A Blue Puttee at War: The Memoir of Captain Sydney Frost, MC

By Sydney Frost

Sydney Frost, a young Nova Scotian, was working in St. John’s at The Bank of Nova Scotia when the First World War began in August 1914. He joined the newly revived Newfoundland Regiment on 21 August 1914, the first night that volunteers were accepted. Assigned Regimental Number 58, he became one of the First Five Hundred, often known as the Blue Puttees. He served with the Regiment throughout the entire War, rising from the rank of Private to that of Captain. He led one of the two Companies of the Regiment that marched in the Triumphal March of the Dominion Troops through London on 3 May 1919 and returned to St. John’s with the Regiment on 1 June 1919.

Frost was one of the few original members of the Regiment who survived to fight throughout the entire War. He recorded, on Christmas Eve 1917, that fewer than thirty of the Blue Puttees were still in active service. That was eleven months before the end of the War in November 1918; those months saw the Regiment take heavy casualties in the fighting during the last “One Hundred Days” before the 11 November Armistice, as the British advanced through northern France and into Flanders and Belgium.

Sydney Frost was awarded the Military Cross for his heroism during the action at Keiberg Ridge, in Belgium, on 29 September 1918. Frost returned to The Bank of Nova Scotia at the end of the War and rose steadily through its ranks. He became its President and Chief Executive Officer in June 1956 and retired as President in 1958, at the age of sixty-five. He remained a Director until January 1969, when he became an Honorary Director. He died in 1985, at the age of ninety-two.

Late in life Sydney Frost wrote a memoir, which he specifically instructed his family was not to be published. They disregarded his admonition and authorized Edward Roberts to edit the memoir and to publish it. The memoir is unique. It is by far the most complete account of World War I by any member of the Royal Newfoundland Regiment. Frost’s account is frank, detailed, and authoritative. It is enriched greatly by the extraordinary archive of Regimental history he assembled over his lifetime. His service in the Regiment was a central feature of his long life. He kept every scrap of paper that came his way, together with a detailed record of his daily activities between 21 August 1914 and 2 June 1919. His scrapbooks—which he later donated to the Regimental Museum in St. John’s—contain thousands of items, including newspaper cuttings and published articles of every description about the Regiment and the men with whom he served.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Flanker Press
• Release date: Nov 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781771173865

Sydney Frost

Charles Sydney Frost was born in Nova Scotia in 1893. He was working in St. John’s at The Bank of Nova Scotia when the First World War began in August 1914, and joined the newly revived Newfoundland Regiment on August 21, 1914, the first night that volunteers were accepted. Assigned Regimental Number 58, he became one of the First Five Hundred, often known as the Blue Puttees. He served with the regiment throughout the entire war, rising from the rank of private to that of captain. Frost returned to The Bank of Nova Scotia at the end of the war and rose steadily through its ranks. He became its president and chief executive officer in June 1956 and retired as president in 1958 at the age of sixty-five. He remained a director until January 1969, when he became an honorary director. He died in 1985 at the age of ninety-two.

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Russia.

Chapter 1

I COME TO NEWFOUNDLAND

Sydney Frost went to work with The Bank of Nova Scotia at its branch in Yarmouth on 1 December 1908, a few days after his fifteenth birthday. He was paid $150 a year. He quickly won promotion and was branch accountant by the time he was nineteen. Early in May 1914, he was promoted to the position of accountant at the Branch at St. John’s, Newfoundland, a branch three times the size of Yarmouth and with a large foreign business.

His memoir opens with an account of his arrival in Newfoundland. He had travelled by train from his home in Yarmouth to North Sydney, arriving there in time to board the SS Bruce for an overnight trip across Cabot Strait to Port aux Basques.

To my astonishment when I awakened at daybreak the ship was held fast in a massive field of northern ice. While the Bruce was a sturdy ship, built to withstand such conditions, it was futile to attempt to free herself. Toward evening the wind shifted, and the ship was able to make her way back to North Sydney. In the early morning the ship cleared North Sydney for the second attempt and successfully reached Port aux Basques before nightfall.

We boarded the narrow-gauge Newfoundland railway train, operated by the Reid Newfoundland Company. In later years this train was affectionately known as the Newfie Bullet by reason of its scheduled time of twenty-eight hours at an average speed of nineteen miles per hour to traverse the distance of 547 miles to St. John’s. It was never known to have arrived on time and usually was many hours late, sometimes several days.

As the train ambled along toward St. John’s, I gave thought as to how I would face an entirely new environment [than that to which] to what I had been accustomed. For twenty years I had known only the village life, varied only slightly for five years as a clerk in a small town. Naturally shy, socially unsophisticated, and somewhat constrained in the presence of strangers, it was with considerable diffidence that I – an untutored newcomer in a strange land – prepared myself for the new experience. To my surprise, upon stepping off the train at St. John’s a chap younger than I, short in stature and of light build, greeted me with the words Can you play baseball? No introductions or names were exchanged. Hesitatingly, I said I had played amateur ball in a small town in Nova Scotia for a few years, whereupon he concluded the conversation with OK, you’re signed on with the Red Lions baseball team. As a friend of a son of my new bank Manager, apparently he had heard that a new man was coming down from Canada to succeed the accountant at the St. John’s branch. Before long I became acquainted with one Lionel Munn through baseball and later as an officer in the Royal Newfoundland Regiment. Fittingly, he was nicknamed Cockie, because of a nerve and self-assurance – almost to the point of conceit – far outweighing his physical image. This is not said with any thought of belittling his many fine characteristics, for he was a likable fellow and a good soldier and citizen. Cockie was a son of W.A. Munn, a pioneer in the manufacture of cod liver oil and at one time the largest exporter in Newfoundland. He was also an authority on the saga of the Vikings in Newfoundland, around 985 AD.

