Ch12: To Canada

General De Gaulle had been a thorn in the side of the Allies since WW II, demanding that France be treated as an equal to the Allies. After he became the President, De Gaulle withdrew France from NATO. The United States had many military bases and huge supply depots in France that had to be closed and moved to Germany.

The US army was bogged down in Vietnam and could not spare soldiers to guard these new installations.  It created quasi-military guard units composed mostly of refugees from Eastern Europe. Through the grapevine we heard that a new Czechoslovak unit had been formed in Nahbollenbach in southern Germany. George decided to go there to check it out. He met the Commanding Officer and explained our problems with the Landratsamt in Hamm. “Our unit is not at full strength yet and we have a job for you. I can assure you that nobody would dare to deport you from here. This is the American sector and we call the shots.”  A week later we reported to our new unit.

US Army depot in Nahbollenbach, crammed with equipment
brought from France.

I could not believe the difference between the American and British armies. I received four uniforms (summer, winter, dress and work coveralls), two pairs of high boots, softer underwear (compared to the British) and much more. Meals were similar to what I remembered from working in the US army kitchen in Nuremberg- always two choices and you could eat as much as you wanted. The accommodations were dormitory style, with two men sharing a room.

We were issued rifles and went to the shooting range to test them. The M-14 rifle kicked like a mule compared to the Russian AK-47 we had used in the Czech army.

 The driving licence we received in the British army included a German driving licence and we were now ready for the guard duty-American style-in a Jeep. There were two areas to guard. One was a huge depot of warehouses crammed with military hardware from France, with hundreds of trailers coming and going all the time. Our guard duty was only at night, during the day the Military Police were in charge.

The other was a vast, wooded, fenced-off area designated as a fuel depot. It was patrolled around the clock by a four-man watch. It used to be a WWII German army depot as we could see from the piles of German helmets, uniforms, boots and other discarded equipment. The only other item of note was a herd of deer, probably brought in by the Wehrmacht to supplement their rations.

In such situations, all armies have a similar routine and we soon settled into one that was not much different from the Czech army. We spent most of the time in the guardhouse sleeping, playing cards, reading or gossiping.  The duty officer, escorted by two MP’s, came half way through the shift to ensure everything was in order. The MP’s usually phoned ahead of time to make sure we were not sleeping and they would not be stuck in front a locked gate. 

The essential part of our report was the deer situation, how many we saw and where. It was important because deer season was approaching and the GI’s were planning to thin out the herd. Their worry was that German poachers could sneak in and get the deer before of them.

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Reporting for duty. Make sure the jeep is gassed up!
It is a long walk to the base.

We were supposed to check the perimeter regularly, making a round every hour, about 50 km on each shift. But driving slowly around the perimeter in first or second gear was boring. It was more interesting to leave the driving to the end of the shift and then turn the road into a racing circuit. We were supposed to drive only on designated roads but there were other routes we could take that were older,more challenging, and filled ruts and mud. 

One day I got stuck in a mud hole, with two wheels that spun but only dug deeper into the mud.  In the Czech army we had a Russian jeep-GAZ. Under the driver’s seat was a little lever that would lock the differential. Both rear wheels would then turn together and in most cases it was possible to get unstuck. So I looked for a similar lever in the Jeep. 

The famous Jeep didn't have one! (Later I found out it had a limited slip differential.) Now I could be in deep shit. The next shift showed up in one hour and if I was not back they would look for me. I found the car jack and tried to jack up the wheel, not an easy task in soft mud. I was running around, cursing, looking for rocks, sticks, anything solid I could shove under the wheels. Luckily I got out and arrived at the gate in time, both me and the Jeep covered with mud.

Our unit was not big, perhaps sixty men, mostly Czechs and Slovaks. However there was one character that stood out. We called him the Legionnaire.

