BOXING

 BOXING

Back in Columbia Division 1/60, we had a P2 in our ranks—a technical school grad who’d joined with the rank. It was an awkward fit for everyone; he didn't quite mesh with the rest of us, and his only real friend was our company leader.

Then came boxing training.

We all drew partners to go a round with.

The P2 drew Ouellet, a hard-nosed, "Montreal gang" type who didn't know the meaning of the word 'finesse.' Ouellet went at him like a bull, but the P2 actually had some skill. He stayed calm and spent the round systematically outboxing the tough guy.

Frustrated and losing face, Ouellet finally snapped and delivered a direct kick to the P2’s crotch.

The instructor lost his mind. He was screaming about the Marquis of Queensberry rules, sportsmanship, and formal charges. Ouellet just shrugged it off with a dismissive, "Bah! When I fight, I fight!"

It was one of those moments where you had to fight to keep a straight face. I think Ouellet ended up with a week of "sixes" for his trouble, but he didn't seem to care one bit.

WHEN SHEARWATER GOT THE AVENGERS

 WHEN SHEARWATER GOT THE AVENGERS

I was told this story by an older Chief Petty Office when were on some night duty together

In the spring of 1950, Shearwater was a hive of activity as the Royal Canadian Navy prepared for a new era in anti-submarine warfare. The arrival of 125 Grumman TBM-3E Avengers—rebuilt and modified to hunt submarines—meant the base itself had to grow, starting with the lengthening of its runways to accommodate these heavy hitters. Among the personnel were a few American test pilots sent to put the modified "Turkeys" through their paces. The most memorable of the bunch was a boisterous, large-framed pilot known simply as "Tex."One afternoon, the mission was to find the Avenger’s maximum take-off weight. They had successfully cleared several heavy loads, but the real test came when they strapped on 2,500 pounds of ballast. As Tex taxied to the start, construction crews were still working on the runway extension, leaving a sizable mound of excavated dirt right at the very end of the tarmac.Tex opened the throttle, the engine roaring as the Avenger lumbered down the original strip. He tore through the new extension, gunning it for everything the airframe had, but the heavy plane refused to lift. Just as he reached the end of the pavement, the wheels hit that mound of construction dirt. The bump acted like a natural ski jump, launching the massive plane into the Nova Scotian sky. When Tex finally brought the bird back down and climbed out of the cockpit, the engineers asked for his professional assessment. With a grin, Tex leaned back and drawled, "I reckon I could try another couple of hundred pounds... just as long as you don't take away that pile of dirt."

I GOOGLED TEX

When Alvin "Tex" Johnston finally brought the Avenger back down and climbed out of the cockpit, he didn't reach for a flight manual—he reached for a tape measure. Looking at the TBM Avenger, he discovered the violent jolt from the dirt mound hadn’t just launched him; it had actually bent the fuselage.The impact was so severe that the tail section was visibly out of alignment with the nose. Despite the structural damage, the "ski jump" start proved that with enough raw power and a bit of a literal boost, the Avenger could indeed clear the earth at weights it was never intended to carry. Johnston, famous for his Stetson and cowboy boots, later joked that he was the only pilot to ever use a [Nova Scotian](Nova Scotian) dirt pile as an aircraft carrier catapult.Tex Johnston is perhaps most legendary for his later career as a Boeing test pilot, where he famously performed an unauthorized barrel roll of the Boeing 707 prototype (the Dash-80) over Lake Washington. When confronted by Boeing President Bill Allen about the stunt, Tex coolly replied, "I was selling airplanes".

Historical ContextThe Transition: In 1950, the RCN began replacing the Fairey Firefly with the TBM-3E Avenger to bolster its anti-submarine capabilities.Operational History: These aircraft became the backbone of squadrons VS 880 and 881, operating primarily from the aircraft carrier HMCS Magnificent.Retirement: The "Guppy" variants (used for Airborne Early Warning) joined the fleet in 1952, and the entire Avenger line served faithfully until they were phased out for the CS2F Tracker in 1960. You can explore more about this era's naval aviation at the Shearwater Aviation Museum.

XMAS RUM AND FLQ

 XMAS RUM AND FLQ

At CFB Shearwater, a break-in at the armoury sent the base into a tailspin. With some pistols and submachine guns gone, the RCMP moved in, searching everything from personal lockers to aircraft hangars. For VU32 squadron, the timing couldn't have been worse—it was right in the middle of the annual Christmas "booze run."

The Xmas booze operation was a bit of a mystery: you gave the guys an empty 26er and five dollars, and they’d return it filled with rum. Word was they had stainless steel containers fitted into the wheel wells of the Trackers for secret runs to St. Pierre. As the RCMP scoured the base, the squadron scrambled to keep the rum out of sight. The heat only died down when the burglars—Quebecers with FLQ ties—were caught. They had stashed the heavy weaponry in an old silo near Eastern Passage, but their undoing was a single, shiny ceremonial sword one of the men had foolishly hidden in his locker.

