Oceans Couldn't Keep Them Apart: Lance Corporal Lawrence Coddington’s Story

Some war stories are written in frontline battle reports and operational maps, while others unfold across decades in yellowed letters, unspoken hopes, and a devotion that refused to fade. Today’s profile honors my great-uncle, Lance Corporal Lawrence Edward Coddington; brother to my grandfather and to Uncle Al. Lawrence's path as a Canadian Army veteran took him through the heart of liberated Europe, forged under fire in the Algonquin Regiment, and led to an extraordinary real-life romance that spanned twenty years, two continents, and an ocean of patience.   

Lance Corporal Lawrence Edward Coddington (1925–2001)

The Algonquin Regiment, Canadian Army

Born in St. Marys, Ontario, on September 8, 1925, Lawrence Edward Coddington grew up in a family deeply rooted in our town. As the Second World War entered its critical final stages, Lawrence stepped forward to serve, enlisting in the Canadian Army on March 5, 1944.

Deployed overseas into the cold, muddy campaigns of Northwest Europe, 19-year-old Lawrence was attached to the renowned Algonquin Regiment; a fierce battle-tested infantry unit pushing through Belgium, the Netherlands, and eventually across the border into Germany. The push to liberate Western Europe was relentless, fought through flooded dike fields, ruined villages, and heavy enemy artillery.

Qualified as a typing clerk, Lance Corporal Coddington held a vital post at tactical headquarters near the front lines. In the high-stakes fog of war, military operations relied heavily on rapid, absolute accuracy behind the keyboard. Positioned in field tents and requisitioned command posts within earshot of heavy gunfire, Lawrence was tasked with recording daily battle reports, maintaining troop strength logs, processing casualty lists, and typing urgent operational orders for company commanders. In an army moving at rapid speed across enemy lines, accurate paperwork, clear communication, and precise logistics were literally matters of life and death. Lawrence’s post demanded steady focus, sharp discipline, and incredible composure under extreme pressure.   

Yet amid the noise and destruction of late 1944, fate stepped in. Following intense fighting during the Battle of the Scheldt, Lawrence's unit was stationed in the newly liberated Dutch town of Waalwijk. Because local infrastructure had been shattered by retreating German forces, Lawrence was billeted at the Waalwijk town hall alongside local displaced families whose homes had been damaged. Among them was a young 13-year-old Dutch girl named Gerda von Berkel and her family.   

Far from his family in St. Marys, the young Canadian corporal found comfort in the warmth of the von Berkel family. Though Gerda spoke no English, Lawrence spent his off-duty hours sharing quiet conversations translated through her mother, trading stories of home, family, and life in Ontario. After two or three weeks billeted together, Lawrence moved out with his regiment to continue the campaign into Germany. He returned briefly to Waalwijk for a visit at Christmas before completing his wartime duty and sailing home to Canada following his honorable discharge on June 1, 1946.   

For the next ten years, the Canadian veteran and his Dutch friend remained distant pen pals, exchanging little more than birthday greetings and Christmas cards across the Atlantic.   

Then, in 1955, while working in the office at Hutton Transport back home in Southwestern Ontario, Lawrence decided it was time to settle down. He penned a carefully worded letter across the Atlantic to Gerda; a gentle invitation proposing she come to St. Marys to see if she might like to build a life together, while thoughtfully making clear that if she chose not to stay, he would completely understand.   

Gerda longed to say yes, but under Dutch custom at the time for women under 30, her father insisted she stay. She wrote back in Dutch declining the invitation. Fearing the worst outcome, Lawrence couldn't bring himself to have the Dutch letter translated. For nearly ten years, the veteran carried that untranslated letter in his pocket everywhere he went, leaving the truth unspoken. 

It wasn't until 1964, while planning a European trip, that Lawrence finally had the letter deciphered by a translator. Realizing what had truly happened, he flew across the Atlantic, traveled unannounced to Waalwijk, and knocked directly on the door.   

When Gerda opened it, she was stunned to see Lawrence standing on the doorstep in a smart civilian suit; her Canadian soldier, twenty years after they first met in the ruins of war. "I still get goosebumps when I think about it," Gerda later recalled. With her father having passed away, she was free to make her own choice. She looked at him and declared simply, "I'm going to Canada."   

Lawrence bought a dozen carnations and a diamond ring right in Holland. Gerda visited the Canadian embassy in the Netherlands, where the ambassador, a native of Kitchener, happily assured her she was moving to "the prettiest town in Ontario." On May 21, 1964, Lawrence took a half-day off work from Hutton Transport to meet his bride-to-be at Toronto International Airport.   

The couple married, honeymooned at Niagara Falls, and went on to celebrate over 25 years of devoted marriage together in St. Marys.   

For many years, Uncle Lawrence lived right on Cain Street, directly next door to the cemetery grounds. Though our local landscape continues to change, his story remains an extraordinary, unforgettable chapter in our family history. Great-Uncle Lawrence passed away on June 11, 2001, leaving a proud legacy of wartime service, quiet resilience, and an enduring love story that proved oceans couldn't keep true hearts apart.   

We will remember him.