1974: Lest We Forget, Part 2

Members of the Lord Strathcona’s Horse perform peacekeeping duties on the Green Line in Cyprus. The Canadian mission to Cyprus lasted 29 years (1964–1993), making it one of the longest overseas commitments in which Canada has ever participated. In t…

Members of the Lord Strathcona’s Horse perform peacekeeping duties on the Green Line in Cyprus. The Canadian mission to Cyprus lasted 29 years (1964–1993), making it one of the longest overseas commitments in which Canada has ever participated. In total, more than 25,000 Canadian Forces members served in Cyprus over the decades. The UN established the famous Green Line, a buffer zone that separates the portions of the island controlled by the Greeks and the Turks. The 180 kilometre-long Green Line varies in width from 20 metres to seven kilometres. (illustraton by joan wanklyn, museum of the regiments)

(Volume 21-8)

By Robert Smol

In 1974, a total of 41 Canadian Armed Forces personnel (including six army cadets) were killed while on service overseas and here in Canada. Outside of the military community, their sacrifices and the ordeal of their families and friends went largely unnoticed by the Canadian public. In the series 1974: Lest We Forget, Robert Smol tells the stories of the little-known events that plagued the CAF 40 years ago.

In April of 1974, the Canadian Airborne Regiment (CAR), which had stood up only six years prior, was deployed to Cyprus for its first peacekeeping mission. Three months later it was to stand in the centre of an all-out war when Turkey, a NATO ally, invaded the island. Dutifully remaining within peacekeeping’s extremely restrictive rules of engagement, the Canadians exchanged fire with both belligerents while attempting to keep the United Nations mandate intact. At the same time, CAR soldiers rescued civilians and tourists caught up in the erupting conflict.

 

Deployed to keep the peace in a “boiling pot of distrust”

When Canada’s Airborne Regiment arrived, the mandate of UNFICYP (United Nations Peacekeeping Force in Cyprus) was to monitor the 10-year-old ceasefire between the Greek and Turkish Cypriot communities on the island.

“There really was no political unity between the Greek and Turkish Cypriot communities for many years,” says David Bercuson, director of the Centre for Strategic Studies at the University of Calgary. “The island had had issues with a sort of intermittent civil war and that was when we first sent a contingent to Cyprus in 1964.”

In his book, The Bulletproof Flag, Brigadier-General Clay Beattie, who in 1974 was a colonel and commander of the Canadian contingent in Cyprus, described the ethnic situation on the island as a “boiling pot of distrust.”

According to retired Lieutenant Colonel Ian Nicol, who in 1974 was serving in Cyprus as the staff officer responsible for intelligence and security, elements of the CAR were deployed to Cyprus as a composite unit called No. 1 Commando Group. It consisted of No. 1 Commando (the French-speaking part of the unit) as well as elements of the Airborne HQ and Signal Squadron, engineers, and Service Support Unit.

At the time, Canada’s area of responsibility on the island was the Nicosia Zone, which comprised the capital and airport and outlying areas. The remainder of the island was monitored by other UN contributors, including Finland, Sweden, Denmark, Ireland, Austria and Britain, which retained sovereign air bases.

 

The military coup and Enosis

The lead up to the Turkish invasion of the island on July 20, 1974 began five days earlier when the president of Cyprus, Archbishop Makarios, was disposed and sent into exile in a coup d’état organized by the Greek Cypriot National Guard.

“I was in a United Nations helicopter moments after the coup started and saw many movements of troops, including the actual attack on the presidential palace with BRDM APCs, with infantry on foot, and with T-34 tanks,” recalls Nicol. “The island went quiet for a few days and the mobility of the Airborne was severely curtailed.”

At the time of the coup, Beattie was on leave with his family at a cottage near Kyrenia, on the north of the island. When a helicopter arranged by the local Finnish contingent arrived to pick him up, the Canadian commander suddenly became the target of fire from nearby Kyrenia Castle.

“As I approached the helipad I could see what I assumed to be national guardsmen on the top of the castle wall. They could easily observe the helicopter circling as if to pick somebody up. As soon as I came into sight, they began to shoot in my direction, skipping bullets off the helipad. It was abundantly clear that they didn’t want anyone to use the helipad. I waived the helicopter off and made my way back to the cottage.”

Before a second helicopter was to extract him from a more secure location, Beattie personally led a convoy of 20 civilian vehicles seeking safety in the Finnish Zone.

