Armistice Day...

Started by St. George, November 11, 2014, 02:57:26 PM

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St. George

 St. George's Notes - Armistice Day...

Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae was assigned as the Surgeon to the Canadian First Field Artillery Brigade.

He had served during the Boer War, and was no stranger to hardship and carnage, but the fighting in the Ypres Salient was so horrendous, that it caused him to write this as a sort of release, after he'd just buried a friend.

It was penned at the Dressing Station on the banks of the Canal de l'Yser.

Dissatisfied with it, McCrae tossed the poem away, but a fellow officer retrieved it and sent it to
newspapers in England.

'The Spectator', in London, rejected it, but 'Punch' published it on 8 December 1915.

He died while on active service on the 28 day of January, 1918.

Before his death, he wrote:

'In Flanders fields the poppies grow
Between the crosses, row on row.
That mark our place; and in the sky,
The larks, still bravely singing, fly,
Scarce heard amidst 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 lift it high.
If ye break faith with those who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies blow
In Flanders fields.

After the Great War, this poem was read at Armistice Day gatherings, celebrating the end of the 'War to End All Wars', on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month.

Like Decoration Day - it was a time for reflection and for cleaning the gravestones of loved ones.

Then some bright soul decided that since folks were generally all off work, that they could also use their time to buy things - and they could buy even 'more' things and go places to spend money if they combined a couple of days set aside by a grateful Nation to honor their war dead, and re-named them to call them 'Veteran's Day' - and thus - the four-day weekend was born.

Go - buy stuff, and enjoy yourself - but in between trips to the mall - swing by the cemetary and take just a couple of minutes to tell someone 'Thanks'.

They'll appreciate the gesture.

Vaya,

Scouts Out!
"It Wasn't Cowboys and Ponies - It Was Horses and Men.
It Wasn't Schoolboys and Ladies - It Was Cowtowns and Sin..."

Will Ketchum

On this day I pause to remember those with whom I served and those who didn't return home in all wars present and past.

I often reflect on whether the life I have lived does service to those who didn't return.  Mostly I find myself not measuring up.  So many fine lives lost.  How do we honor those who payed the ultimate price?  The only way is to live everyday in appreciation and as well and honorably as we can.

Pete Ersland
Will Ketchum's Rules of W&CAS: 1 Be Safe. 2 Have Fun. 3  Look Good Doin It!
F&AM, NRA Endowment Life, SASS Life 4222, NCOWS Life 133.  USMC for ever.
Madison, WI

Major 2

Tough to follow, not only the Poem ( thanks Robert )
but Pete's fine assessment as well.


Another poem I have always been moved by:

 author unknown

Halfway down the trail to Hell,
In a shady meadow green
Are the Souls of all dead troopers camped,
Near a good old-time canteen.
And this eternal resting place
Is known as Fiddlers' Green.

Marching past, straight through to Hell
The Infantry are seen.
Accompanied by the Engineers,
Artillery and Marines,
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen
Dismount at Fiddlers' Green.

Though some go curving down the trail
To seek a warmer scene.
No trooper ever gets to Hell
Ere he's emptied his canteen.
And so rides back to drink again
With friends at Fiddlers' Green.

And so when man and horse go down
Beneath a saber keen,
Or in a roaring charge of fierce melee
You stop a bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to get your scalp,
Just empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head
And go to Fiddlers' Green.
when planets align...do the deal !

Mogorilla

The song "And the Band Played Waltzing Mathilda" always grabs me and can easily bring a tear to my (as I did when I was in a band as a youth, different reason people were crying as I could not do it justice).  I speaks of the losses and aftermath of war, and the forgotten sacrifices.


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