One Canadian submarine that Dad was Constructor-in-Charge for was HMCS Ojibwa, built in Chatham, Kent, and launched in 1965. In 1998, after many years of renowned service, she was decommissioned and left floating empty in Halifax, Nova Scotia. A few years ago an enterprising military museum asked the Canadian Department of Defense for some old tanks to display and were told "we're fresh out of tanks, but we've got this submarine..." So they decided to save her, towed her several hundred miles, and now she's a museum on the banks of Lake Erie. The torpedo tubes point towards Cleveland so the Americans complained and insisted on "deweaponization" by removing/welding various things. Now she can't be used when Canada finally declares war on the USA.
Dad and I got on a plane to Toronto and went to visit, and a massive submarine sitting in a small Canadian village is quite a thing to see as you drive across the flat plains of Ontario. The thing is huge, and they'll soon construct a naval museum beside her but for now she's a monolith open for tours by a group of voluntary ex-submariners. The whole endeavour is a family passion-project of Ian, Kathy and Melissa Raven, who run the nearby Elgin Military Museum.
I'd emailed them in advance to see what could be arranged to make Dad's visit as fun as possible, but when we arrived you'd have thought the Queen Mother had turned up! The whole event was a two-day affair - on day one Dad was grilled for all his knowledge and reminiscences about the boat, and day two we spent on the sub herself, everyone wanting to shake hands with Dad and hear every story again. I've always lived in the shadow of my father, but I've never been so completely in the dark as this.
Dad was happy to corroborate several tall tales. Back in the 60s the Canadians had demanded 24-hour coffee as standard on their subs, which was a new and foreign idea to the Brits who had to find room to install the necessary machine. British submariners only drink tea and rum. The electrician who rewired the boat to be a museum questioned Dad in depth for a good hour on the layout and workings of the wiring. A red maple leaf and number that had been painted on the tower when it left Chatham dockyard was covered over when some genius finally worked out that the Russians were identifying the sub from it.
There was one unsolved mystery surrounding a Hoover twin-tub washing machine that Dad swears was installed, at the Canadians' request, when the boat sailed. It doesn't seem to be there now. He says he remembers because he went on to build boats for the Aussies, who when asked about their own requirements said they were happy to wash their laundry in a bucket. As a present from the dockyard the Canadians got a silver cigarette case for the officers' wardroom. The Australians got copper dispensers for gin and whisky.
The whole visit was a massive success, and Dad, like the engineer he is, did not shed a single tear out of nostalgia but was inordinately impressed that the handiwork of the dockyard has stood up so well after 50 years. Perhaps the Americans are right to be worried about all the old submariners jumping on board, rolling Ojibwa back down into Lake Erie, and terrorising the Ohio coast.
Is that a submarine in your village or are you just pleased to see me?
Dad checks the welding to see if it's still sound after half a century.
A dent? Yes, after Ojibwa retired the Canadian navy decided to test the impact of underwater explosives on her, for "research purposes". Quite unfair, but she survived.
Chief electrician Bill has lots of questions.
Permission to come aboard.
The most important locker on the boat.
In between the engines.
Dad explains...
...and then take the helm under battle stations!
Going below.
Battery tank #2. No batteries anymore, but the insulation coating and the wooden flooring is genuine, original British craftsmanship. Everything in this picture could be described as "well preserved".
The captain's cabin. Luxurious.
Agreed.
The original ship's crest from her commissioning. Apparently some sailors in western Canada "found" it and returned it. No questions were asked.
Looking into the forward torpedo room. Roomy.
"So - hypothetically - how would we re-weaponise this...?"
Dad and his first love.
Checking the propulsion.
Normally, if you have this view, you should turn around and start swimming as fast as you can.
Some of our hosts and Dad - electrician Bill, Ian, and Melissa.
Dad and (another) Bill, an ex-submariner, swapping one of several hundred stories throughout the afternoon.
Next time we'll bring the youngest generation. It may be too late for me, but maybe Pete Jr. can bring honour back to the family as a naval architect!
