Jean Shephard Laffin

PIER 21 : Recollections by Jean Laffin (Nee Shephard), War Bride 1944

My association with Canadians started before the Second World War began. When I was still going to school, my Mother belonged to a women’s group called, The Women’s Own. They had their meetings on Wednesday afternoons. We children would go in after school just in time for a cup of tea and a sticky bun. The President was a Canadian whose name is Mrs. Bleech, and in the Parish Church yard, were over 300 Canadian WW I Graves, every year on the Sunday nearest to July 1st, there would be a Memorial Service, with Canadian and British Legions in attendance.

In those years the Grave Commission hadn’t taken the graves into their care. So the Women’s Own members would go around to the big houses and mansions to ask permission to collect red white and blue flowers. These flowers were then made up into hundreds of little bunches and put onto each Canadian grave for the memorial service. I had often gone along with my Mother and helped her on these occasions.

There had been a Canadian Army camp on Bramshott Common on one side of the main London Portsmouth Road, and a hospital on the other side. So when the war broke out in 1939, that camp and hospital were rebuilt again for the Canadian Army.

I had just left school the year before. School leaving age in those days was 14 years old. Unless parents were well off enough to pay for high school fees, or smart enough to pass the entrance exams. (I guess I wasn’t.) Anyway, I had just started work at the Boy’s Private Boarding school at a place called Grayshott. It was a 4 mile bicycle drive away from home, along the main road.

Well, when war broke out, there was a big shortage of drivers, and my Dad had volunteered, and joined up. Well when he was home on leave, and found out what was going on with the camps being built etc., he was insistent that I leave my job. He was against my riding by bike past the camps - too dangerous, even when I only got to get home every other weekend. But then I was only 15 years old, so I suppose in retrospect, it was understandable.

…

I got a temporary housework job with another Canadian lady, her name was Mrs. Dodd. She too, of course was interested in the Canadians coming to Bramshott, and so she started a canteen, getting me and another girl to help. Mrs. Dodd also advertised, darning of clean socks and mending of gloves could be done.

Well, one evening there was this soldier who came and gave me a pair of gloves to be mended. There wasn’t very many holes, and I didn’t take much notice him, in fact, I was rather shy (and not an easy mixer, well, perhaps he was too, I didn’t know) But perhaps Mrs. Dodd seen something pass between the soldier and me, and we weren’t aware of it, I couldn’t say for sure, but anyway she asked me if I would mind going to her house for some more milk, as the stores close at 6 o’clock, and she was running low. She asked the other girl to go with me, and then told the soldier that he might as well go along too. And that’s how I met my husband.

It just seemed to be a mutual affair; I had just turned 17 at the time and had gotten the job at Sainsbury’s when they got their plant up and running. Steve had met my family by this time and they had all taken to him, so that when I got home from work, he was often there waiting for me. Quite often after we had tea, I would fall asleep in his arms. (Great company for him, wasn’t I?)

Anyway a couple of years later, Stephen asked my Dad permission to marry me. Dad argued the fact that I didn’t even know how to cook! (Reason being during the war food was rationed very tightly and couldn’t waste anything) But Steve was persistent, told my Dad that we all had to crawl before we could walk. So my Dad relented.

On the 24th of June 1944, a lovely day, and after Steve having to bail his best-man, George Nelson, out of jail, (apparently he had a little too much to drink and got too rambunctious!) we were married in St. Mary the Virgin in Bramshott, where all my 4 sisters had been married before.

It was a beautiful wedding, and I was lucky enough to be married in a white wedding dress, because they were in such short supply during the war, so I was fortunate enough to borrow a wedding dress from a friend of mine. My head dress and veil had been my sister Connie’s. Steve’s Mum had sent butter and fruit for the wedding cake, which my sister Freda made and iced. She did a wonderful job. I had three nephews and three nieces in attendance. The bridesmaids dresses were all hand made. A friend of mine was to be my chief bridesmaid, but she was in the air-force, and couldn’t get away, so my 10 year old niece filled in. Everything went very well, and I thought that with such a wonderful start, everything would be alright.

Almost a year later, the war was over in Europe!...Steve left for Canada a few days later, and I followed on the Drottingholm about 3 months later.

I suppose when you are young and in love, one doesn’t think of what lies ahead and I guess I didn’t. I don’t remember much about the actual trip over, I guess I was too sea sick to give it much attention.

But what I do remember, is my first impression, when we reached Newfoundland (I found out later that Newfoundland was not yet a part of Canada), where we sailed into St. John’s Harbor to let some of the passengers off, the view amazed me!! It looked as though the houses were clinging to the rocky cliffs for dear life, as if a gale or strong wind might sweep them all off into the sea. The sight gave me a feeling of apprehension.

