northVUs

the road to remembrance

on holiday two years ago, i ran through the streets of a small town in southern north dakota for my morning jog. i noted many shopfront windows bearing the faces of smiling, hopeful soldiers decked out in their ceremonial best. this was a country at war.

last summer, in sri lanka, i noticed similar posters affixed to trees. the style of photograph, the facial expressions etc were a bit different, but the hope and the future in the eyes was the same. yet, these were posters placed to commemorate the dead. this was a country at civil war.

yesterday, i attended a remembrance day observance at my son's high school. what impacted me there was the presence of a soldier who had just returned from an operation in afghanistan. although he seemed very calm, the story he related was one of open battle, and i couldn't help wondering what he thought of the little drama that followed his presentation as well-meaning young people enacted things they had only read about, seen in films or heard described in presentations such as these. was there a cynical judgement of the efforts of the tenth grade students, or is any effort to actively facilitate remembrance gratefully received on behalf of those who have paid the ultimate sacrifice by those who remain behind to tell the stories? who can say? he left before i could ask him.

typically, i don't like to speak in superlatives, but the other day i attended what, for me, was the most powerful remembrance day observance in a school ever. my friend, holly, spoke of her pilgrimage of remembrance from 2005, her relationships with her grandfathers (both WWII vets) and the loss of her childhood friend this fall in afghanistan. i was moved many times to tears by the poignance of the message and by the sobering realization that we are a country at war.

and i look at my own sons- all youthful and full of hope, wanting to go play tennis at an indoor facility in town on their day off, before heading to mcdonald's for lunch (my older son is already older than the youngest canadian to die in active service of his country) and i wonder, with the psalmist, 'how long to sing this song?'

my friend holly agreed to let me post her presentation. for this and the present peace at home that it informs, i am grateful. please read of my friend's experiences and relationships and consider them thoughtfully.

God keep our land glorious and free-o canada, we stand on guard for thee
still trying to figure out what this means...
*NOTE: my apologies that there are not photographs to go with this post...

The Road to Remembrance
Presented by Holly Doidge

Introduction
The theme for Veterans' Week 2006 is Share the Story. Among the many stories, the theme highlights the 50th Anniversary of the First United Nations Peacekeeping Force. In this week, Canadians are encouraged to share personal stories of remembrance as a way to develop a deeper understanding of the sacrifices and achievements of those who served Canada.
What does it mean to remember? 2005 was the Year of the Veteran. To mark the 60th anniversary of the end of World War II, Canadians spent the entire year honouring those who had served in the forces and those who serve in the forces today. What did the Year of the Veteran mean? Who are these people whom we honoured last year? And whom are we remembering this year? Smokey Smith, a Victoria Cross winner. Mark Leger, one of four young Canadians who died in Afghanistan in 2002. And Alfred Doidge and Ed Brady, my grandfathers. These are but some of the men whose efforts and sacrifices pave the road to remembrance. Each of these men has his own story. Good morning, veterans, students, staff, and community members: I, too, have my own stories of remembrance to tell.

I have been attending Remembrance Day ceremonies since I was a child. My grandfathers were both World War II veterans and were very involved in the Wynyard Legion. When I was in elementary school, I began drawing posters and writing poems for the Legion contest. I started to think about what it meant to remember, and what it meant to be a soldier. In my Grade Ten English class, I was instructed to write a poem or an essay about remembrance. I remember my teacher reading from the pamphlet for the contest and telling the class that if our essays or poems were REALLY good, we could win a trip to Ottawa. And I remember sitting at the back of the class, thinking, “GOOOD LUCK!” Well, I should just have listened to that teacher; she was right. That year for my essay and the year following for a poem I had written, I was the winner of the National Literary and Poster Contest. And yes, just as my teacher had said, I was invited to lay a wreath at the National Remembrance Day ceremony in Ottawa. My road to remembrance widened there; how could I, a 16 year old girl represent the YOUTH of Canada? I was one of those youth, struggling to understand the descriptions of the losses suffered in the war and to understand what truly it meant when my teachers and my parents and my grandparents told me to “remember”

When I was selected as Saskatchewan’s Representative for the 2005 Royal Canadian Legion’s Youth Leaders’ Pilgrimage of Remembrance, I was given the opportunity to travel down a new road to remembrance. The goal of the Pilgrimage is two-fold: to give the participants an opportunity to visit historic places only read or heard about and to help pilgrims make a personal connection to remembrance. The Pilgrimage itself: fourteen days, four countries, fifteen formal ceremonies of remembrance, and countless informal stops. Do the math: we were very busy!