I registered at the only hostelry in St. John’s worthy of the name, the Crosbie Hotel, owned by [Martha Ellen (Crosbie) Bell] a sister of Sir John Crosbie, a prominent political figure in Newfoundland, for a time holding the balance of power in the Government. The lady was tall, stately, and commanding, always wore long black dresses, which seemed to harmonize with her demeanour. She managed with a firm grip, always on duty, and obviously the operation was profitable. She was married to the Honourable S.K. Bell, a member of the Upper House [1917–24 and 1925–30]. The hotel fare was ample, except servings were a bit skimpy for those with abnormal appetites. However, a request for a second helping was not looked upon with disfavour, though somewhat embarrassing in fulfillment. There were occasions when I felt as though a little more nourishment would not be harmful, and a nod to the steward would bring forth a loud call to the kitchen through the dumb waiter, clearly audible to all guests, Another helping of meat and potatoes for Mr. Frost.

After a few days I was accepted in a boarding house at the top of Long’s Hill owned by Henry Blatch, whose principal business was a vendor of coal and ice. Mrs. Blatch, a kind, heavily proportioned lady, took care of all our needs with gracious efficiency and motherly concern and attention. The family adhered to the faith of the High Church of England, followed rather a strict ethical code, and said grace at every meal. The feast of the week was Sunday midday dinner after church service. The old man, dressed in morning clothes and high starched collar, carved the huge roast of beef – as rare as one desired – suckling pig, baked halibut, or what have you with dexterity and aplomb.

Three other young men boarded at the Blatch hostelry, John Young – a Scot – then Assistant Manager of The Bank of Nova Scotia, Burnham Mitchell – a Nova Scotian – Assistant Manager of the Royal Bank of Canada, later to be promoted to Senior Vice-President of the Bank, located in Toronto, and Douglas McLeod – a Canadian, who was engaged in the brokerage business. My bedroom was on the top floor of a large box-like three-storey house. I could easily afford the boarding fee of $35 monthly, which was about half my salary at the time.

Our banking office was an old structure situated on cobblestoned Water Street at the foot of McBride’s Hill, dusty, unsanitary, and entirely inadequate for our large and growing business. I succeeded Charlie Simmons, who was promoted to the management of the Carbonear Branch, and whom, in 1921, I succeeded as Assistant Manager at St. John’s. The Manager was Robert H. Anderson, a bearded gentleman, slightly stooped, who walked with a shuffle and looked and acted every bit the part of the appellation by which he was affectionately known: Old Man Anderson. He was probably nearing sixty years of age at the time. Mrs. Anderson was a talented lady of charm and poise who loved to entertain in their large well-appointed house on Rennie’s Mill Road, the elite residential district of the city. They would often invite the bank boys who were living in boarding houses for Sunday afternoon tea, rather formal and correct, but enjoyable to those whose lodgings lacked the atmosphere of gracious living and where missing from the table were the delicacies served on such occasions.

I soon discovered that, of the Bank staff of around fifteen, only two were younger than me. My duties involved the supervision of office routine, customer and staff relations, discipline and department returns to head office, profit and loss and interest calculations, issuance and negotiation of travellers and commercial letters of credit preparation, and examination of export shipping documents, in addition to the multifarious tasks pertaining to an accountant’s post usual in all large branches. This would include VIP service to fussy spinsters and irate and demanding male customers who through wealth and influence considered themselves apart from the common herd and entitled to undivided attention. I had nothing to do with the lending of money. That most important department of our profit structure was left to the wisdom of the manager and assistant manager.

The Branch was engaged in a large foreign business, chiefly in sterling but in some other currencies as well. Exports of salt fish to the Mediterranean, West Indies, and South America were usually settled by the negotiation of documentary letters of credit requiring close scrutiny of numerous supporting documents such as bills of lading, invoices, certificates of origin, certificates of health, copies of manifests, copies of charter parties, etc., all in triplicate. Fish shipments to foreign ports were loaded mostly in sailing ships owned in Newfoundland or chartered by Scandinavian or Portuguese interests. A limited quantity went by steamship. In the case of exports to the West Indies and South America, one set of documents was placed in the custody of the captain of the ship, a second was despatched by first mail, and the third by a subsequent mail. Occasionally the cargo vessel would arrive before either mail. Shipments to Pernambuco and Bahia were settled by three months’ sterling acceptances of British or United States-owned banks represented there, which in turn were met at maturity by their ninety days’ sight drafts on London. The banking involved in all this presented a complicated picture to one inexperienced in the financing of foreign business. Frankly, I was all at sea for the first few days and without the time or opportunity for study and preparation prior to complete involvement. I was gripped with a sense of frustration and the feeling [that] the job was too big for me.

To profit by one’s mistakes was to learn the hard way – seemingly, however, the only course open in the daily humdrum of rush and reality when suddenly thrust into a maze of intricate transactions constantly sweeping across one’s desk in a flood of meaningless papers and documents. Fortunately I weathered the test and in due time, through concentrated application and good luck, confidence was restored, and I entertained the hope that before long I would again become worthy of my hire.

Upon arriving in St. John’s it could be seen that the shock of the two sealing disasters of six weeks earlier had not been fully absorbed. Two hundred and fifty-one men had lost their lives in these terrible tragedies, many of them married with large families. It had been a severe winter followed by violent storms in the early spring. On 31 March gales of record intensity accompanied by merciless blizzards swept the icefields off the northern Newfoundland coasts and the open waters of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. The SS Southern Cross, operating in the Gulf, loaded to the gunnels with 17,000 seals, was reported by another ship that morning as heading for home but unable to cope with the ferocity of the raging storm and tempestuous seas in her battle for survival, foundered with all hands – 173 men met a watery grave.

