Remembrance Day, November 11. - Printable Version +- Forums (https://www.theblitz.club/message_boards) +-- Forum: The Firing Line (https://www.theblitz.club/message_boards/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: Steel Panthers Series (https://www.theblitz.club/message_boards/forumdisplay.php?fid=14) +--- Thread: Remembrance Day, November 11. (/showthread.php?tid=43003)

Remembrance Day, November 11. - Weasel - 11-10-2007 Hi Guys; Here in Canada it will be Remembrance Day on Nov 11, and in the US it will be Veterans Day. In Canada we hold remembrance ceremonies throughout every town no matter how big or small; where persons gather at the local cenotaph to pay respects to those who fought and those who died in our wars and peace keeping missions. One thing that is always done is the reading of a famous poem, written on May 3, 1915 by LCol John McCrae, a surgeon in the Canadian army. Here is the story of how that poem was written, and the poem itself: LEST WE FORGET: (FROM arlingtoncemetery.net) Although he had been a doctor for years and had served in the South African War, it was impossible to get used to the suffering, the screams, and the blood here, and Major John McCrae had seen and heard enough in his dressing station to last him a lifetime. As a surgeon attached to the 1st Field Artillery Brigade, Major McCrae, who had joined the McGill faculty in 1900 after graduating from the University of Toronto, had spent seventeen days treating injured men -- Canadians, British, Indians, French, and Germans -- in the Ypres salient. It had been an ordeal that he had hardly thought possible. McCrae later wrote of it: "I wish I could embody on paper some of the varied sensations of that seventeen days... Seventeen days of Hades! At the end of the first day if anyone had told us we had to spend seventeen days there, we would have folded our hands and said it could not have been done." One death particularly affected McCrae. A young friend and former student, Lieut. Alexis Helmer of Ottawa, had been killed by a shell burst on 2 May 1915. Lieutenant Helmer was buried later that day in the little cemetery outside McCrae's dressing station, and McCrae had performed the funeral ceremony in the absence of the chaplain. The next day, sitting on the back of an ambulance parked near the dressing station beside the Canal de l'Yser, just a few hundred yards north of Ypres, McCrae vented his anguish by composing a poem. The major was no stranger to writing, having authored several medical texts besides dabbling in poetry. In the nearby cemetery, McCrae could see the wild poppies that sprang up in the ditches in that part of Europe, and he spent twenty minutes of precious rest time scribbling fifteen lines of verse in a notebook. A young soldier watched him write it. Cyril Allinson, a twenty-two year old sergeant-major, was delivering mail that day when he spotted McCrae. The major looked up as Allinson approached, then went on writing while the sergeant-major stood there quietly. "His face was very tired but calm as we wrote," Allinson recalled. "He looked around from time to time, his eyes straying to Helmer's grave." When McCrae finished five minutes later, he took his mail from Allinson and, without saying a word, handed his pad to the young NCO. Allinson was moved by what he read: "The poem was exactly an exact description of the scene in front of us both. He used the word blow in that line because the poppies actually were being blown that morning by a gentle east wind. It never occurred to me at that time that it would ever be published. It seemed to me just an exact description of the scene." In Flanders Fields By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918) Canadian Army IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow Between the crosses row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. RE: Remembrance Day, November 11. - brm_3k - 11-10-2007 An annual time for reflection......... Thanks for posting Chris Alex brm_3k RE: Remembrance Day, November 11. - Epoletov [SPR]. - 11-10-2007 Eternal memory to the victim soldiers for the Native land ! RE: Remembrance Day, November 11. - keepitloki - 11-10-2007 My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori. RE: Remembrance Day, November 11. - Epoletov [SPR]. - 11-10-2007 You probably live in safety and you and your people for a long time did not win. Also have not raped your women and did not kill your children and old men . People forget about it and forget that it happens sometime if they will not esteem soldiers of defenders of the native land ! RE: Remembrance Day, November 11. - Antoni Chmielowski - 11-10-2007 Tomorrow here in the UK, I will make the short walk to the Monument here in Southport, to watch the Rememberance Day Parade and to honour the memory of all those from all countries who have died in the service of their country. I am the son of a proud serviceman who served for 25 Years in the RAF. I hope everyone remembers those who have died tomorrow. The Ode of Rememberance "They went with songs to the battle, they were young. Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow. They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted, They fell with their faces to the foe. They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning, We will remember them. " RE: Remembrance Day, November 11. - keepitloki - 11-11-2007 I sincerely did not intend to cause any offense by quoting Wilfred Owen. RE: Remembrance Day, November 11. - Stonefire - 11-11-2007 I just come in mind of this song: Well, how do you do young Willie McBride? Do you mind if I sit hear down by your graveside, And rest for a while ‘neath the warm summer sun. I’ve been working all day and I’m nearly done. I can see by your gravestone you were only nineteen when you joined the great fallen in nineteen sixteen. Well I hope you died quick, and I hope you died clean, Oh Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene? Did they beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly, did they sound the death march, as they lowered you down? Did the bands play the last post and chorus? Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest? And did you leave a wife or sweetheart behind In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined, Although you died back in nineteen sixteen In some faithful heart are you forever nineteen? Or are you a stranger without even a name Enclosed now forever behind a glass frame In an old photograph torn, battered and stained And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame. Did they beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly, did they sound the death march, as they lowered you down? Did the bands play the last post and chorus? Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest? Now see how the sun shines o’er the green field of France There’s a warm summer breeze makes the red poppies dance, And see how the sun shines from under the clouds There’s no gas or barbed wire, there’s no guns firing now. But here in this graveyard it’s still no-man’s land The countless white crosses in mute witness stand To man’s blind difference to his fellow man To a whole generation who were butchered and damned. Did they beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly, did they sound the death march, as they lowered you down? Did the bands play the last post and chorus? Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest? Now young Willie McBride, I can’t help wonder why Do all those who lie here know why did they die. And did they believe when they answered the call Did they really believe that this war would end wars. Well the sorrow, the suffering, the glory the pain, The killing, the dying they were all done in vain For young Willie McBride it all happened again And again and again and again and again Did they beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly, did they sound the death march, as they lowered you down? Did the bands play the last post and chorus? Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest?