BY THE SEAT OF MY PANTS: CHAPTER ONE

PREFACE:

          My name is Sidney Bolivar. I am the grandson of Henry Justice Bolivar (1898 – 1981). He was on the front lines when Allied troops marched on Vimy Ridge during WW1. How does an underaged Canadian enlist to fight in the War to end all wars? Let's go back to 1917, as he recounted in an Autobiography, he wrote for me in the late 70s, just before his death. He never talked about the war, so I was ecstatic when his memory, using an old typewriter, flooded the pages of his Autobiography. This will be a fictional account of his journey based on facts from his accounts and research.  The second half of his autobiography was titled My sixty-two-year time capsule.

CHAPTER 1

          My name is Henry. I am the second youngest of twelve children. My older brother Benjamin and I enlisted in the army as part of the CEF Canadian Expeditionary Force in March 1916. We enlisted as our patriotic duty and for adventure, not understanding the perils that lay ahead. I was only seventeen, and like a lot of underaged Canadians, I had to convince my mother to lie about my age on my attestation papers. I grew up in Lunenburg County, 90 km southwest of Halifax and 105 km from the Aldershot training facility where Ben and I were stationed. During the First World War outbreak, there were two infantry divisions resident in Aldershot, the 1st Division in South Camp and the 2nd Division in North Camp, so Aldershot Command Headquarters was the country's only de facto standing corps headquarters. On September 16^th, 1916, Ben and I left Aldershot for Halifax by train. The troop train left Kentville Station at 5:30 a.m. on its 135 km trip to Halifax harbour, arriving at 11:00 a.m. As we approached Pier 2, the fog was so thick that it was only when the squealing brakes echoed through the cars that we knew we had reached our destination. My brother and I grabbed our packs, jumped off the train, walked the few steps along the wooden pier, climbed up the diagonally grated gangway and boarded the Olympic passenger ship with her nickname Old Reliable. I immediately noticed the ship's camouflage paint job. I watched with interest from the main deck through the dissipating fog as the heavy shorelines were lifted from their moorage, and the vast ship departed Halifax harbour at 3:00 p.m. for its seven-day trip to Liverpool, England. Every soldier was issued a hammock and a life preserver.

Ben and I were bunked on F deck, four decks below the main deck. We tied up our hammocks, put on our required life jackets, and went for dinner. I later regretted it. The Olympic started to roll at 45 degrees in the open sea and I became extremely seasick. I was seasick from boarding until the ship docked in Liverpool. My brother seemed to enjoy my discomfort and continuously mocked my condition by asking me whether I wanted some dinner. The only thing that kept me alive were the barrels of apples supplied by The Annapolis Valley Fruit Packers. The fish stocks were being fattened up on regurgitated apple cores.  Late on the fourth day at sea, a general alarm sounded with six long sirens. We encountered a U-boat that had surfaced to recharge its batteries. It intended to torpedo us, but we got the last laugh. I was lounging in my hammock when I heard the sirens and guns go off, followed by a radically altered course. I heard a loud bang as the port propeller hit a submerged object. I frantically threw on my life preserver and ran up four levels just in time to see a surfacing U-boat with a massive slice in its hull just aft her tower through my portal. The Olympic never stopped to pick up survivors.  B We continued to Liverpool at a maximum speed of 26 mph. At 2:00 p.m. on September 22, the ship entered the mouth of the Mercey River and took on a pilot for our final 11.1-mile trip to Liverpool. We came into port and docked at 10:00 p.m... Once we made port, smoking restrictions were lifted, to the delight of my brother Ben, who was dying to have a cigarette. This was the first time since we left Halifax that smoking was permitted. We stayed on board one more night before our nine-hour train trip to Milford. We would still have a four-mile trek to Witley Camp left.

We left Riverside Station at six in the morning and arrived at Milford Station at three in the afternoon. Our eyes were as big as saucers as we rode the rails. All the houses were brick-clad, contrary to how houses were clad in Canada. Fields were being tilled, making me a little homesick. As we approached Milford Station, we were greeted by a mob of supporters who threw flowers, blew kisses, and wished us well. I opened a window, returned the waves, and blew kisses back. I felt like a celebrity. Ben and I grabbed our gear, which didn’t amount to much, fell in line, and marched the four miles to Camp Whitley. We were immediately dismissed and shown our bunkhouse. The bunkhouse was a long wooden building with a door at both ends. I entered first and noticed a central wood stove with rows of straw-filled mattresses. I chose one closest to the stove.

The day after arrival, we were given leave. My brother and I decided to travel to Edinburgh. We hiked back to Milford and hopped on the train heading to London. We were literally travelling by the seat of our pants. I told my brother not to worry about anything. My thoughts drifted back to my sister and my traplines. Sometimes, instinct augments any plans. We would pass through the famous and complicated underground railway system in London. The rail hub was opened in 1863 by The Metropolitan Railway.  This country bumpkin negotiated, without fault, the chaos of the Tube. We were both exhausted from the ten-and-a-half-hour train trip but also exhilarated. We exited the train at Edinburgh station and threw our bags over our shoulders. We were in uniform and were immediately surrounded by the locals. Ben and I were unaware that Germany had bombed Edinburgh a few months earlier using Zeppelin airships. We were offered free accommodation in a room above the Waverley Pub. On a three-day pass, we visited a few historic sites on the second day.  Edinburgh Castle was at the top of our list, which included the long walk-up Castle Hill in the footsteps of soldiers, Kings, and Queens. We entered St Margaret's Chapel, named after St. Margaret of Scotland, within the complex of buildings that make up Edinburgh Castle. The chapel was the oldest surviving building in Edinburgh, Scotland. We weren’t Catholic, but we both had a moment of silence. C We enjoyed a warm dish of Clootie dumplings and a pint that evening. We slept very well and enjoyed fried eggs and square-lorne sausage for breakfast. We left the historic city of Edinburgh and went back to Witley camp.

My brother and I had different outcomes in England and would not see each other until we were reunited in Canada after the war. My brother Ben was seriously wounded and spent over a year in a Vancouver hospital convalescing.