He was born in a part of Poland where most people were a mix of Polish and German blood. When the WWII started he was mobilized into the Polish army. Luckily he didn’t fight long and was taken prisoner by the Germans. In the prison camp his interrogators decided that he had enough German blood to be a German citizen. He was promptly drafted into the Wehrmacht and sent to the Russian front. He was wounded a few times, and finally taken prisoner. He managed to convince the Russians that he was forced into the Wehrmacht and changed sides again, joining the Polish army that was fighting Germans under the Russian command. The war ended and our Legionnaire was back in Poland, now under a Communist government. He managed to escape through Berlin to West Germany. But the civil life didn't suit him and he joined the French Foreign Legion. 

His military carrier landed him in Vietnam and his unit was parachuted into Dien Bien Phu. That post was overrun by the Viet Minh and the Legionnaire became a POW again. When the war ended he was repatriated to France and eventually settled in Germany. He was receiving small German and French war pensions and had many drinking friends that usually blew through their wages a few days after being paid. After couple of beers, the Legionnaire would start telling his war stories. If he had an attentive audience he would take of his shirt to show his scars and take us on a tour of battlefields half way around the world. “This one is from Leningrad, it saved my life, I was evacuated to a hospital and my unit was completely wiped out….This is from Berlin, These are from Dien Bien Phu. The Vietnamese tortured me and broke my nose...”

In the meantime, I had emigration interviews with the Canadian, Australian and American embassies and was now trying to get some information about the countries. Every day I talked to the GI on duty about his country and usually was warned, “Don’t go to the States, you are the right age to be drafted into the army. Within six months you will be shipped to Vietnam.”

"Wanna-be MP" posing for the picture with a borrowed
helmet and truck.

The real MP looked more military. .

Our unit had a few “Americans” from the Korean War. They had escaped from Czechoslovakia in the early fifties and applied for emigration to the USA from the refugee camp. They were promised immediate American citizenship if they joined the American army. Many did and they were sent to Korea. After the war some returned to Germany, got married and stayed there, American citizens that had never set foot on their promised land.

Suddenly my long wait was over. In one week I received emigration visas to Australia, Canada and the USA. Should it be Canada or Australia? To sort out this problem I went to the local library. I found two large picture books, one featuring Australia and the other Canada. The Australian book was mostly about the Outback and didn't look very inviting, showing featureless deserts, rocks, cliffs, salt lakes, and a few pictures of the coast line with beautiful beaches. The book about Canada could have been published by a travel agency, one scenic picture after another, from Vancouver to Newfoundland. Around this same time I received a glowing letter from Franta, who had immigrated to the USA and was living in Seattle.

It was not difficult to decide where to go. It would be Canada, Vancouver so I could keep in touch with Franta. I cashed in my savings to get an airline ticket and on September 12, 1966 landed in Montreal.  After the immigration process I continued to Vancouver. We landed at night and I watched other passengers being greeted, hugged and kissed by friends and relatives. Finally I stood there alone, with a suitcase in my hand. What next?

“Hi, can I help you?” I turned around. It was a taxi driver. I told him that I just arrived from Germany, that I don’t know anybody in Vancouver, and that I had only fifty dollars in my pocket. “I know a place that will suit you. It is cheap but clean.” He was a teacher moonlighting as a taxi driver and didn't charge me for the ride- “Welcome to Canada”.

The hotel looked a little shabby from the outside. In the small room was a bed, chair, table, hot plate and a shower. I am in Canada! I sat down on the bed. I could hear the rain sprinkling outside. Suddenly all the excitement, tension and anxiety drained away. It dawned on me that I was alone, that I don’t know one soul in Canada. What was I going to do now? So far luck had been with me. There was always some friendly hand or organization that sent me from place to place. What would happen now that there are no friendly hands around? What am I going to do tomorrow, next week or next year…?


Next chapter 13: Canada -first impressions 

$10 per week hotel room

The Jeep was very versatile. In a big empty parking lot I could drive and
have a nap at the same time: Turn steering wheel full tilt to one side, set the hand
gas throttle to idle. Shift to 1st gear and the jeep will drive slowly in circles.
Stretch out and have a nap. 

Russian jeep GAZ looked obsolete but it was a mule that would go everywhere.