I, nine other Provincial Command pilgrims, two Dominion Command representatives, several paying pilgrims, and a tour guide began this odyssey in Toronto on July 7, 2005. Doris and Allan MacDonald, World War II veterans from Nova Scotia, accompanied us. The insights and reminiscences Mr. MacDonald shared throughout the course of the tour made his the face of those who had given so much. Mr. MacDonald came on the trip, hoping that if he revisited the battlefields and the cemeteries, “the nightmares would finally end.” 60 years ago, he landed on the beach at Normandy on the first day of war. As he ran onto the beach, a shell blew up in front of him, wounding him in the head. Mr. MacDonald lay on that beach for more than a day. Hoping to stay alive, some of the men on the beach covered themselves with the bodies of dead soldiers for protection from the shellfire and snipers who attacked throughout the night and the following day. To this day, Mr. MacDonald has not only the shrapnel, but also the haunting memories inside his head. After hearing his stories, the pilgrims understood so clearly why 60 years later, he still has nightmares.

Everyday, we Canadians enjoy any number of freedoms and a quality of life that veterans, including Allan, purchased for us with pain and suffering, the fabric of those nightmares that so plagued Allan.

And now, Allan will have those nightmares no more. On Sunday, Allan MacDonald, 84 years old, died. Today, friends and family are gathering in Nova Scotia to pay tribute to this husband and veteran.

As a nation, we are richer for having had a man of Allan’s integrity and commitment wear our uniform and salute our flag. I am poorer for having lost a man who in two weeks, became as dear to me as my grandfathers. Allan shared his stories and his life with the pilgrims. I will miss this gentle soul who had dedicated his life to serving others.

The Pilgrimage was a rapid blur of activity; nothing could have prepared us for what we would experience. This year during Veterans’ Week the theme is Share the Stories. I am here today to do just that. Of the many experiences and events I had on my trip, a few capture truly the essence of the pilgrimage on our road to remembrance.

When we traveled to France, we began our tour in a small orchard around the village of Authie. In World War II, in this orchard, a young man named Lorne Brown became the first of 156 Canadians who would be murdered by the Germans over the first few weeks of the battle for that area. Our tour guide, John Goheen, took us to this orchard, and told us that this fellow, Private Brown, was wounded and a German soldier approached him just as Brown was getting up. After seeing the Canadian soldier, the German soldier ran at him, screaming. Brown staggered and fell backwards, and as he did, the German placed his boot on Brown and ran the Canadian through eight times with a bayonet. We pilgrims stood in front of the lone tree that remains in the orchard. We stared at that tree and at that spot and wondered how it can be that so many young men, both then and now, must buy peace and freedom for themselves or others by giving up their lives.

Around the same time that Private Brown was killed, many soldiers became prisoners of war. Of the many soldiers who became prisoners of war in the days and weeks following the D-day landings, some were housed in Abbaye d’Ardenne near Authie. Among those taken prisoner and transported to the abbey were soldiers from the North Nova Scotia Highlanders and the Sherbrooke Fusiliers, Lieutenant Tom Windsor among them. Tom Windsor’s tank troop had gone to Authie to assist, but his own tank was knocked out, and after becoming prisoners of war, Lieutenant Windsor and his crew were transported to the abbey. During intense interrogation by the Germans, Tom Windsor gave only his name, rank and number. The SS commander – General Kurt Meyer – was furious. Tom Windsor realized that the Germans were going to execute all the Canadians. In a final act of courage and leadership, the 31-year-old Montrealer shook hands with his young soldiers before he was led through a corridor into a garden to be shot in the back of the head by a German soldier. The rest of the Canadians met the same fate.

We pilgrims remembered the 1944 SS murder of Lieutenant Tom Windsor and his nineteen fellow prisoners in and near the area of this abbey. As we retraced the soldiers’ route, the stillness of the corridor and the serenity of the orchard paid silent homage to their sacrifice.

A tribute, images of young men who died long before they had a chance truly to live, can be found on the wall in the orchard. Among those men, the face of George McNaughton smiles out at those who stand before the wall. McNaughton, an acquaintance of World War II veteran Allan MacDonald, became the face of remembrance as we pilgrims stood and watched Allan take the photo of each individual face, determined never to forget those men who had accompanied his friend into eternity.

