Sketch by David Collier
Hamilton-based cartoonist David Collier is the creator of the acclaimed Collier’s series and Just the Facts, both published by Drawn & Quarterly. In April, Collier took part in the Canadian Forces Artists Program, a storied project that invites Canadian artists to witness and document the military’s day-to-day operations.
The tradition of Canadian war art began during the First World War, with the creation of the Canadian War Memorial Fund in 1916; it was resumed during the Second World War with the Canadian War Records Program in 1942. In 1968, it was revived as the Canadian Armed Forces Civilian Artists Program (CAFCAP), which ran until 1995, when it was cancelled due to budget cuts. The initiative was re-launched in 2001 as the Canadian Forces Artists Program. Collier spent two weeks aboard the patrol frigate HMCS Toronto, where he observed navy drills in the waters off Newfoundland. What follows are his written and sketched impressions of that mission.
Day 3
Finally, we are on our way.
Leave had been extended because of what our captain, Commander Stu Moors, jokingly called “the perfect storm.” Leave ended this morning at 0630, so I got up early for one last ramble around on land.
I went to a hotel near the docks to buy a newspaper, but the woman at the front desk let me just take one from a huge pile. This edition will have to last me a while. There are no National Post boxes where we are going.
Just before I got back on the ship, I found the thing I had been scouring the St. John's waterfront for since I arrived on the east coast. I had been looking for the new memorial to Terry Fox at “Mile 0,” the spot where he dipped his artificial leg in the Atlantic in 1980 at the beginning of his Marathon of Hope. The commemorative rock had been but a stone's throw from HMCS Toronto at Pier 17 the whole time.
I didn't know how it would be drawing at sea, so I figured I should draw the compact quarters where my 21 new roommates and I will be sleeping – now, before we got pitched around too much. When I first opened the door to Mess 15, I'll admit I was shocked. I didn't think it would work, so many people living so close together, until I realized how different sailors are from the young men who park their cars on your street, blasting their trunk-sized car stereo speakers until your windows rattle.
These men and women are courteous to a fault; you'd expect to see more interpersonal conflicts in a Buddhist retreat than I've witnessed on this ship. Most of the men in Mess 15 are cooks, stewards and hospital attendants, whose shifts begin and end at all hours of the day or night.
Once at sea, the room has to be kept dark and silent at all times. Robert, a friend back home, gave me a gift of a tool pouch that I wear on my belt. It sat in my basement for a while; I thought it might come in handy camping, and now I use it all the time. I'll be using the pencil flashlight when I go to find my bunk later tonight.
I'm in bunk 13, the last one available in the whole mess. It's the top one on a stack of three, and as I'm tired, I can't say enough good things about it.
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