Halifax Riot Part 2: Trials and tribulations following the VE-Day celebrations

Formal portrait of Rear Admiral Leonard Warren Murray. In 1911, at the age of 15, Murray entered the recently founded Halifax Royal Naval College. Two years later he was appointed as midshipman on a Royal Navy vessel, the first of a long series of British ships on which he served during WWI and between the two world wars. During WWII he held a series of important operational commands culminating in that of commander in chief, Canadian Northwest Atlantic, in April 1943. (dnd)

By Bob Gordon 

The mayhem and bedlam that demolished downtown Halifax during VE-Day celebrations gone wild merited the screaming headlines. The scale of the violence was unprecedented and the timing couldn’t have been worse. The Royal Canadian Navy, having grown at an unprecedented pace to become one of the largest navies in the world, was hell-bent and determined to preserve the image and influence it had earned escorting convoys and hunting U-boats across the North Atlantic. A Naval Board of Inquiry was immediately convened, reporting before the end of the month. 

Nationally, the Liberal government of Prime Minister William Lyon Mackenzie King was in the midst of an election campaign, facing a challenge from a resurgent Progressive Conservative Party of Canada. It was delighted to punt the whole affair into the hands of a Royal Commission, appearing to take action, but safe in the knowledge the Royal Commission would not report until after voters cast their ballots on June 11, 1945. The Royal Commission on the Halifax Disorders, May 7–8, 1945 by Honourable Mister Justice R.L. Kellock was established on the Thursday after the riots and reported on July 28, 1945, seven weeks after the election.

The Naval Board of Inquiry largely attributed the violence to two factors: the phenomenal expansion of the RCN — or more particularly the Royal Canadian Navy Volunteer Reserve (RCNVR) component of it — and its temperament as a ‘small ship’ navy. The RCN was comprised of 3,300 personnel in 1939. Six years later it numbered 95,000. These tens of thousands of novice mariners had no tradition of strict discipline, frequent, dispassionate punishment, the hierarchical organization of ‘big ships’ in the Royal Navy, and the gulf between officers and sailors. The inquiry’s report highlighted: “The service of the majority of seagoing personnel has been in small ships, where discipline is necessarily less rigidly enforced, due to war conditions … While unit discipline in the ships may be considered satisfactory, inadequate stress has probably been placed on the behaviour of libertymen ashore…”

On July 29, 1942, Rear Admiral L.W. Murray presented awards to crew members of destroyer HMCS St. Croix, which sank enemy submarine U-90 just five days earlier. On April 30, 1943, Murray was promoted to Commander-in-Chief Canadian Northwest Atlantic. From his Halifax headquarters he commanded all Canadian and Allied air and naval forces involved in convoy protection in that area. He was the only Canadian officer in charge of an Allied theatre of operations during WWII.  (dnd, library and archives Canada, pa-037456)

Directorate of History and Heritage historian R.H. Caldwell rightly dismisses this explanation as tripe. If this was a navy-wide problem it should have occurred “overseas and in Canada, throughout the war,” he avers. And it didn’t. Caldwell takes his examination of the riots one step deeper, examining strains peculiar to the RCN and circumstances unique to the city of Halifax during the war. In a similar fashion, the Kellock Royal Commission avoided generalizing and sought specific roots distinctive to the Halifax outburst. It found it in the persons of RAdm Leonard W. Murray, commander of Canadian North-West Atlantic, and LCdr Wood, commanding officer of the Shore Patrol at HMCS Stadacona and the senior officer in Halifax. Over three days Murray had submitted to a scathing examination. Wood was subject to a similar going-over and the commission’s report was blunt.

It offered four reasons that the VE-Day celebrations turned violent and then persisted into a second day. The fourth was a throwaway. A loquacious, rambling exhortation to the police forces to cooperate and communicate amongst themselves more effectively to facilitate the maximum efficiency and optimum deployment of available personnel. It concluded limply: “All one can say is that the police forces could have been better directed and might well have been more effective, particularly at the liquor stores. The system of receiving calls and dispatching aid was poor and did not tend to an effective or intelligent use of the forces available.”

The third focused on LCdr Wood, citing his failure “to report the situation on Barrington St., before the attacks on the liquor stores to his superiors so that effective action might be taken by the navy itself to clear the streets of its rioting personnel.” Murray testified to the commission that he had no idea of events on the night of May 7 until mid-morning May 8, long after he had again released thousands of libertymen into the city. This observation is not meant to exonerate Murray, although it does stand as stark evidence that the gravity of the situation was not communicated up the chain of command adequately. This criticism hardly strikes at the heart of the matter, however.

The first two points shortly and sharply pilloried Murray and Wood. In the first place, Kellock concluded that thousands of naval personnel should not have been loose on the streets of Halifax: “In my opinion, therefore, the disturbances of May 7th and the early hours of May 8th were due to: (1) Failure on the part of the naval command to plan, in accordance with the requirements laid down by Admiral Murray himself, for the entertainment of the ratings in their own establishments for the purpose of keeping them off the streets.” Pre-VE-Day planning had been predicated on civilians partaking of official celebrations in a largely shuttered city while service personnel celebrated separately onboard ship and on base. Testimony by various officials from the mayor to the chief of police confirmed this. The solemn tone and subtly, affirming words were Murray’s death knell. They also captured Murray’s direct and immediate responsibility for the scale and duration of the destruction.

Across the RCN, indeed in military forces around the globe, plans were being made to prepare for VE-Day. Murray had clearly identified the issue, that celebrations could well get out of hand. He was not ignorant. Moreover, he had clearly identified what he saw as the solution. The report noted quite specifically: “in accordance with the requirements laid down by Admiral Murray himself.” However, it also stated, this had not happened due to “failure on the part of the naval command.” Setting aside semantics, the phrase might have just read ‘failure on the part of Admiral Leonard W. Murray.’ He was the theatre commander and also the senior RCN officer stationed in Halifax.

Inexplicably, on two days during which plans had clearly been made to keep naval personnel entertained on base, Murray released thousands of libertymen on the evening of May 7. Then, totally unaware of the maelstrom around him, he did it again on the morning of May 8. Commission testimony, such as this exchange, buried Murray:

Q: Looking at that Exhibit 77, there were thirteen thousand odd who were in a position to go ashore on Monday and 9,069 went ashore. And on Tuesday 9,508 went ashore?

A: That is correct.

Q: Have you any actual data with the information of those that were ashore from establishments on Monday and were not ashore on Tuesday?

A: No, I was speaking in general terms. But in the main the people on shore Tuesday would not be the same as were on shore on Monday.

Q: But you would not be certain that those who participated in the troubles Monday night would not be on shore Tuesday?

A: Not the particular individuals.

Q: And the ring-leaders or actual participants on Monday night, most of them or all of them might be on shore on Tuesday?

A: That is possible, yes.

Based on Murray’s own testimony the Royal Commission reported: “Even though he could have been certain that none of the participants of the previous night would be on leave the next day, he could have no assurance, but would have every reason for apprehension, that a repetition on May 8 of the conditions of May 7 (i.e., large numbers of ratings wandering about the streets of the city on the official holiday, with the police situation remaining the same) might bring about a repetition of the same sort, of disorder.” Murray released unplanned hordes of naval ratings, ‘wandering about.’ And then repeated that mistake the next day, compounding the damage. At this point, in Shakespeare’s wonderful phrase, with having Murray “Hoist with his own petar,” the report continued with faithfulness to the Bard to “delve one yard below their mines/And blow them at the moon.”

Kellock concluded an order Wood issued, on the basis of Murray’s direct instructions, neutered the Shore Patrol, leaving them shooting blanks. In a nutshell, the Royal Commission’s Exhibit 72, described by Kellock as “a rather strange” document, ordered the Shore Patrol to not arrest intoxicated sailors on VE-Day:

“The main object of the patrol on this day will be to try and control naval personnel rather than restrict them. A certain amount of damage is bound to occur, and unless the patrols can persuade the offenders to desist, there is little further action to be taken. No person is to be apprehended by the patrol unless absolutely necessary, and it cannot be stressed too strongly that the success of the patrol on VE-Day will rely solely on tact.”

Kellock went on to note that approximately 300 copies of this order were circulated, meaning it may have been widely known. Even were it not, its effect, in practice, would have been recognized as policy as soon as the first uproars were not suppressed. Speaking plainly, Murray ordered the Shore Patrol to let the naval personnel have the run of the city. Murray blew it. He failed miserably. The riots were and will always remain his responsibility. A brilliant operations officer, he totally and completely mishandled civil-military relations in this most important instance.

halifax riots Part 1: Pent-up frustration turned VE-Day celebrations into a tragedy

By Bob Gordon

On May 8, 1945 a New York Times headline announced “The War in Europe is Ended.” Mollie Panter-Downes’ “Letter from London,” published in the New Yorker on May 10, 1945 recounted, “American sailors and laughing girls formed a conga line down the middle of Piccadilly and cockneys linked arms in the Lambeth Walk” on VE-Day. The Globe and Mail reported from Toronto that, “as night fell with its hint of spring chill, bonfires blazed skywards from city parks and fireworks illuminated the faces of youngsters and oldsters and the in-between.” Across the world, victory over Hitler’s Germany inspired jubilation. Only in Halifax did a drunken mob riot, destroying large parts of the city in a nightmarish carnival of mayhem. The Halifax Herald called it, “the maddest night perhaps old Halifax had ever seen,” in an article headlined, “Mobs Run Wild On Streets Of Downtown Halifax.”

