#42 CHESTER SERVING IN SICILY--WORLD WAR II

                                                            SERGEANT CHESTER MUIR

So often overlooked is the vital role that Canadians played in the 20 month Mediterranean campaign which led to the liberation of Italy. The campaign, fought in Sicily from July 10 to August 6, 1943 and in mainland Italy from September 3, 1943 to February 25, 1945, was particularly bitter. There were 25, 264 Canadian casualties in the fighting, including more than 5,900 deaths.

 The assault on Sicily was a prelude to the invasion of mainland Europe. Allied success in Sicily secured them a necessary air base for the invasion of mainland Italy and freed the Mediterranean sea lanes. Canadians took on a large share of the fighting on the Allied front and fought through 240 kilometres of mountainous country—farther than any other British troops.

 In September, Allied armies landed in southern Italy. Over the next year and a half, the German formed a number of defensive lines across the peninsula and taking full advantage of mountain peaks and swiftly running rivers, made the Allied advance very difficult and costly. The Allies entered Rome on June 4, 1944, but the D-Day landings in France two days later made Italy seem less important. In 1945, Canadians were recalled to join the Canadian Army in north-west Europe.

Thanks to cousin Patricia for this story about her Dad and his service.

My parents, Chester Lawrence Muir and Mary Monica (Mona) Whelan were married on September 17, 1951.  That is how he became a member of the Whelan family. 

  My father passed away July 6, 1991.  Since his passing, it is not his birthdate (December 7th), or the date he passed that I most closely associate with my dad; in fact, it is November 11th, Remembrance Day.

 As a young child growing up, I increasingly recognized my father’s intense pride of being a Canadian and at a point  later came to realize that he had proudly served his country during the Second World War as the Allied Troops fought to liberate Europe.

I suppose my earliest memories of my father’s involvement in military service was his participation in annual Remembrance Day services at the cenotaph in my hometown of Falconbridge, Ontario.  Once a year, he would march with fellow veterans, wearing his navy blazer, proudly displaying the medals he had been awarded.  At a very young age, I certainly didn’t understand the significance of this annual ritual held each November 11th.  There were many veterans living and working in my small community. Friday nights at the local Legion Branch was a time when many of the veterans would come together and share a pint or two; kindred spirits, forever connected by the wartime experience that they had shared. 

 Although my dad would often speak about his experiences abroad during the years he was in the war, his conversations were based on the countries he saw, the opportunities he had as a young man to see other parts of the world and of the people met - his comrades as well as the “locals”.  He spoke so fondly of the citizens whose lives were so negatively impacted by the ravages of war and about how immensely thankful the locals were to the troops helping to restore their freedom. 

 Another thing about my father that I discovered as time went on, was that he was not only a voracious reader, he was also a prolific writer!  During the war, he communicated regularly with his family by writing letters…..(becoming a lost art, unfortunately).  Unbeknownst to my dad until shortly before his passing, one of his sisters, Eileen (Muir) Bradley, kept every letter that he had written to her while he was overseas.  Sadly, Eileen passed away at a young age.  Her son, Larry, born during the war and named after my father, not only kept these letters but cherished them.  After Larry’s sudden and tragic  passing at the age of 50, the letters came into my possession, due to the generosity of his widow, Maureen, and the precociousness of my daughter, Heather.  These letters, as well as some memorabilia and pictures, are such a treasure!   The letters are so poignant, even today; maybe especially today, as we are experiencing much political unrest, unspeakable human suffering due to wars and a rise in fascism and hate world-wide.

 Among the letters, there was a very special one, written to his father on New Year’s Eve. I have shared much of it below, as it gives a snapshot of life during the war that I cannot possibly translate into my words.  My dad had just turned 27 years old when this letter was written. 

 December 31, 1943

Dear Dad,

 Well it is the last day of the year, and as I have finished my day’s work, I think I will finish up the old year properly by writing home. 

 I received your letter of November 14 this morning, and a postcard from Phyllis.  I was certainly glad to hear from you, as it was about two months since I last received word from home.  I was glad to hear that you were all well.  I am fine.  How is Mother?  Tell her to take care of herself.  I suppose you had a quiet Christmas this year.  We just didn’t have any.  Christmas, New Year’s day or Sunday, doesn’t mean anything to us here.  One just loses track of what day it is.

 Well, I am in Sicily now.  It is quite a change from the other countries I have been in.  When the war machine passes, it doesn’t leave much behind.  The poor civilian has the hardest time; he has no place to go, and he just has to take the dirty end of the stick from both sides, until the battle passes.  The Allied Military Government is doing a swell job at getting the people  back on their feet again, feeding them, and giving them medical attention.  The kids run into the Army Doctors with earaches, toothaches, etc. 

 The majority of the Sicilian people are friendly, but there are still a few fascists left, who will take a shot at you if they get the chance.  They are also pretty handy with the stiletto.  There have been a few shootings lately, quite a few fatal.  It is funny how a person gets hardened into things like that.  Three years ago, I wouldn't have thought it possible to become so callous.  I wonder if we will change back, become human again when the war is over.  I  suppose it will all depend on the person’s strength of mind and character. 

 There are two young boys, about 9 or 10 years old, who come to our quarters; incidentally, we have really good quarters overlooking the seas, which were lucky enough to escape the ravages of war, with the exception of a few bullet holes.  They are really nice kids, and you should hear them sing.  One especially, has the kind of voice that brings tears to your eyes and a lump in your throat.  Italian is a beautiful language when it is in the form of a song.  We will give them things to eat, and I scrape up all the sweets and gum I can find for them.  They will sing for us for hours.  It is a pity that such talent should be wasted.  If a kid with such talent should only get to North America, he would be rich overnight.   Some of the Canadians have clubbed together and raised money to give him singing lessons.  Just to give you an idea of how poverty stricken and hungry some of these people are, they come around at meal time, and scrape out our dishes into a dish of their own to get something to eat.  They are so glad to get even that, they insist on washing your dishes afterwards.  It is unbelievable.  Thank God that we have nothing like that in Canada.

 Well, there are only four more hours left in 1943; the old man with the scythe will soon be around.  I guess some of the boys realize that, because I hear sounds of celebration.  That is one of the drawbacks of being a sergeant; when everyone else is having a lot of fun, the poor sergeant has to  sit in and work.  However, if it is helping to finish this mess up, I say, bring on the work.

 I would like to write to everyone I used to, but I am afraid that is impossible.  I will write to either you or Mother as often as I can, and you can pass on the news, if there is any.   Tell them to keep writing though, because we all, over here, appreciate mail now more than we ever did.  It is a big event when the mail is handed out. 

 Well Dad, I am afraid I will have to close, as you will all be tired by now of reading this prattle.  Take care of yourself, and Happy New Year to all.

 Love to Dad, Mother & Family

 Chester

                                                Chester served in Sicily, Ital & northern Europe

 

                                            telegram announcing German surrender

CHESTER LAWRENCE MUIR                                                                                                                      b. Dec 7, 1916 in Riceville Ont                                                                                                                  m. Mary Monica (Mona) Whelan (1916-2007) in Sudbury on Sept 17, 1951                                           d. Jul 6, 1992 in Sudbury

Steve's uncle (Whelan line)