R J Hetherington:Healer Warrior

Robert John Hetherington: Employment and Military Service Record 1928 to 1964

Cpl. Robert John Hetherington, RCAMC, 1944

Robert John Hetherington

Employment

Farm Labourer: Saskatchewan, 1928 to 1930

Orderly/Nurse: Prince Albert Sanitarium, 1930 to 1935

Quartermaster: S.S. Kenora (CNR), Vancouver, 1935 to 1937

Orderly/Nurse: Vancouver General Hospital, 1937 to 1938

Orderly/Nurse: B.C. Penitentiary (New Westminster), 1938 to 1940

Military Service

Reserve: Prince Albert Volunteers, 1930 to 35

Reserve: 11^th Armoured Car, Vancouver, 1938 to 1940

Enlisted: June 22, 1940; First Battalion, New Westminster

Transfer: Royal Canadian Army Medical Corps (RCAMC), October 28, 1940, Nanaimo

Recruiting: 30-04-1941

Transfer: Esquimalt Military Hospital, November 1, 1941 - Orderly

Embarked: Halifax; June 15, 1942; transfer16 General Hospital

Disembarked: Granoch, UK; June 24, 1942.

Leave to visit Ireland

Assigned to: 9 Field Surgical Unit; March 11, 1944

Embarked UK: July 6, 1944; 11 Field Dressing Unit; RCAMC

Disembarked France: July 8, 1944

Embarked NWE: June 29, 1945

Disembarked UK: June 29, 1945

Discharged: September 9, 1945

Reenlisted: March 20, 1954, X-ray technician, Vancouver (Jericho), Prince Rupert and Holberg

Discharged: May 16, 1965

Awards:

Volunteer Service Medal and Clasp

France and Germany Star

Defence Medal

Robert`s Story: Healer - Warrior

Robert set sail from Belfast, Northern Ireland on the S.S. Melita on a farm/immigration program sponsored by the CPR.

He landed in Quebec on May 27, 1928 and went by train to Saskatchewan where he worked for two years as a farm labourer before securing a position at the Prince Albert Tuberculous Sanatorium in 1930. He meet his future wife Pauline Krawchuk at the “San” and also joined the Prince Albert Volunteers during this period.

After his marriage in 1935 he moved to Vancouver where worked as a Quartermaster on the S.S. Kenora (CNR). In 1937 he secured work at the Vancouver General Hospital as an orderly/nurse. In 1938 he secured a job as an orderly/nurse with the B.C.

Penitentiary Service in New Westminster and joined the 11^th Armoured Car, reserve unit in Vancouver. He maintained both positions until he enlisted on June 22, 1940 in New Westminster with the First Battalion. On October 28, 1940 he was transferred to the Royal Canadian Army Medical Corps (RCAMC) in Nanaimo.

Nanaimo

He was then transferred to Recruiting from April 30,1941 to November 1, 1941.

He was then transferred to the Esquimalt Military Hospital to work as an orderly.

While there, he requested a transfer to active duty and was assigned to 16 General Hospital and embarked for the UK from Halifax on June 15, 1942. He disembarked at Granoch, UK on June 24, 1942. During his time in the UK he received additional training and took leave to sight see and visit his brother Johnston and his parents in Ireland.

 On leave

Robert with parents 1944

Robert with brother Johnston as children

On March 11, 1944 he was assigned to the 9th Field Surgical Unit 11th Field Dressing Unit; RCAMC and embarked the UK on July 6, 1944. He disembarked on Juno Beach on July 8, 1944.
 

 After landing in France, Robert travelled with the First Canadian Army as it fought its way north.

He cared for the wounded in field hospitals as the Army closed the Falaise gap and liberated Dieppe. He took leave in Amiens and continued north as the First Army moved through the Pas de Calais and into Belgium.

By this time, First Army numbers were badly depleted and were re-enforced by units from other countries.

RCAMC units were increasing engaged in combat as they provided medical triage on the front line.

