HMCS Haida

Listen first. Water slaps against a steel hull, and gulls call over Hamilton Harbour. Underfoot, the deck plates ring a little as you walk. Breathe in and you may notice it. Old paint, oil, salt air and warm metal, all mixed together. This is the smell of a working warship. It has outlasted the war it was built for.

You are standing aboard HMCS Haida, a Tribal-class destroyer of the Royal Canadian Navy. She was built in Britain, on the River Tyne in northeast England, and she joined the Canadian fleet in 1943. Today she rests at a pier on Hamilton's waterfront. She is a National Historic Site, cared for by Parks Canada. And she has a rare distinction. Of all the Tribal-class destroyers built for several navies, she is the only one still afloat.

The Tribals were designed in the 1930s as large, heavily armed destroyers. They were fast and aggressive ships, meant to fight other warships as well as escort convoys. Look forward along the deck and you will see the gun turrets. These were the ship's main voice in battle. Beside them are the torpedo mounts and the anti-aircraft guns. Every space was planned around one question. How do we fight, and how do we survive?

Her first hard work came in the Arctic. Haida helped escort convoys that carried supplies to the Soviet port of Murmansk. Think of the conditions. There was freezing spray, ice building up on the rails, and darkness for much of the day. Sailors chipped ice from the upper deck so the ship would not become top-heavy. Those runs were among the most dangerous duties of the war at sea.

In 1944 she moved to the English Channel. In the months before and after the Normandy landings, destroyers like Haida hunted German ships along the French coast. Many of these fights happened at night, at close range and at high speed. Haida took part in actions that sank or drove ashore several enemy vessels, including destroyers and smaller warships. She also shared in the sinking of a German submarine. By the war's end, she had earned a nickname. People called her Canada's fightingest ship.

One night in late April 1944 stands apart from the others. Haida was operating with her sister ship, HMCS Athabaskan, off the coast of Brittany. In the battle, Athabaskan was torpedoed and sank. Haida's commander, Harry DeWolf, faced a terrible choice. He stopped his ship in dangerous waters to pull survivors from the sea. Then he had to leave before daylight exposed them to attack.

Here is a detail many visitors miss. As Haida left, one of her small boats stayed behind, and her crew kept picking men out of the water. That small boat made the long trip back to England on its own. Many of Athabaskan's crew were lost that night, including her captain. Others became prisoners of war. Haida carried the memory of that night for the rest of her career.

Now walk below decks and notice how tight the space feels. Ladders are steep. Doorways have high sills that you must step over. In wartime, a destroyer like this carried a crew of more than two hundred people. Sailors slept in hammocks slung above the mess tables where they ate. Off-duty men slept near men coming on watch. There was very little privacy and constant noise, and the smell of wet wool was everywhere.

The story did not end in 1945. Haida was modernized after the war and served again during the Korean War in the early 1950s. She made two tours in Korean waters. Part of that work was bombarding coastal railways. Canadian destroyers became known for catching supply trains as they came out of tunnels along the shore. Sailors joked about a so-called Trainbusters Club for ships that destroyed enemy trains.

After Korea, she settled into peacetime duties, training and patrols through the 1950s. She was paid off in the early 1960s, and she could easily have gone to the scrapyard. That is what happened to her sisters. Instead, a group of former sailors and supporters raised money to save her. For many years she was displayed in Toronto. Later she came under federal care. In 2003, she was towed to Hamilton, where she has stayed ever since.

Hamilton suits her. This city has deep ties to steel and to the Great Lakes, and its harbour has always been a working place. From the deck, look across the water. You can see the industrial shoreline, with its cranes and chimneys. Closer in are the parks and walking paths of the waterfront. Haida sits between those two worlds. She is a machine of war in a city that knows how machines are made.

As you move around, pay attention to the small things. There are worn handrails, polished by countless hands. There are painted signs and stencils on the bulkheads, the steel walls inside the ship. Look for the voice pipes, metal tubes that let officers shout orders between decks. On the bridge, the open command position high up front, picture an officer exposed to wind, spray and enemy fire for hour after hour. Then climb down and compare it with the engine spaces far below.

The ship is also a teaching space. Volunteers and staff often share stories of the people who served aboard. Some of these stories come from the sailors themselves. This matters, because steel alone tells only half the story. The other half lives in letters, photographs and memories. Ask questions while you are here. Interpreters often know small, human details that no plaque can hold.

Before you step back onto the pier, pause on the open deck for a moment. Feel the slight movement of the hull beneath your feet. Listen again to the water and the gulls. This ship crossed Arctic seas, fought at night off France, and came home with her rescued and her dead. Now she rests quietly in a Hamilton harbour. As you walk away, look back once at her grey profile against the water... and remember the young crews who called her home.