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An Interview with George Crewe, Telegraphist, RCN
Crossing the Bar
© Anne Gafiuk 2014
Website - What's in a story by Anne Gafiuk
George
Crewe passed away on March 6, 2014, in ---------------------------- For
the past few years, I have been researching aircrew of the Royal Canadian
Air Force during World War Two, as part of a fictional story I plan to
write, based on a young pilot from
I remember the first day I met George. I brought with me a lemon meringue pie. One friend commented how my baking was a foot in the door. It worked with Gordon Jones, ‘my pilot’, and the subject of Wings Over High River. I hoped it would work with an old tar, too.
Once we were settled in at George’s compact senior’s apartment in Jaffray, BC, with a perplexed look on his round face, he said, "You've got me buffaloed, Anne.” He paused, “You know what that means don't you?"
"Yes," I replied. "Why
don't you go to a museum....the one there in
"No one has your stories, George."
He pondered that statement. “I’ve never been interviewed before,” he told me. “No magazine or newspaper has ever contacted me.” At first, George was hesitant but as we started chatting that morning, I could sense him relaxing. The stories started to ebb then flow. We took a break for lunch, returned to his suite, had the pie, and we continued on until early evening, the tales surging, almost overflowing, until I had to depart. I visited with George a few more times in the last couple of years, collecting his stories and the following are only a few of the tales from a ‘Terra Firma Tar’. ------------------------------------ George
proudly hailed from landlocked
I asked him why he chose the navy over the army and the air force. “When I was about ten years old, I was given the gift of a book called My Picture Book of Sailors. I always attributed that to me joining the navy. I guess the stories and the pictures fascinated me. I still have the book. I wouldn’t part with it for $1,000,000! “After
I joined the navy, in 1940, that is the first time I saw the ocean in
He had his opinions about those who did join the air force. “I think back in the navy, they were very strict, more than in the air force. As far as I was concerned, the air force personnel were a bunch of wimps. They had a bed to sleep in every night, and sheets!” He then laughed, “I wouldn’t admit it if I knew an air force guy!
“One of the things and this will shake you to the roots! We got $15 per month when we were under 18. But you were not old enough to spend $15. They saved $10 for us. When you turned 18, you received your back pay. So you had $5 per month to spend. It worked out. We only got out of barracks once or twice a week, depending upon the watch you were on. When you turned 18, you got $37.50. I used to send some home to my mother and I would spend the rest.” George told me about his training as well as the day to day routines of being in the RCN, including how they had to sleep above the mess tables. “The first six weeks was basic training, then we went into our classes and that lasted about eight months.” I learned about clews and hammocks, sailors’ uniforms and their kits.
“Friday the 13th, black cats, don’t go under a ladder? I’ve always believed that,” said George, this time without humour. “There was a superstition: you do not place your navy hat upside down and on the bed. Definitely not on the bed! Our captain: if we came in on a Friday, he would talk his way out of it. We would never sail on a Friday. “You know the canned milk? If you opened a can upside down, someone would take it and throw it overboard. It was bad luck.”
George
kept a talisman. “I call it my
good luck charm. I got it from
an Indian in I was curious about what he meant. George became sombre when he told me a few harrowing events. “These stories will curl your hair and then straighten it out again!
“We were in a storm and I happened to go out on deck. A depth charge had got loose and there were a couple of guys wrestling with it and I went to help them. I slipped and broke my collar bone and the depth charged rolled over my toes. They were crushed. And I broke a tooth and hurt my back. We were at sea and we didn’t get in for another two or three weeks. We didn’t have an attendant or medic on board.
“Another time, I was aboard The Quinte. We just finished a refit and we were going from Lunenburg to Picton to get some equipment on board. This was in the end of 1942 and when we left Lunenburg, I was on the radio. The captain said, ‘I’ve got to send a message.’ “I
said, ‘Well that’s fine.’ The
message read: ‘The forecast is
for a big storm. We have not got
enough oil if we run into trouble. Request
permission to come into
“They
sent the message back. ‘Sorry. You’ve got to keep going.’
We kept going. We got off
“They
picked up my signal and gave me a receipt and they transferred it to
Gibraltar, to
George
was very much a people person. He
met numerous people throughout his wartime years: his crew aboard The
Quinte, “my love as far as the ships were concerned,” he said, a US
Navy cook from the Southern States while in Boston, a Scottish woman who
made him shortbread while George was at Scapa Flow, trading his rum rations
for butter, sugar and flour, smuggling them off the ship.
In exchange, George was made to swear he would not tell the recipe to
anyone. He kept that promise
until he shared the recipe with his wife, Evelyn, then daughter, Catherine,
and granddaughter, Elleda. Then
there was the man in
He has crossed the bar. Smooth sailing ahead, George.
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Footnotes.
1.
The
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