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.

NAVY DAY 1961

NAVY DAY 1961 

In 1961, I found myself in the back seat of the lead T-33 jet during the Navy Day airshow. Flying with my pilot, Lt. Jake Birks, was a genuine thrill; we were leading a four-ship formation of T-birds through a series of aerobatics. As we waited for our cue to Fly up Halifax harbour and put on a bit of a show,

A memorable exchange crackled over the radio:

Shearwater Tower: "T-bird leader, the Banshees would like to know your position, sir."

T-bird Leader: "We are at 500 feet over Chebucto Head... By the way, Tower, where are the Banshees?"

Shearwater Tower: "They’re at 500 feet over Chebucto Head."

At that exact moment, twelve Banshees went screaming past us. Whew!

FLIGHT PAY

 FLIGHT PAY

While stationed at Shearwater, I used to tag along on VH-50 training exercises just to collect the $30-a-month flying pay. The routine was pretty wild: they’d fly me out to Land’s End in a helicopter, drop me in a bog, then come back in the dark, and then try to find me. More than once, I’d get fed up and "cheat" by wading over to the path of the searchlight just to get it over with.

One night, things got hairy. The crewman lost control of the hoist in the wind, and I ended up swinging wildly, at one point getting within six feet of the rotor blades while they struggled to steady the wire.

The pilots back then were a different breed—total wild cards. On the way out, they’d fly over "Lover’s Lane" to spot where the cars were parked. On the return trip in the dark, they’d quietly auto-gyrate down toward the cars, then suddenly slam the throttle and hit the lights just to watch everyone scatter for cover. A few of them even ended up getting busted for poaching lobsters with Bell helicopters on floats

BANK ROBBERY

 The Great Shearwater Bank Robbery

& The Guard of Eastern Passage

In the early 1960s at HMCS Shearwater, The Bank of Montreal was located on the Main Road, about half a mile from the Main Gate. The week after it was robbed, I was assigned to shore patrol. Six of us were marched to the armoury, where we were issued Sterling submachine guns and sidearms. Our mission was to escort the Paymaster—a Lieutenant—down to the bank and back to the base. We looked formidable, "armed to the teeth," but there was one catch: we weren't allowed to have any bullets. We were strictly for show.

Later, I served on a salvage crew. Whenever a Banshee jet crashed, we were ordered to simply dig a hole and bury the wreckage. We never dug very deep, knowing the local fishermen from Eastern Passage would likely come by later to dig it up for salvage.

However, when a helicopter went down just outside Eastern Passage, the Navy decided it was fixable. This time, the security was real. Two of us had to stay in a tent beside the aircraft overnight to guard it. Unlike our bank escort duty, we were issued Sten guns with full magazines—this time, we were prepared to hold the line against the local scavengers

DUTCH NAVY

 DUTCH NAVY

When the Dutch aircraft carrier HNLMS Karel Doorman docked at Shearwater, I was just a guy nearby hauling fuel drums with a mule. Naturally, I abandoned my post to see if they’d let me on board.

The Dutch crew didn't just welcome me; they treated me like a returning war hero. They marched me straight to the canteen and introduced me to the Eighth Wonder of the World: premium Dutch beer, available 24/7 for about 15 cents a bottle.

Being a "good friend," I shared the news. Within hours, most of the base had swarmed that ship like a plague of thirsty locusts. The Dutch have this thing about Canadians, and they just couldn't say NO. We didn't just drink; we performed a tactical strike on their inventory, draining the ship bone-dry in three days

The aftermath was legendary. The Navy actually had to scramble a Hercules transport plane to fly across the Atlantic to Holland just to emergency-refill the ship’s liquid rations. As for us? We were not allowed on board again.

BASIC TRAINING HMCS CORNWALLIS JAN. 1960

BASIC TRAINING HMCS CORNWALLIS JAN. 1960

Time In: Volunteering and Skiving

My first week in the Navy, I found myself "up on charge." I can't even remember the offense, but the result was a week of "eights"—extra work.

The procedure was formal: you’re marched into a room by your Petty Officer to face the Lieutenant, who stands behind a bare dais. I am quick marched in, my boots were skidding on the polished floor as the commands barked out: "Halt! Hats off!" The charge was read, the punishment given. Then, "Hats on!" On the upswing, my hat clipped the dais and sent it twirling into the air. I managed to catch it with both hands and clamp it onto my head in one fluid motion. The officers’ faces contorted as they fought back laughter. "About turn! Quick march!"

Eight days in, and I was already on a cleaning party. The PO called out, "Senior man, step forward!" I looked around and realized—to my surprise—that was me. I was put in charge while the PO was out of touch. Being a boss is good. Not a bad start.

I quickly learned the value of volunteering. Cleaning the PO mess after a dance usually earned you a quart of beer. Sweeping the canteen in the drill shed often turned into an hour playing bridge or whist as a fourth. I even volunteered as the mailman, so I didn't have to double anymore.

The PNRT Outlaws

When our division was chosen for the 50th Anniversary PNRT (Physical Navy Recreational Training) display, I knew gymnastics wasn't for me. I joined the "Outlaws." About half a dozen of us would sneak back to the barracks and hide in the laundry room. We’d post a lookout and play a game of cat-and-mouse, moving behind the inspectors through the H-block to stay out of sight.

Eventually, we got caught and sent to the PNRT Petty Officer. He was so overworked that he just bawled us out and told us we were too far behind to join the display. As "punishment," he ordered us to go wait in the barracks until practice was over. We couldn't believe our luck. On our final day at Cornwallis, my Chief Petty Officer gave me a punch on the shoulder. "You’ll make out alright," he said