Remembrance Day

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Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Mon Nov 07, 2011 5:02 pm

Is Friday, so I thought I would start a thread where we could put our thoughts about it.

I wrote this last year, so thought I would put it on to start us off:

I NEVER MET,
BUT HEARD THEIR STORY,
THE ORDINARY TALES OF GLORY.
THE DEEDS THEY DID TO KEEP US FREE,
THEY THOSE DEEDS FOR YOU AND ME.

IF I COULD THANK THEM JUST ONE TIME,
I'D TELL THEM WHAT THEY DID FOR MINE,
THEIR LOSS, MY GAIN, MY LIFE, THEIR PAIN.
A DEBT I OWE BUT CANNOT PAY
INSTEAD REMEMBER ON THIS DAY...

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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Mon Nov 07, 2011 5:42 pm


IN FLANDERS FIELDS.

In Flanders field 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 with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

~~By Major John McCrae, May 1915.~~




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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Mon Nov 07, 2011 5:53 pm

Nems Again wrote:
IN FLANDERS FIELDS.

In Flanders field 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 with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

~~By Major John McCrae, May 1915.~~




Yes I love this poem.

Our house in France is in the French Flanders and surrounded by fields. In the summer you can see carpets of poppies.

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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Mon Nov 07, 2011 5:54 pm

David wrote:

Yes I love this poem.

Our house in France is in the French Flanders and surrounded by fields. In the summer you can see carpets of poppies.

Then that must mean an awful lot to you.

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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Mon Nov 07, 2011 6:00 pm

sassy1261 wrote:

Then that must mean an awful lot to you.
Yes it does. In the region there were loads of WWI battlefields. My little village has a Britissh/Commonwealth Cemetery.

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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Mon Nov 07, 2011 6:09 pm

David wrote:
Yes it does. In the region there were loads of WWI battlefields. My little village has a Britissh/Commonwealth Cemetery.

My cousin has just done a motorcycle tour of the area and found our great-uncle's grave, took photos for us.

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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Mon Nov 07, 2011 6:20 pm

The Poppy Torch


The silence screams across the fields and tears rolled down his face.
His son followed behind him, he dropped to the ground and pulled out
the poppy torch.
The gunfire surrounded the field.
Son, take the torch to victory, don't let the flame go out, for me don't.
The bravery, the boldness, the hero inside, his last words won the war.

20 years later
The Flanders field again.
He must pass it on as his father did,
With joy, with hope and most of all courage.
The torch led him the way, son follow the poppy's code,
The stem will give you strength and the red will bring you bravery.

Goodbye son.




Samuel Bowers (a Primary School pupil )

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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by SEXY MAMA on Mon Nov 07, 2011 7:10 pm

REMEMBER THE ONES WHO DIED 
EVEN IF ITS NOT REMEMBERENCE DAY 
MANY THOUSANDS DIED 
EVERY DAY THOUSANDS MORE 
MANY PEOPLE LOST 
BRUTAL BATTLES 
EVERY ONE REMEMBER 
REMEMBER ALL WHO FALL
 
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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Mon Nov 07, 2011 7:13 pm

For The Fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

This always gets to me:


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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by victorismyhero on Mon Nov 07, 2011 9:46 pm

DULCE ET DECORUM EST by WILFRED OWEN

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,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.


Perhaps if THIS version of heroic sacrifice was more remembered, instead of a sanitized version of heroics, ther might be less willingness to casually go to war??
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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Mon Nov 07, 2011 10:02 pm

victorismyhero wrote:DULCE ET DECORUM EST by WILFRED OWEN

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,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.


Perhaps if THIS version of heroic sacrifice was more remembered, instead of a sanitized version of heroics, ther might be less willingness to casually go to war??

Abso-bloody-lutely!!!!!!!!!

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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Mon Nov 07, 2011 11:14 pm

victorismyhero wrote:DULCE ET DECORUM EST by WILFRED OWEN

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,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.


Perhaps if THIS version of heroic sacrifice was more remembered, instead of a sanitized version of heroics, ther might be less willingness to casually go to war??





Thanks for posting this Wilfred Owen poem Victor. To me it is the most poiniant of all his poems. It brings into stark reality the horrors of trench warfare that those young men, some of them mere boys had to endure day in day out.

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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Tue Nov 08, 2011 9:50 am

Come on Fred, let's not further ruin the thread..please. Sad

I'd never heard of the Wilfred Owen poem before...it really strikes it home what those brave men had to endure.

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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Tue Nov 08, 2011 10:19 am

fred bloggs wrote:



Angel, I did think of starting a thread on the issue, but as David had already spoiled this thread, I decided to offer my advice using David's post.


I know you weren't intending to spoil it further...but it would be nice now to return to the general theme of it.

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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Tue Nov 08, 2011 10:38 am

Angel wrote:


I know you weren't intending to spoil it further...but it would be nice now to return to the general theme of it.







Agree Angel, This is a very decent thread and I, like most normal thinkingpeople would like it to remain so. Iv'e given my advice and will say no more.

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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Tue Nov 08, 2011 1:21 pm

To get it back on track:

In Flanders Fields the cannons boom,
And fitful flashes light the gloom;
While up above, like eagles, fly
The fierce destroyers of the sky;
With stains the earth wherein you lie
Is redder than the poppy bloom,
In Flanders Fields.

Sleep on, ye brave! The shrieking shell,
The quaking trench, the startling yell,
The fury of the battle hell
Shall wake you not, for all is well;
Sleep peacefully, for all is well.
Your flaming torch aloft we bear,
With burning heart and oath we swear
To keep the faith, to fight it through,
To crush the foe, or sleep with you,
In Flanders Fields.