Last October, as the keynote speaker at the Legion Provincial Convention, I recounted my Pilgrimage experiences. I told the same story of the Abbaye Ardenne that I just told you. After the ceremony, a gentleman approached me and asked if I would be willing to meet his mother. When this woman and I met, she reached out and told me that she had been moved by my presentation and my thoughts about the Abbaye. She went on to say that her brother was one of the Canadian soldiers on that wall, a young man who had been murdered in that garden. Knowing that one of those soldiers who was murdered was a Saskatchewan boy, reminded me that war does not have one face. War is not particular; anyone will do.

DIEPPE
A visit to Dieppe was our last stop in the region. Nothing that I had ever read or viewed about Dieppe prepared me for the emotions I felt standing on that beach. The vast landscape surrounding the White and Red Beaches was overwhelming. It was at this beach that hundreds of Allied ships landed and soldiers ran onto the beach. Those soldiers ran and ran and they FELL, mowed down by bullets or hit by mortar shells. If you were a Canadian coming in from the sea, where do you think you could hide? If the soldiers were not one of the many who were killed on the beach that day, they scrambled, hoping to find shelter. Some soldiers tried to reach the seawall bordering the beach; however, they became prisoners after a few hours of useless resistance.

Stepping onto that stony beach, we pilgrims quietly surveyed what had been one of Canada’s bloodiest battlegrounds; the group watched and remembered as Manitoba’s Harry Hodges honoured his father who had landed on that same beach so many years ago. Unlike so many of the soldiers, Harry’s father survived. Harry’s father came home and began a new life, raised a family, and he died just a few years ago. Did Harry’s father ever truly begin a new life after what he saw on the beach that day? Harry didn’t think so; so haunted by the memories, his father never talked about his time at Dieppe. And so, anchored in those rocks over which those Canadian troops stumbled, our flag crackled in a chilling breeze, the sound an oral reminder of the gunfire which had contributed to the huge Canadian losses in that battle.

When we moved up the hill, we pilgrims stood atop the Headlands overlooking the beaches and were astounded at the vista the Germans had had on that battle day. Though wide open, this landscape had offered Canadian soldiers no escape. Small wonder that a Canadian battalion suffered its heaviest losses in a single day: the enemy’s unparalleled advantage and the rocks which had slowed the Canadians’ progress all contributed to this battalion’s sacrifice.

Menin Gate
The evening of July 16th found the pilgrims standing under the Menin Gate Memorial in Ypres. This massive stone archway of remembrance bears the names of 54, 896 of the 100,000 British Empire soldiers, Canadians included, who died in the terrible battles in and around the city.
As I looked at the rows of names, I was unable to focus because there were just so many soldiers who had no known grave. All of the men named on the wall had never been returned to their families, had never had a proper burial. This reality had become not only a recurring theme, but also a haunting reminder of the costs of war.

Since 1927, the WWII years being the notable exception, here, each evening at 8:00 the citizens of Ypres remember. After the gate is closed, soldiers march along the thoroughfare, pipers sound the Last Post, participants observe two minutes of silence, and a citizen lays a wreath.
The pilgrims’ colour party took part in this daily ritual of remembrance. I, the youngest pilgrim, along with the oldest pilgrim laid a wreath during the ceremony. This experience became one of the most memorable and defining moments of my Pilgrimage. Each year in Canada, we stop for one hour of ONE day; I was amazed at the Belgians’ commitment to remembrance: every SINGLE day citizens feel compelled to honour those who served and died.

How do we remember?
Grandfathers

Now, let’s just stop for a second. How many of you have someone in your family who was a soldier? If you have someone in your family who was a soldier, please raise your hand. Now, out of those of you who have not raised your hand, how many of you know a soldier? Please raise your hand. And lastly, how many of you know a veteran? Raise your hand. Quietly look around the room – how many people do you see without their hands raised? Those of us who are standing are so incredibly fortunate, to have known or to know someone right now who is a veteran and who can share his or her stories.

You know, if I was doing this with you, I would have my hand raised too.

During a visit to a cemetery on the trip, several pilgrims took me aside and said, “Just think, you were just walking with a WWII veteran!” Despite my sincere affection for and admiration of Allan MacDonald, I was not overawed by walking with a veteran. You see, just a few minutes ago, I could have stood up to say I knew a veteran and still do. When I was a little girl, a veteran used to stand beside ME, and hold my hand to cross the street or help me up on the slide or help me tie my shoes. Some of my first steps were guided by a veteran’s hand. My grandpas were veterans, and they taught me how important it was to remember the soldiers. Both my grandpas served in World War II. Like Allan MacDonald, they left home, did their duty without expecting glory, and returned to guide the steps of those for whom they had been fighting.
When I was a young adult, my paternal grandfather, a proud Air Force member, had so many stories to tell; however, I was just a teenage girl with little time to sit and listen to a grandfather’s stories. Grandpa began to suffer from Alztheimer’s disease about six years ago.

