Two Royal Norwegian Navy gunners share a moment of respite aboard merchant ship Montevideo circa 1942.[Riksarkivet/Digalt museer/Fo3014180205007]

Norwegian Able Seaman Paul Ellefsen had weathered storms before, but what he faced on April 9, 1940, was something entirely different.

The 19-year-old mariner, hailing from the herring town of Haugesund and having already been at sea for several years, recalled waves “as big as mountains” where he felt his vessel would never climb out of their watery valleys.

This, though, was a storm unlike any other. 

Able Seaman Paul Ellefsen trained for the Norwegian merchant marine in Nova Scotia.[Nortraship]

News that Norway had been invaded by the Nazis had stuck him like “a thunderbolt from a clear sky,” consuming him with shock and rage.

Yet in some respects, he was one of the lucky ones. Docked in San Pedro in the United States, Ellefsen was technically safe from German occupation.

So too, were the more than 1,000 Norwegian merchant ships scattered through the oceans when word also reached them of Hitler’s scheme.

Now, however, these crews had an unimaginable choice to make. Either the men return to Norway, thus bowing to the demands of Vidkun Quisling—the country’s Nazi collaborationist leader-in-waiting—or follow the Norwegian government-in-exile’s orders and head for Allied or neutral ports.

Not a single vessel obeyed Norway’s infamous traitor.

With one of the world’s largest merchant navies out of enemy hands, thoughts promptly drifted to how, exactly, it could help liberate the homeland.

Ellefsen’s time would come, but as hundreds and hundreds of Norwegian seamen descended upon Halifax, a new home was needed.

It would be far from smooth sailing.

On Nov. 3, 1941, a Norwegian gunnery school opened in Lunenburg, N.S.[Riksarkivet/Digalt museer/Fo30141802070148]

While the Norwegians continued pouring into Halifax Harbour during the spring and summer of 1940, Canadian authorities—perhaps influenced by distorted news reports that Norway had passively accepted the invasion—remained vigilant for Quisling spies and fifth columnists among the crews. 

Refused permission to come ashore, the seamen waited for a breakthrough in negotiations, left to ponder the fate of their faraway families.

The first breakthrough came in late April when the Norwegian government-in-exile—by then based in England—offered the services of its large merchant fleet to the Allies. A company called the Norwegian Shipping and Trade Mission—or Nortraship—was formed to oversee operations.

Camp Norway’s name-emblazoned gate remains in Lunenburg, N.S., today. [Marinemuseet/Forsvarets museer/MMU.940292]

The facility’s official opening on Nov. 29, 1940.[Marinemuseet/Forsvarets museer/MMU.944402]

With Norwegian naval personnel in the process of establishing offices in London, New York and Halifax, considerable progress was being made.

Finally in June, after weeks afloat in the harbour, an agreement between the Canadians and Norwegians allowed the seamen to again walk on dry land.

There were conditions, however. First and foremost was that a Norwegian camp, paid for by Nortraship, would be constructed where the men could live under Norwegian military control. Secondly, since Halifax was a hub of activity for transatlantic convoys, the facility would need to be outside the city limits.

The question of location was answered by Liberal MP John James Kinley, who volunteered Lunenburg, N.S., in his electoral district as a potential site for the coastal base. Situated a reasonably short distance from Halifax and renowned for its shipbuilding industry, the Royal Norwegian Navy approved the move.

Dubbed Camp Norway, construction began as the Norwegians began filtering into the town in September. The men were temporarily housed in the Lunenburg Curling Club—nicknamed The Rink—until their new barracks could be built.

In the meantime, preparations were underway for trouble.

Acting Police Chief Hugh Corkum was not strictly against the soon-to-be-opened Camp Norway, but he had his reservations.

Though the 30-year-old officer had not yet familiarized himself with the town’s incoming Scandinavian guests, he had spent enough time at sea—and not always on the right side of the law—to be ready for anything.