On the Green Line separating the Greek and Turkish communities in the Nicosia Zone, the fighting among the Greeks inevitably spilled over into the Turkish enclave.

“My platoon area was right on the Green Line itself, and in my area the separation was sometimes no more than five metres” recalls retired Major-General Alain Forand, who in 1974 was a captain serving as the CAR’s recce platoon commander. “So obviously, during some of the fighting among the Greeks, the bullets went over to the other side and there was inevitably a lot of uneasiness amongst the Turkish population.”

The July 15 coup replaced Archbishop Makarios with Nikos Sampson, whose stated objective was to seek enosis or unification with Greece. “No other act could have inflamed Turkish sensibilities more and, as we now know, planning for the invasion was stepped up,” says Nicol.

 

Visitors are coming from the North

On the afternoon of July 19, 1974, the CAR’s log entered an observation from Forand’s recce platoon reporting that the Green Line had become “suspiciously quiet” and that Turkish Cypriots had established roadblocks adjacent to the Green Line leading into their enclave. Just after midnight on July 20, the CAR received intelligence from a local source indicating that Greeks were setting up positions at Ledra Palace Hotel, a popular tourist spot on a high point on the Green Line, which also provided a vantage point into the Turkish enclave. An hour later, Forand’s recce platoon reported that Turkish Cypriots were upgrading their barricades.

Despite the danger and the escalation in tension between the two national groups, humorous situations still occurred, as recalled by Corporal Alain Gaudet in his diary.

“We were watching a John Wayne movie in the mess hall last night (July 19). As soon as the cowboys started shooting (in the movie), the Greeks heard it and started firing on us in the mess. We got out of there and ‘the cowboy movie’ will be left for another day.”

At 0330 hrs the commanding officer received a call from Brigadier General Francis Henn, the UNFICYP chief of staff, advising that “he had some info that visitors are coming from the north” and that “he wants our contingent to be ready for any action.” At 0332 hrs the Canadian contingent went on full alert with orders that observation posts were to be double manned. At 0505 hrs the recce platoon reported that Turks were out of their buildings with weapons and equipment.

At 0520 hrs came the first confirmation that Turkey was invading the island with air attacks on Greek National Guard locations in Kyrenia as well as on the airport in Nicosia. By 0615 hrs, some 36 Turkish Hercules and DC-3 aircraft had dropped over 1,000 troops in Turkish enclaves with more insertions to follow that morning. In addition, close to 100 Turkish helicopters were reported to be flying in the region and 11 warships were observed firing off of Kyrenia.

By 0730 hrs the CAR’s incident log ascertained that “it would appear that the object of the invasion is to secure a corridor from Kyrenia to the (Turkish) enclave.” At 1030 hrs the first reported amphibious landings took place off Kyrenia.

Recalling those fateful early morning hours on the invasion’s one-year anniversary, Beattie wrote: “It was clear to me that we at UNFICYP would be fully committed to trying to manage a full-scale war. This was one task that had never been foreseen and was not within the forces’ mandate.” According to Beattie, the UN could, at that point, “only encourage us at UNFICYP to play it by ear and do our best to meet the challenge of the task.”

“Our main role was to keep our own people safe and report on what was happening,” says Nicol. “Also under the UN mandate in Cyprus, we could only use force to defend ourselves and this did not change in the post-invasion period.”

In spite of the restricted rules of engagement, Canadian Airborne Regiment patrols on the Green Line continued as the two sides exchanged fire. This in spite of the fact that in some areas along the Green Line the space separating the two sides was no more than five metres!

“We received the order to patrol in order to convince both belligerents not to shoot and that is when we started to get some wounded because, obviously, we became a target,” says Forand. “After a couple of days I had received five wounded and the decision was made to withdraw to a place near the Ledra Palace Hotel in Nicosia.”

 

Securing a place at the Hotel

The Ledra Palace Hotel stands on the Green Line between the two enclaves and, in the words of Corporal Gaudet, provided a “helicopter view of the Turkish positions.” Not surprisingly, the hotel became a major bone of contention between the two sides in the hours and days following the invasion.

“At the time fighting broke out, about 350 people were trapped in the hotel,” recalls Nicol in a 1974 interview with the Canadian Armed Forces magazine Sentinel. “Our CO, LCol Don Manuel, went to the hotel on the first day of the invasion and the effect of his presence on the civilians was quite noticeable. They calmed down and listened to him.”