After the liberation of Antwerp on September 4, the Army was given the task of clearing the entrances to the port and Robert and his entire unit volunteered. He subsequently, was part of the force that crossed and took the Leopold Canal. After Leopold, his unit volunteered to fight with the British Marine Commandos during the battle of The Scheldt. Where three landing craft either broke down or were shot out from under him before successfully landing.

He was involved in the Walcheren Island campaign.

He told one funny story about Walcheren, apparently, he had his pants to his knees behind a wall when a machine gun opened fire on him. With the result that he was force to run hid and return fire while struggling to get his pants up!

Robert told another about treating a newly captured English speaking German officer. After being treated the officer asked if he could put his great coat on. Robert said yes but luckily thought to check the pockets before giving him the coat. It was fortunate that he did as there was a cocked Ruby pistol in the pocket.

In November and December, Robert the Canadian advance paused and Robert was stationed in home of Dutch resistance fighter named Yette in Tilberg, Netherlands. During this period he provided assistance to the Dutch underground as they tracked down NAZI sympathizers. The picture below was taken at Tilberg but is not of Robert. Robert was described by Yette as a hero.

In the final days of the war Robert was actively engaged in fighting in Germany.

It was here that he killed 3 young German Hilter Youth who were defending their village. The boys mother heard the fire and came running yelling `you killed may babies, you killed my babies.` These experiences were to haunt Robert for the rest of this life. Robert was in the field at war's end and embarked NWE on June 29, 1945 and disembarked UK on June 29, 1945. He subsequently returned to Canada and was discharged on September 9, 1945. In Canada he worked at a number of jobs including as an Orderly at the BC Penitentiary in New Westminster. He reenlisted on March 20, 1954, and worked as Army Orderly and X-ray technician in a number of locations including: Vancouver (Jericho), Prince Rupert and Holberg. He was finally discharged on May 16, 1965 and eventually received a military disability pension. He died in his bed in January, 1976.

Descriptions of the role the RCAMC Field Dressing Station

Below are descriptions of RCAMC #8 FSU and Field Dressing Station 10 service at Walcheren (RJH was in #9 FSU - FDS 11 and faced similar challenges):

“We had to crawl two hundred yards on our bellies with the exploding ammunition [from a stricken assault vehicle] shooting at us from one side and the Germans from the other. We finally reached the [No. 10 FDS] tent and found that the Staff Sergeant had organized a rescue team and was going down in that blazing mess and bringing out the survivors. One of the medicals went inside of an exploding Alligator to reach a wounded Commando. He was blown half in two by a mortar bomb. For the next half hour we lay on our faces in the sand dressing wounds, stopping hemorrhages and splinting fractures. Constant explosions were blowing sand over us as we worked. Our heads were retracted down in our helmets until the edge of the damned things almost reached our shoulders“ (John Hillsman, quoted in Bill Rawling, Death Their Enemy: Canadian Medical Practitioners and War, 2001, p. 211).

“8 Canadian Field Surgical Unit, RCAMC who were with the British Commandos when they went in on Walcheren Island.”

"...For the first 48 hours the beachead where the medical units were established was under constant and heavy shell-fire. There were no buildings or shelters available of a safe nature to perform major operations and to properly look after the patient after operation. The area was honey-combed with land mined which could not be detected and removed and the tentage was surrounded by large bomb craters and shell holes containing numerous German prisoners, ammunition, petrol and demolition charges. After the first 24 hours a gale sprang up from the North Sea which, at times, reached a velocity of 50 miles per hour and rain was constant, mingled at times with hail.....

In all 54 soldiers were operated upon, 22 which were major operations and, by some miracle of chance, none of these were abdomens.”

“...One cannot end a report of this nature without a few words of intense admiration of the work done by #10 FDS in connection with the #8 FSU. Under the most appalling conditions the post-op care of our patients by this unit left nothing to be desired. No patient in this beachead suffered from lack of care if it was humanly possibly by any effort on their part to give it to him. ...The work of these stretcher-bearers in, quickly and efficiently, carrying the patients to and from the operating theatre in the face of a terrible gale, blowing wind, hail, and sand, was one of the brightest of the whole operation from the medical side."

