This is the story of the part played by
a corvette of the Royal Canadian Navy, the Matapcd;a in
easing the suffering of countless Allied seamen during the
war. In fact, there are ex-crew members of the Matanedtc
who firmly believe that our crew were responsible for winning
the war. Personally I would have given our Stoker Mahoney
a medal. But I was only a sub-lieutenant (temporary). and
as it turned out the credit went to otheis including a couple
of doctors named Charles Best, co-discoverer of insulin,
and Wilder Penfield, renowned head. of the Montreal Neurological
Institute.
They were among the eminent medical men and research scientists
who developed Pill
But we made it possible.
This was no ordinary pill. Officially known as the Royal
Canadian Navy Seasickness Remedy, it gave protection against
one of man’s ghastliest miseries. Until it emerged
from the laboratory in 1943. there were times when some
doubt existed as to which was the greater menace in the
Battle of the Atlantic: the enem, lurking below the surface
of the sea, or the heaving innards of Allied seamen. Pill
# 2-183 settled the stomachs in many rolling ship and pitching
landing-craft, and no doubt helped to bring victory.
The remarkable thing about the development of Pill 2-183
is that the doctors were seeking a remedy for an ailment
that, until a short time before, did not officially exist.
Throughout the centuries since man first won to sea. the
medical profession had maintained a strange and stubborn
attitude towards seasickness A man might lie moaning in
a ship’s bunk, or be too weak to crawl to the rail,
but actually nothing was wrong with him medically. Until,
that is, His Majesty’s Canadian corvette Matapedia
made her determined and hitherto unsung stand in the dark
winter of 1941.
The Matapedia was one of the early convoy escort-vessels
built to fight the U-boat menace in the Norm Atlantic Her
western base was St. Johns, Newfoundland: the eastern terminus
was a wild and forsaken lcelandic fiord A round trip took
about a month. None of the Canadian corvettes had doctors,
and we had to rely for medical advice on the odd destroyer
we might meet.
Stoker Mahoney, the reluctant hero of this story. joined
the Matapedia in December 1941. He had been trying desperately
to get to sea, and this was his first ship. He was a proud
and patriotic man when the Matapeoia eased out of St. John’s
harbour. Ten minutes later Stoker Mahoney was flat on his
back. violently ill.
Of course, he was by no means alone in his agony. By the
time the little ship had settled into her familiar’
corkscrew motion for which corvettes were infamous, a large
percentage of the crew and officers were feeling unwell.
But while most of the men recovered as soon as they got
their sea lets, it became apparent that stoker Mahoney had
all the symptoms of a chronic case. The chief engineer reported
to the captain that the new hand was unless at his job and
had been told to remain in his hammock.
As the voyage progressed, the sick stoker became cause for
serious alarm. On one occasion when went to see, him his
grey face had a cadaverous look. He had lost considerable
weight. and being small he now presented a frightening appearance.
Moreover, he had given up interest in everything, including
life
Sixteen and a half days out of St. John’s found the
Matapedia in Iceland, tied up alongside a big British depot
ship, which carried several medical officers. We handed
Stoker Mahoney over them, convinced that the would order
him into sick bay for a long cure
I was delegated to go aboard the depot ship and obtain the
medical report on Mahoney. i suppose yi&. are here about
Mahoney the medical officer said. There is nothing wrong
with him
He’s a seasickness case.” I said.
Nonsense. Lots of chappies get seasick the surgeon-com-mander
said. He will joggle out of it inn few days
Mahoney is chronic case, sir, I persisted. “Before
he joggles out of it he will be dead
Now, look here. he commander saia. 1 have examined the chap
thoroughly. and except for being cin trifle undernourished,
he is really top-hole shape. Heart and lungs absolutely
first-class. I can’t take him oh your complement without
a valid reason
We had no alternative, then, but to accept Stroke Mahoney
hack aboard. and when we sailed from veland the poor man
was with us sicker than ever.
