I must admit to some early trepidation. Walking up the campus drive with Jenn Hall that morning, I looked ahead and saw the Red Ensign flying from the pole, instead of the national flag of Canada.
Yes, I understand that, prior to 1965, the Red Ensign was the national flag of Canada, all well and good. But at our school, I’m conditioned to the Red Ensign being flown for one reason, and that is to announce that William Keon, former history teacher and professor emeritus here at St. Joe’s, is in the building. Sort of like when the Queen is at Buckingham Palace, she’s got that queen flag that flaps about to announce she’s at home, but please, absolutely no solicitors.
No big deal, the Red Ensign on our pole, then. Except that it was at the half mast position. And that can’t be good.
I went through the options on the walk-up.
There’s gotta be something wrong with some mechanical aspect of the flag pole. That when Dave Rowat, the guy in charge of the Red Ensign, ran her up, something slipped, some grommet or some other flag thing, just simply slipped its anchorage and allowed the beloved Ensign to slide down the pole, friction and the presence of just enough tension in the rope being the primary reason it stopped where it did, and blessedly, not ending up on the ground. But that doesn’t sound like Dave. Dave’s the kind of guy who would run the Ensign up the pole, then run inside and watch it for 40 minutes from the staff room window, then check on it often throughout the day. So that didn’t fit.
I considered briefly an act of vandalism. But who would do such a thing? And why? And plus, Dave’s at the window, so again, that didn’t wash.
As much as I didn’t want to, I arrived at the inescapable, that something had happened to Bill Keon. Something bad. Something, you know, final. And I felt terrible. My mind went immediately to Bill and Eleanor, their kids. My goodness, Bill has a grandchild right in our building! It was all so very sad.
As a history guy of sorts, I have to admit to some measure of shame for not recognizing the fact that the day in question happened to be the anniversary of the great Canadian victory at the Battle of Vimy Ridge way back in 1917. I forgot. But Dave Rowat didn’t.
I mean, Vimy’s a big deal for me, no question. I even teach the battle myself as part of my history curriculum, and yes I remember the cost of that long-ago Easter Monday when Canadian arms carried the day against, to that date anyways, an impregnable position.
But Dave did something about it. He cared enough to make that special effort to get that Red Ensign, the very flag those men of long ago saluted, and run it up the pole to honour them. To run it up fully, as is proper, then to lower it to half mast, as the protocol demands.
On April 9, 1917, Canadian forces, fighting for the first time under total Canadian leadership and employing Canadian military doctrine, attacked an escarpment overlooking the Douai Plains, a high point overlooking tens of kilometres of enemy-occupied France. It had been attacked previously in the war by the French, and then the British, but to no avail, as the entreched German forces beat back each allied thrust, with great loss of life. And so, in early April 1917, the task of taking that ridge, known as Vimy, was given to the Canadians.
At 5:30 AM on April 9th, Canadian artillery opened fire on German positions, and the assault went in. By nightfall on April 12th, it was over, and Canada was in possession of Vimy Ridge.
Some historians say it was the day Canada truly became a nation, forged by the fire of the battlefield, against a determined and proven foe. And I’ll not argue with them.
The Canadian Corps suffered 10,602 casualties in that fight, including 3,598 dead. It was a great moment in our nation’s history, and a moment we ought to remember with pride. But it was gained at a terrible price in terms of human loss, and that’s what Rowat was all about when he flew the Red Ensign that day.
And I’m glad he did. And I am proud.