 
R J Hetherington: Healer/Warrior - gone but not forgotten

Mosey's Road Home

   “May you have a long and happy life.”

Mosey's road home

Written by: Thomas John McClean Hetherington, with the assistance of Andrew and Gary McClean Hetherington, September, 2013.

This is a story about “wee folk”, fathers and sons and a place in Ireland. It is based in fact and was told to me by my father, Robert John McClean Hetherington (Robbie).

Robert John McClean Hetherington (Robbie)

My father was a story teller, and as such may not have let the truth stand in the way of creating a good yarn. I apologize if I misrepresent the true nature of the people described. My story is based on the 52 year old memories of a child. I leave it to the reader to judge its truth.

When I was a boy my father told me stories about the place where he was born -- a troubled place filled with family members who exist only in the memories of their loved ones -- people brought to life in his stories.

The date was November 1960, the year before the death of his grandparents, and Robbie Hetherington and his 9 year old son Tommy sat in the living room of their house at 925, 6^th Street in New Westminster.

925 6th Street, New Westminster

Robbie was in his favourite chair next to the fireplace. The smell of Erin More pipe tobacco filled the room with a pungent odour that Tommy always associated with his dad. These were special times listening as his dad told stories about the “Old Country.”

Robbie took several short pulls on his pipe to stoke the embers, exhaled and said, “ Aye, the last Hetherington still on the hill is my sister Eileen. The rest have moved away because of troubles and better pensions. Was a time when Creggan Hill was home to the Holmes, McCleans, Johnstons and Hetheringtons.” “Most are gone now to the other side of the border – my parents and William James moved to County Down.” The Johnstons are the only ones that remain there in any real numbers. With everyone gone the house was turning into a pile of rubble,” he said.

Robbie was born on Creggan Hill in 1910 in a house near Raphoe in County Donegal. His life was to be shaped by civil war, immigration to Canada in 1928, heroic military service, and his later years, a thyroid problem, sleep apnea and bouts of alcoholism. He was a spiritual man and a Mason, and not really a church goer. He believed in always doing one’s duty, and the trauma he experienced from doing his, damaged his soul. He died at age 65. His ashes are spread in the garden of St. Mary's Anglican Church in New Westminster.

The land where Robbie was born was initially leased by the Hetheringtons from the Church of Ireland, and eventually purchased in 1905. Located in Upper Glenmaguin, it is best accessed from a narrow road that ends at the crest of Creggan Hill. The Hetherington plot is straight ahead.

“Aye”, Robbie started again, sipping on a warm cup of tea. “Was a time when we were all related there. Before the automobile we got around by foot and that meant that there weren’t many people that you could marry -- so we married each other, like the royal family,” Robbie said with an impish grin. “You can see that in our family tree, McCleans married Hetheringtons for several generations. “It’s why our last names are McClean Hetheington,” he said in a matter of fact tone.

“There were two McClean families on the hill, and the Mosey McClean branch had a reputation for being a bit wild and strange. A lane, we called “the street” passed in front of Mosey’s place,” he explained. “McClean's had a garden immediately across 'the street' from their house and I remember picking gooseberries there - they were terribly sour.” he said puckering his lips.

Mosey McClean House with child in door frame

He continued, “the McCleans could hear a piece of music once and then play it from memory. Some say they could read minds.”

“But when it came to ‘the gift’, the person I learned the most from was William James,” he said. “When I was growing up, William James lived with us, at least he did when we weren't all separated because of work away and The Revolution,” Robbie said with a deep sigh. “I had to stop going to school at age 10. They turned Glenmaquin School into barracks for the Black and Tans and that was the end of my schooling.”

After a pause, “William James was a fine man with a shovel. One time he dug a drainage ditch down “the street” by hand,” Robbie said, obviously impressed.

