Lest We Forget

[Aliantha]

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,

Lest we forget.


Remembrance Day (also known as Poppy Day, Armistice Day or Veterans Day) is a memorial day observed in Commonwealth countries to remember the sacrifices of members of the armed forces and civilians in times of war, specifically since the First World War. This day, or alternative dates, are also recognised as special days for war remembrances in many non-Commonwealth countries.

[busterb]

Thank you

[Aliantha]

Thank you

[classicman]

ditto - to all of them.

[Big Sarge]

Here' my favorite poem:

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.

[TheMercenary]

I love that as well Sarge. Thanks for posting that.

[Sundae]

Sorry to introduce some levity, but this is true - although not the gritty truth...

We have a variety of clocks and timesources in this house.
Most are fast, to accommodate my Mum's OCD need to be early for everything, or which I am an inheritor.
We have a kitchen clock, however, that receives radiowaves or some such magic, which keeps it on GMT (even adjusting automatically for BST).

So I was on t'internet at 10.59.
Went downstairs, checked the clock, only 10.54. Plenty of time to get ready for the 2 minutes silence (11.00)
So I went for a poo.
Not being disrespectful here - I needed one and that was that.

Only what did I hear on the radio?
A link to one of the ceremonies countrywide, and the link suddenly went dead.
Now dead air on radio is a horrible sin - I assumed I'd been in the lav far longer than I suspected, and gave a cursory wipe and headed respectfully for the sofa.

Only to find it must just have been a broken link, as the BBC TV reporter was still chopsing away and in fact it was 10.56.

The long and the short of it (make your own jokes) was that I was in plenty of time and in the right frame of mind to observe the silence.
And I'm gratified to report that when the TV went silent, the whole area was silent.
No cars, no conversation/ tv/ radio from the neighbours.
Even Diz shut his trap (!)

I wish I'd been able to go to the church ceremony with the children at my school, but a midday onterview made the timing too close. But Dad and I sat together on one sofa, and 500 yards away Mum sat with Grandad on another, and we all paid our respects.

[GunMaster357]

Today in France is a holiday. But many youngsters don't know why it is a holiday. They only see the fact that there isn't school.

I'll always remember that day when I went to a ceremony in the little town where I grew up. For the curious, it is Plougastel-Daoulas in Brittany, just south of Brest. They never saw combat in WW-I. Yet, at the the start of the war, the population was a bit above 2000. And during the ceremony, they listed each and every one of these men, giving their rank and name followed by 'died on the field of honor'. It was a windy and gloomy day of November.
.
That list numbered more than 500 names

[Happy Monkey]

I heard an interesting tidbit on NPR, where some British diplomats were wearing their poppy pins on a trip to China. Brits bearing poppies has a slightly different cultural significance in China.

[CzinZumerzet]

I have been selling poppies this past two weeks and will again on Sunday morning at our local parade untill the silence, and then it's over for another year. Local schools and the shopping mall observed the silence today. Buses stopped in the street and drivers stood silently beside their vehicles. In Tesco the silence was profound with no checkout beeping to be heard.

Where I stood with my poignant poppies, shop staff came out holding hands to keep the silence, heads bowed, holding one another as one of their number quietly wailed over the loss of her husband this year in Helman. He used to play football in the Sunday League, good bloke.

Deeply felt is my selfish wish to forget the losses and the grief but when a family just keeps on losing, one generation after another, it becomes ingrained with grief and anger.

We keep sacrificing our best, our finest, and when will enough be enough. And yes of course we will remember them all, wherever they came from.

[BigV]

well done, Aliantha.

thank you to all the veterans.

[Gravdigr]

I think I got this from somewhere on The Cellar:

The Anzac On The Wall
by Jim Brown

I wandered thru a country town 'cos I had time to spare,
And went into an antique shop to see what was in there.
Old Bikes and pumps and kero lamps, but hidden by it all,
A photo of a soldier boy - an Anzac on the Wall.

'The Anzac have a name?' I asked. The old man answered 'No,
The ones who could have told me mate, have passed on long ago.
The old man kept on talking and, according to his tale,
The photo was unwanted junk bought from a clearance sale.

'I asked around,' the old man said, 'but no one knows his face,
He's been on that wall twenty years, deserves a better place.
For some one must have loved him so, it seems a shame somehow.
'I nodded in agreement and then said, 'I'll take him now.'

My nameless digger's photo, well it was a sorry sight
A cracked glass pane and a broken frame - I had to make it right
To pry the photo from its frame I took care just in case,
'Cause only sticky paper held the cardboard back in place.

I peeled away the faded screed and much to my surprise,
Two letters and a telegram appeared before my eyes
The first reveals my Anzac's name, and regiment of course
John Mathew Francis Stuart - of Australia's own Light Horse.

This letter written from the front, my interest now was keen
This note was dated August seventh 1917'
Dear Mum, I'm at Khalasa Springs not far from the Red Sea
They say it's in the Bible - looks like Billabong to me.

'My Kathy wrote I'm in her prayers she's still my bride to be
I just cant wait to see you both you're all the world to me
And Mum you'll soon meet Bluey, last month they shipped him out
I told him to call on you when he's up and about.'

'That bluey is a larrikin, and we all thought it funny
He lobbed a Turkish hand grenade into the Co's dunny.
I told you how he dragged me wounded in from no man's land
He stopped the bleeding closed the wound with only his bare hand.

''Then he copped it at the front from some stray shrapnel blast
It was my turn to drag him in and I thought he wouldn't last
He woke up in hospital, and nearly lost his mind
Cause out there on the battlefield he'd left one leg behind.

