What happened to Michael?

St. Jude's church where Michael's father was vicar.

In 1940 England, a 23-year-old Theology student named Michael Rennie was preparing to follow his father’s footsteps and become a vicar. A keen sportsman and newly graduated from Keble College Oxford, Rennie was an ideal candidate to serve as a volunteer escort to a group of children evacuating by sea to Canada. Out of hundreds of applicants, Michael was accepted and placed in charge of 15 boys. Together with the other CORB children and escorts, they set sail on Friday, September 13, 1940, aboard the SS City of Benares.

Michael Rennie quickly became extremely popular with the children. Boys and girls alike admired his athletic prowess and his ability to organize games and make every moment on board fun. His boundless energy in leading games made him a favorite of the other escorts as well. He earned the respect of all. The future for this young man looked bright—for this voyage and beyond.

By September 17, the City of Benares had reached the “safe” zone—250 miles (402 km) west of the Hebrides. What officials had not factored in, however, was that the Nazis now occupied France. This expanded their reach of communications so that their U-boats could venture farther out. During the day, the Benares was spotted through a periscope by Heinrich Bleichrodt, captain of the German submarine U-48. That night, despite the rising storm, Bleichrodt fired a torpedo that penetrated the ship’s hull. It exploded, filling the ship with the acrid smell of explosives.

Captain Nicoll gave the order to abandon ship. Children, escorts and passengers started boarding their lifeboats, a process hampered by the storm and the loss of power. The ship sank quickly, its bow rising from the sea. As it disappeared into the rough Atlantic Ocean with its emergency lights still blazing, Michael Rennie knew he had to save as many people as possible. Over and over, he dove under the frigid water, assisting others into lifeboats while disregarding his own safety. Eventually, he succumbed to exhaustion and exposure.

After the ordeal, one young survivor, Louis Walder (brother to Bess) wrote a letter to Michael’s father in London. He’d been one of Michael’s boys and wanted the Rennies to know what a hero their son had been. He wrote:

Dear Reverend and Mrs. Rennie,

The first time I saw Mr. Rennie, your son, after the torpedoing of the ship at 10 p.m. on the Tuesday night, was when he was helping the children to their lifeboat, often at great risk to himself as the ship was badly damaged.

Then when he could do no more he got into my lifeboat and sat on a seat holding two small children in his arms.

Then the rope by which the lifeboat was being lowered jammed, and so he cut it through with his penknife so as to make it easier. Then whilst the boat was going the rest of the way down, it tilted and the occupants were catapulted into the stormy sea, your son included.

Here I lost sight of him until later on when I saw him on a raft. The lifeboat I was in managed to pick him and others up. After he’d been in the boat some time he saw a number of children in the water in danger of drowning, so he promptly dived in again and again to rescue them, which he did most successfully.

The other men warned him repeatedly not to do so as he’d grow exhausted, but he said, “There are still children in the water, and I must get them.” The other men did their best for the children already in the boat in helping them.

This naturally exhausted your son a great deal, but he continued encouraging the people with words of comfort.

Then the seas grew much rougher and the waves higher and higher and the boat got water-logged, the water reaching to my chest, about four feet deep. The water level rose much higher and we were seized with cramps and got very stiff. Still, Mr. Rennie persuaded us that help would come, and even told us what to do when help came.

Then at about six on the Wednesday evening, Mr. Rennie caught sight of a warship and tried to stand on his unsteady seat (which, as everybody said, was the act of a courageous man) in order to wave to attract the attention of the warship.

However, this was when the tragedy occurred. Owing to his repeated efforts to rescue the drowning children, Mr. Rennie’s condition was naturally more exhausted than the other men’s and owing to the great strain, your dear son collapsed, and fell, I think, dead into the water which filled the water-logged boat. The men in the boat tried with all their strength to lift him out of the water, but being themselves exhausted, and Mr. Rennie being dead-weight, it was impossible to do so. And so he died in helping others right to the end.

His last words were, “Hurrah! Here comes the destroyer. Thank God.”

A Czech and a German refugee sat near your son, and one of them said a prayer for your son in which the others joined.

