we were expected to run. We had to run

from our huts to the mess hall. We ran to our training areas and back again.

It was absolutely vital to learn to obey orders instantly. This took some time, and

timing imperfections were especially noticeable in rifle drill.

Once the weather turned warm and the fields around Currie Barracks dried, we started

maneuvers. We trained on an obstacle course, took bayonet practice and underwent

endurance type training. I disliked bayonet practice the most, because it indicated killing,

which to me at least, was repulsive. I did the best I could, with a closed mind.

Morning and mid afternoon break brought a welcome opportunity to buy a coffee or a

donut for 10 cents from the canteen.

We also took weapons training and learned how to use both rifles and machine guns.

The name of each part of the weapons was drilled into us. Maintenance of the weapons was

critical. To have a rifle with a dirty barrel was frowned upon. Rifle inspections were a

constant feature.

We needed to also attend to the maintenance of our personal gear. Clothing, boots,

web harness, belt, and buckles need to be kept clean and in good repair. Buckles and buttons

needed to look polished at all times.

It seemed that there were continuous inspections of the living quarters. Beds, boots,

and basins were given a daily once over. Inspection of rifles and of a soldier’s general

appearance was included. Hair needed to be cut to military standard. Soldiers needed to be

clean shaven at all times.

One day, an officer who was inspecting the men, found one with a substandard hair

cut. As he ran his white gloved fingers through the soldier’s hair he barked, " Sergeant, have

this soldier have longer hair tomorrow." The sergeant barked back very quickly, "Yes Sir!"

We did not see that officer after that for some reason. He may have been the sort of

individual who was one brick short of a load.

In due course, each soldier was graded on proficiency on the rifle range. I don’t

remember my score, but I passed.

Field battle tactics lectures occupied many hours during advanced training. We had

extended field exercises to attack defensive positions. We practiced repeatedly to improve

our performance and to learn to co-operate with other members of the platoon, and platoons

within a company formation.

The day came when we were exposed to live fire. We were to crawl toward our

objective on our bellies while live ammunition sailed above our heads. Some soldiers were

known to have been killed in these exercises, so they were a bit frightening to say the least,

but everyone had to do it.

Since my original application had included training as a driver/mechanic, this training

also began while in Calgary. A driving instructor in each type of vehicle took us out into a

hilly area outside of the city where driving was easy. Stopping and starting again on an

upslope was another thing however! We learned to synchronize the emergency brake, clutch,

and accelerator to prevent a stall or a rollback. It took a lot of practice, but I didn’t mind. I

passed this part of the course with relative ease.

Another phase of the driver training was on off road trails and in mud holes. This

took place mostly along power lines south west of Calgary, through an Indian reservation and

out to Morley. The objective was not to get stuck -- or to get unstuck very quickly. This was

usually accomplished by a generous use of the gas pedal.

Next we practiced driving in a convoy. Maintaining a proper distance between

vehicles was the key, and took some time to master.

Maintenance of the trucks was a

constant thing. A walk around inspection of

the vehicle, including checking fluid levels,

was required before starting every time.

The mechanical portion of the

tradesman training was at a technical center in

Hamilton, Ontario. Thirteen of us traveled by

CPR train to Hamilton. Our ticket and meal

costs were covered by the army.

While traveling to Hamilton, we stopped in

Winnipeg. My sister Margaret was in

Winnipeg at the time. By telegram I was able

to inform her when I would be passing

through.

A truck took us from the train station in

Toronto to an army barracks in Hamilton,

which was home for the two months required

for this training. I remember missing the cool

prairie breeze after sundown in Hamilton.

The beginning of this training was to

learn the anatomy of the vehicle. A display

area gave us a good breakdown of all the parts:

frame, drive train, power train, and so on. We

studied the names and functions of the

components until we knew them all. Care and

maintenance of the vehicle, as well as some

troubleshooting were covered. We had written

exercises to complete where diagrams of the

drive train were studied extensively. I paid

close attention to the vehicle lectures, as well

as practical instruction in machining, tin

Time for a quick photo with Marg

while passing through Winnipeg.

From Kif(f)iak Family Tree "100 years in Canada" CD

smithing, and welding.

My keenness sharpened

when learned that my instructor

was a practicing Christian. Of the

thirteen who came from Calgary, I

found myself alone as a believer in

the group. Weekends were free of

classes, but the army barracks was

a very lonely place to stay so one

found things to do and see. On

Sunday, a friend and I hitch hiked

to Niagara Falls. The grandeur and

sound of that thundering cascade

was amazing to say the least. A

young preacher and his wife going

to conduct a church service in the

town gave us a ride in their Model

A Ford. We were in very good

company. A soldier in uniform

was seldom refused a ride in those

war years. We hitched another ride

back to Hamilton.