Meanwhile, off the northeast coast stuck fast in the ice in the region known as The Front was the SS Newfoundland, commanded by Captain Wes Kean. Clear weather on the morning of 31 March seemed to justify the captain’s sending his men out on the ice in search of seals. Later in the day the blizzard struck, whipping the area into a death trap with visibility blotted out and the temperature dropping to zero. The sealers spent two nights of horror on the ice and many were frozen to death. Rescue of the survivors came on the morning of 2 April when a nearby ship, the SS Bellaventure, freeing herself from the packed ice, sighted the frostbitten stragglers of the Newfoundland huddled by the bodies of their comrades. The living and dead were taken aboard and the Bellaventure sped toward St. John’s, arriving in port 4 April. The seventy-eight frozen corpses were taken to the Seamen’s Institute for identification and later buried and the forty-one survivors to hospital for treatment.

With the baseball season about to open I felt the need of some preparatory physical exercise. There was no YMCA in town. Athletic activities were for the most part under [the] control and supervision of the several denominational schools. The high school grades were taught in institutions designated as colleges – St. Bon’s College (Roman Catholic), Bishop Feild College (Church of England), and the Methodist College. Memorial University was opened in 1925. Cadet organizations were likewise sponsored, directed, and financed by the various churches under distinctive names – Catholic Cadet Corps (CCC), Church Lads’ Brigade (CLB), Methodist Guards, and Newfoundland Highlanders.

The existence of these Cadet Corps – or Brigades, as they were commonly known – was without parallel outside Newfoundland, and, when war came, because of the high standard of training achieved, no other youth organization made a more valuable contribution to the country’s military effort. So, I was left to my own devices to build up energy and keep the sinews functioning. At 6:00 a.m. I would don running garb, trot out to Long Pond, take a plunge and a few strokes, and arrive back at the boarding house much refreshed with a good appetite for breakfast. That the other boarders and some of the neighbours thought I was showing off or sheltering signs of a mental quirk was not the least disturbing.

There seemed to be endless night work at the Bank. The Manager and several of the clerks were in the habit of returning to the office after the evening meal and staying until 11:00 p.m. cleaning up their desks. While it was a busy branch, and the close quarters did not permit of additional staff, in my judgment lack of direction and organization contributed to the inefficient operation. For a time I was drawn into this vortex of muddled vision but, at this juncture, it would not be displaying sound common sense to attempt to break new ground, so I decided for the time being to tread the path of least resistance. Happily, a compromise was reached between the line of habitual duty and my personal desires, whereby I hurried to the baseball field for an hour’s practice after supper before reporting for the evening session at the Bank.

In 1892 St. John’s was destroyed by fire. Twelve hundred buildings were burned, valued at $20 million, and 9,000 people rendered homeless. This catastrophe was followed on 10 December 1894 by the collapse of the two local banks: the Commercial Bank and the Union Bank. These two calamities, one close on the heels of the other, wiped out the financial resources of a large segment of the business community, consumed the savings of the people, and well-nigh bankrupted the Government. All local currencies became valueless, and panic seized the commercial life of the whole Island. Daniel Waters and J.A. McLeod of The Bank of Nova Scotia were immediately despatched to St. John’s with the intention of providing banking services, arriving there 16 December. Five days later they opened for business. The Bank of Montreal followed three weeks later. Thus, being first on the ground, The Bank of Nova Scotia was able to capture and develop an important operation. Two months later a second branch was opened in Harbour Grace, with J.A. McLeod as Manager. He became President of the Bank in 1934 and later Chairman. The Bank of Montreal succeeded in obtaining the business of the Government of Newfoundland, doubtless by reason of their being the bankers of the Government of Canada at the time. Also, through Government influence, they were able to acquire several accounts of merchants and exporters, but as time went on The Bank of Nova Scotia came to enjoy the largest share of general business, loans, and deposits, and through their outport branches the greatest number of the accounts of fish processors and shippers. It was after the turn of the century that the Merchants Bank of Halifax – which later became the Royal Bank of Canada – ventured into St. John’s. The Canadian Bank of Commerce [which came in 1914] was only a recent immigrant. Its manager, Sydney Logan, a Nova Scotian from North Sydney, who had a staff of only seven when I came on the scene, eventually became the President of his institution. For many years the Newfoundland people, and particularly those residing in the outports, had no confidence in banks, refused to accept their currency, hesitated to entrust their savings to them, with the result that gold, both the American eagle and the British sovereign, became an important medium of exchange and widely circulated in the outports. J.A. McLeod used to tell the story of a customer at Harbour Grace branch who asked for a Bank of Nova Scotia $5 bill in exchange for a Bank of Montreal bill of like denomination. McLeod questioned the client as to the reason for this curious request. The reply came:

The Bank of Montreal bill has imprinted on its face – We promise to pay to the bearer the sum of $5 on demand, whereas The Bank of Nova Scotia bill reads: We will pay the bearer the sum of $5 on demand. After the experience of the Bank crash we want no more promises.

When war broke in August 1914, a customer from Brigus brought in to [the] St. John’s Branch a hoard of gold to the value of several thousand dollars and demanded storage in the vault, with his name inscribed on the case. From time to time he would call and inspect the package to see if it were still intact. Upon receipt we had immediately opened the box, transferred the gold to our treasury chests in the safe, where it would be under proper protection, filled the box with sand, and replaced the cover. After the lapse of a couple of years and the loss of hundreds of dollars in interest, he consented to have the equivalent deposited in a savings account.