William James and Andrew McClean Hetherington

After a sip of his strong dark tea, Robbie reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out an old photograph, he passed it to Tommy who examined it closely.

McClean Hetherington House

“The house was built of stones, from fist sized to arm sized, gathered from the earth ‘round about. There was no money for mortar so we used local 'blue clay'. This clay is found underneath the turf. I remember being out with my Dad clearing out a sheugh, and he showed me the gravel layer with the blue clay on top. This he said was from the time of Noah and the Great Flood. He was a very religious man,” he paused, puffed and continued.

“The clay was fine as a binder as long as it was dry, but we had to whitewash once a year to waterproof it, and we had to tar the bottom foot or so to help prevent rising damp,” he said gently waving his pipe in a painting motion.

“As you can see the house was a single story affair. The thatch was made of rushes taken from the wet ground in front of the house. We usually kept a cow in the byre on the left, next was the main room. Everything happened in the main room. It was our living room, bedroom, and kitchen. There was a hearth with a crane and crook for cooking, with a cast iron kettle permanently on the boil. Never was a man turned away without the offer of hot tea. My dad and William James never drank tea from a cup or mug, it was always from a bowl. They said it was to keep their hands warm.” He paused again sipped his tea, briefly closed his eyes as if searching his memory and said, “there was a table, a couple of chairs, a homemade bench to sit on, and a dresser to store a few plates and mugs. This dresser formed a bit of a wall, and with another bit of thin plywood, created a small room with a bed. Along the far wall beside the hearth was my parents’ bed which had a curtain to keep the draughts out. Not too much room for us all and sometimes I'd just go out into the fields to look at the stars and find peace,” he said with a far off look in his eyes.

As if waking from a dream, he continued, “there were no house numbers on the hill, and the local postman had the job for life and knew everybody. When I was back during the war, the postman was Henry Gallagher who was based at Knockbrack post office 3 or 4 miles away. The house was at the end of his round and he would have his tea and a piece of homemade bread and jam before heading back. Occasionally, he'd come up to the house in the evening with his melodeon for a bit of a ceilidh. Aye, was always was good to hear music on the hill, made it magical: music, laughter and the warm glow of the hearth,” he paused and rubbed his eyes with a hankie that he drew from his pants pocket and blowing his noise said, “Aye, it was grand”.

Replacing the hankie in his pocket and referring back to the picture he continued, “You see the hawthorn tree beside the house? As a boy I would pick the unripe haws and with a piece of weed with a hollow center use it as a pea shooter, I remember one time I hit my brother Johnston with a haw and it caused quite a row. “

Johnston and Robbie 1943/44

Robbie paused a took a draw on his pipe which had gone out due to the length of the story so he fished a match box out of his small black leather tobacco bag, struck a match on the striking paper on the side of the box and put it to the bowl. After a couple of draws the tobacco started to glow and after one or two more puffs he continued putting the box and bag on the table.

“The blackthorn bush is related to the hawthorn and both have magical powers. Fairy folk are said to guard blackthorn trees and will not let anyone cut branches - if you do you will be cursed with bad luck. Farmers would plough around a blackthorn so as not to annoy the fairy folk,” he said earnestly. “I have seen instances of a single blackthorn in a field is undisturbed by the farmer. The wee folk seem to like the thick, impenetrable thorn bramble, may be because it hides the entrances to their houses,” Robbie said knowingly.

After a short pause, he started, “many years ago, Moses McClean, stumbled out of the Red Hand Pub in Raphoe and into the darkness.“

Mosey McClean

“He was a young man then, a grand man and very well liked, when wasn't drinking. Almost named you after him,” Robbie said to Tommy, “but your mum didn't think a name like Moses was quite right for a Canadian lad, so we named you Tommy instead.” “She said it was to remember her uncle Tom Achtimechuck but to me you were named after my brother in – law Tommy Johnston.”

