His memory is intact but the bone indentation on his forehead and the regular headaches for almost 70 years are constant reminders for William ‘Bill’ Martin of his time spent as a dispatch motorcycle rider in western Europe during the Second World War.
Outside of the head injury and its lingering effects, the 90-year-old Burlington resident had a few personal mementos but little else to remember the war by, until this past spring.
In May he was notified by the ambassador of France to Canada that he had been named to the rank of Knight of the French National Order of the Legion of Honour.
The French Legion of Honor (Légion d’Honneur) is an order of distinction first established by Napoleon Bonaparte in 1802.
“They wanted us to be dispatch riders and we thought it was better than walking” Bill Martin
It is the highest decoration bestowed in France and is divided into five categories: Chevalier (Knight), Officier (Officer), Commandeur (Commander), Grand Officier (Grand Officer) and Grand Croix (Grand Cross). The highest degree of the Order of the Legion of Honor is that of Grand Master.
Martin was named to the rank of Knight for his part in the liberation of France and the rest of Europe from the grip of Nazi Germany.
“I’m glad to get it (but) why did it take them (French government) 70 years?” he wondered, noting the Dutch government gave him and other soldiers liberation medals right after the war.
Martin landed on Juno Beach in Normandy, France on the afternoon of D-Day (June 6, 1944) with the Deputy Provost Marshal and his headquarters staff. Martin’s buddy Eddie Harper had arrived on an earlier landing craft and was waiting for them.
“I recall Bill describing how the beach was a hub of activity as more troops and vehicles were landing in support of the first troops that landed and secured the beach earlier in the day,” said Bob Thomas, a friend of Martin who also served in the Canadian Provost Corps, but in the 1960s during the Cold War.
In 1940, at the age of 16, Martin, a Hamilton native, joined the reserves and served with the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders.
When he was 18, in February 1943, he joined the Canadian Army on Active Service with the Royal Canadian Artillery.
After training at Camp Petawawa, near Ottawa, he set sail for England in a troop ship in July 1943.
He initially volunteered for service in North Africa. Instead, he was transferred to the Canadian Provost Corps (military police) and given some motorcycle training.
“They wanted us to be dispatch riders and we thought it was better than walking” everywhere as a soldier, Martin said from his longtime Burlington home in Tyandaga.
After some training in northern Scotland and Aldershot in southwest England, he was transferred to number 11 Provost Company. It was looking for two dispatch riders to accompany Lt.-Col. George Ball, Deputy Provost Marshal, 1st Canadian Army, and another two outriders to look after the General Officer Commanding of the 1st Canadian Army, General Harry Crerar.
The Provost Corps’ main role was to provide security, look after prisoners and keep roads open. Martin’s job was to courier official army messages here, there and everywhere.
For two years, Lance Corporal Martin lived on limited sleep and travelled all over France, Belgium and Holland via motorcycle in all kinds of weather picking up and delivering dispatches to the Provost Companies and various military headquarters.
Often the only means to try to shield himself from rain and cold was to drape his groundsheet over his motorbike, parked away from the road, pinning an end of the covering to the ground and huddling underneath it.
For an overnight stay outdoors, Martin would dig a slit trench and lie in it with the groundsheet on top.
Food was scarce and basic for most military members and civilians in a war zone. It was no different for Martin who survived on rations of tea, coffee and beans.
“The Dutch were always the best. They treated you very well and gave you what they could to eat,” recalled Martin.
He had dreams of eating chocolate on his return to Canada but the stash he brought back in his army kit bag had been devoured as mice got to it first.
Fellow dispatch rider Harper and Martin would occasionally meet up with the other two Provost members who were with the general. While Martin and Harper ate the basics and often slept under the stars, the other two dispatch riders would eat the best food and sleep in comfy quarters.
On his courier travels, Martin said he would occasionally be stopped by civilians seeking some sort of help but that most times he had to continue riding through towns and villages as his job required him to deliver dispatches as quickly as possible.
When his motorcycle broke down he either fixed it himself, if possible, or waited, anxiously, for someone to come along to lend a hand or transport him and his bike.
