Levels of Sacrifice: My Three Heroes.
I had not planned to do this Blog this morning but some of you had enquired about the real facts behind Major George Hees' shattered elbow so I thought I would provide you with that information along with some other of hopeful interest to you.
First though, Remembrance Day each year is primarily to recall and thank in quiet prayer, those who paid the Supreme Sacrifice in the Defence of their Country. As I mentioned in yesterday's Blog, some 110,000 Canadians died in the Two World Wars which is a very high number given the small size of our country - especially 50 and 90 years ago.
One of those was the Brother of my Grandfather - Sgt. Robert (Bob) John Bell. Great Uncle Bob bled to death in no-man's land, during the Battle of the Somme River, in the early morning hours of September 16, 1916.
But Remembrance Day is also an opportunity to for us to thank those who sacrificed in other ways. Two of those soldiers are also my Heroes.
Let's talk first about Maj. George Hees since his war injury sparked the writing of this Blog.
Major Hees was attached to the Canadian First Army during the famous Battle of the Scheldt Estuary, in Holland, between October 1st and November 8, 1944. It was imperative for the Allies to seize this land from the Nazis since it allowed for the opening of the Port of Antwerp which would enable us to land more troops and equipment but especially food for the starving peoples of the Netherlands.
In the early morning hours, before sun-up, Major Hees walked up to the Estuary to do reconnaissance. He had a pistol in his holster but for some reason (the Hand of God ?) he took that pistol out of its holster and placed it in his mid-rift. Unknown to Maj Hees, the sun began to rise behind him and a German sniper took advantage of the fact that George Hees was now silhouetted against the background of the rising sun. The next thing Mr. Hees recalls is that something in the nature of a "ballpeen hammer slammed against his elbow".
He soon ended up at a medic station where the first thing his attendant did was remove the pistol from the waist. The attendant enquired of Major Hees "why would you be walking around with a fully cocked pistol in your mid-drift?"
Sure enough, the gun was cocked and ready to fire. Closer inspection confirmed that the gun had been damaged by the rifle shot fired by the German Sniper. The bullet had ricocheted off the pistol and into Hees' elbow.
George Hees was dumbfounded. Never before could he recall taking out his weapon from its holster and placing it in his waist belt. So why this time?
Whatever the reason, it very likely saved his life in those early morning hours on the Scheldt.
By early November the Scheldt Estuary had been taken and soon the Port of Antwerp was open to Allied Shipping. But the price for Canada had come dearly, some 6 thousand of our young soldiers were either killed or wounded during the course of that month long battle.
I saved my Third Hero for my Father, Robert Ralph Bell.
Dad was a gunner , wireless operator in the tanks of the British Columbia Dragoons. Born and raised in Belleville Ontario it is a bit of story how he ended up with the BCDs but I won't get into that now.
After fighting his way up Italy and then into Holland, my Dad missed out on the celebrations of VE Day - Victory in Europe Day because he was stuck in a military hospital.
His wound injury came about in mid April 1945 less than a month from war's end in Europe. Dad's tank was part of a convoy and they had come across a large clearing. What they did in such cases was drive through one at a time to avoid mass casualties should German artillery be setup in the periphery of the clearing. Dad's tank - and M4 Sherman, was second in line.
The first tank cleared the opening and went on its way. Dad's tank started through and was immediately hit by a large artillery shell. The Commander, who had been looking out one of the hatches, was decapitated. The gunner, was in agony from a spray of shrapnel. Some shrapnel pieces had also hit my father in the left cheek of his face. The driver was unhurt but he froze - the tank came to a complete stop.
Dad yelled at the driver to keep moving - "we're sitting ducks" and the tank once again began its forward motion. He then contacted the first tank to return and knock out the artillery piece - which it soon did.
Their tank was hit again for a second time, knocking off its track - so it now stood permanently motionless. But by now the first tank had returned and neutralized the German field piece.
Dad never got a medal for what he did that day - nor even a wound stripe for the shrapnel in his face. And to boot, he was hospitalized come VE Day.
But he was alive - and I can thank him for my presence here today.
So Dad, you are my most Especial Hero.
These stories although interesting are not unusual - many other of our now old veterans could tell similar ones.
On this Remembrance Day - please go to your nearest Cenotaph and give thanks for their sacrifice.
'K.D. Galagher'