He had taken all the stories to which I did not listen and had locked those precious memories and connections inside him forever. A few years ago, devastated by the realization that I had run out of time, I vowed not to lose the opportunity to connect with my maternal grandfather, a steadfast Legion member who has rarely shared his memories of the war. My grandfather has always treated the war as a part of his life about which I need to know very little. Grandpa, trying to protect his youngest grandchild from the horrors of what he had experienced, maintains that many things are not necessary for me to hear. Since I came home from the Pilgrimage, my grandfather has begun slowly to share fragments of his history with me; he senses my passion to know his story and to remember.

Three months ago, I said a final goodbye to Alfred Doidge, one of the men who had guided my remembrance all these years. You know, I had seen my grandpa in his Legion uniform many times in my life. But on the day we said goodbye, I looked at my peaceful grandpa, dressed in the Legion uniform he had cherished for 61 years of membership, and I couldn’t have been more proud that he was my grandpa and that he had shared some stories with me. And next spring, just like the cemeteries I saw in Europe, someone will make sure that a Canadian flag is tucked into his final resting spot, in honour of everything he gave and everything he was to his country.
On our trip, we spent time visiting cemeteries where many Canadian soldiers are buried.

Throughout our tour of England, France, Belgium and Holland, we visited seventeen cemeteries. There are diligent caretakers at every cemetery who take care of the graves of the soldiers who died bringing freedom to their homelands. In each cemetery, both a cross of sacrifice and the Stone of Remembrance, bearing the words “Their Name Liveth for Evermore,” urges people to stop and remember all of the men and women who have died. Each headstone gives the following information: the soldier’s service badge or national emblem, his name, rank and number, and an inscription chosen by relatives of the deceased.

And sadly, the inscription, “A Soldier of the Great War – Known unto God” is the only testament to the sacrifice of so many. No name is written on the headstone because that soldier was never identified. We were so sad by the idea that some soldier’s family may never know what happened to the soldier or know where the soldier was buried. And so, we made sure that a Canadian flag was tucked into the ground in front of each of the headstones.

Future Stories
Now, because of the Pilgrimage, I have the incredible opportunity to come and share my stories, stories I have learned about legends and heroes that I can pass on just like my grandfathers and other veterans have done.

As I have presented to students and people across Saskatchewan in the last year and a half, I have told the story of Private John Condon, the youngest man to be killed in World War I. He was a tender fourteen-year-old: a child really, about the same age as the Grade Nine students whom I teach. I often wonder if my young students realize that throughout history and still today, even the very young have borne arms in the name of freedom. Beside John Condon’s grave lies another soldier, a man who died at the age of 47. Such a stark contrast in age can be found in any conflict. War is blind to age and race. War does not discriminate.

Every Remembrance Day, I will tell the story of the Chenier brothers. I heard their story during our visit to the cemetery at Cabaret Rouge near Vimy. Wilfred and Oliver Chenier, two Royal Canadian Regiment soldiers, were the only children in their family. The brothers, whose regimental numbers followed one after the other, signed up side-by-side, served side-by-side, died side-by-side at Vimy Ridge, and now rest side-by-side at Cabaret Rouge.

I will remember that the story of the Unknown Soldier, an unidentified soldier killed at Vimy Ridge; a soldier whose family did not ever have the opportunity to know what had become of their father, brother or son. This patriot’s remains had lain at Cabaret Rouge until the soldier was returned to Canada in May 2000. The Unknown Soldier’s remains now lie in a tomb at the War Memorial in Ottawa. This memorial recognizes the more than 116, 000 Canadian men and women who died for their country, especially those 28,000 soldiers who have no known grave. Think about that number: 28, 000. This same number represents approximately the number of people who live in Moose Jaw this year. Imagine the entire population of Moose Jaw leaving and never coming home, never having a grave, their families never truly knowing what happened to them.

Take a minute and look around. Look at the person beside you. Look at the person in front of you. Look at the person behind you. Study that face.

We have no way of knowing what that person may do ten years or twenty years from now. Someday you may be telling a story about that person.