I’m sorry I live so far away, as I expect you would like to talk to me about your son. I’m sure he was a very brave man.

Yours sincerely,

Louis Walder   

What Happened to Beth?

Like many British children, 14-year-old Beth Cummings was eager to be a participant in the CORB program and go to Canada to escape the war. She had already been evacuated the year before, to Chester—only 17 miles from her Liverpool home. While she and her friend Thelma were fortunate to stay in a welcoming home, not all the children were as lucky. Hosts were expected to take in children whether they wanted to or not, for eight shillings a week. Since the threats of war had not really happened yet, students began returning home on weekends and then many simply stayed home until the scheme fizzled out.

By the summer of 1940, however, bombs were dropping and children and parents alike could see the value of moving kids to safety. Beth was delighted to learn she’d been accepted to go to Canada and excitedly boarded the SS City of Benares on September 12 with her new friends—among them her new bestie, Bess Walder, 15. Beth and Bess quickly became inseparable. They hoped and prayed they’d be placed in the same home—or at least the same community—once they reached Canada. 

Alas, that was not the end result of their voyage. Only a week later, Beth would be telling her amazing story to a newspaper reporter from her hospital bed:

“On our fifth day at sea, the seventeenth, the weather turned for the worse and we all spent that day in our cabins, most of us seasick. Just after ten pm, we heard two explosions. We heard someone yelling that the ship had been torpedoed. I rushed out of my cabin into the corridor and headed for our muster point. I met up with my new friend, Bess. Bess had to fight her way out of her cabin because a cupboard had fallen against the door. We rushed to the lifeboat deck to find chaos and panic, and no sign of Bess’s brother, Louis. We were guided to lifeboat Number Five, which launched at a terrifying angle. The sea was so turbulent, and we all spilled out.”

What followed was the most grueling 18 hours Beth would ever experience.

“Bess and I managed to swim to our waterlogged lifeboat and hang on as best we could. Eventually, the boat tipped upside down and we grasped the rope that ran along the spine. Several others hung on with us. Bess hung on the opposite side of me, so we could see only each others’ hands until a wave carried us up, then down again. On the way down, we could glimpse each others’ faces for a second. Then our bodies would slam against the boat and the whole thing started over again. At one point, I lost my grip and slipped off but I was able to grab the rope again.” 

Last month, I told about how the girls were eventually rescued and returned home by the HMS Hurricane. Beth spent three weeks in the hospital, recovering from badly frostbitten and infected feet. At her mother’s encouragement, she used the time to write down everything about the ordeal. As a result, she retained clear and sharp details.

Although they never made it to Canada, both girls survived World War II and remained friends for life. They even became sisters-in-law when Bess met and married Beth’s brother, Geoff Cummings, in 1947. Bess went on to organize several reunions of the Benares survivors in the years that followed.

“What I think helped me and Beth to survive as we did was that we were doing it together.”  (Bess Walder, quoted in Children of the Doomed Voyage, Janet Menzies, 2005)

What Happened to Bess?

This series of blog posts will cover some of the stories not covered in my new book, Even If I Perish.

In 1940, numerous upper-class women and children had already fled from war-torn England to Canada and the United States, but many who wished to leave could not afford to. The Children’s Overseas Reception Board (CORB) was formed and tasked with running the scheme, and 211,000 children applied. Among them were 15-year old Bess Walder and her 10-year-old brother, Louis, from Kentish Town in northwest London.

Every day, Bess watched for the postman from the top of her family’s house. With so many bombed-out buildings in her line of sight, it was easy to see him on his route, and she made a deal with him. “I’ll be watching every day,” she said. “If you have an envelope addressed to my parents and it says, On His Majesty’s Service, will you wave it at me as you come down the street?”

Although the friendly man called her naughty and told her he couldn’t do that, one morning in late summer, he did. As he picked his way through the bomb-damaged pavement, he waved a large brown manila envelope. Bess and Louis tore down the stairs and out into the street. Knowing better than to open the envelope, they took it to their mother, who tucked it into her apron and continued with breakfast preparations.