On another weekend I

went, with a Christian soldier

friend whom I had met at the

camp, to a Bible camp at Paris,

Ontario. I remember that we

required meal tickets for the camp

and attended a couple of very

lively services that day. These

were new experiences to add to my

collection of memories of my stay

in Ontario.

On a Saturday night at the camp, lonely, I walked through the deserted camp to the

recreation hall. There, I noticed a soldier reading what appeared to be a small print Bible. I

asked the man if it was a Bible he was reading and he confirmed it. I then asked "Do you

understand it." "I think so" he replied, and then he told me why he was reading it. He had

just received word that his brother had been killed in tank exercises at Camp Borden. His

brother and parents were believers, but he was not. Recognizing that this man was grief

stricken on two counts, I asked him if he would like to receive Jesus Christ as Savior and

Lord. His reply was a quick, ‘Yes, I do". So, on bended knee, both of us found ourselves

beside the couch in prayer. This soldier was soundly changed into a New Creation, a born

again believer in Christ. He then rushed to the phone to tell his parents the good news.

On another Saturday night our instructor who was a Christian, and knew that I was,

asked if I would like to go with him to Toronto for the weekend and attend the People’s

to see him at C.P.R. Going from Calgary to Hamilton,

Ont. Was in city for ¾ of hr. Good to see him. Sammie

was 17 when I last saw him. He will be twenty one next

month. He’s got a girlfriend in Edmonton, who is

engaged to him. He’s no more the little brother that I

used to take care of on the farm – giving baths with the

other boys, but he’s now a man. Gone are those days

on the farm. Those precious childhood days when we

all nestled close to the shelter of our parents. Now each

of us launch out to prepare for themselves a home of

our own. Live their own lives, have their own cares. No

more does mother heal those heart bruises, but God is

our refuge.

is in Winnipeg passing through the city to Calgary.

see Sammie at the C.P.R. station. Train stopped for 65

minutes. Had a grand talk with Sam. Took some

pictures.

saying that he was drafted for overseas. Cried just a

little, even though I had expected it to be so. He’s such

a dear.

me that he passed through the city, but he was not

allowed to send a message to me of his coming, so I did

not see him. He went to Nova Scotia.

Sammie is overseas.

From this date, until the end of the war, I have

no record of Sam. I worked at McDonald Aircraft in

Winnipeg and the Bay after I graduated.

Church there. This was the famous church with pastor Oswald J. Smith. Since I had no

contacts in the city, my instructor made arrangements to have me stay with friends of his in

their home.

His friends had a very nice house, beautifully furnished with the finest of furniture. I

had a great time with them and a good sleep, but I forgot to ask them what time Sunday

morning was wake up time, so was up at my usual time of 6:00 am. It was difficult to be

quiet with my army boots on the hardwood floor for three hours. The next person arose at

9:00 am.

For me, attendance at the People’s Church was a very memorable and satisfying

experience. Their support for foreign missionaries seemed second to none.

With the training completed in Hamilton, we were taken by military truck to the CPR

station in Toronto to board a train to Calgary. The trip and expenses were of course courtesy

of the Canadian taxpayer.

It was now the fall of 1943. All of our necessary training was complete. Of course

we were wondering, "What happens now?" Meanwhile we busied ourselves with various

daily duties. One chore I remember was picking dandelions from the lawn of the officers’

quarters, using special dandelion removal tools. That was a relaxing job. Another

assignment I had was guard duty at the detention center. Those in detention were there for

various infractions, including being absent without leave or refusing to bear arms.

In 1940, Dr. R. B. Bingham, the founder of the Sudan Interior Mission headquartered

in Toronto, had a vision to be of help to the Canadian servicemen and women. He traveled

from coast to coast during the early months of the war establishing service club centers for

personnel of the armed forces. He eventually established 33 such centers throughout Canada.

It was organized by the Pastor’s Gospel Fellowship under Dr. R. B. Bingham, and operated,

as well as funded, by volunteers from Calgary.

The association provided reading and writing facilities, a games room, and free

refreshments. Limited overnight accommodations were available on a first come first served

basis.

This was a special place where service personnel could meet in off duty periods such

Bible Study Group

in Hamilton. Sam

is at the right in the

back row. Others

are not identified.

Picture from Personal Archives

as weekends and evenings. I frequented the center often and stayed overnight at times.

Sunday evening, after the regular church service, a fireside service for the servicemen

and women was held, in churches that offered the use of their buildings. Mr. Lee, the

operator of the service center arranged for those events. He also conducted a radio broadcast

during the week for the armed forces personnel. From time to time Mr. Lee sought the help

of talented individuals to participate in the live broadcast. It was my privilege to play a very

small part in broadcasts in the fall of 1943.

At other times we would attend the service at the Prophetic Bible Institute to listen to

Mr. Ernest C. Manning expound the scriptures. I often attended church services at the

Church of the Nazarene, where Vic and Francis made their church home. Some days I would

line from the Calgary Centre.

In October 1943, I purchased a 5 year diary to record the activities each day.