My last story is one I never thought I would tell. When I was a teenager, I met a boy named David Braun. He was a friend of some of my friends, and I got used to seeing him around. Dave was one of those people whom you just wanted to be around. According to his family, David had dreamed of being in the military since he was 12 years old. By the time I met Dave, he had already made up his mind about what he wanted to be “when he grew up.”

Dave joined the military four years ago and was stationed with the Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry at the Canadian Forces Base at Shilo, Manitoba. On two occasions, when David was home for leave from the military, he went to the school in his hometown and spoke to students about his job. The students were completely captivated by Dave’s stories. According to Dave’s mother, the military was not only Dave’s job, but also his passion. From what everyone has said, Dave loved what he was doing and he believed his job was important. He spent time in Bosnia on a peacekeeping mission and in August, he set off to be part of the mission in Afghanistan. David’s best friend asked him he could get out of serving in Afghanistan, and David replied that “he didn’t re-sign his enlistment contract to sit around Shilo.”

Dave had been in Afghanistan for approximately three weeks when a friend of mine called me. She told me the news that would soon be heard on reports across Canada: Corporal David Braun was travelling in a Light Armoured Vehicle as part of a Canadian re-supply convoy travelling in Kandahar City. And that a suicide bomber had attacked the Canadians and exploded his vehicle near the convoy.

In that moment, that suicide bomber altered forever the lives of so many people with one action. David was 27 years old and he died that day on a dusty road in Afghanistan. He was the 27th soldier to die since Canada deployed ground forces to Afghanistan in early 2002. Since David died, 15 more fallen Canadians have followed him home.

After David’s death, Prime Minister Stephen Harper released a statement saying "Our country honours this brave soldier, who exemplifies the best that Canada has to offer. While deeply saddened by his loss, I hope his family may find some comfort in knowing that Canadians share their sorrow." This morning, as you watched the video tribute of Canadian soldiers at the beginning of the service, you would have seen comrades carrying Dave’s body in one of those caskets, draped in a flag. You would seen the yellow roses that David’s mother, sister, and two brothers had laid on the casket that was bringing home their son and brother. As you listened to O Canada, you would have seen some of the men that exemplify the best that Canada has to offer and you would have heard the anthem that will forever pay tribute to their sacrifice.
After David’s death, David’s mom Patti said that David’s family knew that David had died doing a job that he loved and doing something he believed in. She said, “We are very proud of his bravery and ask that you support our troops."

When I was younger, I always thought that veterans were people that were my grandfathers’ age. I didn’t think that veterans would be people who were my age. And I really never thought that in my lifetime, I would have to say that I knew someone who died fighting for peace in the world. I never wanted to have so personal a connection of remembrance. When Dave died, I felt as though the greatest injustice had taken place. Dave was too young, and war had stolen him from his family. War had taken away a young person who had had so much for which to live, just as so many years ago during World War II, young men who were friends of my grandpas had never come home.

When Dave died, it was the beginning of the school year, a time when I am used to new beginnings and exciting opportunities. This year, instead of pursuing new opportunities, I found myself standing at the front of a block-long honour guard, saluting Dave’s casket as it was driven to where Dave would rest from now on under a tree in a quiet small-town cemetery. In the days following, I remembered what everyone had always said about how much Dave loved being a soldier. And I started to become very proud to be able to say that I had known him.

Have you ever stood up for something in which you believed? Have you ever done something because you knew it was right, even if other people didn’t believe that and you were standing alone without much support? Well that’s the kind of person that Dave Braun was. Dave thought it was important that people stand up for other people who don’t live in countries as free as Canada. Dave thought it was important that every person in the world live in a peaceful place and without war. Just as some of you would stand up for someone if he or she needed help, Dave was a soldier so that he could stand up for someone. At Dave’s funeral, the father of Dave’s best friend paraphrased the English philosopher Edmund Burke who said that all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. Mr. Braman said that "David Braun was a good kid who grew up to be a good man -- who refused to be silent..."

This refusal to be silent in the face of injustice was a characteristic shared by those men who faced the enemy on foreign soil and whose final resting spot is a quiet European graveyard. The Canadian Defence Minister Gordon O'Connor stated that “Canadians will not forget the dedication and courage Cpl Braun demonstrated in our name. We are humbled by his willingness to serve Canada in this theatre of operation." Will we? Will we Canadians continue to remember those who have fought for freedom?