When she finally relented to her children’s impatient begging, she scanned the letter and told them they’d been accepted. They were going to Canada. The pair exploded into cheers of “Hooray,” not once considering how their reaction might pain their mother’s heart. For them, it seemed like one big happy adventure.

Bess and Louis didn’t have long to wait. By September 9, children from all over England were headed for Liverpool where they would gather and from where they’d embark. On September 12, 90 “seavacuees” between the ages of five and 15 and ten adult escorts found themselves all in the same boat: the SS City of Benares, a luxury liner. The children reveled in the sumptuous surroundings, first-class accommodation, and food more varied and abundant than most had ever experienced. Bess quickly made friends with a girl named Beth, from Liverpool.

Tragedy Strikes

After the children had gone to bed on September 17, a torpedo from a German U-boat found its target and breached the hull of the City of Benares. The ship sank within 30 minutes. Beth and Bess found themselves in the same lifeboat, which quickly capsized in the horrendous storm. Soaking wet and freezing cold, the girls and a handful of other passengers managed to clasp their hands together across the overturned boat’s keel. The two girls hung onto each other and encouraged each other through the longest night of their lives. Each time a wave lifted the lifeboat to its crest, they caught a glimpse of the other’s face, then prepared for the slam their bodies would receive against the boat’s side when the wave came down again. Over and over, the girls fought the temptation to simply let go and surrender their bodies to the sea.

When morning finally came, they discovered to their horror that only one other passenger remained hanging from the boat, and he appeared to be passed out or deceased. To their great disappointment, no rescue ship was in sight. The girls continued to encourage each other. “I’m all right, Bess, are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m all right. Are you all right, Beth?” Bess’s biggest concern was for her brother, Louis. She had no idea which lifeboat he’d gotten into, if any. Was he dead or alive?

All through that day, the girls hung on, their hands numb as they curled around the ropes of the boat’s spine. They promised each other they’d hang on, no matter what. Daylight was beginning to fade again when they spotted their rescuers. The HMS Hurricane had been dispatched to the location of the sunken ship. When sailors spotted the overturned boat, they rowed to it in a smaller boat. One of the sailors climbed onto the lifeboat’s keel. The girls’ hands were so tightly clenched that the rope had to be cut to release their hands. As much as they wanted to let go, they could not. The sailor rescued Bess first. Once she was in the boat, he went back for Beth.

With a broken leg, many lacerations, and still worried about Louis, Bess had trouble resting in her bed onboard the rescue ship. When a sailor walked into sickbay with a surprise—Louis, alive and well—she felt she could endure anything.

Beth and Bess remained best friends and eventually became related through marriage. I’ll tell Beth’s side of the story next time.

Of Fear and Aging

 In 1986, my father died of pancreatic cancer at the age of 67 years and 15 days. Today, my husband turns that exact age. 

People kept saying Dad died too young, but to me, he was old. Sure, I grieved for him and wished he could have stayed with us longer. But I figured he’d lived his life. More significant to me was that 27 was too young to lose one’s father.

My perspective has changed. I mark this day in my husband’s life, knowing I’m only a year behind him. I recognize that I could lose him, or he could lose me—as though that hasn’t always been true. I ask myself which I’d prefer—to go first or to be left alone—as though the choice is mine. Some might say I do have a choice, and in today’s world, I suppose I do. That’s disturbing.

I’m not afraid of death. The aging process, however, I’m not crazy about. These days, my siblings and I are observing our mother’s growing confusion and forgetfulness. Though her body remains healthy for 93 (and for that we feel grateful), her short-term memory is almost nonexistent. This requires more patience than I ever needed with my children to answer the same questions repeatedly. I fear the same happening to my husband, and/or to me. I suspect the odds of dementia happening to at least one of us are probably close to a hundred percent. How loving and patient will I be when it’s in my own house, my own bed, my own brain? And that doesn’t even factor in the long list of other maladies that can cause a long, slow, painful decline leading to our last breath. Modern Science has given us longer life expectancy without the quality of life to match. We’re all living longer, but does anyone truly want to? I’d rather die “much too young,” thank you very much.

