Breakfast at Picasso's

By Jock Pichette

On Thursday morning May 25^th, 2000, the gang from the 17^th Duke of York’s Royal Canadian Hussars, gathered for their monthly breakfast at Picasso’s. The restaurant was bustling with excitement as a larger than normal crowd attended the monthly event, including two distinguished veterans; Pete Whiteside from England, and Ernie Moore from Florida. Both of them promised veterans who visited England, or Florida that they would be only too happy to show them around.

Also present at this breakfast was, George Kalmanovitch, D+18. This coming July 12^th, he will reach the tender age of eighty, yet when we sat together, on this morning, he looked like a young stallion. He ventured overseas as a proud Canadian at the tender age of twenty-two. His initial entry into the Army began with the 6^th Hussars, but when he heard that the 17^th were mobilizing, approximately fifty men along with George joined the 17^th.

On December 1941 before he could count to ten, he was on a train heading for Debert, Nova Scotia and some mighty military training.

Back to breakfast: Sitting only a table away on this damp and rainy day, excitement got the best of a slightly visually impaired Joe Hebert, after hearing the invitation of Peter Whiteside, the visitor from England, Joe made a move towards Peter as he approached the table behind him, shaking the hand of Ralph Warren, he began to chat about England, when Ralph said you’re talking to the wrong man, Peter is over there. The crowd let out a roar of laughter, as Joe retreated to his chair, looking around at all his buddies, and said to all within ear shot, sorry about that, my sight is not too good. As a matter of fact I don’t cross on red lights anymore.

From England, George joined the battle on D+18, and reached the beaches of France on the Liberty ships, tucked away along with his armored car, and personnel. He remembers the words of a Scottish chap, who was the captain of this LCT, when the gate goes down lads be off smartly, I must be back to England, and I don’t want to be shot. The gate went down, and off they went with light overhead shelling accompanying them. The Moaning Mini’s bombs that you could hear coming, etched an eerie sound that would stay with him forever. His initial confrontation took place almost immediately. Thirty men from his group were placed on the front line, while the existing forces joined the flanks to counter the German’s stronghold. Like most soldiers, George was shaking in his boots when patrolling, eye’s wide open, gun at the ready, and wanting so much for this War to end. While patrolling along a wide-open field, all he could see was high grass, and a cornfield, but lurking within this field, somewhat like the Field of dreams, were two young German soldiers. George would soon learn a lesson about life. The two young German’s only a couple years younger than George, emerged from the tall grass with hands up, surrendering. George greeted them, but could not communicate, but it didn’t matter when all three realized a German bomb was heading directly for them. Without hesitation all three managed to jump into the slit trench. While in the slit trench, the young Germans were inseparable, and George felt nervousness, realizing at that point, they are human.

George was a gunner, and along with a commander, and driver, they searched for the enemy protected by their armored car. The arm manual does not allow night patrol, but for some reason, this did not deter George and his crew along with another armored car some two hundred yards behind, to go night cruising in Holland. During this escapade a German soldier with his hands in the air, and a gun showing, stopped his vehicle, wishing to surrender. He handed over his gun, plus the one hidden in his high boots. During the interrogation, approximately twenty-five other German soldiers begin to surface from the ditch on the side of the road, surprisingly all handing over their guns. Three of the guns confiscated from the German’s on this mission were brought back to Canada, and are now proudly displayed at the Museum of the Royal Canadian Hussars Montreal.

Back to breakfast: What you get from this meeting, my dear friends is a grim reminder of what these men went through some fifty-five years ago in Europe. They awoke this morning from a warm bed, shaved and dressed, unlike the War. Which gave them no alternatives. Firstly a warm bed did not exist during the war; at times they would fall from a vehicle, exhausted and falling asleep on the spot. Secondly, forget a shave, or fresh clothes. After hours of fighting, uniforms, which were so, encrusted with dirt, and sweat seemed to be welded to the soldier’s bodies. Today the rain we got in Montreal was so pure compared to the rained soaked ditches and open skies of France. The paved streets they used to wend their way to Picasso’s bare no scars of bomb’s that devastated the roads and streets in Europe. The cover of the Restaurant, the tables and chairs are no match for torn tarps, leaky vehicles, not to mention a rock, or helmets, which served as a chair. The hot breakfast served this morning is a luxury compared to the rations they ate, while sitting unprotected in the many trenches of France.

One the most glaring evidence of World War II among our brave fighting Canadian Soldiers, are the faculties we take for granted. Considering their ages, they have suffered much more than wear and tear of a lifetime. As you can see one veteran after the other enter the restaurant, some missing a limb, others wearing hearing aids, another slow afoot from all sorts of injuries, even some with poor eye sight. Yet, their enthusiasm for friendship, sick or not, digs deep for the energy and drive, to make a journey towards Picasso’s this morning, so that they could be with their buddies.

The irony this morning my dear friend, is that Ralph Warren, entered the meeting room at Picasso’s, walking tall, handsome, impeccably dressed, wearing a great smile, received a great welcome from his buddy’s. He sought out Bert Carlson, and sat with him. Looking into each other’s eyes, Bert, asked Ralph, so how are you, "Not too good," Ralph replied, "I’m waiting for a hospital bed. "