William F. Stone

William F. Stone was born and raised in Roxbury, Massachusetts,  he was the son of Anthony Stone, and Marion (Phillips) Stone, who was originally from Summerside, Prince Edward Island.  He had two sisters, one of which was, Lucille (Stone) Richards,  who was a widely known professional baseball player. His mother, Marion, visited out of state wounded veterans in armed service hospitals, during the Korean War. She brought with her gifts of home baked cakes, pie, and cookies, three times a week to the servicemen at the Murphy Army Hospital, in Waltham.

Name	William F Stone
Service Number	Ra11155029
Home State	Massachusetts
Home County	Suffolk
Place Casualty	North Korea Sector
Date Casualty	04/21/1951
Casualty Type	Returned To Duty FECOM
Details	Seriously Wounded In Action By Missile
Details 2	Returned To Duty Fecom
Grade	Private First Class
Branch	Infantry
Specialty	Light Weapons Infantryman
Troop Number	In Div - 7th
Troop Element	In Div Inf Regt
Unit	0017
Race	White
Component	USA Regular Army
Disposition Date	05/22/1951

Pfc Willam F. Stone was a Private first class solider. He was part of the infantry branch, and his specialty was a Light Weapons Infantry Man. He was part of the USA Regular Army, and his unit was 0017. His troop number was In. Div-7^th, and his troop element was In. Div. Inf Regt. He was attached to the Company G, 17^th Infantry Regiment, 7^th infantry division. Stone, was injured twice throughout his time served in the Korean War. He was first injured in the North Korea Sector, and at just nineteen, he lie wounded in a hospital in Tokyo, Japan. On April, 21^st 1951 he was seriously wounded in action by a missile, in North Korea, and he was returned to Duty FECOM. He was also wounded for a second time, in the leg. Despite his injuries, Pfc Willam F. Stone did survive the Korean War.

`While recovering in Tokyo, William F. Stone, asked his mother Marion Stone, to visit one of the  hospitals his friend Pvt. Eugene Jamison was recovering at in, Massachusetts. Jamison was from New York City, and was injured by a machine gun bullet that shattered his leg in Korea. Like many, there was no one to visit Jamison while he was staying in an out of state hospital. Stone begged his mother in a letter home to bring Jamison food and company, because his family could not afford to visit him during the war. Mrs. Stone first walked into the ward at Murphy Hospital to visit Pvt. Jamison she felt heart sick. She says “I don't believe any of them was over 23... lying there all alone with no one to visit them”. She brought home made baked goods and meals to the soldiers staying in the hospital, the food they received in the hospital was okay, but after spending so long at war the soldiers appreciated a real home cooked meal, and some company, since many soldiers families were unable to visit them. During Marion's time at the hospital she uncovered some war tales about her son from Pvt. Jamison. One night Pvt. Jamison and William F. Stone were lying in a foxhole near the Manchurian with four other men when William “Billy” heard a noise from the other side of the ridge. He climbed the incline armed with his rifle, and spotted six of the enemy. He tried to fire, but discovered it was ice-bound. The veterans thought Billy was scared when he was clambering down the ridge, but they were mistaken. He jumped back into the foxhole, and grabbed some hand grenades, and climbed back strategically.  Pvt. Jamison says “He was a great guy in a pinch.” He ended up killing the six enemies outright.

During William F. Stone's time in the Korean war, which he was dis positioned from on May 22^nd 1951,he kept himself busy and entertained. One July, during the ice in Japan, he spent his days at the Hecht Neighborhood House in Dolchester. He was dubbed the “Dorchester Jitterbug”, because he used to play around a lot during his time in Dolchester, and dancing was his form of entertainment during this time, throughout his journey of the Korean War

Billy, is my grandfather's first cousin, and my third cousin. Although he was born and raised in Massachusetts, his mother Marion Phillips, was from Summerside, Prince Edward Island,. She is my grandfather's Aunt and my Great Great Aunt. My grandfather Allen , found most of this information on his cousin Billy, from a newspaper clipping that featured an article on his cousin and Aunt from the Korean War. After my great grandfather passed away, my grandfather inherited this newspaper clipping from him. My grandfather now owns the table that is featured in the article my great great Aunt Marion is preparing food on for the wounded soldiers. This trip has helped me uncover the connections between my family in Canada, and parts of my family I didn't even know of living in the States.

