Ambulance driver Lloyd Schmidt arrived one day in the summer of 1944 at an Italian hospital with a full load of five injured soldiers.
What seemed like a routine trip – or as routine as they could get for the No. 1 Motor Ambulance Convoy during the Second World War – turned into a chance meeting with his cousin, Ray Schmidt.
Ray must have been almost fully recovered from some sort of injury, because he was “wandering around” the hospital, Lloyd said. The pair, both from Arthur Township, shared a long conversation as Lloyd awaited his next assignment.
“I gave him a carton of cigarettes,” Lloyd recalled.
Sadly, just a month or two later, Ray was killed by a sniper. Lloyd, now 90 years old, is emotional as he recalls the encounter with his cousin over 66 years ago. It’s a story his children, who grew up with many of their father’s war stories, say they never heard before.
Unfortunately, the family is much more familiar with the accounts of Lloyd’s two brothers, Louie and Fred, who also died in the war. In 2008 Wellington North Township agreed to name an Arthur street after the deceased brothers.
Lloyd’s family members point out there are a number of Schmidts honoured on the Arthur cenotaph. The family history is a microcosm of sorts for Arthur, which became known as the most patriotic village in Canada after 126 men and women, out of a population of 890, volunteered for the Armed Forces.
Lloyd was born on Nov. 5, 1919. He was one of ten children – five boys and five girls, with Lloyd basically right in the middle – born to Joseph and Clara Schmidt. He grew up on the family farm near Kenilworth until the age of 13, when his family moved to the village of Arthur, about one year after the passing of his father.
In 1941, at the age of 21, Lloyd enlisted in the army, joining his younger brother Louie, his older brother Fred and dozens of others from the village. Like the others, boredom may have been a factor in the decision, but Lloyd admits none of them fully realized for what they were signing up for.
After a brief training stint in Kitchener, Lloyd was shipped off to Red Deer, Alberta for further training as a driver. In early 1942, several months following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour, there was talk that Lloyd could be stationed in Japan.
He is thankful he went instead to England where he was first stationed with the No. 1 Motor Ambulance Convoy from Winnipeg. He and his family feel he may not be alive today if he was shipped instead to the Pacific theatre.
But even his trip over to Europe was eventful. Lloyd was excited to be travelling aboard the USAT George Washington, a ship that saw service for the United States Navy in the Great War and was operated by British forces under the Lend-Lease program in WWII.
Lloyd said the George Washington was quite nice for transporting troops. But six boilers blew on the ship – and the men were instead transferred to a ship regularly used for transporting cattle, as the mess and smell on the lower level indicated.
“I was sick as a dog,” Lloyd said with a laugh of the uncomfortable trip across the Atlantic.
He spent parts of 1942 and 1943 in England transporting injured soldiers from first aid posts, located several miles behind the front lines, to field dressing stations or hospitals, if there were any nearby.
In 1943, Lloyd was sent to Sicily, which Allied forces had invaded that summer to regain control from Italian and German Forces (the success in Sicily led to the invasion of Italy and the eventual defeat of Italian dictator Benito Mussolini).
While eating dinner one night on the way to Sicily, Lloyd said the ship he was on “shifted to one side” with great force. It was not until the next day he found out a torpedo from a German submarine had narrowly missed his ship and struck the 14th Canadian general hospital ship.
That ship sank, just as it was about to dock in Algiers, Lloyd said. All the people aboard escaped alive, though all their supplies sank with the ship.
“All they had was the clothes on their backs,” Lloyd said.
There was heavy action in Italy during 1943 and 1944, including the Battle for Cassino.
Much of his job entailed transporting prisoners at night, with no headlights, and Lloyd recounts – with remarkable memory – several stories of near misses with blown-out bridges, narrow roads and hairpin turns in the mountains.
One night he was almost taken prisoner by driving into enemy territory. Thankfully he was stopped by a couple of Canadian soldiers on foot, who just happened to be on the same road, otherwise he would have been captured by German troops.
Another time, while seeking help after he got the ambulance stuck in a large bomb crater, he was mistaken for a German and found himself at the wrong end of several Allied soldiers’ guns. He managed to talk his way out of that one, and even got some assistance.
The two things that likely stand out more than any others, no matter how hard he might try to forget, are the times he received – just three months apart – letters from his mother telling him about his brothers.
Fred was a member of the Royal Canadian Air Force and flew air cover over allied ships, including the convoy Lloyd travelled with on his way to Sicily.
The first letter indicated Fred was missing and presumed dead after his airplane was shot down – by friendly fire, it was later revealed – over the Mediterranean Sea in April of 1944.
The second relayed how Louie was killed in action on July 22, 1944, after being hit by shrapnel while manning an anti-aircraft gun near Calais during the Allied invasion of France, following D-Day.
Even after all these years, Lloyd grows quiet and emotional after telling the story of his brothers.
“Two letters in three months – that would be quite a shock,” interjects Lloyd’s son, John. Not to mention the loss of Ray around the same time.
But as countless other service men and women did after receiving such horrible News, Lloyd carried on and continued to serve his country.
Then one night, while returning from a trip to the hospital, his right eye started to ache. He tried testing his vision by covering one eye and then the other.
“I was three-quarters blind then, before I even knew it,” he recalled.
He reported the problem to his medical officer, who asked if Lloyd could put up with it a little longer, due to a shortage of drivers.
“I said, ‘I guess I could try, anyway,’” Lloyd recalled. But after several days, the pain – and vision – got so bad he could no longer handle it.
Tests revealed he was suffering with glaucoma, a disease in which the optic nerve is damaged, leading to progressive, irreversible loss of vision. It turned out two years of driving in the dark with no lights had taken their toll on Lloyd’s eyes.
“My boy, you’ve got a one-way ticket home,” Lloyd recalls being told by the medical officer. “I said, ‘That’s good.’”
He was hospitalized in Rome for five days before being sent to Naples for an operation. It was unsuccessful and after two months recovering, he was sent to Birmingham, England for a second procedure.
“Another butcher operation,” Lloyd says.
But in another strange twist of fate, Lloyd’s eye troubles may have saved him further injury. Just two weeks after leaving his post, the ambulance he was driving hit a land mine and was blown off the road.
Lloyd finally made his way back to Canada on a hospital ship in January of 1945. He had another operation in London, Ontario and continued for many years travelling there for operations and treatments.
In 1953, he married Mary Fitzpatrick and together they had four children: Gary (deceased), Floyd, John and Debbie. Lloyd worked for the provincial government’s department of highways for 20 years before retiring at age 60.
“I’m still retired,” he said with a laugh.
And he remains independent, living alone in Arthur, though he receives regular visits from family members, many of whom still call the village home. Lloyd’s eyesight remains poor, but he is otherwise healthy for his age. His mind, and indeed his sense of humour, are very sharp.
He celebrates his 91st birthday this week (on Nov. 5) and next week, as he’s done for decades, he’ll don his military medals and pay tribute on Remembrance Day to those who were not fortunate enough to return home.
Surely a moment or two will be set aside to remember Louie, Fred and Ray, but like countless other veterans, few words will likely be spoken.
“He’s been through so much and he never complains,” says daughter Debbie Alexander. “Not about his eyes or anything.”
For many that may seem incomprehensible, but members of the greatest generation likely wouldn’t have it any other way.