Bowring Brothers Limited, an old English house with worldwide interests in shipping, insurance, fishing, and merchandising, celebrated their centenary in Newfoundland in 1911. [Bowring Brothers was founded in Newfoundland.] On behalf of the family, Sir Edgar Bowring, then the head of the Newfoundland company, bestowed upon the City of St. John’s several acres of parkland situated on the Waterford River not far from the city. The setting is a magnificent gem of nature. Bowring Park was opened by the Duke of Connaught – Governor General of Canada at the time – on 14 July 1914. I attended the ceremony. On 21 September 1964, Her Royal Highness Princess Mary, the Princess Royal, Colonel-in-Chief of the Royal Newfoundland Regiment, planted another tree in the park, close by the now full-grown stately tree planted by her great uncle, the Duke of Connaught, fifty years earlier. My wife and I attended this ceremony. Another monument – The Fighting Newfoundlander – was presented to the people of Newfoundland by Sir Edgar Bowring and erected in Bowring Park in 1922. An imposing and lifelike piece of sculpture, the statue is a tribute to the undying memory of the Royal Newfoundland Regiment, in the phrase engraved upon it. The monument is fifteen feet high including the pedestal. The figure was posed for by Corporal Thomas Pittman, DCM [Distinguished Conduct Medal], MM [Military Medal] (a member of the Regiment [Reg. No. 1733]), and the work executed by the eminent sculptor Basil Gotto. It depicts an infantryman in the act of hurling a bomb with his right hand and clutching a rifle in his left. The stance is most realistic, and, from its position on the lawn in front of the Park Bungalow, the monument overlooks the Waterford Valley like a reincarnation of the spirit of gallantry and devotion of the Regiment that fought so nobly in the defence of liberty. Corporal Pittman was present on the occasion of the tree planting. He has since passed on. The Fighting Newfoundlander is the title given to the [official] history of the Royal Newfoundland Regiment by Colonel G.W.L. Nicholson, the cover of which bears a facsimile of the monument.

A third memorial graces the environment of Bowring Park in the form of a bronze caribou, a replica of that erected in the Newfoundland Beaumont Hamel Park in France. It was presented by Major W.H. Greene, a musketry officer of the Royal Newfoundland Regiment. The site was selected and the work of erection supervised by R.H.K. Cochius, the celebrated Dutch architect, who designed both Bowring Park and Beaumont Hamel Park.

Along with the other boarders at the Blatch establishment I was invited to a supper party at the home of my boss, R.H. Anderson. As we were dressing, John Young called out to me, We are wearing our dinner jackets. I hardly knew what sort of garb a dinner jacket was, having never owned one. Upon arriving at the party I was accordingly conspicuously dressed in a fine navy blue serge suit, smartly tailored by George Taylor, the tailor of Yarmouth, at a cost of $35. I was the sole exhibit wearing this plebeian attire – embarrassment number one. The ladies decked in jewels and adorned with long gowns seemed to attract the attention they were looking for. I was rather amazed that the plunging necklines failed to register any sense of shock as might have been expected from my Puritan upbringing. The buffet supper of lobster, cold beef, and chicken with all the relishes followed by trifle and fancy desserts was most delectable. Rugs were then lifted and the newly waxed floors cleared for dancing. I had never learned to dance, would not even know how to take a waltz step, and, had I tried, would surely have been found with hands and feet resting in the wrong places. Embarrassment number two: a wallflower at any party is like a thorn in the flesh, so someone suggested a table of bridge. I had played forty-fives, five hundred, euchre, and whist by lantern light in the hayloft of our barn, and, assuming the last named was not unlike bridge, I consented to make up a foursome. Actually the play is little different, but in whist the trumps are chosen by cut and in bridge arbitrarily selected by the dealer or his partner. There was a preliminary discussion of the game so that each player would be familiar with the rules. Bridge was new and had not been introduced to North America until early in the twentieth century. At my first deal I hadn’t enough high cards to name trumps and wished to place the responsibility on my partner but had forgotten the formal wordage: I bridge it to my partner. From the signs of disconcertion around the table, the phrasing of my declaration must have been less than appropriate. That was my third and final embarrassment for the evening. Auction bridge superseded the original game of bridge some years later and in the late twenties contract bridge became universal.

Mrs. Anderson was most charming and gracious and the old man hospitable without attempting to hide his natural paternalism. That was my first society-oriented party, and I would not have to endure another for several years, for which I was eternally grateful. It turned out to be one of those occasions which one would prefer to dismiss from memory.

With June approaching, and longer evenings, baseball practice started in earnest. I was invited to play with the Wanderers team, which would have been my choice had I not tentatively committed myself to the Red Lions through their representative Cockie Munn when I stepped off the train. The members of the Wanderers were, for the most part, composed of transient residents of the island, bankers, brokers, executive assistants in the large firms, etc., a classification in keeping with my own employment. While I had no intention of switching allegiance, occasionally I joined the Wanderers in practice. They had won the St. John’s championship the year before, but the Red Lions, with several seasoned players, were gaining strength, and looked the better team in 1914. I soon got to know the players and became quite happy with the snap decision of a month earlier.

There were two other teams in the St. John’s league, the Shamrocks and the BIS (Benevolent Irish Society), but they were hardly competitive with the Wanderers and Red Lions. Grand Falls, Bell Island, and St. John’s had each entered teams for the Newfoundland championship in previous years, but my recollection is that only Grand Falls and St. John’s competed in 1914. Normally the season would extend into September, but threat of war was hanging ominously over Europe and it was wisely decided toward the end of July to play off the Newfoundland championship games as early as possible, leaving no room for the local competitions.

The players for the St. John’s team were selected mainly from the Wanderers and Red Lions. For some unknown reason, of the eleven permitted by each team my name appeared on the St. John’s roster, which came as a surprise to me but not without pleasure as well. It was agreed that not more than three games should be played. Only two were necessary as we beat Grand Falls in the first game nine to seven and in the second twenty-two to eleven. Evidently the skill of the pitchers failed to match the powerful hitting of the sluggers. In the second and last game I knocked out a three-bagger and, in sliding to third, my left knee collapsed, and I was carried off the field on a stretcher. As usual water collected at the joint, but fortunately within a couple of days I was able to hobble to work. This was the termination of my rather short and definitely undistinguished baseball career.

