Dear Editor,
Each year, at this time, I stop and reflect on the contribution to World War II of four of my father’s eight brothers, Denis, David, Douglas and Rory. Each served King and country honourably. Three returned home to British Guiana after the war; one didn’t. “He didn’t see it coming!” were the words told to me when I quizzed my late father on the only one of his brothers I never met, Douglas, who, at the age of 23, never returned. My late Dad, Patrick, explained that his 4th eldest brother (he had 7) Douglas, was killed instantly by a torpedo that hit the ship he was on board during the Battle of Malay in 1942.
As the self-anointed family historian, I was anxious to know more about my courageous Uncle Douglas. Here is what I gathered. Born on Friday November 9th, 1917, he entered a world in a country far removed from the turmoil in other parts of the globe. On that day, British forces had captured Wadi el Hesi, Palestine from the Ottoman soldiers at a total cost of 700 casualties and the Balfour Declaration was released to the news press, which essentially established the foundation of what is now Israel. Described by his eldest brother, Denis, as ‘The Fighting Brother’, Douglas was always the competitive one. My grandfather (affectionately known as Pa) set up a boxing ring in the backyard of their Georgetown home for his boys, and fellow Queen’s College friends, to get out their boyhood frustrations. He bought several pairs of boxing gloves to give his sons a feel of authenticity. Invariably whenever Douglas put on the gloves his victory was all but certain.
When the call came from the motherland for volunteers from the colonies to fight in the war effort, Douglas did not hesitate. Frequently writing home from wherever he was stationed, Douglas was always upbeat in his letters. Wanting to reflect on Douglas the Family Man, I was able to find a letter he had written exactly one year prior to his death. Addressed to his newly married brother, Donald and his wife Amy (Tang), who had recently moved to London, he wrote, ‘Everyone has visions of a home of their own and I certainly hope you realise yours in the near future. I have ideas of my own, but it would take stacks of money to build my own……. (Referring to his new sister-in-law) I’ve been trying to place you ever since I heard about you. I have a snap of you at the church door, but even with the aid of that I can’t even seem to remember ever seeing you……. Mother told me you were a typist in a Water Street firm……. I should say you are the type that makes a fellow say (you’re) A bit of Orl Right’. The final statement is a way I suspect his fellow soldiers referred to attractive women. His death was quick and sudden. Reported killed instantly as a result of enemy bombing action when his ship was torpedoed by the Japanese off the coast of Singapore, he did not suffer.
Back home in Georgetown my grandmother Winnie was apparently sitting in her gallery when she suddenly heard a clatter to the ground. It was a framed photograph of her ‘Danny Boy’ Douglas. She shrieked, “Douglas is dead!” The date was February 14th 1942. Ten thousand miles away, on that very day, Douglas’s ship, the SS Chow Kwan, was destroyed. Always guarded in his letter writing, in fear of it getting into the enemy’s hand, Douglas concluded his letter to his brother stating that he had been in a hospital in Alexandria (Egypt) for 3 weeks and was due for a discharge in a fortnight’s time. ‘I’ll see how long it takes before I come back in, but I am hoping it is the last time.’ The discharge never came. It was his last time. Rest in Peace Uncle Douglas.
Sincerely,
Rod Westmaas (nephew)
