What's with Olm's signature line?

[quote]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 [/quote]

Olm’s a German, as far as I know. I don’t mean to give the guy a hard time. I’m just curious.

Has anyone heard Roy Harper’s “Berliners”? It has an excellent recording of some old soldier reading this at a small town remembrance parade. The poor quality just makes it feel more authentic. Very touching.

[quote=“Loretta”][quote]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 [/quote]

Olm’s a German, as far as I know. I don’t mean to give the guy a hard time. I’m just curious.

Has anyone heard Roy Harper’s “Berliners”? It has an excellent recording of some old soldier reading this at a small town remembrance parade. The poor quality just makes it feel more authentic. Very touching.[/quote]
A lot of Germans lost their lives in wars too. Many (most?) of them were just young conscripts. I’d say that poetry is relevant to any nation that lost a generation of young men to war.

I know that at the time he wrote it, Binyon was probably referring to the British, but with the passage of the years, I think its fair to say that the title of the piece – For the Fallen – can these days refer to any of the poor bastards fed into the respective sausage machines operated by both sides. I’ve seen WWI war boneyards for both sides, and they’re equally poignant.

As sandman already indicated, it’s from the poem “For The Fallen” (1914) by the british poet Laurence Binyon (1869-1943), a poem about the first war. These lines often are found on war memorials.

firstworldwar.com/poetsandprose/binyon.htm

And yep, I’m German ^^ Nonetheless I’m thankful to the allied soldiers that fought in WW1 and WW2, hence this signature as a small tribute to them.

I just watched a BBC production about WWI last week ,as a matter of fact. About Rudyard Kipling’s son, who was a subaltern who died in his very first combat at the Battle of Loos, a few days after his 18th birthday. Gutwrenching from a whole load of perspectives. My Boy Jack, it’s called, if anyone’s interested.

Olin -
Thanks and bless ya for the sentiment.

What is an Olin? :wink: Took me a while to figure out, but I guess the “m” probably looks a bit like “in” :slight_smile:

Take care, everyone,

OLM :slight_smile:

Olin is a huge American chemical and plastics company that makes resins, insulators, industrial chemicals, and Winchester ammunition.

or a ski manufacturer (brand now purchased by K2 I think).

[quote=“urodacus”]Olin is a huge American chemical and plastics company that makes resins, insulators, industrial chemicals, and Winchester ammunition.

or a ski manufacturer (brand now purchased by K2 I think).[/quote]

You chemistry guys. :loco:

Oh yeah, and Lena Olin. silly me, i used the wrong formula.

:laughing:

Very apt words with 11 November looming. A day when we can honour the Fallen on both sides of the fence. I think all old soldiers and combat veterans will agree that it is honourable and right to honour the fallen enemy as much as our countrymen and/or comrades. Young men with rifles in their hands don’t make policy, and on both sides they did in the belief that they were fighting to protect their loved ones. It is sad that young men had to die on the battlefield for the stupidities of politicians and demagogues.

Wilfred Owen said it better than I ever could:


Dulce et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
[color=#FF0000]The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.[/color]