The following day the Airborne Regiment proceeded to escort the civilians out of the hotel.

“For a lot of those civilians I think it was the first time that they had heard bullets flying over their heads so we did not have to push them to move faster,” says Forand. “They were pretty eager to get out.”

The next priority, according to Ian Nicol, was to have the UN secure the hotel. Although Greek National Guard personnel had previously evacuated the hotel and the site had been declared a UN protected area, allegations continued to come in that the Greek Cypriots were sniping at the Turks from the hotel.

At 1748 hrs on July 21, the Turkish ambassador informed the UN liaison officer that “the hotel would be bombed in about five minutes.” At that time, 10 to 15 Airborne soldiers were guarding the building and they were told to seek shelter in the basement.

“I stated that if the attack was carried out and any Canadians were killed or injured, I would hold him personally responsible and report the details to the Canadian government,” wrote Beattie. “Approximately 10 minutes later, Turkish aircraft attacked the area of the hotel. They made four passes but they did not drop bombs — they simply sprayed portions of the hotel and the surrounding area with canon and machine-gun fire.”

According to Nicol, a local ceasefire was negotiated to extract the 15 Airborne soldiers from the hotel.

“The full air strike was subsequently called off and we re-established UN operations in the hotel.”

 

Firefight at Camp Kronborg

On July 23, the headquarters for the Canadian company manning the observation post, Camp Kronborg, began to draw mortar and gun fire from Greek Cypriot National Guards when the remains of a retreating Turkish patrol sought sanctuary within the camp. The Greek attack also set the camp’s infirmary on fire and prevented it from being put out. As they continued to draw fire, priority then became to get the Turkish soldiers safely out of the Canadian camp.

“Captain Normand Blaquière, the operations officer, said he knew a safe way across the small river to the Turkish Cypriot side,” explains Nicol. “As he was escorting them, with a flag and bullhorn, he was fired on by machine guns and hit in the legs. Anyone who tried to get to him and help him was also fired on.”

Among them was Private Michel Plouffe, who was part of the escort party for the Turkish soldiers being dispatched back to their lines. According to Beattie, Plouffe then proceeded to “crawl over Turkish bodies, positioning himself between the Greek fire and Captain Blaquière. He then began to cut the legs off of Blaquière’s trousers in order to apply tourniquets. As he was doing this, a bullet hit his helmet, glancing into his face and breaking his jaw.”

By this time, Forand was on his way to the camp with two British-loaned Ferret Scout Cars. While his troops provided covering fire, he went across to retrieve Blaquière and Plouffe.

“I am going to get Blaquière and Plouffe and if they shoot at me from the Greek side, I will order you to fire. When the Greeks then started shooting at me, I gave the order to fire.”

Following orders, the CAR soldiers opened up on the Greek National Guard positions. Among them was Corporal Gaudet who, in his words, “unnerved the gun pit crew with my firing, standing prone over the .50 calibre gun pit that was also blasting away at the Greeks. I fired until I had no ammo left … My God, the bashing they took.”

“I think we killed three or four of them. This allowed me a bit of breathing space to bring back Blaquière and then to move back for Plouffe,” explained Forand.

For their actions at Camp Kronborg, both Captain Alain Forand and Private Michel Plouffe were awarded the Star of Courage.

 

Defending the Nicosia Airport

By July 23, it became clear to UNFICYP that the invading Turkish forces had no intention of allowing the airport to remain in UN hands.

“Turkish interest in the airport became obvious as they made allegations concerning the control and occupation of the airport itself,” wrote Beattie. “I approached the force commander and suggested that he delegate me with the authority to open fire if the airport came under attack.”

Forand, who was now in command of a company, was ordered to take defensive positions at the airport together with other elements of the Canadian force.

“We had four recoilless rifles, six heavy machine guns, and the motor platoon from the regiment in location,” explains Forand. “Our mission at the time was to defend the airport and not to let them seize it. Even though the resources we possessed were not very high, we would have given it our best.”

The threatened attack never came. The Canadians, according to Nicol, had “made the local Turkish commander blink.”

“Interestingly, the international media — but strangely not the Canadian — hailed the Airborne as the saviours of Nicosia.”

By early August the regiment was to be reinforced with the remainder of the Canadian Airborne Regiment as well as other personnel and equipment.

“The Canadian government had agreed to double the size of the contingent, so part of our logistics company had to coordinate arrivals at the RAF station at Akrotiri of our aircraft, which amounted to over 50 flights bringing reinforcements and equipment,” stated Nicol in his 1974 interview with Sentinel.