''He's been in a bad way mum, he knows he'll ride no more
Like me he loves a horse's back he was a champ before.
So Please Mum can you take him in, he's been like my brother
Raised in a Queensland orphanage he' s never known a mother.

'But Struth, I miss Australia mum, and in my mind each day
I am a mountain cattleman on high plains far away
I'm mustering white-faced cattle, with no camel's hump in sight
And I waltz my Matilda by a campfire every night

I wonder who rides Billy, I heard the pub burnt down
I'll always love you and please say hooroo to all in town'.
The second letter I could see was in a lady's hand
An answer to her soldier son there in a foreign land

Her copperplate was perfect, the pages neat and clean
It bore the date November 3rd 1917.
'T'was hard enough to lose your Dad, without you at the war
I'd hoped you would be home by now - each day I miss you more'

'Your Kathy calls around a lot since you have been away
To share with me her hopes and dreams about your wedding day
And Bluey has arrived - and what a godsend he has been
We talked and laughed for days about the things you've done and seen

''He really is a comfort, and works hard around the farm,
I read the same hope in his eyes that you wont come to harm.
Mc Connell's kids rode Billy, but suddenly that changed
We had a violent lightning storm, and it was really strange.'

'Last Wednesday just on midnight, not a single cloud in sight
It raged for several minutes, it gave us all a fright
It really spooked your Billy - and he screamed and bucked and reared
And then he rushed the sliprail fence, which by a foot he cleared'

'They brought him back next afternoon, but something's changed I fear
It's like the day you brought him home, for no one can get near
Remember when you caught him with his black and flowing mane?
Now Horse breakers fear the beast that only you can tame,'

'That's why we need you home son' - then the flow of ink went dry-
This letter was unfinished, and I couldn't work out why.
Until I started reading the letter number three
A yellow telegram delivered news of tragedy

Her son killed in action - oh - what pain that must have been
The Same date as her letter - 3rd November 17
This letter which was never sent, became then one of three
She sealed behind the photo's face - the face she longed to see.

And John's home town's old timers -children when he went to war
Would say no greater cattleman had left the town before.
They knew his widowed mother well - and with respect did tell
How when she lost her only boy she lost her mind as well.

She could not face the awful truth, to strangers she would speak'
My Johnny's at the war you know , he's coming home next week
'They all remembered Bluey he stayed on to the end
A younger man with wooden leg became her closest friend

And he would go and find her when she wandered old and weak
And always softly say 'yes dear - John will be home next week.
'Then when she died Bluey moved on, to Queensland some did say
I tried to find out where he went, but don't know to this day

And Kathy never wed - a lonely spinster some found odd
She wouldn't set foot in a church - she'd turned her back on God
John's mother left no will I learned on my detective trail
This explains my photo's journey, that clearance sale

So I continued digging cause I wanted to know more
I found John's name with thousands in the records of the war
His last ride proved his courage - a ride you will acclaim
The Light Horse Charge at Beersheba of everlasting fame

That last day in October back in 1917
At 4pm our brave boys fell - that sad fact I did glean
That's when John's life was sacrificed, the record's crystal clear
But 4pm in Beersheba is midnight over here.......

So as John's gallant sprit rose to cross the great divide
Were lightning bolts back home a signal from the other side?
Is that why Billy bolted and went racing as in pain?
Because he'd never feel his master on his back again?

Was it coincidental? same time - same day - same date?
Some proof of numerology, or just a quirk of fate?
I think it's more than that, you know, as I've heard wiser men,
Acknowledge there are many things that go beyond our ken

Where craggy peaks guard secrets neath dark skies torn asunder
Where hoofbeats are companions to the rolling waves of thunder
Where lightning cracks like 303's and ricochets again
Where howling moaning gusts of wind sound just like dying men

Some Mountain cattlemen have sworn on lonely alpine track
They've glimpsed a huge black stallion - Light Horseman on his back.
Yes Skeptics say, it's swirling clouds just forming apparitions
Oh no, my friend you cant dismiss all this as superstition

The desert of Beersheba - or windswept Aussie range
John Stuart rides forever there - Now I don't find that strange.
Now some gaze at this photo, and they often question me
And I tell them a small white lie, and say he's family.

'You must be proud of him.' they say –
I tell them, one and all,
That's why he takes the pride of place –
my Anzac on the Wall.

[Sundae]

We observed the silence again today - the Cenotaph ceremony is held on the nearest Sunday, not on the 11th.
Again, I came downstairs from the internet and watched with my Dad - and Mum was with Grandad.

We made (paper and card) wreaths at school this week - to go to various churches and the town centre memorial service. I was glad to be part of it.

Remembrance Day poem by Philp Larkin below.
Don't take it at face value.
I know it by heart (although I did check some conjoining words & punctuation)

Naturally the Foundation will Bear Your Expenses

Hurrying to catch my Comet
One dark November day,
Which soon would snatch me from it
To the sunshine of Bombay,
I pondered pages Berkeley
Not three weeks since had heard,
Perceiving Chatto darkly
Through the mirror of the Third.

Crowds, colourless and careworn,
Had made my taxi late.
Yet not til I was airborne
Did I recall the date -
That day when Queen and Minister
And Band of Guards and all
Still act their solemn-sinister
Wreath-rubbish in Whitehall.

It used to make me throw up,
These mawkish nursery games:
O when will England grow up?
- But I outsoar the Thames,
And dwindle off down Auster
To greet Professor Lal
(He once met Morgan Forster),
My contact and my pal.