Remembrance Day
They shall not grow 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.
The 11th November is the official rememberance day in Britain. Rememberance Sunday is the Sunday nearest to the 11th November. In France there is an official holiday on the 11th of November and people take time to remember.
This 11th November I took some time to look over the net and found some good poetry and sites on the theme of Remeberance Day, which I would like to share with you, reader.
The poppy was first described as the flower of
rememberance by Canadian Col John McCrae. It was during a lull in battle that
he wrote this poem.
We shall not sleep
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' field
Take up quarrel with the foe
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch, be yours to hold high
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep though poppies grow
In Flanders' field
by John McCrae
Apparently an American, Monica Micheal, was the first to have the idea of selling poppies to help care for the disabled soldiers and their families.
Monica Micheal was born on the 15th August 1869 in Athens Georgia (USA)
and studied to become a teacher. It was two days (9th November) before the
Armastice was signed (11th November 1918) that she came upon John McCrae's
poem. It moved her to write:
We shall keep the faith
Oh! You who sleep in Flanders' Field
Sleep sweet to rise anew
We caught the torch you threw
And holding high we keep the faith
With all who die
We cherish too the poppy red
That grows on fields where valor lead
It seems to signal to the sky
That blood of heros never dies
But lends a lustre to the red
Of the flowers that bloom above the dead
In Flanders' fields
And now the torch and poppy red
We wear in honour of our dead
Fear not that ye have died for naught
We'll teach the lesson that ye wrought
In Flanders' fields
by Monica Michael
Thus was born the idea of selling Memorial Poppies to
assist disables veterans and their families.The movement caught on and for the
rest of her life Michael was known as the 'poppy lady'. She died in Athens on
10th May 1944. Four years later the US post office issued a commemoritve
stamps. If you should ever be driving between Athens and Monroe on highway 78,
remember Monica Michaels, you are on the stretch dedicated to her
memory!
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 lost their boots
But limped on, blood shot. All went lame all blind
Drunk with fatigue, deafened to the hoots
Of tired, out-stripped 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 toocould pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face
His hanging face, like 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
The Old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori
by Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)
WHERE HAVE ALL THE FLOWERS GONE P. Seger
Where have all the flowers gone
A long time passing
Where have all the flowers gone
A long ago
Where have all the flowers gone
Girl, they're picked up, every one
When will they ever learn
When will they ever learn
Where have all the soldiers gone
Long time passing
Where have all the soldiers gone
A long ago
Where have all the soldiers gone
They've gone to graveyards every one
When will they ever learn
When will they ever learn
When will they learn, ever learn
Personally 11th November gave me a time to think to think about the
futility of war and death and suffering. Often we use a pretext to go to war:
religion, nationalism... but those who die what do they die for? So that we can
go on fighting wars? So that those who cause wars can go on causing wars. So
that those who fuel wars can get richer and richer, the politicians more and
more powerful? What is it all about...
I'd like to thank all those people whose pages I read and here are some of those links:
Back to Simon's home page
Ces pages existent grace à FREE
Merci et vive la liberté d'expression sur INTERNET.
