In Flanders Fields
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.
John McCrae (1872 - 1918)
And …
to those mates I served with …
“We lucky few, we band of brothers. For he who today sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.”
Say what you will about the politicians that foment all this nonsense. These men and women are the ones who pay the price. They’re not the slimy greaseball corrupt fuckwads. They’re people, just like you and me.
Their flames still burn.
When you see millions of the mouthless dead
Across your dreams in pale battalions go,
Say not soft things as other men have said,
That you’ll remember. For you need not so.
Give them not praise. For, deaf, how should they know
It is not curses heaped on each gashed head?
Nor tears. Their blind eyes see not your tears flow.
Nor honour. It is easy to be dead.
Say only this, ‘They are dead.’ Then add thereto,
‘Yet many a better one has died before.’
Then, scanning all the o’ercrowded mass, should you
Perceive one face that you loved heretofore,
It is a spook. None wears the face you knew.
Great death has made all his for evermore.
Nope, two of my former classmates are in Afghanistan right now. Hope you’re keeping safe, guys.
Just took part in the armistice ceremony at work. The Union Jack was flown (In Britland, flags are rarely flown) and some former members of my company came to lay the wreath of poppies on the remembrance monument in the quad. Then the bugle and the two minutes’ silence.
Please do not think me cynical nor disrespectful, but I have to quote my favourite poem:
at the goingdown of the sun
and in the morning
i try to remember them
but their names
are ordinary names
and their causes are thighbones
tugged excitedly from the soil
by frenchchildren
on picnics
It’s true. That’s why we say ‘Lest we forget’, I guess.
It’s easy to see anonymous lads, but being back home recently, I saw my name in bronze on the parish church. As I said, a few friends are in the forces, and it’s very easy to sit and discuss the ‘politics’ of what we call wars, but at the end of the day, I’m 34 and unfit for much, really. Those guys stand up and did/do it.
And the war memorial in the nearest village to where my mum and dad now live lists 282 names. Every single man of fighting age in the entire parish. From age 16 to age 53. Every. Single. Man. Can you imagine what that does to a community? I certainly cannot even begin to.
While not WWI - though my grandfather was in that one. I spent time reviewing the diary’s of one uncle, a rear gunner in a Lancaster, in WWII.
A normal lad, same as me or you. Chasing girls with limited success and telling his Sister about his adventures. A great read. Until it stops. He doesn’t come back. My Mother, talking of duddlebugs, paused every time as she remembered. She lived in London then.
I met a WWII sniper in Hannover years later. A man in his 80’s, and spent. His time was on the Russian front. He was broken, never to be fixed. A family moved to protect him from his memories doomed to fail.
My Grandfather was in the Tanks, spreading fear and death through the most insufferable savagery the world ever knew. His son died doing the same.
I am lucky, I spent time talking with the enemy. I mourn the loss for those I knew and did not.
My elders are dead now. I have no family to turn to and those younger turn to my generation. We never knew or experienced the hardships we were protected from with such a price. We feel ill equipped to take that responsibility for our generation. I think that that is a good thing.
[quote=“8Skippy”]While not WWI - though my grandfather was in that one. I spent time reviewing the diary’s of one uncle, a rear gunner in a Lancaster, in WWII.
A normal lad, same as me or you. Chasing girls with limited success and telling his Sister about his adventures. A great read. Until it stops. He doesn’t come back. My Mother, talking of duddlebugs, paused every time as she remembered. She lived in London then.
I met a WWII sniper in Hannover years later. A man in his 80’s, and spent. His time was on the Russian front. He was broken, never to be fixed. A family moved to protect him from his memories doomed to fail.
My Grandfather was in the Tanks, spreading fear and death through the most insufferable savagery the world ever knew. His son died doing the same.
I am lucky, I spent time talking with the enemy. I mourn the loss for those I knew and did not.
My elders are dead now. I have no family to turn to and those younger turn to my generation. We never knew or experienced the hardships we were protected from with such a price. We feel ill equipped to take that responsibility for our generation. I think that that is a good thing.
[quote=“Anubis”]Let’s remember those who paid the ultimate price…
In Flanders Fields
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.
John McCrae (1872 - 1918)
And …
to those mates I served with …
“We lucky few, we band of brothers. For he who today sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.”
[/quote]
To the mates I served with, and especially to those who perished: I shall NEVER forget.
:bravo:
A lot people are taking time today to remember the guys were lost in the Commonwealth and the US during WW1 and WW2, but can we please not forget about Japanese and Germans lost during the conflict. These guys have may have been the enemy back then but they will still ordinary human beings who lost their lives. I sometimes feel that these guys don’t get remembered which really saddens me.
A few years ago, I was able to visit, for the first time, some of the WWI battlefields, and a great-uncle, Eddie’s grave. Signed the visitor’s book, and a couple months later received a letter from someone who visited later and recognized the name from a soldier’s memoir, Will Bird’s Ghosts Have Warm Hands. Quite something to read a firsthand account of his death; brought the reality a little closer to home.
Young men, soldiers, Nineteen Fourteen
Marching through countries they’d never seen
Virgins with rifles, a game of charades
All for a Children’s Crusade
Pawns in the game are not victims of chance
Strewn on the fields of Belgium and France
Poppies for young men, death’s bitter trade
All of those young lives betrayed
The children of England would never be slaves
They’re trapped on the wire and dying in waves
The flower of England face down in the mud
And stained in the blood of a whole generation
Corpulent generals safe behind lines
History’s lessons drowned in red wine
Poppies for young men, death’s bitter trade
All of those young lives betrayed
All for a Children’s Crusade
The children of England would never be slaves
They’re trapped on the wire and dying in waves
The flower of England face down in the mud
And stained in the blood of a whole generation
Midnight in Soho, Nineteen Eighty-four
Fixing in doorways, opium slaves
Poppies for young men, such bitter trade
All of those young lives betrayed
All for a Children’s Crusade