A subsequent Royal Commission calculated Halifax property losses involved 564 firms, with 2,642 pieces of plate and other glass broken, 207 businesses looted and total damage in the range of $5-million. At least 7,000 cases and 35,000 quarts of beer, 65,000 quarts of hard liquor, 1,225 cases and another 1,700 bottles of wine disappeared during the two days of disturbances.

Three Canadians died during the debauchery. A young stoker, Vern Tucker, collapsed and died from alcohol poisoning. LCdr George Smith was found dead, possibly murdered, on the campus of Dalhousie College under circumstances that were never fully explained. Ernest Fitzgerald, a civilian, was also dead of alcohol poisoning. With complete justification based on the scale and duration of the havoc, the Hamilton
Spectator would describe the 48 hours of chaos as “one of the worst revolts against authority in the history of Canada.” These 48 hours also destroyed the heretofore distinguished career of RAdm Leonard Warren Murray, the only Canadian to command an Allied theatre of operations during either world war.

Historically, war has been very good to Halifax. Before the twentieth century it was the principal station of the Royal Navy in the north-western Atlantic and its fate was intimately linked to the demands of imperial strategy. According to author Stephen Kimber, “During the Seven Years War with France [1756-1763], Halifax became Britain’s prime North American naval and military depot. It played a similar role in every conflict that followed.” In the last century, it was the marshalling yard for the vital flow of men and munitions from North America to Great Britain and the Continent during both world wars.

In times of trouble, the Halifax economy booms and the population explodes. By 1945, after six years of war, 75,000 pre-1939 residents were sharing space with approximately 60,000 “uninvited guests,” as bitter, local scribes frequently referred to the numerous service personnel and merchant mariners, approximately one third of whom were Royal Canadian Navy personnel. The soldiers and sailors responded in kind with cockney rhyming slang referring to residents of Halifax as “slackers.” There was no love lost between the civilians and the sailors. The “uninvited guests” resented paying exorbitant rent for crowded accommodation and being dunned by local merchants. The locals, on the other hand, became leery of rowdy payday behaviour (of sailors in particular).

The Royal Commission that probed the riots concluded: “The breaking of plate glass windows and the tearing down of awnings and street signs, mostly by intoxicated naval ratings on paydays, was a usual and expected occurrence.” Drunken misbehaviour by sailors and merchant seamen was endemic in wartime Halifax, throughout the war. Residents were also fed up with comments from Upper Canadians and Westerners about how much better things were back home. In the 48 hours following the announcement of the German capitulation, all of this stress, tension and resentment exploded in an orgy of violent, drunken destruction. Sailors, civilians, soldiers and seamen — air force personnel were notably absent — all joined the mob, but sailors predominated.

In Halifax, news of the end of the war against Germany arrived on the morning of Monday, May 7, 1945. Radio broadcasts were followed by factory whistles announcing Germany’s surrender to the city at about 10:30 in the morning. There had been no official announcement from Ottawa, but news reports from Europe via New York were widely broadcast and a special edition of the Halifax Mail quickly hit the streets with the headline, “WAR END OFFICIAL.” Civilians were immediately sent home and told to take the following day off. Retail outlets, restaurants and theatres closed before noon and remained shut until Wednesday, two days later. Liquor stores, closed over the weekend as per usual, were scheduled to open at 12:30 on Monday. However, in line with the Nova Scotia Liquor Commission’s VE-Day policy they remained closed Monday and Tuesday, also not reopening until Wednesday.

The city shut down so civilians could welcome the end of the Battle of the Atlantic. Plans called for specified small ceremonial military units to participate in civil ceremonies. Otherwise, however, civilian authorities expected service personnel to celebrate separately, on base.

Initial reports indicated relative calm and an upbeat mood, quieter even than November 11, 1918, when spontaneous celebrations briefly threatened to immolate Halifax’s city hall. Civic authorities began to plan for fireworks in the evening and official celebrations on Tuesday May 8 at 2:30 pm. Service personnel remained on duty throughout the day. At the end of the workday, at 5:00 pm, Murray had an order read to all hands. It concluded: “I count on the common sense of all naval personnel and on their consideration for the feelings of those whose relatives will not return from this conflict to ensure that celebration will be joyful without being destructive or distasteful.”

With that, 9,000 men left the base and the remainder headed straight for the wet canteens. At HMCS Stadacona the wet canteen ran out of its inventory of 6,000 bottles of beer and closed at 9:00 pm. The Joint Services Committee had foreseen this problem, but determined that it was not logistically possible to procure extra stock for VE-Day on such short notice.