Was Halifax going to be like that?!

It was with some relief to find next morning on August 15, 1945, as we glided into Halifax Harbor, how very much different everything was. Why, we even saw a band playing on the docks and the ships in the harbor were spraying water in the air and all sounding their horns and whistles. What a grand reception they were giving us!!

However that was short-lived. There was an announcement over the loud speaker that war was over with Japan. You guessed it - we had arrived on V-J Day.

After we docked, it was women with children first, and those who had a further distance to go by train. So since I wouldn’t be going very far, I thought I‘d have quite a wait, so was watching all the activity going on from up on the deck. Then I noticed this fellow walking across the deck towards me.

I couldn’t tell who he was, dressed in an overly large brown suit, and a floppy rimmed hat, for all I knew, he could have been one of those gangsters one would read about.

But to my surprise and delight, I realized it was my husband Steve!! He had come to take me off the ship. He then introduced me to his Uncle Bert, who was working for the Harbor Commission at that time. After retrieving my trunk and getting it cleared through customs, and I got my papers stamped Landed Emigrant.

Pier 21, the portal to my next step in my life’s journey; I didn’t know what to expect, from one moment to the next. Coming into this new land partly full of dread and partly full of hope for the marvelous future I had prayed we would have together.

The place was bustling with porters pushing trolleys filled with baggage, servicemen anxiously looking for their wives & children. There people all over the place. We finally made it to the doors and to Uncle Bert’s car. We were then whisked off to Uncle Bert’s place, which was not very far away, and we arrived just in time for lunch.

The house was full of people waiting to meet me. I felt so nervous, and out of place. Would they like me? What will they say to me? What do I say to them?

There were mostly Uncle Bert’s family, his wife and two daughters and another Uncle, and friend. Well, anyway the main course of the meal was baked beans. I was so embarrassed, I didn’t feel very hungry, and I never had that kind of baked beans before, with molasses in them, and they were much too sweet for me, not having hardly any sugar during the war. After lunch Uncle Bert and Aunt Gertie took us to Stephen’s home in their car, Uncle Albert drove Steve’s car which was a model A Ford. Well the drive was lovely for the first 50 miles or so, but then when we reached Shubenacadie, (I wondered what kind of name is that?! But I was too shy to ask.)Then, we turned off the main road on to a dirt road. For the next 15 miles we were jounced and jostled on this rutty and dusty old road. It was narrow with tree branches reaching over the road to almost touch each other. It was as though we were traveling through a leafy tunnel. I was wondering where on earth this meandering trail of horrors was taking us.

Finally we had arrived at our destination. I was surprised, shocked and couldn’t say a thing. I couldn’t believe it. Homesickness came on with a vengeance when I gazed upon a rather poor looking house, which later to my chagrin lacked the finer amenities - no indoor plumbing!! Steve’s parents were kind enough, but quiet towards me. But they were really pleased to see Uncle Bert and Aunt Gertie.

Steve showed me where our room was. It took ages to get used to the place, and to try to fit in.

Steve wanted to take me around, to meet his family, but his old car was something to be desired. He took me to Maitland, a small village about 5 miles away, and took Uncle Albert along with us. Why did he do that?

I soon found out, he would need the help. After 27 flat tires going down to Maitland and back, we finally made it back to Steve’s parent’s place. It was hard to get new tires back then, but Steve finally got some.

Then Steve wanted to take me to Trenton to show me off to his relatives, his Uncle Laurie and Aunt Clara. They were very nice people, and asked us to stay for lunch. And guess what we had - yes you guessed it - baked beans. Is that all these people eat over here? Oh well, I did get used to them eventually.

I enjoyed going out with Steve, and quite often his parents would come along and we would go visiting his kinfolk, and taking in the lovely countryside.

But Steve’s gratuity was running out and not much other income coming in from any other source. I guess it was time to settle down. He had helped the local farmers getting their hay in, and then went to cutting logs, to make a little ready money.

Hunting season came, which was quite new to me. They’d go out for hours and then arrived home empty handed and with an empty gut to boot. However, when they did get a deer; that was something else again. I came to like deer meat, rabbit etc.

Christmas was also very different. Before hand, mincemeat would be made. Taking the neck of the deer, I was showed how to make real mincemeat, (Mustn’t forget the rum or sherry!) apples, raisins etc. Then we made Xmas cake. I was in seventh heaven, all these ingredients; I didn’t have to scrimp on anything!! There were lots of fruit (raisins, currants, mixed peel etc. But it seemed I might have forgotten to add the rum, so I put the called for amount in. Turned my back to do something at the stove, and then turned to catch someone adding some more. (I wondered how many times that happened?) I was beginning to think that Steve’s folks really liked getting into the Christmas spirit!

