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In Flanders Fields
LCol John McCrae, MD, (Canadian Army) | 1915 | LCol John McCrae

Posted on 11/11/2007 2:44:08 AM PST by Clive

In Flanders Fields

by John McCrae, May 1915

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.

TOPICS: Culture/Society; Foreign Affairs; Miscellaneous
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Today is Remembrance Day.
1 posted on 11/11/2007 2:44:10 AM PST by Clive
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To: Alberta's Child; albertabound; AntiKev; backhoe; Byron_the_Aussie; Cannoneer No. 4; ...
This stanza, commonly known as "The Ode", is engraved on cenotaphs throughout Canada:

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."

--- From "For the Fallen" by Laurence Binyon

2 posted on 11/11/2007 3:01:58 AM PST by Clive
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To: Clive

Worth mentioning: McCrae died in combat days before the Armistice.

3 posted on 11/11/2007 3:30:12 AM PST by ReignOfError
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To: Clive
A very important day for me. Unfortunately I'm out of the country. I've spent some time today remembering, have you?

In memory of Flt. Lt. Frank Konrad, 422 Squadron RCAF. Per ardua ad astra.

4 posted on 11/11/2007 3:58:25 AM PST by AntiKev ("No damage. The world's still turning isn't it?" - Stereo Goes Stellar - Blow Me A Holloway)
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To: Nightshift


5 posted on 11/11/2007 4:11:34 AM PST by tutstar (Baptist Ping list - freepmail me to get on or off.)
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To: Clive

6 posted on 11/11/2007 4:15:41 AM PST by radar101 (Duncan Hunter-The only possibility)
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To: Clive
November 11, 1918: when the allied leaders cut and run from the European quagmire.

The honored soldiers, living and dead, were permitted to buy that part of the world twenty years, ten months, and twenty days of "peace".

The enemy must be destroyed as utterly and ruthlessly as they were in Dresden, Berlin, Hiroshima and Tokyo, and occupied-- their daily lives dictated by American Generals and Sergeants and Privates-- until they learn better manners.

That is the lesson of two World Wars.

The lesson of Vietnam? Don't let traitors in the media determine the conditions of victory.

7 posted on 11/11/2007 4:20:27 AM PST by ExGeeEye (I've been waiting since 11/04/79 to do something about Iran.)
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To: ExGeeEye
"Ce n’est pas une paix, c’est un armistice de vingt ans."

-- Marechal Foch, commenting on the Treaty of Versailles.

A very accurate prognosis. The treaty was signed June 28 1919. The Germans invaded Poland September 1, 1939 and the British Prime Minister announced a state of belligerency on September 3, 1939

8 posted on 11/11/2007 5:15:01 AM PST by Clive
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To: Clive

And so comes another 11th of November: Veterans’ Day, Rememberence Day. The Great War produced a great cannon of poetry that laid down the full spectrum of emotions that are served up with the rations of combat. Here is one of my favorites.

In Memoriam
Private D. Sutherland, Killed in Action in the German trench May 16 1916 and Others Who Died

So you were David’s father,
and he was your only son,
and the new-cut peat’s a rotting,
and the work is left undone
Because of an old man weeping
just an old man in pain
For David, his son David,
who will not come again

Oh, the letters he wrote you,
and I can see them still,
not a word of the fighting,
just the sheep upon the hill
And how you should get the crops in,
‘ere the year got stormier
And the Bosches have got his body
and I was his officer

You were only David’s father,
but I had fifty sons,
When we went up in the evening,
under the arch of the guns
And we came back in the twilight —
Oh God! I hear them call
To me for help and pity,
who could not help at all

Oh, never will I forget you,
my men that trusted me,
More my sons than your fathers,
for they could only see
the helpless little babies,
and the young men in their pride,
They could not see you dying
and hold you as you died

Happy young and gallant,
they saw their first-born go
But not the strong limbs broken,
the beautiful men brought low
the piteous writhing bodies,
They screamed “Don’t leave me, Sir”
For they were only your fathers
but I was your Officer

Ewart Alan Macintosh 1893 - 1917
The man who wrote these words was twenty-three years old.
He died in the Battle of Cambrai, November 1917, aged 24.

9 posted on 11/11/2007 5:59:08 AM PST by centurion316 (Democrats - Supporting Al Qaida Worldwide)
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To: Clive; GMMAC; exg; kanawa; conniew; backhoe; -YYZ-; Former Proud Canadian; Squawk 8888; ...

10 posted on 11/11/2007 6:02:12 AM PST by fanfan ("We don't start fights my friends, but we finish them, and never leave until our work is done."PMSH)
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To: Clive

My great uncle, Herman Frederick Bremer, is buried in the US WW 1 Cemetery at Bony, France. He was posthumously awarded the Distinguised Service Cross.

In my genealogy research I have discovered a member of my family who has served in every American War from the Revolution to Iraq. My son-in-law is, a member of the National Guard, is currently training in Texas for his second tour in Iraq. My son is preparing to enlist after the holidays.

Remember them in your prayers.