On 7 August, three days after Britain declared war on Germany, a complimentary dinner was tendered to the Grand Falls and St. John’s players at Wood’s West End Restaurant. I still have the programme listing the names of the players of both teams, the dignitaries and supporters attending, and [the] particulars of menu and toasts. It must have been a real banquet – soup, fried cod and salmon, roast turkey and bramble sauce, roast beef and brown gravy, riced potatoes, green peas, sweet corn, cream cabinet pudding and custard sauce, strawberry pie and cream, bananas and oranges, tea and coffee. At each plate was a bottle of Budweiser. I had never heard of this drink and, hoping it might be something like the root beer mother used to concoct at Argyle, I took a sip. The taste did not appeal to me, and I passed the bottle along to the Grand Falls chap sitting beside me. I had never taken alcohol in any form and this was not to be my initiation.

Looking over the names of those appearing on the programme I recall many of them very clearly. Of the Grand Falls team, McHenry and Foran were subsequently officers in the Royal Newfoundland Regiment. Tim Hartnett, captain of the St. John’s team, was the Vice-President of Imperial Tobacco Company Newfoundland Limited. McLeod, who played with the Wanderers, was a boarder at Blatch’s. I first knew Hocken, also of the Wanderers, when he was a clerk in the Bank of Montreal, Yarmouth. Hiltz, from the Annapolis Valley, older than the rest of us, was a star player. Peter Duff was Secretary of the Reid Newfoundland Railway Company. He and Mrs. Duff were neighbours of ours when my wife and I lived in St. John’s, and we visited back and forth. P.E. Outerbridge, the scorer, was the son of Sir Joseph Outerbridge and brother of Sir Leonard. He later became President of Harvey and Company Limited (the oldest firm in Newfoundland, established 1767), Secretary of the Newfoundland War Memorial Committee, and President of the Newfoundland Board of Trade. Alex Montgomerie, President of Furness Withy Company Limited, and later a Colonel in the Royal Newfoundland Regiment, responded to the toast to the winners. Mark Chaplin, known as the King of Tailors, whom I patronized after the War, proposed the toast to the visiting team. A son, Jack, was a Blue Puttee, who died at Fort George, the first fatal casualty of the Regiment. [Chaplin, Reg. No. 584, died on 1 January 1915.] Another son, Dr. Hal Chaplin, was Surgeon Commander of HMS Hampshire and lost his life in 1916 when the ship was torpedoed on her way to Russia conveying Lord Kitchener, who was also drowned.

R.G. Reid, President of the St. John’s Amateur Baseball League and later President of Reid Newfoundland Railway Company, was the donor of the cup. W.J. Higgins, one of the Trustees of the League and an ardent sports fan, became a Judge of the Supreme Court of Newfoundland. J.O. Hawvermale, Chairman for the evening, was Vice-President of St. John’s Amateur Baseball League and President of Imperial Tobacco Company Newfoundland Limited. Charlie Hunt, a brilliant lawyer and distinguished after-dinner speaker, proposed a toast to the ladies, although there were none present.

The spring rush at the Bank kept us very busy, when imports for the fishery began to arrive by the shipload – casks of salt beef and pork from Chicago, puncheons of molasses from Jamaica, salt cargoes from Malaga, shipments of cork from Cadiz, barrels of flour and oatmeal from Canada, etc., all under bills of lading and bank drafts or letters of credit. St. John’s Harbour was crowded with schooners from the outports waiting to pick up their supplies for the shore and Labrador fisheries to return in the fall with dried or salt-bulk fish in payment. No cash changed hands in these transactions, all at the risk of the merchants, a system unchanged for 200 years. If the fishery fails or the catch is small, the merchant recovers little or nothing and takes his chance on the next season. Coastal steamers load their cargoes of provisions from the steamships arriving from Halifax, Montreal, Chicago, Boston, and New York for transportation to the principal outports, where long-established firms carry on business similar to that of the St. John’s merchants. The chandler and shipwright work overtime and the local factories are busy speeding up the output of pilot biscuits for brewis, sou’westers, and oilskins, sealskin and other long and ankle-length leather boots, wool singlets (undershirts) and long johns, guernseys (sweaters), rope and twine from the Rope Walk, anchors, chains and ships’ hardware from the foundries, oakum and pitch for caulking, chewing tobacco, etc. It is the time for optimism and hope, the sustaining virtues of the Newfoundland fisherman, for in those days his hardships far outbalanced his comforts, his misfortunes outnumbered his successes, and, without the expectation which surged within him as he faced another season, he was forever doomed to failure and ruin. I have been speaking of the situation in Newfoundland as it existed fifty years ago. This, of course, has all changed for the better since; now, in the cities and the outports the people live comfortably and are well fed. I do not know whether they are any happier.

Unaccustomed to such a wide variety of banking transactions, and to the forced pace needed to process the increasing volume, it was not easy [for me] to fight off a certain sense of frustration. Moreover, my mind failed to register at the time [that] I was becoming a little too informal with the staff. A few of the members took an unfair advantage of this resulting in a slight impairment in office discipline. I am afraid also I did not take too kindly to criticism from the manager. One of the tasks of the Accountant was to call the ledgers, that is, to check each entry daily with the relative vouchers, assisted by a clerk who actually did the calling while I checked. The names of two customers were very similar, one J.J. Mullaly and the other J.J. Mulcahy, and their signatures were almost identical. Naturally, under these circumstances one would exercise great care that the cheques issued were posted in the right account. It so happened, however, that a mistake was made, and the customer complained to Old Man Anderson. I did not mind this being brought to my attention, but I disapproved of the impolite manner in which the manager levelled his criticism and [I] expressed my thoughts in plain language, suggesting that only one rank separated us in authority and therefore it would be more acceptable if in future he contain his critical impulses within the framework of constructive advice, as becoming that of a banker and gentleman. I must have had Burns on my mind – Rank is but a guinea stamp. Unfortunately, there was an element of chill between the oldest member of the staff and the third youngest for a brief period. Within a couple of months, however, unforeseen events of a magnitude beyond imagination were to shake the civilized world, relegating such trifling differences to the storehouse of forgotten episodes.