The reinforcements included the remainder of the regiment as well as a reconnaissance troop from the Lord Strathcona’s Horse (Royal Canadians). Added to the surge in personnel were M113 APCs and M113.5 (Lynx) recce vehicles from Canadian bases in Germany.

During the months of August and September, two soldiers of No. 1 Commando were killed: Lionel Gilbert Perron on August 6, and Claude Joseph Berger on September 10. The Cyprus conflict also resulted in 30 wounded among the Canadian contingent. In addition, two Stars of Courage and six Medals of Bravery were awarded for actions during this operation, and five members were also made Members of the Order of Military Merit.

 

Lessons Learned

Reflecting on his experiences in Cyprus and in 1995 as commander of the UN’s southern sector in Croatia, Forand believes that traditional Chapter 6 peacekeeping “does not function. I think that the only thing that can function is that you have to impose peace; otherwise, we become part of the problem. When you look at the definition of peacekeeping, I don’t think it exists anymore.”

For Bercuson, the lessons of Cyprus in 1974 “should have been learned at a higher level. You need to be far more aware than you think when it comes to these so-called peacekeeping operations, which turn out not to really be peacekeeping in the sense you thought they would be.”

1974: Lest We Forget, Part 1

 Taking a break on the firing range during the ill-fated summer camp, (from left to right) Gerry Fostaty, Bahadur Banzal, and Aleth Bruce strike a pose for a photo. As a lower-level instructor at the camp, then 18-year-old Fostaty’s job was to …

 Taking a break on the firing range during the ill-fated summer camp, (from left to right) Gerry Fostaty, Bahadur Banzal, and Aleth Bruce strike a pose for a photo. As a lower-level instructor at the camp, then 18-year-old Fostaty’s job was to get 40 or so cadets in order and assist in training and maintaining discipline. (from as you were, goose lane editions)

(Volume 21-7)

By Robert Smol

In 1974 a total of 41 Canadian Armed Forces personnel (including six army cadets) were killed while on service overseas and here in Canada. Outside of the military community, their sacrifices and the ordeal of their families and friends went largely unnoticed by the Canadian public. In the series 1974: Lest We Forget, Robert Smol tells the story of the little-known events that plagued the CAF 40 years ago.

On a rainy day on July 30, 1974, the lives of 138 members of Company D at CFB Valcartier Cadet Camp were to be changed forever when, during a safety lecture, a group of regular army instructors from the base allowed samples of “dummy” explosives to be distributed among the cadets.

Unknown to everyone present was that a live M-61 grenade had been negligently placed in the same box as the dummy explosives. The inevitable happened when 14-year-old Cadet Eric Lloyd ended up pulling the pin on what he was made to believe was a fake grenade. 

The resulting explosion, in the crammed makeshift classroom, killed Lloyd and five other army cadets. Fifty-four other cadets were wounded that day. 

But for the military tasked to train and care for the cadets, it seemed that Company D’s 42 per cent casualty rate in one single day was not enough to prompt a modicum of care and compassion. 

Painful stories of the survivors, now in their 50s and early 60s, describe a systemic effort at cover-up by a military bureaucracy determined to deflect responsibility away from itself and trying, unsuccessfully, to place blame on the teenaged cadets. 

 

Routine safety lecture

Ironically, what took place in the barracks that afternoon was a routine safety lecture — the object of which was to ensure the cadets were aware of the potential dangers posed by any discarded explosives they may find on the base. The person conducting the lecture was Captain Jean-Claude Giroux, who at the time was the officer commanding the Ammunition Section on the base. 

“This course was to tell them not to touch anything,” stated Captain Giroux in a Statutory Declaration made to the Sûreté du Québec on August 12, 1974 and released under the Access to Information Act. “My goal was that they react to the sight of any nondescript device.”

Because it was raining that day, the decision was made to hold the lecture indoors in the company barracks. “The bunk beds had been pushed to one end and we were all sitting down cross-legged,” says Colin Caldwell, who was among the 138 cadets crammed into the makeshift classroom. 

As Captain Giroux and his assistant, Private Claude Pelletier, were conducting the lecture they allowed the boys to handle some “dummy” explosives that they brought along with them as illustrations.