By Jillian Silliker

PRIVATE WILLIAM HARRY BARLOW

Private William Harry Barlow was born in Wellington Station, Prince Edward Island, in November, 1895.  He was the fourth of 6 children born to Samuel and Florence Barlow.  Harry’s sister, Matilda (1906-1986) is Jayk’s paternal Great-Grandmother.

The Barlows were a well known family in the Wellington area and ran both a milling and farming operation. As a young man, Harry attended school in Wellington, playing in a local wind and brass band, and working at the family’s grist, carding, and saw mills with his parents and siblings.

Harry joined the 85^th Battalion of the Canadian Infantry Nova Scotia Regiment (Highlanders) as a Private in 1917 (Service Number: 3204048; Force: Army).  In a letter to his mother, dated April 27, 1918, sent from Camp Bramshott, England, one of three facilities in the Aldershot Command Area established by the Canadian Army in World War I, Harry wrote:

“Dear Mama:  Just a few lines to let you know I am still feeling not too bad and hope you are all well and getting along good.  The weather is beautiful here now.  Everything looks just like July.  It is great to listen to the birds singing.  They remind me of home.

We haven’t moved yet but will be moving soon I think.  We are getting lots of work now and I don’t get much time to write.  So if you are long without hearing from me, don’t get uneasy. 

This is Saturday, sports day, a big day in the camp, but no rest.  Everybody has to take part in it.  There is lots of fun though. 

I wish I was handy home so I could hear from you often and go to see you once in awhile.  But let us hope it will not be long till I get back.

The killing goes pretty hard with me.  I don’t know if I’ll stand it or not.  My legs give out on me.

Did you get my civies yet?  I wrote to Everett to send them up.  What are they doing in the mills this year?  Did they get anybody to run the carding mill for them and who is he?  Did Willy and Papa give up the notion of going to Halifax?  I wrote to Winnie but I don’t suppose she will answer.  I hope she is feeling alright now.

Now Mama, as I have more letters to write, I’ll stop for now hoping when this reaches you, you will all be well and the war will be over.  Take good care of yourselves and answer soon.  Love to you all, Harry.”

On August 31, 1918, Harry sent a Regimental photograph of himself to his parents.  On the back of the photograph, Harry wrote:

“This isn’t much a picture but it is the only one I can send you for awhile.  As you can see, I am not half dressed.  I look pretty slobby.  It really doesn’t give me justice.  I’ll write you a long letter as soon as I get a chance.  Best Love to all, Harry.”

On the morning of September 27^th, while advancing towards enemy positions with his company (“D.”) near Cambrai, France, during the campaign known as Arras and the ‘Hundred Days’, an enemy shell landed very near him.  A piece of shrapnel from the blast hit him in the head and Harry died shortly afterwards.

In a letter issued to Mrs. Samuel Barlow, dated November 26, 1918, Lt. Colonel J.D. Rabton, Commanding Officer, 85^th Canadian Infantry Battalion, Nova Scotia Highlanders, stated that Harry showed himself to be entirely worthy of the splendid traditions which have always characterized the Canadian Corps.  Harry’s steadiness and gallantry in action are a lasting reflection of the greatest credit upon himself, his Battalion and his native land, and a memory to be cherished by all those who knew him.

According to Lt. Colonel Rabton, the battle in which Harry was killed was one of the most important of the whole war, the breaking of the Hindenburg Line.  There had been a series of significant operations near Arras, France, within which the Canadian Corps was actively engaged.  These operations proved to be the final undoing of the enemy.

