On July 8, a plaque was unveiled at Hatley Castle at Royal Roads University in memory of James (Boy) Dunsmuir, who died in the sinking of the Lusitania in 1915. He was 21 and was on his way to serve in the First World War.
At the ceremony, businessman and philanthropist Michael Audain spoke about Dunsmuir. This is is a copy of his speech:
I want to thank everyone for coming here today: Dunsmuir family members, President Allan Cahoon and those of you connected with Royal Roads University, and most especially Bruce and Lis Davies, who have done so much, both to preserve the memory of our family and to make possible today’s arrangements.
We are remembering a young man who was only 16 years of age when he lived in this great house soon after it was completed in 1910. This is where he stabled his horses, kept his dogs and spent his school holidays. Boy Dunsmuir was born just 21 years before his tragic death in the cold Atlantic waters.
My father, Jimmy Audain, told me so much about his Uncle Boy. They were only nine years apart. Jimmy admired Boy’s skill at horsemanship and boxing so much that he decided to specialize in these sports himself — as I did when growing up. Boy and my father roamed the Esquimalt Lagoon and its surrounding lands together.
In the late 1940s, I did the same, accompanied by my Labrador retriever. I knew where the pools of crabs were, and where, at a low tide, one could catch half a dozen steelhead in 15 minutes.
This was because we lived next door to Royal Roads on 30 acres in an estate owned by my father’s aunt, Dola Cavendish. As a consequence, we knew all the commandants and their families. Capt. Creery, Group Capt. Millwood, and Capt. Charles were all good friends of the family. And I was often in this house, where Father showed me the secret alcove by the grand staircase that James Dunsmuir would jump out of covered in a polar bear skin to shock his youngest daughter, Dola, and grandson Jimmy.
James Dunsmuir loved his son Boy; that’s why he gave him his own name. He had his nine daughters, whom he certainly loved as well. He also had an older son who had become estranged from him in foreign lands. But, whether it was right or wrong, the old man looked mainly to his son Boy to eventually succeed to his business interests and distinguished record of public service. At the same time, there was no way that James could interfere with his son’s desire to join up and serve in what some naïvely called “the war to end all wars.”
Indeed, Dunsmuir was heard to say more than once that if he were a younger man, he would have certainly answered the call sent out from the mother country to sons of England, Ireland and Scotland to return home to serve their King and country in the great battles that were occurring between the old and new European dynasties.
The causes of World War I were very complicated and furnished much material for scholars to interpret. But that call to arms was enthusiastically received by youngsters in the Australian Outback, the South African Veld and homesteaders from the vast Canadian Prairies. Their motivation was not about defending democracy, as much as it was about rallying to defend a way of life for people whose language was the English of the King James Bible and Shakespeare.
These were young men who cherished parliamentary democracy and a system of justice that can be traced back to Magna Carta. In a sense, they saw it as a defence of civilization itself, which needed no further explanation.
“Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die” (Lord Alfred Tennyson, Charge of the Light Brigade).
And so, Lt. James Dunsmuir, who had obtained his commission with the 2nd Canadian Mounted Rifles and subsequently received an invitation to join the prestigious Royal Scots Greys, with his father’s consent, embarked with his charger aboard the RMS Lusitania, which would take him from New York to the Western Front in the quickest fashion.
We all know that, at 1410 hours on May 7, 1915, with calm seas off the south coast of Ireland, the German U-boat 20 slammed two torpedoes into that beautiful ocean liner, thereby changing the history of naval warfare, which up to that time provided passengers on merchant ships time to disembark before the vessel was sent beneath the waves. That day, 1,193 men, women and children perished in the cold Atlantic waters, while 761 were rescued by fishing boats and other vessels. For this noble act, the Kaiser granted the U-boat Capt. Schwieger a medal.
My grandfather, Major Guy Audain, later Colonel Audain, was granted leave from the War Office in London to proceed to County Cork to see whether his brother-in-law was amongst the remains brought to shore. But, alas, Boy could not be identified and it was surmised toward the end, when Boy realized there would be no room for him in a lifeboat, he went down below to meet his fate together with his steed. That is likely why his body never surfaced.