BLOOD DONORS

  BLOOD DONORS

We were marched to the hospital. "Blood Donors Fall Out," two guys go in. The PO then double-marched us up Heartbreak Hill and back to the hospital. He did this until everybody donated.

COVENTRY

COVENTRY

At Shearwater, we always wore mufti off-duty. To save time, we rarely used the main gate, preferring a convenient hole in the fence that led straight to the bus stop.

One night, I was grabbing a drink at the Sea Horse Tavern in Halifax when I met a "Semi." an American sailor. After a few draughts, we realized we were running low on cash, so we pooled our change, hit the liquor store, and bought a gallon of Golden Glow apple cider. We finished it off sitting on Citadel Hill. After that, the night goes blank; I have no idea how or when I made it back to the base.

I woke up the next morning in my four-man cabin in a total shambles. I was nursing the worst hangover of my life and realized I’d been sick in my sleep—red vomit was everywhere. My roommates were, understandably, aghast. Panicked, I wrapped the ruined sheets around me and bolted for the showers. I scrubbed them as best I could and remade the bed with the wet linens, thankful that the coverlet had fallen to the floor and stayed clean. By noon, I managed to swap them for fresh ones at the laundry and thought I was in the clear.

I wasn’t. My Petty Officer informed me I was on charge: 15 days of "number fives" and 30 days of "stoppers." It turned out one of my cabin mates had squealed.

That was a big mistake on his part. The ranks sent him to Coventry. After a month of nobody uttering a single word to him. It drove him to the brink; he eventually broke down in tears, begging for my forgiveness. I did forgive him, and slowly, we let him back into the ranks. That was the navy.

I still can not drink apple cider lol. 

THE RABBIT

THE RABBIT  

(Rabbit - Government property taken or converted for private use.)

SHEARWATER 1961

Since I was underage, I used my buddy 21-year-old Feduck’s ID to go drinking, usually posing as a Dalhousie student. While stationed at Shearwater, we’d ditch our uniforms for "Mufti / civvies" as soon as we were off the clock. Our go-to spot was the Mid-Town Tavern—it wasn't a rowdy sailor bar, and we made sure to keep it that way.

One night, a waiter mentioned he’d bought a new boat but couldn't get his license without a proper first aid kit. Eager to cement my status as a regular, I volunteered to score him one. The next day, I climbed into a Tracker aircraft, unsnapped a high-end First Aid kit from behind the rear seat, and tucked it under my coat. We called this "rabbiting," and while my crew knew I’d done it, I wasn't typically a thief—aside from the occasional vending machine scam.

The waiter was thrilled. The kit was top-tier, even containing morphine.

The following morning, I goy that same aircraft for a pre-flight inspection. I immediately noted "First aid kit missing" in the logbook. After lunch, the entire squadron was called for a special muster. My heart sank when the Chief Petty Officer called me out: "Able Seaman LeDrew, step forward!"

I’m dead, I thought. Someone squealed.

But as I braced for the hammer to fall, the Chief continued: "Able Seaman LeDrew is the only man among you who actually checks for the first aid kit during inspections. Well done, LeDrew. Take the rest of the day off."

I walked away to the sound of my crew’s groans, the luckiest "thief" on the base.

GREY GHOSTS

 THE GREY GHOSTS

Between 1960 and 1962, the Grey Ghosts—the Royal Canadian Navy’s aerobatic display team—turned the skies over HMCS Shearwater into a theater of raw, high-speed defiance. Operating the McDonnell F2H-3 Banshee, Canada's only operational naval jet fighter at the time, these pilots pushed their airframes to the absolute limit.

Their stunts weren't just for show; they were a masterclass in low-level precision:

Hangar Threading: They would scream through the narrow corridors between hangars, banking their Banshees so steeply that their wingtips hovered just feet above the tarmac.

Gate Dives: Pilots would intentionally dive-bomb cars approaching the main gate, pulling up at the last possible second to leave drivers rattled by the thunderous wake.

Tarmac Flattening: Anyone caught crossing the open tarmac became a target. The "Ghosts" would bear down in a terrifying low-level pass, the sheer force of the jet exhaust and sonic pressure forcing people to hit the deck.

High-G Maneuvering: Pilots like Lt. Geoff Craven recalled executing loops so tight they nearly "greyed out," pulling the nose of the Banshee up along the runway centerline with mere feet to spare while clocking over 400 knots.

Because the Grey Ghosts were a short-lived team and often flew active-duty aircraft rather than dedicated show planes, much of this "practice" happened away from the eyes of the top brass, leaving only the memories of those lucky enough to stand in their path.

I am so glad I got to witness this almost every Friday one summer. There was nothing like it.