Off the coast of Iceland we ran into an eighty-mile-an-hour
gale that smashed our bridge, and when we finally reached
the Atlantic coast we were oroered to Halifax for repairs
From the captain down to the mcs ordinary seaman there was
one thought aboard the Matapedia: to get to Halifax before
Stoker Mahoney ,
We knew he was dying. if not from seasickness. then from
starvation and weakness. The voaoe
halifax was a race, and we won it Once the ship was tied
up to the jetty arid motionless, Mahoney was ableto keep
down some nourishment. We got him off to the base medical
office, trusting that this wooL be the step in his journey
to some landlocked naval detachment.
“What are you doing here. Mahoney? the astonished officer
of the watch demand “I was told to report back aboard,
sir,’ the unhappy stoker said. “I have got to
rejoin m~’ ship they sai “Didn’t you see
the medical officer?”
“Yes, sir. And he said there was nothing wrong with
me”
This news was passed along to the captain, who took it grimly
It was obvious the Mahonet’ cook! n survive another
spell at sea. A conference was called, and several possible
courses of action were present and promptly discarded as
unfeasible.
“Actually,” I said finally, “this thing is
bigger them Mahoney. It touches on the entire war effort
We ca stop now. We have got to carry it right through to
the end.”
Starting at a low level, we progressed up the ladder through
the various echelons of the Executi Branch. In some instances
we received a sympathetic hearing, but everyone declared
that his hands were tie If the Medical Branch refused to
accept chronic seasickness as a fact, then it was hopeless.
because no on but an admiral could dictate to the Medical
Branch.
“All right,” our captain said,” “we’ll
rucdy well see the admiral.’ Jones. Commanding Officer.
Atlanti Coast (Halifax), was a glorious moment in the history
of the Allied forces in the Second World War The admir listened
sympathetically to our presentation of the Mahoney case.
From my back seat, where my one gold strip was not too conspicuous,
I chose the opportunity to enlarge on the theme. It was
unfortunate. I said, that th RCN was a navy of small ships
which id not rate medical officers. All these young medical
men were rushin to the colours, anxious to wear the proud
navy blue, yet except for a few appointed to destroyers
or sent on loan in Britain, they were denied the opportunity
of seeing the broad Atlantic from the deck of a warship.
The admiral seemed aware that there were many medical officers
in Halifax at that time. He confirmed this by calling in
his chief of staff, who advised him that a new draft of
surgeon-lieutenants had recently arrived from Toronto.
“Fine. What is the weather forecast for tomorrow’
“Strong easterly winds, sir.”
“Right,” the admiral said. “Arrange for a
ship to take all available medical officers on manoeuvres
tomorrow.”
The admiral looked at the delegation from the Ma/aped/a.
“Nothing like a little sea time to clear away the cobwebs,”
he remarked cheerfully.
The ship taking the medical party to sea was a Bangor-class
minesweeper which, if anything. was even more uncomfortable
than a corvette. She cleared the harbour at 0600 hours,
crowded to the gunwales with men wearing the red and gold
of the Medical Branch. Late that evening she returned.
The following morning I went to see the first lieutenant
of the minesweeper. All he could tell me about the cruise
was that it was “a ruddy shambles.” Then he added.
“You know, there was such a crush of those medical
officers trying to get to the rail that we had to organize
them in parties. We’d call out. ‘First Seasick
Party, ho! Advance three steps to the rail. all together
now! First Seasick Party about face, Second Seasick Party,
fall in!”’
Meanwhile we had worked fast. Before the medical office
was open that morning. Stoker Mahoney was parked on the
steps, carrying his papers and the ship’s file on his
case. He was first in the queue which some medical officers,
still looking a little green, reported for duty. Within
half an hour Mahoney was back aboard ship to get his gear,
his face wreathed in smiles. He showed us the folder containing
his papers. Across it was stamped “Unfit for Sea Duty,”
and underneath, in shaky ink, “Chronic Seasickness.”
Aboard the Matapedia there was a victory celebration that
night We had put seasickness on the medical map.
We make no boastful claims about the subsequent course of
event. Suffice it to say that when the medical profession
accepts the fact that a condition exists, they usually lose
no time in seeking a cure for it. So finally, in 1943, out
of the laboratories emerged a mixture of hyoscine HBr. and
ethyl-B-methy1-ally1- thiobarbituric acid that became the
famous Pill No. 2-183.
Let the honours fall where they may. We of the Matapedia
will be content with this small postscript.
Condensed from Maclean’s Magazine
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