Ralston
Joseph Ralston Hardy died on April 8, 1994. He was my boyhood chum, schoolmate, and comrade-in-arms.
I can't remember when we first met. We were probably just out of diapers.We lived about aquarter of a mile apart, he at the end of a long lane and I at the other.
In our childhood days,there were few artificial amusements to be had, so we had to invent our own.We did what I suppose most kids did in those days.
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We rolled hoops with a stick, we made carts out of whatever materials could be found, we swam in the waters of the Baie des Chaleurs, we made tree houses, we carved wooden soldiers out of cedar shingles, coloured them blue and red with wax crayons, and killed each other's armies with long-range artillery, powered by rubber bands.
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At school we got the strap for calling the teacher a screech-owl when we thought she couldn't hear us. We listened enchanted to ghost stories at a neighbour's house and then were too scared to go home in the dark.
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We played shinny in the backyard rink, often as not with a wooden puck, and sometimes with a frozen horse-ball.
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When we grew a little older we played a more organized type of hockey, he in the goal and I somewhere out front. From the first he was a fearless goalie, and after the war he graduated to the senior team where he proved his ability again and again.
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When the war came along we were both a little young, but the end of 1940 saw us both in the Royal Rifles of Canada.
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Ralston spent much of his captivity working in the dockyards in Japan, and after the war he returned home, scarred like all of us by the years of deprivation.
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Each of us dies a little with the passing of one of our Hong Kong buddies, and for Ralston the sentiment for me was keenly felt.
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Major Maurice Parker
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Major Parker was the only company commander in the Royal Rifles who didn't have the benefit of battle experience, as did the others, who were all veterans of World War I.
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I became closely attached to him because of my position as company clerk at my desk outside his office door.
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Because of his kind and gentle nature, he was well regarded by the men of "D" Company. He called me "Philip".
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One event will forever be in my mind. We were preparing to attack a Japanese-held position when he spotted me with my head bandaged.
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Even in the excitement of the moment, his compassionate nature prompted him to turn to me and say,"Philip, are you all right?"
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That is only one of the reasons that he has been held in my high esteem. That he would consider my well-being in a moment of high excitement is an example of his concern for his men.
I will not forget him. I am ever so grateful that I met him in Victoria before he died.
The End
Now I come to the end of this tale. I had for a long time hoped to put my story together in one form or another. After struggling with my conscience, delaying, postponing, agonizing over how to put my thoughts together -- finally, a solution!

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Ron Parker
Out of the blue I received an e-mail from Ron Parker, son of Major Parker, who suggested that I have a look at a web site that he had set up for me.
Through the medium of the chat line, from Cancun, Mexico, he guided me through the process of building the site.
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For months we chatted several times a day, and he led me virtually by the hand, adding text and pictures, and advising me as to form and format.
To Ron I owe the existence of this web site. Without his help it would not have been possible. Arigato, Ron.
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