The War Begins

By decree, the first Wednesday in August is proclaimed a national holiday, weather permitting, so that the St. John’s Regatta can be held. The Regatta Committee meets early in the morning of that day, and by 8:00 a.m. decides whether the races will be held or postponed to the first suitable day following. It must have been a tough decision for the Regatta Committee to make in the early morning of Wednesday, 5 August 1914, for the day was fine but the whole world expected that Britain would be at war with Germany before midnight. All was ready for the big event of the year, thousands were arriving from the outports, [and] people were already assembling on the banks of Quidi Vidi Pond. Under the circumstances no practical purpose would be accomplished by cancellation. For a few hours the crowds permitted their enthusiasm full rein, not knowing when the time-honoured celebration would be repeated. In fact, the Regatta was discontinued during the War years, and resumed in 1919. It was the first I attended, and I must say that, while I enjoyed the races, which were new to me, my mind was concentrated on the foreboding developments haunting the survival of our way of life.

When Archduke Francis Ferdinand, heir to the throne of the Austrian Empire, was assassinated on 28 June 1914 in Sarajevo by two Serbian youths, the average citizen on the North American continent was not unduly alarmed as to the consequences – probably just another flare-up in the Balkans. For the next month events crowded upon one another. The first real shock and awakening struck me on 28 July, when Austria declared war on Serbia and the headlines in four-inch heavy type of the St. John’s Daily News shook its readers with the caption – Balkans Ablaze. R.H. Anderson was greatly concerned, for his two daughters were studying music in Germany. The Bank had no branch in London then and he was obliged to depend on the co-operation of our two British Correspondents, the London Joint Stock Bank (later the Midland Bank, one of the big four), and the Royal Bank of Scotland, whose London Branch was located at 3 Bishopsgate Street Within. There being no transatlantic telephone service, Mr. Anderson had to rely on telegraphic cables. The delay involved was exasperating. [That between] London and Germany was equally frustrating. The transmission of funds for the girls’ travelling expenses was not too difficult but arranging for transportation from Germany to a Channel Port proved to be a real obstacle. My earlier petty differences with the old man had been resolved, and I, along with the other members of the staff, shared his anxiety. We were all immensely relieved when a cable arrived before Britain declared war on Germany bearing the glad tidings that the daughters had safely reached England.

The economy of Newfoundland was seriously affected when war came. My impressions were expressed briefly in a letter to [my] sister Margaret dated St. John’s, Newfoundland, 16 August 1914, from which I quote. I have drawn from this letter excerpts which may bear repetition considering that the letter was written almost sixty years ago:

News is scarce here except about the war which transcends all other. Even this could hardly be described as news, at least not authentic. While the papers fill their columns with despatches and stories, they seem to be mostly rumours – usually contradicted next day.

The excitement last week was the entry in the harbour of the British warship HMS Lancaster to load 800 tons of coal. She was cleared for action and presented an inspiring sight. Anchored in midstream, the coal was towed to her in scows and hoisted in sacks. She had 900 sailors aboard.

One immediate effect of the war is the advance in the prices of commodities, even stable articles of food such as flour, now $8 per barrel, sugar 8¢ per pound, meat as high as 30¢ per pound, and other things accardin to as the Newfoundlander says. My landlord has given warning of an increase in board, which under the circumstances is not unjustified.

This war is disastrous to the economy of Newfoundland, much more so than to Canada. Newfoundland depends almost entirely on the fishery and in addition to there being a very small catch so far this year, markets have fallen apart. Most of the fish is shipped to the Mediterranean and Brazil, but exports to the former are cut off for fear of seizure by the enemy and the Brazilian market is completely paralysed. This means a hard winter in Newfoundland. The war seems to have given the people here quite a scare. Large numbers do not trust the banks and are withdrawing their savings. They can hardly be blamed, poor creatures, for the recollection of the bank crash in 1894 is fresh in their minds. It was then, following the great St. John’s fire which destroyed the city, that the two banks doing business here – local institutions, there were no Canadian banks in Newfoundland then – failed miserably and the depositors lost all their money. Even the note holders lost. So Black Monday is not easily forgotten in Newfoundland.

A new arrival, like me in May 1914, upon sweeping an eye along the busy and impressive waterfront of St. John’s, would spot an old black hulk securely moored in a harbour already jammed with ships of steam and sail, foreign and locally owned, competing for a berth at dockside to discharge or load cargoes. One was puzzled as to the reason for this seemingly abandoned derelict occupying anchorage of prime location. Inquiry soon revealed this dismantled ship to be none other than HMS Calypso, launched at Chatham, England, in 1883 and for nineteen years having scoured the seven seas as a cruiser of the Royal Navy, coming to rest in St. John’s Harbour in 1902 as a training ship for the Newfoundland Royal Naval Reserve. From 1870 to the turn of the century no armed force existed in Newfoundland. It was then the British Admiralty decided to establish the Royal Navy unit, to consist of 500 sailors and small-boat fishermen recruited from the outports, who were given twenty-eight days’ training at sea in ships of the Royal Navy and at the base subject to mobilization at the call of the Admiralty. On 2 August 1914, the order was issued by telegraph and, by the evening of that day, thirty-five had reported on board the Calypso, the remainder arriving as fast as the limited transportation facilities could convey them to St. John’s. This small force, enlarged to a total of 1,964 during World War I, served gallantly, as attested by Earl Beatty, Admiral of the Fleet: The best small-boat men in the Grand Fleet.

And a similar tribute by Sir Roger Keyes, Admiral of the Fleet, following the St. George’s Day raid on Zeebrugge in 1918:

Fishermen who spend their lives on cod schooners and sealing in the Arctic – they are the splendid hearty people, the finest small-ship seamen in the World.