“The regular force instructors were there to show everyone what not to do if you see any of these explosives — that they should not touch them because this is what they do and they are all dangerous,” says former cadet instructor Paul Wheeler, who currently works as a culinary arts instructor in Saskatchewan. “But they said you could play with these samples that they had because they were dummies.”

What had not come to the attention of the base instructors was the fact that a live M-61 grenade was among their display dummy explosives, which they were allowing the cadets to look at and handle. 

Released under Access to Information, a confidential message dated August 2, 1974 from the Base Security Officer to National Defence headquarters states: “Interviews conducted yesterday tend to indicate that the instructor may have had in his hand a green grenade at one time. The cadets interviewed also indicated that the green grenade was passed around the classroom. They do not recall seeing the instructor checking to see if the grenades were safe.” 

 

Smoke, stillness and screaming

Fifteen-year-old Peter Van Kampen was sitting behind Eric Lloyd when he pulled the pin on the grenade he was handling between his legs on the floor. 

“I just saw black smoke and a ringing in my ears and chaos. After that I could just hear people screaming and yelling. I got up and turned around, and as I was running there was a young man lying on the floor so I grabbed him and dragged him out the door. It was such a loud bang you didn’t hear it,” recalls Colin Caldwell. “What I recall was the incredibly loud ringing in my ear and the room filled with smoke and cinder. People were fleeing the room and I got up and was being pushed from behind.”

While staggering for the exit with the other cadets, Caldwell recalled seeing Eric Lloyd on the floor “still somewhat moving.”

“He was cut open from head to groin.”

Wheeler, who was sitting at the end of the barracks on one of the bunk beds recalled, “We just sat there, stunned, as the smoke started to clear. There were maybe somewhere in the neighborhood of 20 or 30 of the cadets who were obviously injured or dead. Then we just went up and started to see what we could do to help the ones that were still left in the barracks.”

Among the other cadets still able to provide assistance was Van Kampen, who was helping the shocked and wounded out of the barrack until he collapsed from the shrapnel wound in his right leg. 

“I had a couple of holes in my leg and I didn’t realize I had been wounded.” 

Shortly thereafter cadet staff and base ambulances began appearing on the scene. Among them was Sergeant Gerry Fostaty, an 18-year-old cadet instructor who was working in the orderly room down the hall when the explosion happened. 

In his 2011 book As You Were: The Tragedy at Valcartier, Fostaty describes walking into the room and seeing “a large black burn hole in the floor” and where “blood was splattered and smeared all over the walls ... A cadet stood up and went two steps towards me. He was shaking violently and his left arm was covered in blood. He stopped right in front of me and just blankly started at me, so I walked him outside where he could be taken care of.”

Among the cadets killed in the barracks as a result of the grenade explosion were:

Yves Langlois, age 15

Pierre Leroux, age 14

Eric Lloyd, age 14

Othon Mangos, age 14

Mario Provencher, age 14

Michael Voisard, age 14

 

Why don’t they get out and help?

According to Van Kampen and Fostaty, the reaction of some of the medical personnel on base appeared to be less than heroic. 

In his book, Fostaty recalls the indifferent response of one of the base ambulances that arrived at the scene of the incident. 

“A green army ambulance drove up over the uneven ground and bounced to a stop near us … The medic on the passenger side rolled down the window and, over his right shoulder, threw two first-aid kits on the ground beside me. He then rolled up the window and lit up a cigarette. I remember thinking, ‘Why don’t they get out and help?’ There were injured, bleeding, and dying people littering the ground all around the ambulance. Did they think this was a training exercise?”

Evacuated among the wounded to the base hospital, Van Kampen was to wait unattended in a corridor for six hours before he was finally operated on. 

“They just dropped us everywhere and anywhere,” he said. “The doctors and nurses had no idea what was going on and they lost track of us. I think they were shocked themselves.”

The place where Van Kampen was left to wait was directly across the makeshift morgue where, whenever the door opened, he could see the bodies of the dead cadets. To make matters worse for his family, the army mistakenly informed his parents that he too was dead. 

By the time the base hospital finally got around to operating on Van Kampen’s leg they had run out of anesthetic. In spite of the fact that Valcartier is only 25 kilometres from Quebec City and its civilian hospitals, the base medical personnel went ahead and operated on the teenaged cadet without anesthetic. 

“When they tried to remove some of the shrapnel from my knee and around it, they just gave me a piece of wood and told me to bite on it,” remembers Van Kampen. 

Meanwhile Caldwell, who was in shock after the incident, was provided with an anti-depressant but, in a miscommunication with the medical staff, ended up overdosing on his meds. 

