Through Adversity to the Stars - Robert Marion
November 10, 2016
By: Chad Martin
Over the last few years of researching Palmerston and its military history I have come across some amazing stories. Stories of sorrow, stories of overwhelming challenges and stories of heroism. But of any of the stories I have compiled I have never had the amazing opportunity of seeing a letter written in the hand of the very person I am researching.
A letter that brims with optimistic pride and privilege, a letter that opens a window into the soul of the person themselves. A young man of only 19 years so full of hope and aspirations wrote the letter to friends of the family like one would write an email or text today.
It's difficult to fathom how the youngest son of a small town farmer could show such unabashed ambition, despite the challenges that faced him throughout his life. Born the 26th of October, 1898 to Peter and Martha Marion; Robert was the first and only child for Peter and Martha; already aged 50 and Martha being his second wife, Peter already had 4 older sons the youngest being 15 at Robert's birth.
By age 2 Robert faced his first family tragedy when his brother John was killed at age 19. At age 12 Robert lost his father and the family carried on with two of his older brothers providing the financial support by working for the railway. Despite these setbacks and what in most cases would have meant Robert would need to contribute for the family he was able to afford a higher education by enrolling in the Dental program at the University of Toronto in 1916.
1917 proved to be a desperate year within the Dominion for supplying troops to the war effort, young men were being pressured by society to do their bit but the allure of adventure was long gone and the horrors of the trenches was well known. Despite all of this Robert enlisted shortly after his 18th birthday and was automatically vaulted to the rank of Sergeant in the Canadian Auxiliary Dental Corps.
The pressures to get bodies overseas was very apparent, especially essential trained personnel such as dentists. Enlisting in February 1917, by May, Robert had already been shipped across the Atlantic on the S.S. Justicia. Landing in Liverpool and being stationed in Bramshot like so many other Canadians must have been quite the site, the massive manning depot would have been a sea of tents and people preparing for war. It was here that Robert began his career as an army dentist.
However, something must have happened, something possibly tragic or something magical. It was here that Robert must have had his first taste of the most advanced military technology of the time, the aeroplane. By the middle of August 1917 Robert had left the relative safety of dental work and traded in his puttees for the famous maternity tunic of the Royal Flying Corps.
During the First World War the idea of being an airman was a privilege for only a select few, seen as knights of the sky, who believed in chivalry and were romanticized as death defying heroes. In photographs Robert emulated that very stereotype; young, dashing, handsome and bit of arrogance in his smirk.
This romanticism created was no different than the tales of adventure told to youngsters wanting to fight in the trenches. Flying in the early days was a dirty, perilous job. Open cockpit aeroplanes with only the clothes on your back to keep you warm in the frigid temperatures of high altitude. Burning oil splattering your face from the open air cooled engines that lacked any reliability. No parachutes and no protection from the enemy except for your own skills. It was truly a death sentence, but it was the cutting edge of warfare and it allowed for a sense of being one of the elite few.
Between August and October of 1917 Robert went through extensive training and on the 25th of October it was announced he would receive his commission as a 2nd Lieutenant in the RFC. Still at this time the technology was advancing so quickly and the pilots of the day were still writing the book on aerial combat, training continued for Robert despite his new officers commission.
From November 1917 until April 1918 flying was a hazardous venture and little was done due to unpredictable weather and the fragile nature of aircraft at the time. It wasn't until March 1918 Robert officially got the go ahead to fly solo, his letter to family friends George and Elsie was as follows:
86 Squadron
Ruiship Midol.
March 3/18
Dear Geo & Elsie!
I got your letter some time ago so here goes for a little scribble in answer for it. I'm Orderly Officer to-day so I'm filling in time by writing letters and amusing myself generally.
Hall my room-mate was supposed to be Orderly Officer to-day but he wanted a holliday to-day so I changed off with him and he is going to take it over on my day. But I never knew what I was letting myself in for. It just came through orders that the Orderly Officer had to take the church parade and parade the mechanics to church. Can you imagine it. I got down here at 9 am just as they were falling in and the Sergeant was numbering them off.
So I adapted a great air of dignity and the Sergt. saluted and reported all present so I marched them off to church as if I was an old hand at it. I made it look a little bit natural by ordering them to "Pick up the step" etc. After service I marched them back and dismissed them. Believe me it was a relief when I got it over with.
I did my first solo the other day and got away with it alright. I flew around a couple of times with my instructor first to make sure I was alright the he got out and I went up alone. I climbed to 5000 and did a couple of loops and came down.
I went up on the next day and messed around for awhile at about 4000 doing turns etc. There were some swell big mountains of clouds floating around so I thought I'd go up and see what they looked like from above so I climbed up to 6000 and fooled around diving at little clouds and landing on big ones etc. We had to go up to 8000 ft for a height test so I suddenly thought I might as well go on up and do it so I climbed up to 8000 and kept on going until I got up to 10,000. It was pretty cold up there but I thought I'd try a loop as I wasn't strapped in I took my gloves off to put on the strap but before I could do it my hands got so numb I couldn't move them so I gave it up and put on my gloves again and slapped my hands to warm them. I kept track of where I was by peeps through between the clouds where I could pick out landmarks as canals, towns etc. I didn't have any nerves as Geo asked me about. You soon get used to being up in the air. After I thought I'd been up long enough I shut off my engine and put the machine into a spin and spun down to 1000 then I glided down and did a swell landing.