Such fear-filled thinking can make me spiral down all too quickly—until I turn to God’s word. He is not the author of fear. His words remind me that each day is a gift from Him, with purpose in it regardless of my circumstances. With Himself in it, regardless of my weaknesses. He’s got me through every difficult and heartbreaking day I’ve known until now, so why would that change? He tells me my future is secure, I am His for all time and beyond time. That no power can withhold my inheritance in heaven or my security in Him. So, no matter what comes my way—whether caring for another or becoming the dependent one—He will never let go of my hand. He will give me the grace and endurance to do whatever I’m called upon to do, when I need it and not before.

With this knowledge, I can live today with purpose and abundance. As I walk in obedience to Him, focused on whatever lies before me in the moment—including the interruptions caused by my own or others’ human frailties—I can trust Him to be my strength and guide until my journey here on earth is done.

II Corinthians 12:9

 “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’”

 I Peter 1:4

 “In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil, or fade—kept in heaven for you.”

 Psalm 37:23-24

 “If the Lord delights in a man’s way, he makes his steps firm; though he stumble, he will not fall, for the Lord upholds him with his hand.”

 

War Brides, Part 1: Embarassing Misunderstandings

His uniform, clean and polished for a wedding.

During World War II, Canadian servicemen spent more time away from home than any other nationals—some as long as six years. While British soldiers saw action beginning in 1939, however, the Canadians who were shipped over as early as 1940 remained primarily in England until 1943. This gave them plenty of time to find English girlfriends, and, in many cases, wives. 

Nearly 48,000 women from Britain and Europe immigrated to Canada to begin new lives with their Canadian husbands—often without their husbands and some with young children. While some left their husbands behind, still fighting in Europe, other women were left behind to wait after the war when their husbands were shipped home. In each case, the adjustments to be made were enormous.

Their stories are fascinating, astonishing, and often humorous.

More than one young woman described instances of extreme embarrassment when naïve Canadian boyfriends handed them money in public places, not understanding how this act appeared to onlookers. In one case, the soldier had offered to pay for their tram ride. Not being familiar with British currency, he reached in his pocket, pulled out a handful of change, and held it out. “Here,” he told his date. “Take what I owe.”

In another case, the embarrassment surrounding their leave-taking nearly ended the relationship after a week. Betty was seeing Ken’s train off at the station. As an afterthought, Ken handed her money in clear view of all the other troops, asking if she could get his civilian shoes repaired while he was away. Though she wanted to die on the spot, Betty forgave Ken his faux pas and their lovely courtship continued when he returned.

Connie Robitaille’s Canadian husband, Roger, had been sent home while Connie stayed behind in England, awaiting word that she could join him. When a puzzling letter arrived from Roger, Connie shared it with her friend. Roger had written to say his brother was getting married. “There’s to be a bridal shower here, so everything needs to be clean as there’ll be a lot of women here.”

Connie and her friend certainly knew what a shower was, but they’d never heard of a bridal shower. The only conclusion they could reach about this odd Canadian custom was that the bride-to-be must be required to take a shower in front of all the other women.

“Aren’t you glad you were married over here?” Her friend asked.

Connie surely was.

More next time. 

A Rotten Thing

Imagine that you’ve worked at the same company, in the same position, for 14 years. You like the job. You’ve never missed a deadline. You’re pretty decent at it and the clients/customers love you. Then one day, you receive a second-hand message from the new boss:

While you are welcome to continue coming to work, you will no longer be paid.

What do you do?

Essentially, this is what happened to me with my newspaper column in July. The new owner decided freelancers would no longer be paid—take it or leave it. Sure, I realize I wasn’t an employee and it’s not quite the same. It sure felt the same, though. It may have gone down more smoothly if I’d been told, “Sorry. Although we appreciate your work, we can’t afford to keep paying you.” At least I wouldn’t have felt so undervalued. But there was zero communication from the new owner—just a message conveyed by my editor, with his regrets.

I chose to leave it—and then felt like the greedy one for not staying on to work for free.

I felt bummed, but I’d also been in similar situations before—often enough to know that if I waited awhile, I’d see why it needed to happen. My faith in God has taught me that he truly does have my best interest at heart, even when I can’t see it.

