Louise Boilevin
Local Journalism Initiative Reporter
Megaphone Magazine
He ducked into the tunnels beneath London, the city rattling above him. Smoke and dust filled the air, but Pete — William Peter Fraser to those who still called him that — moved with intention. Growing up as an orphan in London had taught him how to navigate through the chaos of the underground passages.
Pete, my grandfather, preferred the name he chose for himself. He hated “William.” He was half Irish and half Scottish, from the Fraser Clan of Lovat — a lineage known for its mix of Highland and Lowland roots. Born in Yarmouth, England, sometime around 1907 (he could never quite remember), he was orphaned early when his mother died in the Spanish flu epidemic. We don’t know what happened to his father.
Sent to Newfoundland under a program that relocated British children overseas, he was supposed to join a wealthy Fraser relative. They didn’t want him. Instead, he ran, hiding in barns among African-Canadian communities who let him be, until he was finally caught. It was back to orphan life.
Never adopted, he grew up fast. By 10, he could drive a car and shoot a gun. After working farms across Canada and the U.S., he briefly joined the RCMP before enlisting in the Calgary Highlanders when the Second World War began.
War suited him, but not in the way people think. He trained troops and served overseas in the Hebridean Islands of Scotland, using Gaelic to communicate in secret. He became close to the nurses stationed there, later defending them in court when fellow soldiers sexually harassed them — a rare act of bravery few men would have engaged in at the time. I’m proud of him for that.
He survived Dieppe. He survived the London Blitz. And as family stories go, he even fought a hand-to-hand duel with a Nazi soldier in a field in France — and won. Later, he worked as a prison guard aboard the RMS Queen Mary, the legendary troop ship now docked in Long Beach, California, said to be one of the most haunted places in the world.
After the war, Pete settled in Vancouver. He worked at the Hotel Vancouver — now the Fairmont — and became a skilled palm reader, trained by an American psychic, perhaps even Houdini himself, who often stayed at the same hotel. Sundays meant church in the morning and palm readings in the afternoon, a curious blend of faith and mystical intuition!
I like to think I inherited some of that curiosity: a love of photography, a fascination with mystery (and the California coast!). He photographed trains, troops and stations during the war; I photograph the world around me today. When I watch World War II films and see soldiers pushed to their limits, I think of him and how, against the odds, he faced it all with steady discipline. Then, I think of how easy life is for us today. How spoiled we’ve become, complaining about the 30 minutes we have to spend on the cardio machine. I mean, come on!
I wish I’d known my grandfather Pete. Maybe one day I’ll visit Scotland and listen for stories in the language he once used to keep secrets safe. Perhaps I’ll feel closer to the man who shaped at least some, if not much, of who I am.
Louise Boilevin was born in Vancouver and grew up in Kits. She has been a Megaphone vendor for mored than a decade. Politically active and a champion for human and animal rights, Louise has taken part in marches for social housing, sex worker rights, and the movement to stop animal cruelty. She’s involved in outreach work at WISH Drop-In Centre, which provides services and a space for women involved in Vancouver’s street-based sex trade.