My instructor came up and said it was an A-good effort so I was rather pleased with myself.
The weather has been dry these days so I haven't been up since.
So long for now and lots of luck.
Yours,
Bert.
P.S. My address is Canadian Grey Rooms
20 Craven St.
London S.W.L.
The Allied armies knew a large push was going to happen by the enemy forces and they knew it would happen in the spring. March 1918 proved to be that massive push. The Spring Offensive by the German Army was a stinging series of battles that was quickly eroding away at the Allied lines. The RFC moved 1,200 aircraft to the front lines in early April to support the defence efforts. Robert was amongst them and was transferred to 54 Squadron which took up station at Clairmarais North Aerodrome near Bailleul, France on 10 April, 1918.
Whether Robert saw any action right away is unknown, the combat diaries are sparse, the administrative duties of the time were challenging as 1 in 4 pilots never returned home. Little is known about the specific people involved with the squadron however, in typical military bureaucracy the records of the aircraft flown by Robert is all that remains in the clues of what happened next.
According to the records Robert took off on the 21st of April in Sopwith Camel D6569 at 11:40am. He was last seen under control in combat with 8 enemy triplanes at 12:30 pm south west of Bailleul. The aircraft was classified as lost and no remains ever found.
Only 11 days at the front lines and Robert was lost, never to be seen again. Whether he had any success against the impossible odds of dog fighting with 8 enemy aircraft is not known. Again, records from the time are sketchy and are overshadowed by the death of another pilot on the same day; Baron Manfred Von Richtofen, better known as the Red Baron.
Robert Jamieson Marion had a brief but exciting adventure as an elite pilot in an era of rapid advancement in aeroplanes. Still a very new concept in warfare and the world in general the aeroplane was a marvel which could only be handled by a select few. While he may have had a slight smugness in that smirk of his, Robert was quite obviously a happy go lucky young man who was taken away far too early. 19 years old and lost with no trace during a time of great turmoil can lead to being easily forgotten. But we won't let that happen today. We thank him for his service to our Country and our Community. Lest we Forget.
By: Chad Martin
Over the last few years of researching Palmerston and its military history I have come across some amazing stories. Stories of sorrow, stories of overwhelming challenges and stories of heroism. But of any of the stories I have compiled I have never had the amazing opportunity of seeing a letter written in the hand of the very person I am researching.
A letter that brims with optimistic pride and privilege, a letter that opens a window into the soul of the person themselves. A young man of only 19 years so full of hope and aspirations wrote the letter to friends of the family like one would write an email or text today.
It's difficult to fathom how the youngest son of a small town farmer could show such unabashed ambition, despite the challenges that faced him throughout his life. Born the 26th of October, 1898 to Peter and Martha Marion; Robert was the first and only child for Peter and Martha; already aged 50 and Martha being his second wife, Peter already had 4 older sons the youngest being 15 at Robert's birth.
By age 2 Robert faced his first family tragedy when his brother John was killed at age 19. At age 12 Robert lost his father and the family carried on with two of his older brothers providing the financial support by working for the railway. Despite these setbacks and what in most cases would have meant Robert would need to contribute for the family he was able to afford a higher education by enrolling in the Dental program at the University of Toronto in 1916.
1917 proved to be a desperate year within the Dominion for supplying troops to the war effort, young men were being pressured by society to do their bit but the allure of adventure was long gone and the horrors of the trenches was well known. Despite all of this Robert enlisted shortly after his 18th birthday and was automatically vaulted to the rank of Sergeant in the Canadian Auxiliary Dental Corps.
The pressures to get bodies overseas was very apparent, especially essential trained personnel such as dentists. Enlisting in February 1917, by May, Robert had already been shipped across the Atlantic on the S.S. Justicia. Landing in Liverpool and being stationed in Bramshot like so many other Canadians must have been quite the site, the massive manning depot would have been a sea of tents and people preparing for war. It was here that Robert began his career as an army dentist.
However, something must have happened, something possibly tragic or something magical. It was here that Robert must have had his first taste of the most advanced military technology of the time, the aeroplane. By the middle of August 1917 Robert had left the relative safety of dental work and traded in his puttees for the famous maternity tunic of the Royal Flying Corps.
During the First World War the idea of being an airman was a privilege for only a select few, seen as knights of the sky, who believed in chivalry and were romanticized as death defying heroes. In photographs Robert emulated that very stereotype; young, dashing, handsome and bit of arrogance in his smirk.