For 150 years prior to the withdrawal of British troops from Newfoundland in 1870, the Colony was defended by small forces from Britain and units recruited in Newfoundland, the latter bearing many designations over the period, twice with the name of Royal Newfoundland Regiment. On several occasions detachments of the Royal Newfoundland Regiment were despatched to Canada to serve in its defence. In 1775 during the American Revolutionary War, a unit of the Regiment was with the garrison at the Siege of Quebec; a detachment garrisoned Fort Anne, Nova Scotia, in l806; and several hundred of the Royal Newfoundland Regiment served in Royal Navy ships on the Great Lakes in the War of 1812–14. In 1813 the Regiment fought in the defence of York, and detachments were sent to Fort Erie, Fort George, and Kingston. There stands a monument in Victoria Square, Toronto, bearing a plaque on which is inscribed:

Defence of York – now Toronto. In memory of the Officers, Non-commissioned Officers and men who were killed or died of wounds in the following Regiments or Companies of Regiments engaged in the defence of York (Toronto) – 27 April 1813.

The Royal Newfoundland Regiment and two other Regiments are listed.

The finest contribution of the Royal Newfoundland Regiment in the War of 1812–14 was in ships in the Great Lakes, where their knowledge of seamanship along with their infantry and musketry training proved of great value. The significance of their exemplary service had not escaped the attention of Major General Isaac Brock, Commander-in-Chief and Lieutenant-Governor of Upper Canada, when sending a memorandum to Sir George Prevost, Governor of Lower Canada and Commander-in-Chief of HM Forces in North America, setting forth his plans for the defence of Canada. One suggestion read: To send two companies of the Newfoundland Regiment to act as Seamen and Marines. Happily General Brock’s confidence in the reliability of the Newfoundland troops was soon to be substantiated, for, following the capture of Detroit on 14 August 1812, when the American Commander surrendered his forces of 2,500 men, Brock’s General Order issued that night had this special word of commendation for the Newfoundlanders:

The Detachment of the Royal Newfoundland Regiment under the command of Major Moakler is deserving of every praise for their steadiness in the field as well as when embarked in the King’s vessels.

A despatch from the Adjutant General following another engagement read: The Detachment of the Royal Newfoundland Regiment behaved with great gallantry.

Early in 1814 two companies of the Royal Newfoundland Regiment, consisting of 168 officers and men, were ordered to reinforce the small garrison at Michilimackinac. They built thirty boats and, when spring arrived, descended by the Nottawasaga River into Georgian Bay, taking nearly a month in the passage across Lake Huron, reaching their destination 18 May. The Garrison Commander, Colonel Robert McDowall, as he prepared to meet the American attack was later to write of his fullest confidence in the little Detachment of the Royal Newfoundland Regiment. Following the capture of the two American ships Scorpion and Tigress by a Newfoundland party, Colonel McDougall again wrote: I must assure you that every officer and man did his duty. And in his recommendation that recognition be given to the leaders: The Detachment of the brave Newfoundland Regiment (who are familiar with this kind of service) merit my entire approbation.

One may question why I have introduced these references to the military record of Newfoundland forces in bygone years. It is to give some inkling of the breed of men and their battle performance with whom I was to be intimately associated for the next four years and nine months.

Newfoundland Goes to War: Raising the Regiment

The Great War – as it was known to those who survived it – began at the end of July 1914, when the Austro-Hungarian Empire declared war on Serbia. The network of alliances between Austria-Hungary and

Germany, on one hand, and France, Great Britain, and Russia, on the other, quickly drew all of them into the conflict. The German General Staff’s war plan, the Schlieffen Plan, developed in 1906, called for an overwhelmingly strong thrust through Belgium and into the northern provinces of France in the opening days of the War, with the intention of defeating or frustrating any French attacks against Germany from the west, which in turn would free the Germans to attack Russia in the east. The Kaiser’s soldiers marched across the Belgian frontier on 3 August. Britain, by long-standing treaty, had guaranteed Belgium’s neutrality in a European conflict. Prime Minister Herbert Asquith and his colleagues promptly issued an ultimatum to Germany to withdraw its armies from Belgium. As dusk settled in London that evening, the Foreign Secretary, Sir Edward Grey, famously declared:

The lights are going out all over Europe.

We shall not see them lit again in our lifetime.

Britain declared war against Germany the next day, 4 August.

Newfoundland was part of the British Empire, and the British Government’s decision meant that Newfoundland, too, was at war. Colonel Nicholson, in The Fighting Newfoundlander, described how the news came to the Dominion.

It was 9.25 p.m. on August 4 when the message from the Secretary of State for the Colonies was received in St. John’s and immediately passed to Government House. … (101)

The declaration came as no surprise. Sir Walter Davidson, the Governor, had been kept abreast of events by a stream of cables from London. He and Newfoundland’s Prime Minister, Sir Edward Morris, had already met to discuss Newfoundland’s response.

No part of the British Empire in 1914 was less prepared than Newfoundland for armed hostilities. Nicholson described Newfoundland in the years before the Great War as being an unmilitary colony (89). The last British garrison to be stationed on the Island had been withdrawn more than forty years earlier. Newfoundland’s Government had argued strenuously against the British decision to do so. London remained adamant, however, and the last soldiers sailed from St. John’s in November 1870. The Colony’s Legislature responded by reorganizing the Island’s existing police force, the Terra Nova Constabulary, as the Newfoundland Constabulary, known today as the Royal Newfoundland Constabulary. The British Government, in return, agreed to send Royal Navy warships to support the civil authorities, should the need arise. Thirty years later, Prime Minister Robert Bond and his colleagues authorized the establishment of a Royal Naval Reserve in Newfoundland, which was organized formally in June 1902. Its members were part-time sailors, drawn almost entirely from fishermen who lived in the hundreds of outports along Newfoundland’s coast. They enlisted for a five-year term and were required to undergo twenty-eight days of drill each year. There were about 500 men in the Naval unit in 1914.

