Montreal -Winter 1942-43

I finally got out of the hospital.  Spring in Montreal comes late, but it was beginning to look like spring.  

My pea plant had grown nicely.  It was good to see it in person, if a pea can be said to be a person, and sparked my interest in growing things.

One afternoon my parents were entertaining another couple when the doorbell rang.  My father opened the door.  There was a young boy standing there.  "Telegram for Mr. Wilde"!    Much excitement ensued, the guests were quickly ushered out, and my parents sat down to bask in the wonderful news.  

As I have said, we were living in very straitened circumstances at this time, with my mother stretching every penny.  Some time before, hoping for a decent income, my father had applied for a commission in the British Army.  His knowledge of shipping was evidently of value to the British military to relocate their personnel.  It was the shipping experience, and not the education that they valued.    So now, wonder of wonders,  he had suddenly become a Second Lieutenant (pronounced Left-tenant) in the British Army!  Leslie Wilde, although well educated , had never gone to University, and thus did not qualify for a commission in the military.  He had been too old during World WarII to enlist in the ranks, but now, in his 40's, he had achieved, in a flash, a lifelong ambition. Upper class status with a well paying job.

My father would have liked to have been "to the Manor born ".  He had a lordly manner and would hand out lavish tips, which he could ill afford, saying "Here, my good man, take this!"

He grew up in a part of Northern England where people tended to have strong regional accents. He did not consider that 'cooth'.  He apparently took elocution lessons at one point in his early life in order to lose his Manchester accent, and forever after, spoke only in the most cultured "British Broadcasting Company" accent. He could mimic a Manchester accent very well, and being a natural linguist, could speak a smattering of Russian, Japanese and German, but he never, never spoke when serious in anything but the most impeccable BBC.

Very soon he appeared in uniform. There were the "pips" on his lapel to designate rank, and a lot of buttons that had to be polished, an officer's hat with brim with some fancy stuff also denoting rank, but what I marveled at most was the Sam Brown. Now if you don't know what a Sam Brown is, you can look it up.  He also had a swagger stick that officers carried. Wow!

When he was transferred to New Brunswick that spring, he was immediately put to work in the port of Saint John, and since the job required it, he was bumped up to the rank of Captain.   Captain in the British Army! 

Oh, My!