This romanticism created was no different than the tales of adventure told to youngsters wanting to fight in the trenches. Flying in the early days was a dirty, perilous job. Open cockpit aeroplanes with only the clothes on your back to keep you warm in the frigid temperatures of high altitude. Burning oil splattering your face from the open air cooled engines that lacked any reliability. No parachutes and no protection from the enemy except for your own skills. It was truly a death sentence, but it was the cutting edge of warfare and it allowed for a sense of being one of the elite few.
Between August and October of 1917 Robert went through extensive training and on the 25th of October it was announced he would receive his commission as a 2nd Lieutenant in the RFC. Still at this time the technology was advancing so quickly and the pilots of the day were still writing the book on aerial combat, training continued for Robert despite his new officers commission.
From November 1917 until April 1918 flying was a hazardous venture and little was done due to unpredictable weather and the fragile nature of aircraft at the time. It wasn't until March 1918 Robert officially got the go ahead to fly solo, his letter to family friends George and Elsie was as follows:
86 Squadron
Ruiship Midol.
March 3/18
Dear Geo & Elsie!
I got your letter some time ago so here goes for a little scribble in answer for it. I'm Orderly Officer to-day so I'm filling in time by writing letters and amusing myself generally.
Hall my room-mate was supposed to be Orderly Officer to-day but he wanted a holliday to-day so I changed off with him and he is going to take it over on my day. But I never knew what I was letting myself in for. It just came through orders that the Orderly Officer had to take the church parade and parade the mechanics to church. Can you imagine it. I got down here at 9 am just as they were falling in and the Sergeant was numbering them off.
So I adapted a great air of dignity and the Sergt. saluted and reported all present so I marched them off to church as if I was an old hand at it. I made it look a little bit natural by ordering them to "Pick up the step" etc. After service I marched them back and dismissed them. Believe me it was a relief when I got it over with.
I did my first solo the other day and got away with it alright. I flew around a couple of times with my instructor first to make sure I was alright the he got out and I went up alone. I climbed to 5000 and did a couple of loops and came down.
I went up on the next day and messed around for awhile at about 4000 doing turns etc. There were some swell big mountains of clouds floating around so I thought I'd go up and see what they looked like from above so I climbed up to 6000 and fooled around diving at little clouds and landing on big ones etc. We had to go up to 8000 ft for a height test so I suddenly thought I might as well go on up and do it so I climbed up to 8000 and kept on going until I got up to 10,000. It was pretty cold up there but I thought I'd try a loop as I wasn't strapped in I took my gloves off to put on the strap but before I could do it my hands got so numb I couldn't move them so I gave it up and put on my gloves again and slapped my hands to warm them. I kept track of where I was by peeps through between the clouds where I could pick out landmarks as canals, towns etc. I didn't have any nerves as Geo asked me about. You soon get used to being up in the air. After I thought I'd been up long enough I shut off my engine and put the machine into a spin and spun down to 1000 then I glided down and did a swell landing.
My instructor came up and said it was an A-good effort so I was rather pleased with myself.
The weather has been dry these days so I haven't been up since.
So long for now and lots of luck.
Yours,
Bert.
P.S. My address is Canadian Grey Rooms
20 Craven St.
London S.W.L.
The Allied armies knew a large push was going to happen by the enemy forces and they knew it would happen in the spring. March 1918 proved to be that massive push. The Spring Offensive by the German Army was a stinging series of battles that was quickly eroding away at the Allied lines. The RFC moved 1,200 aircraft to the front lines in early April to support the defence efforts. Robert was amongst them and was transferred to 54 Squadron which took up station at Clairmarais North Aerodrome near Bailleul, France on 10 April, 1918.
Whether Robert saw any action right away is unknown, the combat diaries are sparse, the administrative duties of the time were challenging as 1 in 4 pilots never returned home. Little is known about the specific people involved with the squadron however, in typical military bureaucracy the records of the aircraft flown by Robert is all that remains in the clues of what happened next.
According to the records Robert took off on the 21st of April in Sopwith Camel D6569 at 11:40am. He was last seen under control in combat with 8 enemy triplanes at 12:30 pm south west of Bailleul. The aircraft was classified as lost and no remains ever found.
Only 11 days at the front lines and Robert was lost, never to be seen again. Whether he had any success against the impossible odds of dog fighting with 8 enemy aircraft is not known. Again, records from the time are sketchy and are overshadowed by the death of another pilot on the same day; Baron Manfred Von Richtofen, better known as the Red Baron.
Robert Jamieson Marion had a brief but exciting adventure as an elite pilot in an era of rapid advancement in aeroplanes. Still a very new concept in warfare and the world in general the aeroplane was a marvel which could only be handled by a select few. While he may have had a slight smugness in that smirk of his, Robert was quite obviously a happy go lucky young man who was taken away far too early. 19 years old and lost with no trace during a time of great turmoil can lead to being easily forgotten. But we won't let that happen today. We thank him for his service to our Country and our Community. Lest we Forget.
| marion_robert_j_-_full_records.pdf |