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A Royal Canadian Navy Historical Project
In memory of those who have Crossed the Bar
BOWMAN, Donald Aden - Following a stroke, Donald passed away quietly on Friday, November 23, 2018, in Regina. Donald was born April 22, 1922, in Saskatoon, to Aden and Lillie Bowman. His parents were both city councillors and the family owned Bowman Brothers, a large automotive wholesale business. After high school, where he excelled in mathematics, Donald attended the University of Saskatchewan where he studied Engineering and met his wife Muriel. They were married in 1943 and in 69 years of marriage they were only separated during the war years. Donald served in the navy as a Second Lieutenant on HMCS Edmunston, a Canadian Corvette ship which was part of the convoy guarding merchant ships to and from the United Kingdom. In the post-war years, Donald worked with the family business in Saskatoon, North Battleford and later Regina, until he left the firm to purchase two farms in the Qu'Appelle Valley and settle in Lumsden. He and Muriel were active members of the community and the United Church there. Near Craven, Donald built a livestock/feedlot operation which became a model of innovation and humane design. From the early 1960s until the mid-1970s he also developed a specialty advertising business which had national clients. When their four children had grown, Don and Muriel relocated to Regina where they remained active socially and in their Christian faith. Even in retirement, Donald, always a salesman, travelled throughout the west and made a lot of friends in the Prairie Provinces. He wrote a book about his time at sea. In 2013 and again in 2016, Don, accompanied by family, attended commemorative services for the Battle of the Atlantic in Londonderry, Northern Ireland, where he forged numerous friendships with members of the Royal Naval Association. He ended his years in the Veterans' wing of Wascana Hospital where he was unfailingly cheerful and much-loved by the angelic staff. There were disappointments and reversals of fortune in his life, but he never shrank from them. He turned an open face to the challenge and acted with optimism, honesty, good nature and fairness. He was, by any standard of measurement, a good man. Donald was predeceased by his precious wife, Muriel, and son, David, and is survived by children Brian (Lorna Forsyth), Cathy, Tammy (Kim Calfas), daughter-in-law Arlyn Bowman, grandchildren Kelcy, Dan, Joe, Chris, Stephie and numerous great-grandchildren and extended relatives and friends. The family wishes to thank the staff and volunteers of Wascana Hospital Veterans' Unit 3-5 for the care and comfort they gave him during his time there and especially in Don's final days. A celebration of Don's life will be held at Speers Funeral Chapel, 2136 College Avenue, Regina, SK on Sunday, December 9, 2018 at 1:30 p.m. Donations in Don's memory in honor of his wartime service may be made to HMCS Sackville, Canadian Naval Memorial Trust, P.O. Box 99000, Stn Forces, Halifax NS, B3K 5X5, http://www.canadanavalmemorial.ca or the Royal Canadian Legion, Regina Branch #1, 1920 Cornwall Street, Regina, SK, S4P 2K2. (Regina Leader-Post 01 Dec 2018)
Donald wrote a book about his time in the RCNVR - My Battle of the Atlantic
Ships served in: HMCS DISCOVERY - Prob SLt (Navy List Aug 1943) HMCS EDMUNDSTON - Appointed to Edmundston 03 Jun 1944 as a SLt, RCNVR (Navy List Jul 1944). Appointed to Lt, c1945 while serving in HMCS Edmundston (memoirs of Donald Bowman)
Below is the transcription of Donald's submission to The Memory Project
You may have wondered or may not have wondered what veterans think on Remembrance Day on 11 November. At this stage in my life, I’ve experienced 60 some 11 November services and for me, 11 November is a day with a fixed routine. Wake up, breakfast, daily devotions, shave and dress for the Remembrance Day ceremonies at a local arena. There is a 50/50 chance the day will be overcast or cloudy. And it is certain to be on the chilly edge of winter. It is also certain that the bad memories will bundle up and come along, especially the memory of Charlie. At the arena I join with the other vets, who will march in a platoon in the parade of presently serving armed forces, police and cadet corps. Our platoon is a mixed bag of all three services. The marching is ragged because we’re old and the air force never could do it right. I thrilled to the skirl of the bagpipes and the whump, whump, whump of the big bass drums. My heart goes out to the poor sods who drew sentry duty at the four corners of the cenotaph. Their heads bowed and arms reversed, motionless for a long time. It is an amazing feat of physical endurance. Last year, one was a woman. It is likely they’re dedicated volunteers. For me, the enemy is there as well, even though I never saw a live or dead enemy in the war. They’re the ghosts of the 30 or 40 German sailors who perished when HMCS Edmundston attacked U-877 [German submarine] on 27 December 1944. I wonder, were those men willing members of the monstrous evil regime we were fighting or were they conscripted? Either way, they died a horrible death. Two minute silence for those who gave it their all; those who never heard the chill, clear notes of Taps or Reveille at a Remembrance Day service. It is over and my wife, Muriel and I, are taken out for lunch by members of our family. After a lunch and that, and then I prepared to greet a host of memories for the rest of the day. And then I remembered Charlie. Charlie and I literally bumped into each other on a street corner in Saskatoon about a year after war’s end. I met Charlie in basic training at Cornwallis in Nova Scotia. He was tall, athletic, blonde and friendly. When I looked at him on the street corner, I wasn’t certain it was Charlie. The confident Charlie was gone. The new Charlie was haggard and untidy. It was nearly noon and I invited him home for lunch. Muriel always gracious, welcomed Charlie and adroitly adjusted the menu. When coffee arrived, Charlie’s hands shook so much he required both hands to raise the cup to his lips. Gradually I coaxed him to tell us what happened to him. After Cornwallis, Charlie joined HMCS [HMS] Nabob, a baby flat-top [escort] aircraft carrier. Off the coast of Norway, the ship took a torpedo. Charlie was ejected from his bunk. When he picked himself up from the deck, water was up his ankles. Charlie was first on the ladder and three friends were following. As Charlie emerged through the hatch, the command ‘close all white watertight doors and hatches’ boomed from the loudspeakers. As seamen stationed at that point slammed down the cover and tightened the turnbuckles. Charlie’s screams of protest were ignored and he was physically restrained from opening the cover. Nabob was severely damaged, but kept afloat. It took 10 days to be towed to harbour. There were about 30 fatalities, mostly caused by drowning. It was a navy version of death by friendly fire. Militarily, the captain acted wisely. The rating who closed the hatch acted properly, instantly obeying an order. The captain was probably commended for saving the ship. Every 11 November, I remember Charlie and I eventually fall asleep, watching him and his three buddies endlessly climb the ladder and especially, the sailor who closed the hatch.
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For Posterity's Sake 