Within a half hour, naval ratings, in varying states of intoxication, were filling the adjacent streets looking for excitement. Outside Stadacona a streetcar had its windows smashed before the operator got free of a crowd of naval ratings. The Shore Patrol watched the incident from their HQ, only arriving after the driver and streetcar had fled. Further north on Barrington Street a second streetcar was put to the torch. Responding police had their police vehicle overturned and destroyed. The chagrined constables were forced to retreat to the police station on foot. Firemen had their hoses hacked apart when they tried to turn deploy. They also retreated.

At this point, alone on the streets as symbols of authority, the Shore Patrol had their hands cuffed. In late March 1945 LCdr Reg Wood, CO of the Shore Patrol, issued an order, pursuant to Murray’s directive, stating that no service personnel were to be arrested on VE-Day: “No person is to be apprehended . . . unless absolutely necessary and it cannot be stressed too strongly that the success of the patrol on V-Day will rely solely on tact.” The rationale for this bizarre policy was stranger still. Murray would later claim he believed civilians would riot against the arresting authorities if they saw service personnel being apprehended during hard-won VE-Day carousing.

Heading into the central business district the mob turned its attention to vandalism, and plate glass windows on shops proved an inviting target. Opportunists quickly grabbed merchandise in window displays. The boldest in the crowd actually ventured into the stores and hundreds of retail establishments were looted. Eventually the upheaval expanded to encompass the blocks from Barrington Street east towards the harbour and from Bishop Street north, past Duke Street.

Donald Albert Douglas, on duty at the Royal Canadian Naval Hospital during the rioting, was sent out Monday evening with an ambulance to bring in the injured. Writing to his parents a day later, in the wake of the violence, he described the scene: “about 100,000 people on a minimum all so drunk that they are worse than wild beasts …” His first patient “was out cold and someone had taken the jagged end of a broken bottle and just slashed his face to pieces.” Douglas was so upset by the rampage he misdated his letter April 9, a month before it was written and averred that many scenes he witnessed were so shocking and sordid he could not commit them to paper. He went so far as to confess that, after what he had seen, “I’m ashamed that I’m in the services and that I am a Canadian.”

Around midnight the mob turned its attention to booze and began looting liquor stores, starting with the Sackville Street location. The Halifax Herald reported: “The mob smashed the plate glass windows in the store, rushed in oblivious of the jagged glass edges and came out with many bottles of liquor … Amid cheers of onlookers, the mob members brandished the bottles in hilarious joy, some carrying three and four quarts in their arms.” The Herald’s photographer told the Royal Commission that the looters threatened him when his camera flash revealed his presence.

The Hollis Street Retail and Mail Order Store, and the Buckingham and Agricola liquor stores were subsequently ransacked. Liquor flowed freely. The Globe and Mail reported that the crowd “smashed and looted virtually every store in the downtown business section” and described the violence as “a scene of drunkenness and destruction that is rarely equalled in a city outside a war zone.” The havoc finally died down at approximately 3:00 am.

Incredibly, despite the drunkenness, vandalism and violence, Murray, released another 8,500 naval personnel on shore leave

on the morning of May 8. Violence flared up again that afternoon. With more care, crowds rifled the liquor stores first ransacked the night before. Others proceeded further afield. Some took the ferry across the harbour and emptied the only liquor store in Dartmouth. Going straight to the source, personnel raided Keith’s and Oland’s breweries. Both were breached and relieved of thousands of cases of beer.

The Hamilton Spectator described the events of May 8 as “an orgy of drunken smashing and looting.” In Cornwallis Park, Frank Doyle of the Mail reported men and women, civilian and service, “drinking, singing [and] intermingling ale with fighting and sex … The scenes of debauchery were rivalled only by those on Citadel Hill and Grafton Park.”

On the morning of May 9 the city fell silent. The final toll of destruction was staggering. Over 2,600 panes of glass had to be replaced, while more than 200 businesses had been looted. Thousands of cases of beer, wine and liquor were “liberated” and broken glass in the streets was piled higher than the curbs. Innumerable carousing civilians and service personnel were cut when they fell drunkenly onto the streets. Ambulance attendant Douglas wrote that “a good foot of glass over the whole of the street [Barrington] and it nearly cut the tires off our big army ambulance.”

Reaction to the debacle was swift. A sailor and a civilian had died from alcohol poisoning and a Canadian naval officer was dead. The riots had garnered cross-country and even international attention. On May 10 the federal government ordered a Royal Commission and the RCN convened a naval board of inquiry. The Herald and other local newspapers featured front-page editorials demanding explanations and the fixing of blame.