Harry was buried at the Quarry Wood Cemetery, Sains-Les-Marquion, France.  It contains the graves of 263 Canadian Soldiers, 12 from the United Kingdom, one Officer of the R.A.F., and one Marine, all of whom fell in September or October, 1918.  Among the graves, five are unnamed and there is a special memorial in honour of one Canadian Officer believed to be buried among them. 

Flight #2...

About to board our flight to montreal in preparation to wait again.  Some of these guys need to get up to speed on the first premise of travel....hurry up and wait!!!

I can't back out now!!!

So far so good..... Well not really that far but we have cleared out first security check and all seems to be good.  Kids are excited and a few tears were shed upon leaving but they will come back as changed young men and women.

As I do with all of the blogs I want to personally thank you for allowing us to take your son/daughter on this trip of a lifetime.  As you will see in the coming days I have non problem expressing myself with words.  For some it may certainly be verbal diarrhea, that is probably just my own family, but over the course of the next ten days I hope that I can make you feel like you are really here.  It's not 3D or 4D(look it up) let's call it CD(Chiz dimension), a new type of entertainment experience.  That's all for now and I will check In periodically over the coming hours as best as i can.  

Again thanks for allowing us to do this.....safe travels to all!

DC

Almost ready to go....I can hardly believe it!!!

"I wrote this short piece after I returned from my first visit to Europe in August of 2006.  I am not a writer, but I was so moved from what I saw, and even more so from what I felt as I walked through the cemeteries and battlefields of  long ago, that I knew I had to do something.  It inspired me to sit down, which I don't do much as you know by now, and put into words what has led me into this fulfilling curricular activity that I take part in every couple of years.  It has driven me to make sure that generations of kids never forget the sacrifices that were made by so many men and women that they'll never know.  Thanks for reading!"
                                                                                                                                  -DC

"EXPERIENCE OF LIFE"

        

         Each Remembrance Day Canadians gather at all the Nation’s cenotaphs to give thanks for those who made the supreme sacrifice. Subtle, to the point, and often not even spoken aloud, though on everyone’s minds, are the words "Thank you." There is also John McCrae’s poem In Flanders Field, a poem hardly anyone truly understands the significance of anymore.

            But it isn’t until visiting the shrines, battlefields and the cemeteries, acre upon acre of headstones immortalizing the dead, that a Canadian realizes our words are grossly understated. We owe our freedom and our very lives to the thousands of young men and women who stood their ground against evil. How do simple words repay such generosity?  The truth is…there are none.

            Far too many 21st century Canadians think that saying "Thank You" once a year is enough. It seems to me that the one-day tribute to tens of thousands of dead in the prime of their lives is sickeningly wrong. That sentiment was driven home in me during what I call "My Experience of Life" in August of 2006 when I first visited the battlefields of France and Belgium. I used to think that remembrance of war and loss of life is all about death on a huge scale. But their deaths can be more than tragic and at the same time overwhelmingly powerful.   They truly can be life affirming and most certainly life changing.

         As I walked with a group of history teachers through each battlefield and military cemetery in Belgium and northwest France, I found myself trying to imagine the thoughts of these young soldiers, who so generously gave up not only a few years of their lives, which many thought both wars would be, but the gave the whole of their very lives.

            CJ Macdonald, a young Summerside man and a personal hero, who is buried in Beny-Sur-Mer cemetery, certainly didn’t return home. I was very proud to read the memorial on his headstone that read “God Grant this Summerside boy his eternal rest.”   Then there was "Uncle Max," the grand uncle of my new friend Darryl from Newfoundland who some say did not return either. If you were to look at his discharge records, "Uncle Max" did indeed return to St. John’s, Newfoundland. But as the stories were recounted, this wasn’t the same uncle Max that fought in France. The former fun-loving, practical joking (and rarely sober) uncle Max “died” with many of his Newfoundland brothers in the famous battle at Beaumont-Hamel.