Those of you who live in Victoria may have heard about the riot downtown when the news came over the wire that Boy Dunsmuir and several other Victorians had perished with the Lusitania. Businesses with German names on Government Street were damaged, obviously a discredit to our town. However, families — from those who dwelt in Hatley Castle to the humblest cottage — at least shared in the same grief.
And as you know, the sinking of the Lusitania, with its many American passengers, was one of the factors which ultimately led the U.S. president and Congress to declare war against Germany, and the dispatch of the American Expeditionary Forces under the command of General John Pershing with orders to end the stalemate on the Western Front, which, for so long and at such great cost of life, sapped the energy of the allies and German defenders.
Canada and Newfoundland paid a great price in blood in the dreadful conflict, and so afterwards memorials were erected to honour the fallen in all the towns and villages of our land.
But, for Boy Dunsmuir there is no memorial. There were no medals. Just a sad father who, for the rest of his life, became a recluse, each evening listening to Henry Burr singing Where Is my Wandering Boy Tonight? on the gramophone.
In this house, I can’t help feeling the presence of those who have gone before, so please allow me a minute to say a word or two directly to them:
“Mr. James Dunsmuir, are you there? Yes, I know that the plaintive music of your favourite gramophone recording can sometimes be heard in the stillness of the night.
“This is your oldest daughter Byrdie’s grandson speaking. My name is Michael Audain. All I want to say is that we are dedicating this plaque here today so that future generations will know about the sacrifice of your beloved son Boy. His name will not be lost in the mists of time.
“And, by the way, we all wish you a happy birthday today and to thank you for your great service to our beloved province of British Columbia as both premier and lieutenant-governor. And those of us of Asian descent thank you for your support in fighting against racially discriminative immigration policies. You should be proud of the society that your descendants have built in this great province although sadly, in our opinion, your father Robert Dunsmuir’s and your own contribution to building today’s British Columbia are still not properly recognized.
‘And above all I believe that you can be proud that your home Hatley Park became instrumental in the training of so many naval officers while Canada served in war as well as in peacekeeping duties. And today, our whole family is proud of your home being the heart of Royal Roads University, whose graduates are contributing to a more just and kind society both in Canada and abroad.”
Now a word to my father, Jimmy Audain.
“Dad, I have not forgotten that today is also your birthday. So many happy returns of the day. The family has come back to this house after an absence of over six decades. I feel your presence here and recall how vividly you so often described the life of Hatley Park in its early days.
“Thank you for giving me the freedom at such an early age to fish and hunt in and around the Esquimalt Lagoon. I am sorry that I disappointed your ambition in that I failed to graduate as a naval officer at Royal Roads. But I have had a good life full of adventure and made my own way in the world. As you know, I am here today with my cherished wife, Yoshi, my lovely daughter Kyra and my grandson Cameron. I am sure that all my grandchildren would have liked to join us, but alas they all have their own priorities in these days of summer.
“You told me so much about your Uncle Boy, so I thought it would be meet and fitting that we find a way of remembering him in what used to be his own home, so close to the lagoon you and he used as a playground, and as I did in my childhood.”
Thank you, ladies and gentlemen for bearing with me to witness this event in the history of this house. I thank each and every one of you who came along today to honour this gallant young Canadian, who along with hundreds of thousands of others perished from the scourge of war. As long as this building stands, Boy will now be remembered. Boy will be remembered. Boy will be remembered.
Michael Audain is chairman of homebuilder Polygon Homes Ltd. A fifth generation British Columbian, Audain was educated at the University of British Columbia and the London School of Economics. He is a governor and past chairman of the Business Council of British Columbia. He is also chairman of the Audain Art Museum and the Audain Foundation, honorary chairman of the Vancouver Art Gallery, and past chairman of the National Gallery of Canada, the Vancouver Art Gallery and the Vancouver Art Gallery Foundation. He has been appointed to the Order of Canada and the Order of British Columbia.