The Lunenburg native was wary of alcohol in a seaman’s hands, not least those he thought had good reason to drown their sorrows amid the hardships of war and the absence of loved ones. He had served under drunken ship captains, had watched crews waste their wages on liquor, and had even participated in rum-running between the French islands of Saint-Pierre and Miquelon off the coast of Newfoundland and the United States during the Prohibition era.

After weeks afloat in the harbour, an agreement between the Canadians and Norwegians allowed the seamen to again walk on dry land.

It had since become Corkum’s job to enforce the law, not break it. What would residents say if he failed so soon after taking on his sick superior’s duties?

At a meeting with the Halifax chief of police, it was determined that up to four extra officers would be needed as a precautionary measure.

Norwegian recruits carry out rowing exercises near Lunenburg, N.S. [Marinemuseet/Forsvarets museer/MMU.944446]

Whether such fears were misplaced remained to be seen. Watching the men arrive, all Corkum knew was that they were a “fine-looking crowd.”

Camp Norway was founded on Nov. 29, 1940. The site, situated on the harbour’s south side, ultimately comprised the main barracks, a mess, storage buildings, a garage and a carpentry shop, all surrounded by a two-metre-high chain-link fence with several anti-aircraft and 76mm guns for protection.

The facility’s primary goal was to provide basic military training to seamen for the Royal Norwegian Navy, as well as refit several Norwegian whaling ships for war service. Additionally, Camp Norway would be incorporated into the Canadian coastal defence against the German U-boat menace.

Older men and those deemed unfit were also to be put to work in various sectors such as agriculture, forestry, fishing and, of course, shipbuilding.

The Norwegian contingent in town and beyond grew during the years, including a short-lived Norwegian Army base from 1942 to 1943, shipbuilding amenities in nearby Liverpool and a convalescent home in Chester.

And all the while, the mariners were making an impression on the locals. 

Paul Ellefsen’s experience as a seaman was about to change forever.

The rage he had once felt on a San Pedro dock had never fully gone away, at first compelling him to find a means of fighting the Germans more directly, but he had been convinced to stay on with his current ship duties.

Already, Ellefsen had sailed much of the globe with vital Allied war materiel. Already, he had felt the terror of seeing smoke on the ocean horizon. Already, he had lost a dear friend, serving aboard another ship, to enemy action.

It was no longer enough. He intended to train as a gunner on merchant naval vessels, affording him the chance to fire back at would-be assailants.

Camp Norway could give him that chance.

The mariners march, in what became a Sunday tradition, to Zion’s Lutheran Church. [“Somewhere” on the East Coast of Canada]

Camp Norway was founded on Nov. 29, 1940. The facility’s primary goal was to provide basic military training to seamen for the Royal Norwegian Navy.

On Nov. 3, 1941—just under a year after the base had officially opened its name-emblazoned gate—a Norwegian gunnery school opened in Lunenburg to complement the basic military training facility.

Ellefsen passed through the very same gate in February 1942. There, the now-21-year-old sailor settled into the Royal Norwegian Navy’s routine. Days started with the bugle call bellowed out by “a small and very popular fellow” from Ellefsen’s hometown of Haugesund.

Crown Prince Olav and Princess Märtha visit Camp Norway in February 1942. [Marinemuseet/Forsvarets museer/MMU.944421]

With the Norwegian flag and Union Jack flying above the grounds, recruits learned the theoretical and practical use of numerous weapons, among other exercises. Aboard a recently converted whaling-turned-training ship, Ellefsen remembered firing mounted weapons in Lunenburg’s harbour, knowing that within a few weeks, such skills could help keep him and crew members alive.

Spare time was spent in Lunenburg itself. The Norwegians frequented the town’s restaurants and hotels, putting considerable—if not wholly unwelcome—strain on businesses until the Prince Olav Cafe was opened, its kitchen catering to the sailors’ taste for strong coffee and other Norwegian comforts.