A couple of months later, I was gearing up to launch another book. I was also starting a new writing class which had me teaching three hours a week for eight weeks. When my mother suddenly required round-the-clock care, my available time was cut in half. For six weeks, my sister and I tag-teamed in caring for Mom. Between that, the class, the book launch, my regular homemaking tasks, and other writing commitments, I felt completely overwhelmed. Having to meet a weekly column deadline on top of it all would have finished me. By Thanksgiving, I was truly grateful for that column’s demise.

I still think what happened to me—or, more accurately, the way it was handled—was rotten. But I hope my experience encourages you. Next time something rotten happens to you, as it inevitably will, wait. Wait with a “watch and see” expectation. “What are you up to, God?” is a great question.

He won’t always show you. Sometimes, he does.

"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." (Jeremiah 29:11)
 

"I Want Mum"

As an adult, Mary Ann Waghorn’s memories came in snippets of black and white and gray. As a seven-year-old, she’d been told she was going on a holiday to Canada. She had no concept that she’d be leaving behind her three-year-old brother or the many aunts, uncles, and cousins who made up her happy extended family in Maidstone, Kent, England. Early in August 1940, she waited excitedly at the Maidstone West Station with her heartbroken mother. Mrs. Waghorn had agreed the evacuation would be best for her daughter but found the goodbye unbearable.

Mary Ann spent two days in the nearby town of Eltham in the care of CORB volunteers (Children’s Overseas Reception Board), until her party of 200 children was assembled. They traveled to Liverpool where Mary Ann remembers feeling nothing but confusion. The voyage across the North Atlantic on the Duchess of York proved no better. Most of the children were seasick and cold. On August 11, they docked in Canada.

The Duchess of York

Although Mary Ann was a CORB evacuee, it was up to the Toronto Children’s Aid to match her to a family. The process took weeks, during which time she stayed at Hart House, University of Toronto. Finally, she went to live with Roland and Coral Mann in Leaside, a small town on the outskirts of Toronto, and their twelve-year-old son, Teddy, and their dog, Sport. Since the Manns’ parents had been born in England and Scotland, they had close ties to Britain and Mary Ann fit in nicely despite her unsettling beginning. Mary Ann was soon calling her foster parents “Uncle Roly” and “Aunt Coral.”

Teddy proved to be an exceptionally patient big brother. He took Mary Ann skating, taught her to row a boat, fish, and bait her own hooks. At one point, Mary Ann announced to Mrs. Mann that when she was twenty, she would return to Canada and marry Teddy.

Although she looked gaunt upon arrival, she quickly gained weight and made lots of friends in her community. She recalled people being nothing but kind and compassionate to this little English girl. While Mary Ann appeared happy and well-adjusted, her inner feelings came out in her drawings. Her foster mother recalled her drawing pictures of girls in various activities like jumping rope or pushing a baby pram. Always, the girl was saying “I want Mum.” She drew great comfort at Christmas when she received some of her familiar toys from home.

The Manns found it a challenge to know how much news about home to expose such a young child to. At first, they never listened to war news on the radio. Later, Mary Ann was encouraged to take an interest in what was happening and to participate in fundraisers. Letters, photos, postcards, and cables kept her in touch with home.

Mary Ann says she’d have been happy to stay with the Manns after the war had they not so carefully kept her family in mind. Almost five years to the day she’d arrived in Canada, the Manns took her to Toronto’s Union Station where they said a tearful goodbye in front of newspaper photographers.

After a week aboard the Louis Pasteur and another train ride, twelve-year-old Mary Ann reached home—much taller and with a Canadian accent but otherwise the same girl with long blond braids. The brother who had been only three when she left was now eight and barely remembered her. Naturally, he resented this sudden intrusion of a big sister into his only-child status. Mary Ann, used to the older Canadian brother who’d doted on her, resented him as well and they fought a lot. She found the adjustment back to British school and life harder than the first change. Over time, she settled in.

For the next forty years, Mary Ann wrote monthly letters to the Mann family. On the four occasions when they met, she admitted feeling closer to them than she did to her own family.