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A Story Of Love And War

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By JAMES CUNNINGHAM, Special to the Tribune

Published: September 11, 2007

DOVER - In early 1942, the United States had just entered World War II, and I was in the Canadian Navy, serving on the HMCS Fennel, a patrol and escort vessel known as a corvette.
Allied ships were being repaired in U.S. shipyards, and the Fennel sailed into New York Harbor to the Mariners Harbor Shipyard on Staten Island.

I was kept on the standby crew in New York while the Fennel was docked for repairs. Excited to be in New York City, I wanted to see the sights and discovered the Seaman's Club in St. George, a neighborhood on Staten Island.

The Seaman's Club was where members of the armed services could relax, get a bite to eat and dance with the volunteer hostesses. On my first visit, one of the junior hostesses caught my eye. She was Irene Haig, a high school sophomore. Irene and I danced and talked all evening. I walked her home, even though the lady in charge told me I couldn't.

Because we walked with a group of her friends, it wasn't entirely improper. When we got to her home, Irene invited me to come in and meet her parents. It was like old home week: Her parents were Scottish and so were mine.

We fell in love but wouldn't be together long. I had to return to my ship after two weeks on shore. It was the first of the long separations Irene and I would have to endure. We corresponded daily, but my leaves were few and far between.

Once aboard the Fennel, I sailed to Halifax, Nova Scotia, to join one of the largest convoys ever to leave that port. The convoy would escort a fleet of merchant ships across the Atlantic.

In my letters, I told Irene how much I loved her but not what happened aboard my ship. To protect military secrets, censors read the letters sent home. We weren't supposed to reveal anything about our missions.

So Irene didn't really know where I was or what was happening to me.

The first two days of the Fennel's trip with the convoy across the Atlantic were deceptively quiet, but it was a calm that wouldn't last.

German 'wolf packs,' consisting of six to eight submarines, launched their attack when I was in the boiler room. The submarines targeted ship after ship until the flames of burning vessels could be seen everywhere. Their attack continued through the night and began again the next morning.

The Fennel received orders to search for survivors and for hours sailed through all kinds of debris, only to find no one.

This next part of my story may seem trivial amid the tragedy of that day. But what happened gave our crew some joy.

Our search was about to be called off when a lookout shouted that he saw movement. It turned out to be only a small dog, struggling for its life. The captain ordered us to return to position; he said we could not endanger our ship to pick up a dog.

Then a seaman named Ling, standing near the rail, started pleading that the dog be saved. The captain agreed to make one pass. Ling scrambled down a net to the water's edge. He was able to scoop up the dog, a small gray terrier.

On the deck, the little creature was so exhausted, it hardly moved. Ling dried it and fed it powdered milk. He made a little hammock for his new pet. The little thing recovered. It became the ship's mascot, beloved by everyone on board.

Meanwhile, I took a lot of ribbing for all the letters I was getting from Irene. Her letters made me feel both glad and sad. It seemed the war would never end.

In 1943, I was back in Canada and put in for a 10-day leave. I took the train to New York City, where Irene was waiting for me at the station. I put a diamond ring on her finger right there.

We talked about our future during my whole leave. When I returned to my ship, we wouldn't see each other for another year.

I was assigned to the HMCS Mahone, hunting for German submarines from Nova Scotia to Greenland. The Mahone later joined a convoy headed for England. I was at the engine room's throttle, in very rough seas, when our ship was rammed by a 20,000-ton passenger freighter in the convoy.

The Mahone was cut nearly in half, injuring many in the crew. Only 18 were left on board, including myself, after most were evacuated. It took four days to guide the shipwrecked Mahone back to Canada, and there were times when I wondered whether we would make it.

In Quebec, I called Irene to ask whether we could be married. She said 'yes.' I hopped a train for New York City, on a 48-hour leave. On Sept. 9, 1944, we became husband and wife, in the same church where Irene was baptized.

After a brief honeymoon, Irene and I wouldn't see each other again for another year, but it was our last separation. The war was finally over.

On Sunday, this old Canadian sailor and his American girl celebrated many happy years together. We were surrounded by our children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. It was our 63rd wedding anniversary.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

James Cunningham, 89, was born in Winnipeg and grew up in Toronto. He became an American citizen in 1948 and worked as a construction superintendent in New York City and West Virginia. He and his wife, Irene, moved to Dover in 1988.

Do You Have A Story To Tell?

I Remember It Well is a feature of the Prime Time page. Send entries via e-mail to shemmingway@tampatrib .com or in typewritten form to Susan Hemmingway, The Tampa Tribune, P.O Box 191, Tampa FL 33601. Submissions cannot be returned and should be no longer than 14 one-sentence paragraphs. Be sure to include a contact phone number.

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