Prospective Norwegian gunners receive weapons training.[Marinemuseet/Forsvarets museer/MMU.944447]

It wouldn’t be the only royal presence during Camp Norway’s tenure. On two separate occasions, Crown Prince Olav himself—eventual successor to the Norwegian throne—accompanied by his wife Princess Märtha, visited the town to considerable fanfare from sailors and Lunenburg residents alike.

On one of the trips, the royal couple witnessed the sailors’ Sunday tradition of marching to Zion’s Lutheran Church for services. Ellefsen participated in similar parades, which were a hit with locals.

Romance between the Norwegian men and Canadian women was likewise in the cards, as military authorities had anticipated by creating a $5,000 bond to support potential children from such liaisons. Reportedly, it was needed only once, although many marriages blossomed from these relationships.

Lunenburg had come to respect its wartime visitors, finding common ground in a people whose ancestors had also been defined by the sea. Like the Vikings, these descendants had travelled far and wide, albeit under completely different circumstances. Yet what of the more notorious, if debated, aspects of their forebears? Had the obvious distinctions been made clear?

Camp Norway trainees celebrate Christmas in Canada in 1941. [Marinemuseet/Forsvarets museer/MMU.944434]

Policeman Corkum’s concerns had foreseen a handful of confrontations with the law, but fundamentally, he, too, had discovered his admiration for the men.

Since being promoted to chief after the passing of his former boss, he had arrested the odd drunken sailor, broken up the odd fight at dance halls and bolstered the odd shore patrol in the occasional raid for AWOL personnel. Nevertheless, the small-town cop could concede that “things started to level off to more normal living” after the initial growing pains.

If these were the last Vikings, they were a new breed with undeniably righteous motives: to contribute toward the liberation of their homeland.

That goal seemed increasingly within reach after the U.S. entered the war. What’s more, the American involvement meant New York had become even more important for transatlantic convoys. So, in the spring of 1943, Camp Norway was moved to Travers Island near the U.S. city, prompting the closure of the Lunenburg site on June 25.

It was a sad day for many, but the prevailing emotion was pride in the estimated 1,200 Royal Norwegian Navy recruits and 600 gunners trained at the base. Among those grateful for the sailors’ presence was local MP Kinley. During a March 14, 1944, speech in the House of Commons, he said: “If we have any typically Canadian decoration I think it should be given to those Norwegians, for they earned it by their courage, their discipline and their contribution to this country…. When we said goodbye to these Norwegians we felt that we were losing good citizens.”

Tragically, if inevitably, the greatest losses would be felt beyond any training camp, regardless of location. Approximately 4,000 Norwegian merchant seamen paid the ultimate sacrifice without ever seeing their country freed.

Ellefsen remained one of the lucky ones, even after graduating as a gunner and again serving in the Norwegian merchant marine, now armed. The still-young seaman had suffered significant trauma and endured numerous harrowing incidents when the war ended. Most unforgettable, however, was his ship journey back to the land he had left behind. Home, he said, “never looked so beautiful, and so fairy tale-like, as when the mountains of Southern Norway first appeared, growing higher the closer we got to the coast.”

Meanwhile in Lunenburg, Corkum’s policing career continued, and, in the years to come, his son would follow in his footsteps. Neither he nor the town had seen the last of the Norwegians, a proportion of whom moved to the community to be with their Canadian sweethearts. Others brought their new wives back to Norway for a fresh start across the ocean.

Memorials dedicated to Camp Norway have since been erected in Nova Scotia in Lunenburg, Liverpool and Chester, and in 1994, a local reunion was held in the veterans’ honour. Attended by the former sailors living in Norway, Canada or elsewhere, the event helped seal the bond between the province and their returning guests.

Today, an ever-dwindling number of people can vividly recall when the Norwegians made Lunenburg their home away from home. Memories are instead kept alive by their children and family members who, like some of the seamen themselves, made this proud Bluenose town their real home.