The James Street Armoury, as it was originally known, was later renamed the John W. Foote VC Armoury in memory of Honorary Lieutenant-Colonel John Weir Foote, VC, CD, who, at Dieppe on August 19, 1942, was regimental chaplain with the Royal Hamilton Light Infantry. He is the only member of the Canadian Chaplain Services ever to be awarded the Victoria Cross.[6]
Foote’s citation, from The London Gazette, February 14, 1946, reads:
Upon landing on the beach under heavy fire he attached himself to the Regimental Aid Post which had been set up in a slight depression on the beach, but which was only sufficient to give cover to men lying down. During the subsequent period of approximately eight hours, while the action continued, this officer not only assisted the Regimental Medical Officer in ministering to the wounded in the Regimental Aid Post, but time and again left this shelter to inject morphine, give first-aid and carry wounded personnel from the open beach to the Regimental Aid Post. On these occasions, with utter disregard for his personal safety, Honorary Captain Foote exposed himself to an inferno of fire and saved many lives by his gallant efforts.
During the action, as the tide went out, the Regimental Aid Post was moved to the shelter of a stranded landing craft. Honorary Captain Foote continued tirelessly and courageously to carry wounded men from the exposed beach to the cover of the landing craft. He also removed wounded from inside the landing craft when ammunition had been set on fire by enemy shells. When landing craft appeared he carried wounded from the Regimental Aid Post to the landing craft through heavy fire. On several occasions this officer had the opportunity to embark but returned to the beach as his chief concern was the care and evacuation of the wounded. He refused a final opportunity to leave the shore, choosing to suffer the fate of the men he had ministered to for over three years.[7]
Honorary Captain Foote personally saved many lives by his efforts and his example inspired all around him. Those who observed him state that the calmness of this heroic officer as he walked about, collecting the wounded on the fire-swept beach will never be forgotten.[8]
The armouries, as they were originally designed and built, and as they stand today, are a fine reminder of Hamilton’s involvement in the events that shaped this country. On the site of this beautiful landmark — one of the many locations of historic importance in Hamilton — a year-round museum exists with the purpose of acquiring, appraising, cataloguing, restoring, preserving, and displaying a collection of civilian and military artifacts important to the history of the regiment, the community, and the Canadian Forces.
What’s more, according to reports provided to Haunted Hamilton, it is this particular area of the building that seems to be occupied with angry spirits.
The spirits seem to not want anybody to enter the museum. Besides weird sounds and voices being heard, particularly in the dark of night, dark shadows have been spotted flitting about out of the corner of the beholder’s eye. The spirits supposedly make their presence felt in such a strong way that people feel as if they are physically being pushed out of the room.
On one occasion, a couple was visiting the museum during regular opening hours, when they walked in to see two distinct spirits materialize out of thin air and tell the woman that she simply was not welcome there. They spoke in angry and intimidating tones. Upon receiving this message, the couple turned, immediately left, and have never returned since. One wonders why the spirits might be so adamant about not wanting people to enter the room. Could they be protective of one or more of the cherished relics housed there?
In 1984 the mummified remains of a cat, now known as Victor the Regimental Cat, were found in the building. The feline’s body was put on display in the museum, with an accompanying note:
As the new drill hall neared completion a small grey alley cat cautiously inched his way along planks and up rickety wooden ladders ... As the cat neared the upper most section of the drill hall known as the flag tower, he stopped to nibble on left over sandwiches left by the workmen earlier ... After consuming the goodies, the little cat of no fixed address squeezed in between the heavy oak floor joists to escape the heat of the summer ...
Alas, the workmen approached to finish off the flooring ... and poor Victor was licked under the floor, not to reappear for ninety eight years ... In the Fall of 1984 members of his regiment saw fit to remove his parched and greyed remains to a safer and more dignified location.... True to the motto “Semper Paratus” (always ready), this little soldier never left his post in the tower for almost a century....[9]
As legend has it, Victor’s ghost is sometimes seen wandering the hallways at night, perhaps stalking real or spirit mice in his unearthly existence.
Several members of the Royal Hamilton Light Infantry have also insisted there are other four-legged spirits there. They’re talking about the ghostly sounds and presence often experienced in the one corner where the old stables and gun sheds used to stand. The spirits of the dead horses have never been seen, but their chains and harnesses have been heard, as have the stamping of their hooves. The unmistakable and inexplicable odour of the horses has also been detected.
One story involves a group of training recruits waking in the middle of the night to the sounds of heavy breathing and the clinking of chains. One of the men cast a flashlight beam across the room, which was filled with the distinct sounds and smell of horses, and yet the beam of the light revealed nothing.
Apparently sergeants — and sergeants only — can hear the ghostly barks of a drill sergeant believed to be from the 13th Battalion, and a few have even seen him. The reason for that belief is that the drill calls can be heard on the parade square, a place that would have been the first wooden armories on that site, which burned in 1886. Sergeant Pat McCarthy created a composite illustration of the uniform worn by this particular otherworldly drill sergeant, perfectly capturing the image that was reported to have repeatedly been seen.
Another ghost appears perhaps once every couple of months and is seen walking down an old wrought-iron spiral staircase that leads to the second floor from the third floor offices. His uniform, with spiked helmet, has been identified as one worn in 1882.
Yet another ghost has been spied prowling around in the basement. One night, a guard doing a midnight patrol found the only door to a basement room unlocked. He entered and swept his flashlight across the darkness, catching sight of a man in full battledress moving around between the pillars. He called out and ran toward the intruder, but when he got closer, he realized that nobody was there.
Semi-transparent soldiers have also been seen on a particular set of balconies during parades going down James Street North. Witnesses describe seeing the spirits standing still, in full uniform, and seemingly pleased with the passing troops before fading from sight. The balconies, of course, have been reported as locked, closed off, and not used for years.[10]
If the mission statement of the Museum of the Royal Hamilton Light Infantry is to familiarize and inspire young Canadians with a history of the regiment and its part in the development of Upper Canada, then perhaps the ghosts that reside there are sentries with a similar duty, lingering out of a dedication to the preservation of a history that goes far beyond this mortal world.
Chapter Fourteen
The Waterdown Ghost
In 1934 Canada had already suffered through five years of the Great Depression, evolving from being among the world’s fastest growing economies to suffering an unemployment rate of almost 30 percent and a gross national product decline of 40 percent.[1]
At the start of the Great Depression, Canada’s economy was shifting from primary industries, such as mining, logging, farming, and fishing, toward manufacturing. Hamilton was among the hardest hit cities, as the effect felt across the country was intensified in Canada’s largest steel-manufacturing city.
Though a slightly strengthening economy was met in the summer of 1934 with a severe drought that destroyed crops and injected further hardships into an already stressed society, not all the talk in Waterdown was about the economy or the weather.[2]
More often than not, as people met on street corners or shared gossip with one another over the fences