In late November 1943, Arthur and Gladys Gander were praying that something horrible had not happened to Arthur Jr., their oldest son. He was serving with the RCAF in England, and his family in Sarnia hoped that something benign--some innocuous event perhaps--had caused him not to write home.
No news might often be good news, but not with their Arthur. Other soldiers might have skipped sending weekly letters home. Not their son. For the past 17 consecutive weeks, his letters to his parents and to his older sister, Margaret, had arrived like clockwork to the family home at 405 South Mitton Street. The last his parents had heard from Arthur was in his 17th weekly letter home, dated Friday, November 12.
Like Arthur's previous letters, this one had the same matter-of-fact, conversational tone that belied the stress that the war imposed. He mentioned writing to his Uncle Vic, discussed how cold it was getting in England, and asked about his five siblings. He was glad to hear that Norman, his eight-year-old brother “was such a good boy when he had his teeth out and was proud to hear that [his younger sister] Esme did so well in the quiz contest.”
By the third week of November, Arthur and Gladys were still waiting anxiously to receive Arthur's 18th letter in the the daily mail. When the following week passed and no letter had arrived yet, his parents suspected that something dreadful had happened to Arthur.
Unfortunately, their parental instincts were correct.
Arthur Gander was born in Sarnia on August 15, 1923, the son of Arthur Edward Sr. and Gladys Genevieve Edith (nee Browne) Gander. Arthur Senior was called up to fight in the Great War, but a heart condition rendered him “medically unfit”. He was sent home five months before the war ended in November 1918.
His wife, Gladys, and he were blessed with six children, and they named their oldest son, Arthur Jr. To support his family at their home on Mitton Street, Arthur Sr. worked at Imperial Oil.
Arthur enjoyed a happy childhood in Sarnia's south end. After attending Devine Street Public School from 1929 to 1935, he was educated at SCITS from 1935 – 1940. He loved playing sports such as hockey, basketball, and baseball and spent time collecting stamps, his favourite hobby.
Upon graduating from SCITS at the age of 17 in 1940, Arthur worked as a machinist at The Goodison Thresher Company, or simply Goodison's, a plant located on Mitton Street that stretched between Essex and Maria Streets. No doubt, he was busy. Goodison's produced threshing machines and became one of the most successful threshing machine companies in Ontario.
The job location was convenient--Arthur hadn't far to walk to work--and, despite making a decent wage, he enlisted with the RCAF in 1942. He was 18, soon to be 19, and perhaps his father's experiences in The Great War influenced his decision. Arthur requested flying duties with a preference to be a pilot and began training at number of schools in Ontario and Quebec. In July 1943, he received his Air Gunner's badge. A month later Arthur arrived in Scotland and began writing letters home.
On September 5, 1943, Arthur became a sergeant-air gunner with the RCAF #427 Lion Squadron whose motto was “Ferte Manus Certas” (Strike Sure).
Like every airman who served with the RAF or the RCAF during WWII, Arthur had to be aware of the risks. He had every reason to be nervous. During the course of the war, one of our country's most significant contributions was the approximately 50,000 Canadians who served with the RCAF and RAF in Bomber Command operations. Next to Britain, Canada was the largest contributor to Bomber Command, making up more than a third of all of Bomber Command personnel. The men who served in Bomber Command faced some of the most difficult odds of anyone fighting in the war.
In May 1943, 427 Squadron had relocated to RAF Leeming in North Yorkshire, England, and converted to four-engine Handley Page Halifax bombers that they flew for the majority of the war.
The Gander family in Sarnia learned that Arthur's first bombing mission occurred on Thursday, September 16, and over an eight week period, he made seven successful bombing missions with his squadron over Germany.
His weekly letters home provided a few details about his life overseas: the countryside was picturesque with “miles and miles of stone fence in certain sections of the country”; the food was “not a great deal different from back home except there is not so much variety and not so much of it”; and the weather ranged from being pleasant to “raining endlessly.”
Arthur also provided details of what his bombing missions were like.
“On leaving the target, our kite got caught in the smoke at 9,000 ft and for awhile we were tossed all over the sky. Sitting in a cramped up position for nearly 8 hours is not a cinch, especially when you can hardly move for clothes and yet you still feel cold. Coming back, I went to take a bite out of a chocolate bar and nearly broke my teeth. It was frozen solid. Tomorrow I think I will go over to stores and draw an electrically heated flying suit.”
On another mission two weeks later, Arthur wrote his parents that “hundreds of searchlights were wandering around and all of a sudden, the 'master' beam caught us and then all the rest of them turned on us. Immediately, the skipper began throwing the plane all over the sky and after about five minutes of dodging heavy flak we escaped with only a couple of holes in the side of the fuselage and a memory of what a close shave we had.”
On November 12, in his final letter home, he mentioned that he expected a leave at the end of November and planned to “look up Daddy's mother.” The family's last image of Arthur was at his barracks, sitting in “a nice chair up close to the fire . . . [and drinking] hot tea . . . it's the only way to get warm.”
Six days after writing that letter, Arthur was part of a seven-man crew aboard Halifax V aircraft LK976. Along with nearly 400 other planes, their orders were to bomb a series of targets in Mannheim, Germany. Halifax LK976 took off from the Leeming aerodrome at approximately 1630 hours.
That was the last that anyone saw of the bomber and her crew.
The crew was due back the next morning, but when they didn’t return, their base knew something drastic had happened, especially since no wireless communication was received from the missing Halifax.
It was presumed that Halifax LK976 had crashed in the English Channel. The body of Francis William Winter, the crew's navigator, washed ashore near Brighton, in northwest France and and was buried in Cayeux Sur Mer Parish Cemetery, Somme, France. The remaining six crew members, including Arthur, were never located.
After receiving a telegram from Ottawa with the news their son was missing, Arthur and Gladys received this letter in late November 1943, from #427 Wing Commander R.S. Turnbull:
“It is with deep regret that I write to you this date to convey to you the feelings of my entire Squadron. We lost an excellent crew when this aircraft did not return from this operation and we count its loss a most severe blow to this Squadron. Although Arthur and the other members of his crew had not been long members of this particular Squadron, in the short period of time that he was with us he carried out his duties in a cheerful and energetic manner. Arthur was popular with all ranks of this Squadron's personnel,”
He went on to mention that there was a possibility that Arthur might be a prisoner-of-war; if so, the family would be notified immediately if this was the case.
In August 1944, Arthur and Gladys received another letter form the R.C.A.F. Casualty Officer who stated that Sergeant Arthur Frederic Gander was presumed dead for official purposes.
Esme Gander remembers that her parents “grieved quietly” after they received the news. “They mentioned Arthur—he was so well loved--but they didn't dwell on his death. His passing was a terrible thing that happened during the war.”
After her son was declared dead, Gladys chose to honour him with this poem:
Sometimes the note of his favourite song.
Brings a thought of him.
Oft times the sound of a passing plane.
Is a temptation to speak his name.
A token of love and remembrance.
Of a son we shall never forget.
His memory is a treasure.
His loss a lifetime regret.
Twenty-year-old Arthur Gander has no known grave. His name is inscribed on the Runnymede War Memorial, Surrey, United Kingdom, Panel 186.