            These young men were no different from me.  Had they lived, their lives would probably been very much like mine.  They would have returned home to meet a special lady, got married, and started a family.  It occurred to me that many of these soldiers were so young that their tragic deaths deprived them of the simple pleasures we so often take for granted - being with friends, attending a birthday or an anniversary party, and accompanying their parents and friends into old age.

         The ghosts of the two Great Wars walked with me as I ventured some 90 and 60 years into the past, respectively.  I imagined being one of those brave young men.  I could sense, almost hear, the American platoons walking beside me through the woods of Cantigny, quickly closing on a retreating German division in November of 1917. We actually stood in the fields of Flanders where John McRae once was and I could sense his call to take up the torch for freedom, or the dead would not rest. But what was the torch?  And how does a Canadian in 2006(2012) take up the torch?  These ghosts haunted me again in places like Vimy Ridge,  Kitchener’s Wood, Mousetrap Farm, Passchendaele, and Ypres, Belgium, where Canadians were among the first to experience the first attacks of new age weapons - like chlorine gas. 

            My mind continually raced with fear, sorrow, and gratitude to the voices of youthful soldiers as we read excerpts from the war diaries.  These diaries were first hand accounts of panicking men rushing to urinate on any cloth, so they could hold it to their mouths to filter out the yellow gas that was killing their friends miserably. Again I could hear their gasps and feel my lungs drawing air, but try as I might, it was surreal.

            And then the questions….. Why not me? Why was I born generations after these men? Could it have been me, could it still be me some day? I wondered how I would have died.  Could it be my son or my daughter some day? How did their parents endure the agony of not knowing what dangers their children were in? I could hardly focus on the tour guide’s sentences. No words could carry that weight of hearing these grim details. I was caught in a wave of emotions that well up from the soil where I was standing.

            There’s a saying urges us to "walk a mile in someone’s shoes" so we might understand that person. I thought I had walked the proverbial mile in their shoes. I had traveled from Canada, made my pilgrimage to these shrines, listened dutifully to the grim details of war and sacrifice. But I had come without a 75 pound pack on my back, there we no pains of hunger,  there was almost certainty of reuniting with my family and friends, and, most evidently, without anyone taking aim at me through a sniper’s scope and trying to kill me. Yes, the wind was cool for August and days of travel were long, these were definitely minor inconveniences in comparison. I must have said thank you to these soldiers a thousand times over those days in my head, but it still wasn’t enough. It never will be.

            Our journey continued from the inland sites of WWI to the coastal sites of WWII. First, the views of the English Channel arose while we approached the picturesque, quiet harbor town of Dieppe, France. Although booming with tourists, it seemed so quaint and quiet, assuredly much different than it was this same time of year 64 years ago.

            It was hard to imagine the horror and massacre that met the Canadian soldiers on 19 August 1942. Hard to imagine, that was until I spotted the German machine gun installations that can still be seen from atop the chalk cliffs overlooking the English Channel. In 1942, these Canadian men had a mission, the objective was to take this town, and they paid a dear price.  They were cut to pieces on that savage shore by machine gun fire.

            Following dinner a few of my tour group friends and I walked down to the very beach that these men were trying to land their barges on, where they died, and once again the horror replayed in my head. A thousand “thank yous” were not good enough, but I had nothing else to give these fallen soldiers. I felt helpless. Probably much like these men did on that very day in August of 1942.

            The English Channel was in an ugly mood that night. Waves were crashing with a deafening roar, and I imagined these conditions to be much the same as in 1942. I was wrong. These men weren’t going for a leisurely walk on a popular beach along the English Channel. They were wading up to their waists in what would eventually be blood-filled waters; they would have been holding their rifles above their heads and walking headlong into a hail of machine gun fire.  They were walking into, arguably, the biggest one-day slaughter in Canadian military history. Of the almost 5,000 Canadians that left England in the middle of the night, very few returned. 3700 were either dead, wounded or captured.

