1914-08-29

“Soul-stirring scenes were enacted at the T. H. & B. station last night when the third detachment of Hamilton citizen-soldiers left for the front amid the cheers of an immense crowd.”

          Hamilton Spectator.   August 29, 1914.

          The vicinity of the Toronto, Hamilton and Buffalo Railway station on Hunter street was densely crowded for more than three hours during the evening of August 28, 1914.

More than 200 men who were members of the Fourth field battery of Hamilton, or of the 33^rd howitzers also of Hamilton, were scheduled to depart. They were joined by 33 members of the howitzer battery raised in Brantford.

It was expected that the train would leave at 6 p.m., but it was after 9 o’clock before it pulled out:

“Most of those present in the crowd had been waiting patiently for hours but they felt rewarded then. A slight drizzle had set in by that time, but this did not in the least dampen the ardor of the crowd present, and the men were given a rousing send-off.”¹

¹ “Cheers Rend the Air As Soldiers Leave : An Immense Throng Joins in Hearty Send-Off : Pathetic Scenes at Depot As Batteries Depart”

Hamilton Spectator.   August 29, 1914

The Spectator reporter who watched the departure vividly captured what transpired as friends and family said good-bye to their loved ones:

“The scenes just before the departure of the train touched the heart-strings of all who witnessed them. Fathers are better able to realize the seriousness of war today, and are grimmer of visage. Mothers feel it, and eyes that were tear-wet last night are very wistful still.

“There were not a few women in the throng at the station. One was quite elderly, with grey hair showing under her simple black bonnet, and she was met and escorted by a tall and sturdy non-commissioned officer. Scarce a word was exchanged between them, but she leaned heavily upon his arm, and it was hard to say whose heart was the fuller in those last moments.

“Sisters there were in some instances of the men going away, or in others the sweethearts, as the engagement ring proudly showed. Conversation was subdued, but when one caught a sentence, it bespoke confidence and hope. Plainly, most of the women present had spent an uncomfortable and tearful day, even though theirs were ‘the tears of hope, pride and pity, trust and prayer.’

“For one wife and mother, at least, the parting scene is too much. She whispers something to a companion, who bows her head silently and takes the hand of the little brown-jerseyed boy at her side, moving him so that he may see well when the train pulls out. The poor mother herself slips away, and those around make way for her in the solitude which in that supreme moment seems more to be desired than sympathy itself.

“Another lifts up a chubby two-year-old boy who had a flag to wave. Here and there women thrust their hands out for a final pressure of a man’s fingers. Now and then, some word of encouragement is heard as, ‘We shall think of you all the time,’ or ‘Write as soon as you can.’ ”¹

The reporter was fulsome in his praise of the way the women behaved in the difficult situation :

“These wives, mothers, sisters, were sending away those dearest on earth to them and they did so with the finest courage – that courage which knows what it can endure – thus giving to the men a parting memory that will be their most precious recollection in the anxious and arduous days before them.

“Here and there one might catch sight of a wife or mother, red-eyed and handkerchief in hand, vainly trying to hide the signs of inevitable grief at the parting. But, for the most part, the farewells had been said by then, and as sad as their hearts might be, they bravely strove not to show it.”¹

There had been a prolonged outburst of patriotic fervor in Hamilton when the news arrived indicating that England was at war with Germany, and that Canada would also be at war in support of the mother country.

Thereafter, the war in Europe was remote, until Hamilton’s men started to leave for the front:

“Until a short time ago, a great war in Europe meant little more to Hamilton than an eager perusal of the newspapers, a quickening of the pulse, high thoughts of patriotism. Last night, a brief glimpse of the reverse side of the picture was shown, the farewell, the heartaches, the breaking of home ties.”¹

The crowd had been extremely patient as they waited for the train to depart:

“Long before six o’clock, the scheduled time of departure, people commenced to arrive at the station.

“Camp had to be broken at the Jockey club, the horses put aboard the train, gun carriages blocked up upon flat cars, and an immense amount of detail required attention and caused delay.

“The crowd at the Hunter street station waited patiently until 6:30; then 7 o’clock; and then 7:30. Still the train had not put in an appearance. Some of those present departed for supper. Others waited on supperless, fearful of missing the train. Under such circumstances, it was not to be wondered at that a number of women fainted later on.”¹

The train finally approaching the Hunter street station, from the east, about 9:15 :

“The train pulled into the station without any warning whistle or clanging bell. There were half a dozen cars containing horses, as many more flat cars with gun poles pointing skyward, and down toward the end of the train, the coaches toward the end of the train the coaches containing officers and men.

“There was a general rush toward the end coaches while the 13^th regiment band started up O Canada.

“For a few moments all was confusion. Men, women and children rushed from one coach to another in the drizzling rain – seeking out the one they had waited so long to see. It seemed as if the whole city was agog to see its soldiers off, and the good-humored, light-hearted fellows took the farewells as lightly for the most part as the others were affected.

“While the men were not supposed to leave their places in the coaches, a number of them did so and exchanged hurried farewells with their friends and relatives present. A big, stalwart private stood standing with his wife, who had in her arms a baby only a few months old.

“Just before the train started, he hastily kissed his wife, pressed his lips on the tiny baby, turned abruptly and climbed back aboard the car. This wife tried to smile bravely, but the unbidden tears rolled down her cheeks, and those standing around found their own eyes moist.

“There was a youth – he hardly looked more than eighteen – whose mother was to send him off. Both were calm until the train started to move.

“ ‘Don’t feel badly, mother,’ he said, pressing her hand in farewell. ‘I’ll be alright, I guess.’

As the mother turned away, she broke down, and women near sobbed openly in sympathy. The boy’s fingers trembled as he tried to loosen the collar of his uniform. He tried to shout back some encouraging word, but something kept rising in his throat, seeming to choke him. ”¹

As the train slowly pulled away, soon to disappear into the tunnel, cheering rang out loudly:

“Frantic good-byes and wishes were called out. Here and there a cheer was smothered in a sob or a good-bye became of a sudden a trembling whisper.

“From every window of the six coaches, soldiers leaned out, waving their hats in farewell. Last of all came the car bearing the officers who likewise leaned out of the windows waving farewells. It was a scene never to be forgotten.”¹

The soldiers, and those left behind in Hamilton, knew full well what the future held for those who had volunteered – training in Quebec, a voyage across the Atlantic and then assignments on the battlefield:

“For a week or so, perhaps, there will be more of loneliness than of fear, while the men are at Valcartier camp. Then there will be prayers said in new earnestness for ‘those in peril on the sea.’ And after that will come the days of anxious waiting. For the men will then be ‘at the front,’ carrying the Maple Leaf and the Beaver into places where death may be.”¹