The only substantial quasi-military organizations in the Colony in 1914 were four cadet brigades, each of them sponsored by one of the principal religious denominations (all of them Christian). These unique bodies were the product of Newfoundland’s system of denominational education, under which each of the recognized denominations operated almost every school in Newfoundland with the support of public funds. The oldest of them was the Newfoundland CLB, an offspring of the British CLB, which in turn was an arm of the Church of England that had spread throughout the Empire. The CLB came to Newfoundland in 1892, a year after it was first established in England. By 1910, it was housed in a fine Armoury on Harvey Road in St. John’s. The Roman Catholics, not to be outdone, established the CCC and built their own armoury in the capital city. The Methodists, in turn, created the Methodist Guards Brigade, while the Presbyterians followed with the Newfoundland Highlanders. Each of the four brigades was composed of young men, most of them teenagers, while their officers were local men, some of them with military experience. They offered instruction in drill and musketry and held a parade an evening each week, and most held summer camps. Nicholson described them as being

organization[s] along semi-military lines, where the boys would acquire habits of discipline, self-reliance, co-operation, and obedience to authority. A keen spirit of competition existed between the different corps, and this reached its culmination in the inter-brigade contests that were held annually in drilling, shooting, and many fields of athletic endeavour. (94–95)

There was one other quasi-military organization in the Colony. Dr. Arthur Wakefield, a former member of the Royal Army Medical Corps drawn to Newfoundland to work with Wilfred Grenfell in his Mission, had organized a Legion of Frontiersmen at St. Anthony, on the northern tip of the Island, with a branch in St. John’s. The Frontiersmen included men of all ages.

Governor Davidson was quick to respond to the start of the War. On 8 August, after further consultation with Morris and his Executive Council (today, the Cabinet), he cabled London:

. . . [My] Ministers undertake to raise force of Naval Reserve by the 31st of October to [a strength of one] thousand efficient men . . . Several hundred [men with] efficient local brigade training offer for enlistment for land service abroad. Five hundred could, I believe, be enlisted within one month. (Nicholson, 102)

A day later, London responded that

His Majesty’s Government gladly accepts the offer of the Newfoundland Government to raise troops for land service abroad. . . . (Nicholson, 102–3)

That was on a Sunday. The next day, Monday the tenth, the Prime Minister convened a meeting of the four brigades and the Legion of Frontiersmen to discuss the next steps. They agreed to call a public meeting at the CLB Armoury two nights later, on Wednesday the twelfth. The meeting was a roaring success. A packed audience agreed with the Government’s decision and approved a Resolution that authorized the Governor to appoint a committee to set about enlisting and equipping 500 troops for overseas service.

Davidson chose a committee of fifty men and called them to meet him on Monday the seventeenth. He thus became the Chair of the Newfoundland Patriotic Committee, later known as the Patriotic Association of Newfoundland. Nicholson describes the Association as being

. . . an organization surely unique in the history of military administration. . . . [Representing] all shades of political opinion on the island, [it] was able to command the active support of the people of Newfoundland in a way that the Government of the day could not hope to have done. For three years, until the bulk of its responsibilities were taken over by a Department of Militia, constituted under a National Government in 1917, the Patriotic Association conscientiously and with a surprisingly high degree of efficiency carried out the onerous functions of raising, equipping, transporting, and caring for the land contingents dispatched from Newfoundland in the King’s Service. . . . (103–4)

The Association lost no time in calling men to the Colours. On 21 August, Davidson issued a proclamation calling on men between the ages of 19 and 35 to enlist in the First Newfoundland Regiment for service abroad for the duration of the war, but not exceeding one year.

Enrolment began that evening at the CLB Armoury, Regiment Headquarters. Sydney Frost was among the first to come forward. He was the fifty-eighth man to sign up. The Newfoundland Regiment had been reborn.

Joining the Regiment

I have mentioned earlier that at the Regatta Festival on 5 August on the shores of Quidi Vidi my mind was preoccupied with thoughts other than who would win the next race. As the oarsmen rounded the buoys in the sculls, straining every muscle to capture the lead, I was cogitating upon the timing of any action I may take in severing my connection with the Bank if and when Whitehall sent forth an appeal to the Colonies and Dominions for volunteers to serve in support of the struggle about to be faced. Actually, offers of assistance flowed in from Empire countries all over the world, and no call became necessary. Newfoundland, the oldest Colony, was one of the first to demonstrate its allegiance. With me it was not a question of whether or not to enlist, for that decision had already been made, [but] instead, whether I should return to Canada or offer my services to any unit Newfoundland may recruit.

In this day and age it is difficult to comprehend the instinctive patriotism which surged in the veins and hearts of the majority of the English-speaking people of Canada and Newfoundland in early 1914, present also among many claiming the heritage of other nationalities. From the day when at four years of age I learned to sing Soldiers of the Queen in the Argyle schoolhouse in Yarmouth, I had the utmost respect for the monarchy, law and order, our own form of government, institutions of learning and culture, traditions, private enterprise, freedom to worship, and organizations devoted to the betterment of society as a whole, all tempered with a proper degree of tolerance and forbearance. To many, the expression patriotism conveyed a much broader interpretation than the concept of fighting for one’s country, perhaps a combination of some of the disciplines and virtues above recited. So, in the minds of many, patriotism encompasses the right and duty to shield the lives and well-being of those deserving of protection. I am one of those whose views are in support of these precepts.

True to times of momentous consequence, wild rumours flew thick and fast the following day, 5 August. In the evening, excited multitudes assembled in the courtyard of the premises of [the] St. John’s Daily News. Presently, the editor and publisher, Honourable John Alexander Robinson, appeared on the steps and by megaphone announced to the cheering and receptive crowds that a flash report from London by wire carried the news of the interception of a German flotilla by a squadron of British ships in the North Sea and the sinking of two enemy cruisers. Next morning, the newspaper denied that any such engagement took place.

As an indication of Newfoundland’s loyalty to the Mother Country, on 8 August the Newfoundland Governor (Sir Walter Davidson) cabled London in part as follows:

Authority is desired by my Ministers to enlist special men for service abroad by land and sea. Undertake to raise force of Naval Reserve by October 31st to thousand