            Many view this operation in Dieppe as a failure, but it was also one of those tragedies that military strategists learn from. And for me it was yet another example of Canadian bravery and sacrifice beyond all realm of imagination. The lessons learned at Dieppe, though it was a slaughter, led to the overwhelming successes of Operation Overlord in June of 1944, more commonly known as D-Day, which would signal the beginning of the end of these two great tragedies. Knowing this my emotional state at Juno Beach was much more positive and upbeat for that very reason, but men still died. I hoped that these men knew, with the success reached in the initial hours of taking the beach at Juno, that there was light, that someone was taking up the torch and moving on to victory.  It is hard to reconcile sacrifice with success, but it seems that Canadian soldiers, fierce in the face of the enemy, were prepared to honor the call to defend their country with their lives.

            As a social studies teacher, I have always approached the Great Wars from the logical cause and effect point of view, or the prototypical "strategic military angle." There were always times when, which now seem almost criminal, I talked about the courage and the bravery of these young people who fought and died so that we can live in a free society. To those young men and women who have gone before me and those still alive and able to hear this today, I apologize, a belated gesture, which, like my thousands of “thank yous”, remains inadequate. But I am sorry, nevertheless. It wasn’t intentional, and I always recognized their bravery and courage, but I unknowingly underestimated the level of courage that it took to storm those beaches at Dieppe and Juno and many other areas in Europe.

            As a society we have begun an unfair disconnect in many ways with these brave souls of WWI, WWII and other wars. It is something romantic, a dream, and beyond comprehension. That is why we have to be grounded in reality by connecting with the veterans still living. The saddest day is yet to come, and that will be when the last of these survivors from the battlefields of Europe pass away. At that time, the responsibility of re-telling these stories solely rests on the scholarship and memory of historians and teachers and now the students of Three Oaks, who have made the pilgrimage to the battlefields of Europe. What we must then do is re-connect society to these people who secured our freedoms with their courage. 

         The TOSH students who have had, and will have, the good fortune of experiencing the memorials of Europe have once again accepted the “torch” of freedom which John McCrae mentioned so many years ago in Flanders.  Still there are Canadian soldiers who are at the mercy of a society “dying” to pin fault and blame on a government for a war that raged in Afghanistan or a peacekeeping mission in the Sudan. The point is not whether a war or conflict is right or wrong, in fact there are soldiers fighting that don’t necessarily support the wars, but it’s important for Canadians to support their own men and women who are once again putting their lives on the line for our freedom.  Respect them for who they are, they are sons, they are daughters, they are brothers, they are sisters, they are mothers and they are fathers.  Please think of that first, because it has been said in the past that sometimes peace can only be achieved on the other side of war.

            When I began to write this, I wasn’t sure where the haunting presences of the dead would lead me. They were certainly telling me I too often take my peaceful life for granted. The original tour was definitely an experience of a lifetime. Was this the deeper meaning of the journey, that because of these dead I get to live freely? I felt compelled to tell this story to you today, and that is my torch in reference to McCrae’s poem once again.   I truly believe it is. The torch is my responsibility to the dead and the foe was my indifference; my indifference towards these brave and beautiful souls. I have learned gratitude. That’s the thanks that you and I can give them daily. That is where my journey lead and now it has connected with your journey.  That is my experience of life.

Here are some official packing tips for the TOSH World Tour 2013....

Well, it's about time you started planning out what to pack for your Euro Tour 2013 Experience. It's never too early to start! Here's a guide on what to pack as well as some helpful tips to make sure your trip runs smoothly.

