Although I had not seen
him in a number of years, I recognized him immediately. He was now,
he would later tell me, 90 years old. He stood arrow straight, with
his thick white hair carefully groomed. He was, to use a term from my
military years, ''well turned out''. Just as he has always been.
Mr. Harris Mullin is
someone I've known pretty much my whole life. I grew up not too far
from his place, and he is my grandmother's cousin. Quiet, modest,
and unassuming, Mr. Mullin represents, to those of us from younger
generations, the ideal of a dignified gentleman.
Mr.. Harris Mullin
I knew that Mr. Mullin
had been in the Army during World War Two. I also knew that the
Mullin family, like many local families, had a rich heritage of
military service. Three of Mr. Mullin's brothers, Scott, Kingsley,
and Kenneth, had also served during World War Two, seeing combat in
the brutal Italian campaign that saw at least 16 Gaspé soldiers lose
their lives.
Mr. Mullin's' cousin, Elmer Mullin died in Hong Kong
while a prisoner of the Japanese. Members of the previous generation
of Mullins served in the trenches of France and Belgium during World
War One.
After we caught up on
the goings on of our respective families, Mr. Mullin took a seat in
one of the pews near the front of the church and proceeded, in his
own quiet and easy manner, to recount his days as a young soldier
during World War Two. It was to be one of those conversations that I
will remember forever.
He talked about his
harrowing crossing of the English Channel, a few days after the D-Day
landings, when the craft he was in was targeted by German artillery.
He talked about the death and destruction he witnessed as he and the
members of his unit pushed through Normandy in the summer of 1944. He
talked about the difficulties encountered as the Allied forces fought
through Belgium and Holland, before finally arriving in Germany in
the spring of 1945.
Juno Beach, Courseulles-sur.Mer, France.
As a member of an
infantry brigade, his main responsibility had been to act as a driver
in a section responsible for the transportation of prisoners. He was,
as he said ''just a kid'', and his peaceful upbringing in York had
not, could not, have prepared him for what he witnessed in Europe.
He recalled meeting one
of his friends from the Gaspé area while going through a
particularly difficult time in Europe. They reminisced about a hot,
black fly infested day they had spent a few years previously while
working in the woods. ''As miserable as that day had been, when
compared to what we were going through in the war, it didn't seem so
bad after all.''.
He also talked about
going without food for a few days, when, much to his relief, a parcel
from his mother arrived. With great anticipation, salivating at the
thought of the homemade treats he was certain it contained, he opened
it..., to find two pairs of wool socks.
Once the war in Europe
finally ended in late spring of 1945, Mr. Mullin was sent back to
Canada. Remarkably, he was preparing to head to the Pacific and
participate in the fighting there, when, as he was home in York on
leave, the American forces dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima and
Nagasaki, effectively ending the Second World War.
Beyond the content of
his stories, what impressed me the most about this encounter with Mr.
Mullin, was the way in which he recounted his time in the military.
There was no bravado, no self-aggrandizement, just a man telling a
story about the horrors of war.
American journalist Tom
Brokaw, coined the phrase ''The Greatest Generation'' when referring
to those who served during World War Two. When thinking back on the
sacrifice of men like Mr. Harris Mullin, who put their sense of duty
and responsibility to others before their own well-being, it is hard
not to agree.
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