3 minute read
Walking Wounded — Legacies of War
BY ESTHER SHARP
We honour and revere the (mainly) young and naive men who in all innocence went off to fight in a war to end all wars. We put up monuments to those who didn’t return, but what of the ones that came back and died of injuries both physical and mental, with images burned in their mind that haunted them day and night? Back in the second decade of the last century, there was no concept of post-traumatic stress disorder, no helping hand or programs.
“Real men” were expected to suck it up. Many of the eager recruits from Ladysmith could shoot a gun for hunting but had not killed another human, let alone seeing the man beside them blown apart or the rotting bodies as they marched along the roads, diving for cover as artillery shells suddenly came at them. The trauma and the feeling of being hungry, wet, cold and bone-weary for long stretches was hard to erase from their minds after they returned home.
There were those who returned safe to their loved ones, only to die from war-related complications. Those like Walford Torkko, who was gassed with mustard gas, developed empyema, tuberculosis and fi nally bronchopneumonia. With none of our wonder drugs, he perished in 1919. Annie Steven’s son, Billy Millar, died of larynx cancer in 1920, caused by the aftereffects of mustard gas. Robert Paton, who was in the sanatorium in Sydney, went out in a rowboat in 1917 with other WW1 survivors T. T. Leach, John Holland and H. Duffy. When Paton stood up to change seats, the boat tipped over and capsized. Paton had lost his arm during the war and could not swim, leaving only H. Duffy, who managed to swim to shore, alive. Many soldiers died before even getting to the battlefields: training exercises, Spanish Flu or even common measles took several lives. They are buried in Ross Bay in Victoria or Mountain View in Vancouver or cemeteries scattered over Britain.
The death records of over 400 men who left the Ladysmith and area were checked, and it was noted the last-known residence was Essondale (a mental hospital in Vancouver) and similar hospitals for many. Then there were the many who lived their lives in shacks on the beach or islands, unable to hold a normal job or mix with regular joes. Some also stuck to their farms, away from people and sudden noises, or became fishermen, away from others. They, too, were heroes but unrecognized. Prepared to give their lives, they were dismissed as cannon fodder. Not dying in a glorious battle for a few feet of dirt, but an "also ran". They were unable to appear at remembrance ceremonies for survivors, as the memories were too painful. Pitied by their ex-comrades, who knew their continued battle, who were barely holding in their own ghosts. To these veterans, too, we give our thanks.
Unfortunately, we never learned from their destruction, and two decades later, we repeated it all.