• Wear a passport pouch to carry your passport, money and credit cards.
• No Purses! There is a high chance they could be stolen or lost. Likewise anything carried in your pockets. Be vigilant. 
• No Phones...your choice but if you do not have a package then be prepared for an unbelievable bill....but again your choice.
• One suitcase (on wheels) per traveller. No taller than 26 inches. You will be carrying it up and down stairs at your hotel and also helping load it on and off of buses.
• Carry on...other than your EF backpack....you can actually pack quite a bit in one of these.  Speaking from experience, I always pack a light change of clothes...just in case....look at the cartoon way below and see why I do what I do!
• EF backpack packed flat in bottom of suitcase
• Black pants and TOSH jacket (to wear at Menin Gate Ceremony-required)
• 2 pairs of comfortable shoes
• Layers for warmth and rain gear
• gloves/mittens/toques...better safe than sorry
• 1 hairdryer per room
• Bringing personal computers IS NOT recommended
• Spending money: Take enough local (Euros) currency for at least two days. ATMs are everywhere.
• Do not use travelers cheques.
• Check with your bank regarding using ATMs or bank machines in Europe. You will likely only have access to one account while in Europe.
• It’s recommended you use a pre-loaded charge card. Available from your bank or financial institution. It can be used as a credit card or a debit card.
• Be sure to take adapter plugs and converters for your electrical.(Would be best if you shared these as per rooming assignments)

Additional tips:

Internet cafes are very popular in Europe. You can often use the Internet or log in to wi-fi at reasonable rates.

Security: All our students have the same red TOSH jacket and all the Chaperones are dressed in the same TOSH jackets. Seek them out if you require assistance.

Lunches: Avoid eating in restaurants, as they are too expensive. Also avoid North American fast food, which can be even more expensive. Eat local food! Enjoy the culture!

Veteran Glorice Gallant

My Great Grandfather, Glorice Gallant

       Glorice Gallant, also known as Glorious Gallant as what he was known as in the army. Glorice Gallant was born on May 10th 1897, in Egmont bay Prince Edward Island. He is my great Grandfather that I never knew since he died before I was born but I have heard a great deal about him. Glorice was in both world wars to which he served in the 13th battalion, and only returned home with minor injuries like being shot in the arm and having a metal plate put in. Sadly, due to the war he became an alcoholic who never got along with many people and especially never wanted to talk about the wars with his family, which is understandable but frustrating to this project. After the war, he also started a penny drive at the local legion, which he used to fund the creation of a children's playground.    

       The First World War, my great grandfather was too young to join in, but since he was tall enough and looked old enough, you did not need an ID to get in, so they allowed it. He was part of the 13th Battalion (according to his gravestone) but since he never talked about it, we will never know what battles he fought in but he was supposedly part of the black watch (Royal Highland Regiment) of Canada. All we know is that there is a chance that he fought in one or more of these battles: Second Battle of Ypres in 1915, the Somme in 1916, Vimy Ridge and Passchendaele in 1917, and the Pursuit to Mons in 1918. During the war, he injured while carrying a wounded soldier back to base and was shot in the arm. Then he returned home and started his family. In World War 2, Glorice served in the home guard at the age of 44. He never left Canada during that war but he still served his duty by helping at home.

       After the wars, that Glorice fought in he was not that pleasant of a person to be around but he did find himself a wife and had eight children. He also worked shoveling coal for the Canadian national railroad. Sadly, Glorice became an alcoholic after the wars, as most people who went to war had very bad memories and since there was no psychologist, there was only one way to get rid of those memories. With his family, he was a very irritable man who got angry very easily whether he was drunk or not, so no one could get along with him other than the people at the legion, which he visited very often. Later on in his life, he decided to do something good for the community that he raised his children in, so he did a penny drive. This penny drive was like no others at the time and place because his was for a simple cause, to raise money for the community to erect a new playground for the children. In the end, he did raise enough money to make the playground and it was all in pennies because he would accept nothing else. Therefore, by the end of his life he ended up doing something great and was not just remembered as the family drunk who survived two world wars. In the end, he died July 24, 1974 in Summerside, Prince Edward Island.

                                                         Alex Gallant