“I was supposed to take a quarter tablet four times a day, but I was taking four,” he says. “I was in a complete daze for the next four days.”

Immediately after the incident the survivors were sequestered on the base, denied any counseling, and forbidden to contact their parents.

“We were separated from the rest of the camp,” recalls Wheeler. “Communications with the outside world were shut off and we were not allowed to make phone calls.”

“No one came to talk to us about it at all,” says Van Kampen. “I just remember they fixed us up, threw us in our room. And all I remember is the next day the officers showed up and rummaged through our clothing, grabbed our clothing and said, “It’s gone — we need it for evidence.” 

 

Interrogation in the bunker

The military inquiry, organized in the days following the incident, has been almost universally described by the surviving cadets as more of an “interrogation,” where the intention of the panel of senior military officers was to try and assign blame for the incident on the cadets. The inquiry was held underground in the nuclear fallout shelter on the base. 

“That whole episode of the inquiry was incredibly surreal,” recalls Caldwell. “We were taken to basically a door in the ground that had a couple of armed guards in front of it. You go through an airlock and down below you are seated in front of a table with senior officers who are asking you questions that you may or may not be able to answer.” 

At the time of the inquiry Van Kampen had already been released from the base hospital and was at home with his family in Montreal. When the military vehicle showed up to take him back to Valcartier, he and his family were told that he would just be talking with the other boys.

“The next thing you know, we are at this underground bunker and they put us in separate rooms. Then they take us out individually and put us in front of a group of officers who are yelling at us, trying to get us confused, and telling us that we had done it. They wouldn’t listen to a word we said.”

Recalling the aggressively hostile approach of the military inquiry, Wheeler believes that “life would have been a lot easier for the Department of National Defence if it had been something that they could blame on the cadets ... It was just like something out of a movie,” he recalls. “You were fired a question from one person and before you had a chance to answer you were fired a question from another trying to catch you off guard.”

In his book, Fostaty recalled one of the officers at the inquiry actually presenting him with a live grenade. “‘What the hell are you doing with that in here?’ I said, before thinking. It came out of me like a breathy gasp. They pretended not to hear.” 

In the end, the military investigations and coroner’s inquiry determined that careless storage procedures on the base resulted in live grenades being mixed with dummies. None of the cadets were found to be at fault. Instead, the coroner’s inquiry assigned responsibility to military authorities for allowing “a climate of negligence and carelessness” to exist in the areas responsible for the storage and distribution of explosives. On March 11, 1975 the Quebec District Coroner found Captain Giroux criminally responsible for the incident. 

However, Captain Giroux’s subsequent trial before a civilian court resulted in a verdict of not guilty on June 21, 1977. He was therefore allowed to continue in the Forces and went on to serve for many more years thereafter. 

 

Still awaiting compensation

Forty years later, National Defence refuses to assume any legal liability for what happened. To date, only a few of the cadet instructors and officers who were part of the Canadian Armed Forces Reserves at the time of the incident have been able to receive some compensation for their injuries from Veterans Affairs Canada. 

Others like Van Kampen are still left to deal with the physical and mental scars of their experiences. When he was operated on at the base hospital in 1974, not all the shrapnel from the grenade was removed. Forty years later, Van Kampen still carries fragments from the grenade in his leg. 

“I’ve had x-rays taken and they could still see it in there. And when I go through an airport scanner now it always goes off.” 

Not visible to modern technology are the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) that many of the former cadets and their families have been coping with since. 

“I went through this phase, which is common with PTSD, where you stay in one place until you get triggered and then you just run,” recalls Wheeler. 

 

In the military’s care and control
but not the military’s responsibility 

The legal dilemma for the teenaged cadets rests in the argument that, though they were under the direct control and supervision of the military, they are still not legally members of the Forces. As a result, the Canadian Armed Forces does not assume any responsibility for injuries occurring while training as cadets. 

It is an argument that Jack Harris, NDP defence critic, disputes. 

“Regardless of any of these legal questions,” says Harris, “this government has a moral and political obligation to take responsibility for the consequences of what happened to these cadets and I don’t think they could hold up a legal barrier to this.”

After months of lobbying from both the survivors and the official opposition, in May 2014 the minister of National Defence, Rob Nicholson, announced that he had authorized the ombudsman to look into what happened at CFB Valcartier in July 1974. At the time of writing, the investigation is still ongoing. W