This story is about Mosey before he took the pledge,” Robbie added as if to defend the man's honour. “Mosey was a bit of a dare devil always tempting fate with some kind of antic. I will always remember him, on his bicycle careening erratically down the Creggan lane, bouncing off the seat, barely avoiding collision and laughing like a mad man as he left for the pub!”

Suddenly Robbie looked pensive, “he met a sorry end, he did. He left Raphoe for Scotland......... they found his shoes on the shore and body in Kirkcaldy harbour. Sometime later both his sons, Willie and Sam drowned in the same harbour. People say they were suicides........” he said in a hushed tone.

After another draw on his pipe he continued, “but that night as the barman locked the door behind him, Mosey prepared for the long walk down the Convoy road to Creggan lane and then up the hill to his bed. He mumbled to himself, I need to drink less or find a place to sleep in town, I am sick of this long walk, especially at night. Luckily, a full moon was just appearing on the horizon. Good, I’ll not have to walk in the dark, he thought as he buttoned up his ragged coat. Fortunately, he had managed to buy the remnants of a bottle of Bushmills from the barkeep. Now penniless but with fortification against the cold night air he stumbled off across The Diamond.”

“He avoided the graveyard at St. Eunnan’s, Mosey never felt comfortable around graveyards especially at night. His sister had told him that was because he was afraid of going to hell because of the trouble he caused by his fondness of “drink”.

“By the time Mosey got to the Creggan lane he was really starting to get tired and was tempted to lay down for a sleep. Instead he reached in his pocket and pulled out the partially consumed bottle and took a long pull. That will help me get home he thought as a stumbled up the narrow lane. After a while he walked past the Johnston house and eventually reached the end of the road. He stopped and finished his bottle. Throwing the empty into the hedge he looked across the fields and saw Hetherington place straight ahead. He noticed a small light flickering in the window. I wonder if Andrew or William James were up? They are not big drinkers but may be they'll invite me in for a drink, or at least a cup of tea, he thought, and started walking toward the dimly lit window. The field was very mucky and each step made a sucking sound as his foot lifted from the muck and a squishing sound as it went back down again. Suck, squish. suck, squish, he plodded onwards, until he found himself it the door of the Hetherington house. He knocked.

Unfortunately, it was not Andrew or William James who answered but his sister, Maggie. “Whose there” she shouted from behind the door. “Your brother,” Mosey responded. The door opened and a woman in a nightshirt stood in the door frame. What are you doing up in the middle of the night, you been drinking again? She asked in an angry tone. “May be just a wee drop” Mosey responded, looking down at his feet. “I told you before, don’t come around when you’ve been drinking, I’ll have none of that.” Go home and go to bed,” she said, slamming the door in his face.

Maggie McClean Hetherington

Disappointed with his reception (and the absence of even the of a cup of tea) he turned and started to walk home. After a few paces, he became dizzy, lost his balance, and fell face first into the clabber. Too tired to get up he bundled up in his coat and rolled up near the hedge and closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure how long he lay there - he must of fallen asleep.

Robbie paused and tapped hot ashes from his pipe into the fire. Once empty he put the pipe into an ashtray on the metal TV tray beside the chair.

He started again, Mosey was awakened by a tugging on his boots. For a moment he thought he’d made it home and his wife, Bella was putting him to bed but then he remembered where he was and opened his eyes to discover a small creature trying to pull to his boots off.

Bella McClean (Orr) playing her melodeon

“The wee folk are excellent cobblers,” Robbie said as an aside, “they really can not resist a worn pair of boots.”

Suddenly, and with more coordination that he demonstrated in years, Mosey shot up and grabbed the being's leg. “Got you, you thieving little devil” he cried. “You’ll not have my boots”, he said tightening his grip.

The creature responded, “forgive me kind sir, I saw you were asleep and I was only trying to take your boots off so you’d be more comfortable”.

Then it dawned on Mosey, he captured a wee person, his mind raced to determine how he could best take advantage of the situation. “I’ll not let you go you evil little thing, I ought to murder you for trying to steal my only pair of boots” he exclaimed.

