KOCH, William “Bill” Martin, LCdr (Ret’d), OMM, CD, RCN-Sea Log, RCLS
It is with deep sadness we announce the passing and profound loss of William Martin Koch — Son, Wes and Lorianne by his side, holding each hand as he peacefully slipped awa 3 January 2025. A strong, proud man till the finish line. Father, grandfather, friend, uncle and gentleman. Nanaimo Bar aficionado. And sailor. He was pre-deceased by his beloved wife Anne and eldest son Doug. He leaves behind his son Wes Koch, daughter Lorianne Koch, son-in-law Ian Calvert, granddaughter Gracie Calvert, brother John Koch, and numerous cousins, nieces and nephews claiming him as their favourite uncle.
On November 26, 1933, Bill became the newest member of his industrious family in the hamlet of Manola, Alberta, tucked into the county of Barrhead. His parents, Jakob and Louise, had emigrated earlier in April 1925 from Surcin, Yugoslavia. German was the language of choice spoken in his home till Bill left 17 years later. Some favourite childhood pastimes included smoking pencil shavings rolled in newspaper with his brothers behind the barn, riding Bud, the family horse, and driving the family vehicle into ‘town’ without his father’s permission. His first brush with fame was as an 8-year-old playing his accordion on the Saturday afternoon Barrhead radio show. His reward: a red leather bag filled with marbles. It’s still somewhere in the basement. During these frugal times, he sustained himself with his favourite snack: lard slathered on his mother’s home-baked bread. Dad was honoured at the age of 14 to bake his older sister Eva’s wedding cake; this fostered his love of baking — and taste-testing. He baked his specialty Nanaimo Bars until the age of 87.
Bill’s athletic pursuits included hockey, baseball, and boxing — the latter taking him to bouts across the province, where he racked up Golden Glove titles, a few broken bones, and countless bruises, all regarded as badges of honour. He continued to box into his twenties. He was disappointed that his enlistment in the Royal Canadian Navy at age 17 curtailed an invitation to compete at the 1954 Commonwealth Games in Vancouver. He endured basic training in Cornwallis, and his first posting took him to Victoria, BC. He had found his path. The world is a big place, and he wanted to get a good look at it before it got dark. The Navy gave him that chance.
His second brush with fame was surviving the crash of a four-engine North Star at the RCAF air base in Vancouver in December 1953. His recovery in hospital made the front page of the Vancouver Sun. Next stop: one of the most rewarding postings of his life. Dad landed at Naval Radio Station (NRS) HMCS Aklavik in the Northwest Territories in 1954. Later that year, he tempted fate once again by boarding a single-engine Norseman that ran out of fuel during an Arctic flight. The aircraft skillfully glided in for a landing in -30F weather on the frozen MacKenzie River. Oh, the luck of this man.
Personnel and their families in Aklavik weathered rustic conditions, and severe hardships. Dwellings lacked central heating, water and sewage. None of this deterred Bill from making the most of every day up there. His perennial sunny disposition shone constantly and drew the shy, soft-spoken schoolteacher Annie Tkaczuk from Wroxton, Saskatchewan to him. Dad had a plan. He knew she loved the square-dancing club; he became a member and put himself in the running for the coveted role of club president. The plan worked. She fell hard for this confident, twinkly-eyed, handsome lad a few years her junior. They enjoyed dog-sledding, skating, playing cards, betting on the MacKenzie River ice breakup date every spring, and making friends who became lifelong members of their Christmas list. And one day in August 1956, Mom pressed her grey skirt with matching jacket and married Dad. No bouquets were to be had up north and tossed. A corsage would do. Their guest list was small — Dusty and Connie Miller. More than enough to celebrate the union and toast them on their way to a life together that thrived for 46 years.
Kids came next: Doug in 1958, Wes in 1960 and Lorianne in 1964. Dad hitched the Scamper trailer to the white Impala, coaxed the cat to climb aboard and carted us west to east and back again on military postings. He served aboard nine ships, from minesweepers to cruisers, at Command Headquarters on both the Atlantic and Pacific coasts. In 1982, Dad was flown to Ottawa along with Mom and awarded the Order of Military Merit by Governor General of Canada Ed Schreyer. He was quietly proud of that honour. Trademark Bill.
A change of scenery was in order. He reported to United Nations Truce Supervision Organization (UNTSO) headquarters on May 2, 1984. Two weeks after arriving in Beirut, Dad was conducting a mobile patrol alongside his Swedish patrol mate in West Beirut. Minutes into their rounds, they were staring down the business end of several Kalashnikov rifles (his words) and hijacked by members of a Muslim militia. They were ordered from their UN vehicle and lined up against a cement wall with their backs to the hijackers, who then sped away in their vehicle, which contained their flak jackets, helmets and VHF radio. Good riddance, Dad recalled. Later on, the bullet-ridden license plate was mailed to Dad as a postcard of his ordeal.
After six months of dodging anti-tank and anti-personnel mines, small arms, artillery and tank fire, Dad was transferred to the more peaceful Observer Group Lebanon, while Mom was safely secured in Nahariyya, Israel, with other civilian family members on the shores of the Mediterranean. Together, on Dad’s down days, they travelled through the Middle East, kicked some tires at local bazaars, and embraced the local culture and food. Their Christmas card list took on a more international flavour as more friends were added. Dad and Mom returned to Canada for a holiday break in June ’87 when he suffered a heart attack. He hung up his Canadian-issued desert boots for good: license plate UNTSO 132 always hung proudly in the family home on Lampson Street, his blue beret perched on the hat rack in the front hallway — constant reminders of his three most challenging, enjoyable and often frightening years in “the service of peace”.
Dad sailed on his own for a while after Anne passed in 2002. And then Yvonne walked in — we were delighted he found love a second time. They spent their time exploring the island and beyond, chatting and laughing, storm-watching. People-watching. Living well.
Through the years, Dad ensured we knew how to bait a hook. Make a campfire. Read a road map. Change a tire. Play an instrument. Play fair. Sharpen a jackknife. Look after a pet. Look after each other. Stay in touch. Volunteer. Hold the door open for someone. Grab the bill. He would always find a widget that needed tinkering, rustling up a steaming cup of coffee to serve alongside his famous Nanaimo Bars, and a song to be sung at a church service or family reunion back home in Barrhead.
He was a man of service to the communities in which he lived, and the outstanding peacekeeping assignments which brought credit to his country and his service made him a man we are so proud to have called our father.
Dad — fair winds and following seas. Rest in peace. You are missed.
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Bill requested no service. When you think of it, please raise a glass — or Nanaimo Bar — in his memory.