Conclusion
John Goheen, a principal from B.C. who has led several tours through the battlefields was our tour guide on the Pilgrimage. Prior to our departure, he suggested that the tour would be “educational and informative, but also emotionally charged.” Though I understood that the Pilgrimage would be a unique and life-changing experience, I underestimated the actual impact of the events, emotions, and relationships of those two weeks. Abroad for the first time, I experienced a whole range of emotions when singing “O Canada.” Unexpected, too, was the joy I felt each day, seeing townsfolk in each country waving at our coach.

The feelings, emotions, as well as the hundreds of memories and experiences of those two short weeks changed forever each pilgrim’s view of the importance of November 11. We pilgrims guard the torch of which John McCrae wrote so eloquently. Our renewed passion holds high that torch and pays homage to those Canadians who fought for liberty and justice in faraway lands. Those silent voices issue a daunting challenge and guide the pilgrims on their road to remembrance.

You students are our children and you are our future. Unfortunately, what I know definitely, is that no one can predict the future and so that is why it’s incredibly important to share our stories. I cannot truly understand the experiences of those who sacrificed so much. However, our leader, Pat Varga reminded us that, “If you forget about history, about what happened, then you’re doomed to repeat it. It’s up to each generation to teach the next generation about remembrance. Unfortunately, world events are doing their utmost to ensure that remembrance continues.” The morning I left the safety and security of my home in Regina, terrorist bombs were exploding in London, the city where the Pilgrimage would begin. Ironically, the morning we would leave to return to Canada, there were more terrorist bombs in London. Though we thought we were off to explore the past, the events of the morning of July 7th, reminded us that the threat of war continues to be around us.

War is not a historical anecdote. In the last four years, our country has lost forty-two young Canadians. So many years ago, Canadians lost forever these young men and women who would never come home. Do we remember them, the past and the present?

War is a thief – it steals the lives of both young and old. Too often, too many, receive little or no thanks for their contributions. Langston Hughes’ poem, “Peace” captures the sentiment of those who gave their lives without knowing whether their sacrifice had been in vain.

We passed their graves,
The dead men there,
Winners or losers,
Did not care.
In the dark
They could not see
Who had gained
The victory.

Each Christmas, Dutch children put a candle on the headstones in Holten Canadian Cemetery in the Netherlands; this tribute helps to dispel the darkness for those resting souls who left Canada to die on foreign soil so long ago. 60 years later, these elementary school children do not want those precious soldiers and their sacrifice to be in darkness.

Those students understand that they need to remember the past in order to protect their future. Indeed, we cannot predict the future. If I could have predicted the future, I would have told my grandfather one last time that his selflessness and his service to his country and his stories meant so much to me and that I would do my very best to pass them on to those people who did not have someone to tell them what war was like. If I could have predicted the future, I would have told Dave this summer that I was incredibly proud JUST to have known him. And more importantly, as a Legion member, as a friend, as a human being, I was humbled by him and SO incredibly proud of his courage to stand up for what he believes.

No, we can’t predict the future but we can AFFECT IT! YOU are OUR children. Our future depends on you. What I have learned is that there will always be a need for people to stand up for someone else. You will be the next generation of peacekeepers and people who want to keep Canada a safe place to live and a place where people believe in other people being free. You will be the generation that will need to continue to STAND UP in a very big way, for what is right.

Lest we forget.
There cannot be an end to the road to remembrance. The calendar and theme may have changed but the need for remembrance is the same. I believe that every new year is a new Year of the Veteran; another year where we continue to honour those whose lives have been forever changed by war; another year to feel so incredibly thankful for what we have because of soldiers’ sacrifices. Another year to share the stories.

Lest we forget.

Forget what?

That humans are vicious puppeteers
who send boys into bullets.

That sometime somewhere
there will be
someone
who needs a soldier to fight for them.

I will remember, like a bullet in my heart.
What do you want to hear?

That I stayed in that trench
a cold reaching further into my soul
than into my bones.

That I moved through a pooling ink
onto that beach
stepping over friends who stumbled and died.

That even if I had come home to you
the memories scarring my mind
would hold me far from your reach.

The headstone reads
'Sunshine fades, shadows fall, But sweet remembrance outlasts all'
Outlasts what?
A life.

You might remember if you knew.
This morning and tomorrow, I am dead.
I am lost
among a list of names,
ideas for men who disappeared into time.

What else is there to remember?

Only that somebody died once,
somebody who fought for
something.

Lest we forget.
(Poem written by Holly Doidge 2005)

posted by jollybeggar @ 9:13 AM