Getting the Christmas tree was another family tradition of theirs. We’d go tramping through the woods, generally in deep snow (up to the knees or more). I remember I found a pretty little tree, good shape as well, but no, that wasn’t big enough. They got one that really was too big. After trimming some off the top and the bottom - they finished up with a tree about the same size as the one I had printed out in the first place. Decorations for the tree etc., were mostly home-made.

Then Steve taught me how to make bread. Yes my husband knew how to make bread. Apparently when he worked with the logging outfits, Steve learned how from an old woodsman, until Steve got better at it than he did, and wanted Steve to make the bread from then on…

Missing out on going to Church was most disappointing to me. The nearest Church was at Maitland 5 miles away and the other one to which they were affiliated was 7 miles in the other direction over dirt roads and generally clogged with snow in winter, and up to the axles with mud in the spring thaw…

 

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It is now 2004, as my daughter Mary wheels me around (can’t walk too far now, my legs won’t let me) the refurbished Pier 21, including seeing the wonderful play they put on in the "ship".

Outside tied up at the dock, there was a Ocean Liner, the Maarsdam from Amsterdam, it too brought back memories of the Drottingholm which brought me here. I could not help but go back in time in my mind’s eye to see where I had entered, to start my new life here in Canada.

…Steve lived long enough to see two of his Great-Grandchildren; sadly he passed away in 1999 with a blood disorder, a sort of cancer. We all miss him terribly.

…I must admit we really had a good life together on the whole, and Steve loved to go visit England whenever we could manage it, and usually on the spur of the moment!

And we eventually settled in South Maitland, the place he loved.

 

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Ode To Our Lovely English Rose

On June 10th, ‘24 our lovely English Rose
first bloomed, and of course there’s so much more!
For she blossomed and grew, at 3, sat with her family for this lovely pose.
So, with her sister rosebuds, as she can be seen,
She budded into a lovely young woman at 17.
Then out of the horror of war
Came a handsome young man from afar.

He swept her off her feet,
Were married in ‘44
Then transplanted this lovely English Rose
To a beautiful Canadian garden
His family for to meet.

Over the course of time and true love
They were finally blessed from above
In May of ‘49, amid the glory of apple blossoms grown
Our lovely English Rose came home with a little rosebud of her very own.

The years have come and gone
Other children, there none,
Her daughter an only child thus far past?
Then in ‘61, a miracle of another rosebud
came to her at last!

Our lovely English Rose, always loved cats and gardens don’t you know
She had many a cat, and many a garden to grow
And as her little rosebuds grew,
To her story one more chapter starts anew.

Her elder bud married and blessed her with her first Grandson
Younger bud followed with her first granddaughter
And both were blessed with Holy Water,
Our lovely English Rose’s Canadian garden still continued to grow through the years
with one daughter for the elder,
And two sons for the younger.

But sadly in ‘99 her handsome young man, in illness left
leaving all the family so bereft.
But our lovely English Rose pulled us together
And another storm storm we did weather

When all that was said and done,
All totalled, three lovely Great granddaughters
And six handsome Great grandsons,
What a lovely garden she grew!!

Then in ‘04, her 80th, our English Rose was still hale and hearty
And so we all gave her a little party!
With family and friends surrounding,
Hugging and kissing her very soundly!

But alas over the ravages of time, wear and tear
Our lovely English Rose started to fade, we were aware,
Illnesses came and went, and yet she still held fast
With determination this English Rose desired to last.

‘11 came with April’s Spring paintbrush
But Our lovely English Rose’s fading blush
Will fill us with great dispair,
When soon she will no longer be there.

But she made us promise,“When I’m gone, please don’t over do”
With promise kept, we sadly wept
when to ashes and dust she became
We trust in God’s promised ressurection
When she will be raised up from her ashes for sure.

When like the Pheonix, to rise and bloom once more
in God’s beautiful earthly garden we’ll see
her joined by her handsome young man there
And from her loved ones, a great cheer arose
When once more we see Our lovely English Rose!

~ Created in loving memory of her wonderful Mother, by her loving daughter, Mary Mansfield

Mom's ravaged body, which had constantly failed her, had been cremated, thus, giving us the opportunity to send a vial of her ashes overseas to Alfred, (one of her nephews) who happens to live in Liphook, and near St. Mary's Church of England at Bramshott; the same area a Canadian Army Camp had occupied, and where her story drastically changed; the same church most of her family members had been married, children baptized and buried...and so after a surprisingly satisfying life's journey, for now a part of Jean Shephard has been returned to her fold.

Mary (Laffin) Mansfield