“No, no, no don’t hurt me,” responded the little man, “let me go and I will give you great wealth.”

“Great wealth”, Mosey responded, “what do you mean by that?”

“Let me go and I’ll fill your pockets with gold,” the little man said.

“Show me”, Mosey responded.

Still held upside down, the little man pointed to the base of a blackthorn bush. “Look there,” he said, “and you’ll have gold a plenty.” Mosey looked and saw a small pot of pebble sized gold nuggets. “Boys oh”, he said, picking up the pot with his free hand, his mind racing with excitement.

“Now let me go,” said the fairy man. “You’ve got gold a plenty - you’ll not need me.”

Mosey responded, “I am a man of my word,” and he freed the wee one from his grip. Quickly it vanished into the tangle of blackthorn roots.

“I am rich, I am rich,” Mosey sang to himself as he filled his coat pockets with nuggets, I’ll have whisky to spare, he thought. Still drunk and pockets full, he stumbled home. Once there, he passed out on his bed.

He was awakened by the dawn. He opened his eyes and remembered his good fortune of the night before. “I am rich, I am rich,” he said to himself over and over again. But when he got up and retrieved his coat he sadly found his pockets sadly empty. Pulling his pockets out he discovered that each one had a hole in it. Gold must have fallen out as I walked, he thought. He then went to the door and looked down the street.

Sure enough there was a zig-zagging trail of gold nuggets leading to the Hetherington place. Relieved, he went back inside to get a bag. I'll retrace my steps and put the gold in this bag, he thought. As he stepped out of the doorway the first rays of sun appeared from over the horizon and touched the ground. He was horrified when he saw that as the sun touched each nugget it transformed into an ordinary wee pebble! His now aching head filled with rage, he had been made a fool of and duped by the little man. He began to curse and as he did he thought he heard faint laughter from the hedge. Sure enough his exploits of the night before had a very different look in the clear light of day. In the end all he had was a mucky coat, bag of pebbles and a very sore head.

This story had stayed in Tommy's mind all of this life. How much of this is true he wondered? So, in 2012, at the age of 61 he and his son Matthew, then 18 set off in search of “leprechauns” (that is what they call the wee folk in American films) . While they discovered many things during their odyssey, they were not able to verify the truth of the story nor did they manage to find or capture any leprechauns (in spite of placing traps baited with old boots). They were however able to find and document some of the places mentioned in the story. The a future blog post will archive their findings.

Final resting places

This posting archives the final resting places of some of Robert John McClean Hetherington's immediate family buried in Whitechurch Cemetery at Ards and other Hetherington graves in St. Eunan's at Raphoe.  The Raphoe Hetherington's may not be related or perhaps are related through Nathaniel Hetherington?  Pictures of the people interned are also presented.

I am not sure why Robbie's parents and uncle left Creggan. I suspect, political upheaval, a poor economy, and societal changes resulting from the Irish revolution were undoubtedly keenly felt by the Hetherington's of Upper Glenmacquin.  I also imagine the hardships of living with a well for water and out door toilets, etc. became increasing difficult to manage with age. These factors, and perhaps better seniors care, resulted in end of life aging in the UK and burial at the Whitechurch Cemetery, Ards.  They may have also simply wanted to eternally rest under the British flag and not the Irish Tri-colour?

Whitechurch Cemetery

 

 Margeret McClean and Andrew Hetherington

Andrew, Maggie and Robbie at house 1944

Headstone at Ards

 

William James Hetherington

 

 Johnston McClean Hetherington

 

  

William James and Johnston Headstones at Ards

 

Robbie, Edith (Johnston's wife) and Johnston Hetherington 1964

 

Edith Hetherington headstone at Ards

 Matt visiting Graveyard at St. Eunan's, 2012

 Not sure of relationship (Nathaniel?)

 Not sure of relationship (Nathaniel?)

Not sure if relationship?