~~By J.A. Armstrong.~~


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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Tue Nov 08, 2011 1:24 pm

And another, these were both written a little after the first World War:

PLEASE WEAR A POPPY.

"Please wear a poppy," the lady said
And held one forth, but I shook my head.
Then I stopped and watched as she offered them there,
And her face was old and lined with care;
But beneath the scars the years had made
There remained a smile that refused to fade.

A boy came whistling down the street,
Bouncing along on care-free feet.
His smile was full of joy and fun,
"Lady," said he, "may I have one?"
When she's pinned in on he turned to say,
"Why do we wear a poppy today?"

The lady smiled in her wistful way
And answered, "This is Remembrance Day,
And the poppy there is the symbol for
The gallant men who died in war.
And because they did, you and I are free -
That's why we wear a poppy, you see.

"I had a boy about your size,
With golden hair and big blue eyes.
He loved to play and jump and shout,
Free as a bird he would race about.
As the years went by he learned and grew
and became a man - as you will, too.

"He was fine and strong, with a boyish smile,
But he'd seemed with us such a little while
When war broke out and he went away.
I still remember his face that day
When he smiled at me and said, Goodbye,
I'll be back soon, Mom, so please don't cry.

"But the war went on and he had to stay,
And all I could do was wait and pray.
His letters told of the awful fight,
(I can see it still in my dreams at night),
With the tanks and guns and cruel barbed wire,
And the mines and bullets, the bombs and fire.

"Till at last, at last, the war was won -
And that's why we wear a poppy son."
The small boy turned as if to go,
Then said, "Thanks, lady, I'm glad to know.
That sure did sound like an awful fight,
But your son - did he come back all right?"

A tear rolled down each faded check;
She shook her head, but didn't speak.
I slunk away in a sort of shame,
And if you were me you'd have done the same;
For our thanks, in giving, if oft delayed,
Thought our freedom was bought - and thousands paid!

And so when we see a poppy worn,
Let us reflect on the burden borne,
By those who gave their very all
When asked to answer their country's call
That we at home in peace might live.
Then wear a poppy! Remember - and give!

~~By Don Crawford.~~


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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Tue Nov 08, 2011 1:24 pm

sassy1261 wrote:To get it back on track:

In Flanders Fields the cannons boom,
And fitful flashes light the gloom;
While up above, like eagles, fly
The fierce destroyers of the sky;
With stains the earth wherein you lie
Is redder than the poppy bloom,
In Flanders Fields.

Sleep on, ye brave! The shrieking shell,
The quaking trench, the startling yell,
The fury of the battle hell
Shall wake you not, for all is well;
Sleep peacefully, for all is well.
Your flaming torch aloft we bear,
With burning heart and oath we swear
To keep the faith, to fight it through,
To crush the foe, or sleep with you,
In Flanders Fields.

~~By J.A. Armstrong.~~


Apologies Sassy, yes lets get it back on track.

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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Tue Nov 08, 2011 1:28 pm

Nems Again wrote:

Apologies Sassy, yes lets get it back on track.

No worries love, had to be said.

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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Tue Nov 08, 2011 5:36 pm

Now we are back on track I would like to post the very poinant words written by Eric Bogle as a song but is often quoted as a poem. I can never sing this song without my voice breaking and a huge lump in my throat.

Well, how do you do, Private William McBride,
Do you mind if I sit down here by your graveside?
And rest for awhile in the warm summer sun,
I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done.
And I see by your gravestone you were only 19
When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916,
Well, I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean
Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?

Did they Beat the drum slowly, did the play the pipes lowly?
Did the rifles fir o'er you as they lowered you down?
Did the bugles sound The Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined?
And, though you died back in 1916,
To that loyal heart are you forever 19?
Or are you a stranger without even a name,
Forever enshrined behind some glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn and tattered and stained,
And fading to yellow in a brown leather frame?

The sun's shining down on these green fields of France;
The warm wind blows gently, and the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished long under the plow;
No gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard that's still No Man's Land
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man.
And a whole generation who were butchered and damned.

And I can't help but wonder, no Willie McBride,
Do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did you really believe them when they told you "The Cause?"
Did you really believe that this war would end wars?
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame
The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain,
For Willie McBride, it all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.
© Eric Bogle

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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Tue Nov 08, 2011 6:03 pm

That's beautiful....and so poignant !

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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by SEXY MAMA on Tue Nov 08, 2011 6:19 pm

Fred that bought a tear to my eye.

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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Tue Nov 08, 2011 6:37 pm

Very touching poem Sad

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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Tue Nov 08, 2011 7:56 pm

Aftermath, by Sassoon

Have you forgotten yet? ...
For the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days,
Like traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways:
And the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow
Like clouds in the lit heaven of life; and you're a man reprieved to go,
Taking your peaceful share of Time, with joy to spare.
But the past is just the same - and War's a bloody game ...
Have you forgotten yet? ...
Look down, and swear by the slain of the War that you'll never forget.


Do you remember the dark months you held the sector at Mametz -
The nights you watched and wired and dug and piled sandbags on parapets?
Do you remember the rats; and the stench
of corpses rotting in front of the front-line trench -
And dawn coming, dirty-white, and chill with a hopeless rain?
Do you ever stop and ask, "Is it all going to happen again?"


Do you remember the hour of din before the attack -
And the anger, the blind compassion that seized and shook you
As you peered at the doomed and haggard faces of your men?
Do you remember the stretcher-cases lurching back
With dying eyes and lolling heads - those ashen-grey
Masks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay?


Have you forgotten yet? ...
Look up, and swear by the green of the spring that you'll never forget.





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Re: Remembrance Day

Post by Guest on Tue Nov 08, 2011 9:02 pm

Fred, thats a lovely one that my OH, being a Scot, had told me about and the Sassoon one is so evocative Seren.

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