Riding open roads by yourself in a war zone can be a lonely and dangerous endeavour.
For a long time Martin carried on the potentially perilous practice of storing spare gas cans in his bike’s saddlebags.
Then there were the soldiers hiding from the enemy in fields, behind hedgerows and in culverts, for whom there isn’t a lot of time, or patience, to determine if you are a friend or foe.
“They just hear a motorbike,” Martin said of those Allied soldiers staking out towns and the countryside. “They don’t know if you’re a Jerry (German) and they are shooting at you,” out of fear and uncertainty, he said.
Martin’s protection came in the form of a sidearm pistol and a Sten submachine gun that he mounted on his motorbike’s handlebars.
While he avoided getting shot accidentally by his own side, Martin did come close to death near the end of the war in Europe.
In the spring of 1945, in Holland, Martin was returning to his headquarters around midnight when a German artillery shell landed on the road and exploded. He was thrown from his motorcycle and flew through the air.
When he regained consciousness, his motorcycle was on top of him. He called for help but the HQ guards didn’t respond. Eventually, though injured, he crawled into camp on his own.
“I remember getting into camp and the guys picking it out,” he said of the metal shell fragments left in his body.
He spent a week in a military hospital. His chronic headaches are a reminder of his brush with death.
His motorcycle, a British Matchless, which he had landed with in Normandy on D-Day, was destroyed in the shelling. The army replaced it with a Harley Davidson.
Martin was back on the road a week later.
One day, Deputy Provost Marshal Ball, Martin’s commanding officer, told him to ride out to a German-operated hospital in Holland to retrieve his pal Harper, who had been badly injured.
Martin drove out and somehow Harper got out of the hospital unnoticed and jumped on the back of Martin’s bike for a ride back to HQ.
Just five days before the official end of the war in Europe — VE Day (May 8, 1945) — on May 3, Martin had his 21st birthday.
He celebrated it, twice, in a memorable way.
On his special day Martin was taking some messages to a hotel in a Dutch town. Unbeknownst to him, German and Canadian officers were in the hotel negotiating a pending ceasefire.
On reaching the outskirts of the town, which was still controlled by the Germans, he was met by two German sidecar motorcycles and soldiers toting machineguns.
During an escort to the hotel he told the Germans it was his birthday. After delivering his dispatches the Germans wished him happy birthday and indicated they had left him a gift.
Back at his unit, Martin spread the news that the war in Europe would soon be over. His buddies doubted him so he told them to check his bike’s saddlebags. In them was beer left by the German soldiers he’d encountered.
Shortly thereafter, Martin was ordered back to the same town to deliver more messages. This time he went in a Jeep with an officer.
When word spread that Canadians were in town, Martin and the officer were picked up by townspeople and carried into the hotel.
Martin returned to Canada in February 1946 and sent for his girlfriend, Eileen, whom he had met in England. They have been married for 68 years. They have two children, Carolyn, 66 and Rob, 63, one grandchild and two great-grands.
After the war, Martin worked for Stelco and retired after 31 years.
He apparently had his fill of riding motorcycles during the war as Martin never owned one in Canada.
The couple returned to Europe years later and toured sites and war graves in Belgium, Holland and Germany.
Martin has a few items from his wartime service. He has a sewing kit and a canvas carrying pouch. He has his service and pay book. The latter shows he was paid $42 per month in 1943, half of which he sent home to his mother.
He also has officially issued instructions on how to wear military decorations and a training manual on how to fire artillery.
Martin also has his berthing card for his three-day troop transport trip across the Atlantic Ocean from New York City aboard the Queen Mary, and for his return trip to Canada on board the Queen Elizabeth.
Eileen later followed him to Canada.
Despite repeated attempts to reconnect with his wartime colleague Ed Harper, he and Eileen were unable to track him down. The last they heard, years ago, was that he was either a fisherman and/or in the shipping business in New Brunswick.
Burlington veteran delivered Allied messages via motorcycle during Second World War
Institute without Boundaries/Screen capture