11 posted on 11/11/2007 6:24:34 AM PST by ops33 (Retired USAF Senior Master Sergeant)
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To: Clive
The Story of John McCrae
12 posted on 11/11/2007 6:57:05 AM PST by SandRat (Duty, Honor, Country. What else needs to be said?)
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To: centurion316
Years ago I remember seeing an interview with a nurse who had tended the wounded at a field hospital during WW1. She told of making her rounds with a lantern in the dead of night when the hospital was crowded with new wounded laying everywhere, even on the floors. As she passed a stretcher, a hand reached out. It was a young soldier who said, “Please stay with me. I’m dying you know.”
She stayed and held his hand while he died. He just didn’t want to die alone, in the dark.
How many others like him were there who quietly died alone and with no one to help them? It must have been millions.
13 posted on 11/11/2007 7:02:46 AM PST by finnigan2
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To: Clive

WWI was a tragic and basically an unneccessary War. I believe that it was one of those times that agressive “Diplomacy” could have staved off war until passions cooled and the crisis could have been averted. (Possibly our own WBTS could have been avoided using the same means).
Europe and espcially G.B., France and Germany lost the flower of their youth and have really never quite recovered from it. The magnitude of the huge losses led directly to the rise of the Pacifism prevalent in Western Europe prior to WWII.
That being said, the actions of the Troops was nothing less than Heroic. I had two Great Uncles who were gassed but both recovered albeit one became an alcoholic; the other a highly successful farmer though.
I recall, as a child, listening to them talking about the horrors of trench warfare and the gut wreching fear when “going over the top” into massed machine gunfire and artillery. Much the same as their father, when he talked to them about his experiences in the Confederate Army in the trenches during the defence of Richmond in the last year of the WBTS.
Tragically, the onerous terms of the Armistice sowed the seeds of the Second World War and the rise of A. Hitler, however.

14 posted on 11/11/2007 7:34:19 AM PST by BnBlFlag (Deo Vindice/Semper Fidelis "Ya gotta saddle up your boys; Ya gotta draw a hard line")
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To: centurion316; fanfan

The older I get, the more emotional Nov. 11 becomes for me as I think about my great uncles and grandfather who came home gassed, injured, carry shrapnel for the rest of their days and memories that in the case of one great uncle, took over 50 years to talk about. Not one of them ever glorified war. They’d seen too much in those mud and blood filled trenches and early cavalry charges.

Young Fellow My Lad

“Where are you going, Young Fellow My Lad,
On this glittering morn of May?”
“I’m going to join the Colours, Dad;
They’re looking for men, they say.”
“But you’re only a boy, Young Fellow My Lad;
You aren’t obliged to go.”
“I’m seventeen and a quarter, Dad,
And ever so strong, you know.”

* * * *

“So you’re off to France, Young Fellow My Lad,
And you’re looking so fit and bright.”
“I’m terribly sorry to leave you, Dad,
But I feel that I’m doing right.”
“God bless you and keep you, Young Fellow My Lad,
You’re all of my life, you know.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll soon be back, dear Dad,
And I’m awfully proud to go.”

* * * *

“Why don’t you write, Young Fellow My Lad?
I watch for the post each day;
And I miss you so, and I’m awfully sad,
And it’s months since you went away.
And I’ve had the fire in the parlour lit,
And I’m keeping it burning bright
Till my boy comes home; and here I sit
Into the quiet night.

* * * *

“What is the matter, Young Fellow My Lad?
No letter again to-day.
Why did the postman look so sad,
And sigh as he turned away?
I hear them tell that we’ve gained new ground,
But a terrible price we’ve paid:
God grant, my boy, that you’re safe and sound;
But oh I’m afraid, afraid.”

* * * *

“They’ve told me the truth, Young Fellow My Lad:
You’ll never come back again:
(Oh God! the dreams and the dreams I’ve had,
and the hopes I’ve nursed in vain!)
For you passed in the night, Young Fellow My Lad,
And you proved in the cruel test
Of the screaming shell and the battle hell
That my boy was one of the best.
“So you’ll live, you’ll live, Young Fellow My Lad,
In the gleam of the evening star,
In the wood-note wild and the laugh of the child,
In all sweet things that are.
And you’ll never die, my wonderful boy,
While life is noble and true;
For all our beauty and hope and joy
We will owe to our lads like you.” Robert Service

15 posted on 11/11/2007 8:27:16 AM PST by Kolokotronis (Christ is Risen, and you, o death, are annihilated!)
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To: Clive
The brother-in-law I never met lies here. Rest in Peace, Phillipe
16 posted on 11/11/2007 8:31:16 AM PST by Don W (I wondered why the baseball was getting bigger. Then it hit me.)
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To: Kolokotronis

Robert W. Service is “my favorite” poet. His work is evocative and descriptive, and all of his narratives clutch at my heart. This is so lovely. Thank you, Kolo.

17 posted on 11/11/2007 10:04:10 AM PST by redhead (Victory first; then peace)
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To: Clive
Thank you for posting this. This poem always stirs the heart.
18 posted on 11/11/2007 10:25:48 AM PST by Chgogal (When you vote Democrat, you vote Al Qaeda! Ari Emanuel, Rahm's brother was agent to Moore's F9/11.)
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To: redhead

“Robert W. Service is “my favorite” poet.”

Why am I not surprised? :) Mine too, by the way, or maybe tied with Frost.

19 posted on 11/11/2007 2:09:05 PM PST by Kolokotronis (Christ is Risen, and you, o death, are annihilated!)
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To: Kolokotronis; redhead
Mine is Kipling, followed by Service.
20 posted on 11/11/2007 4:03:56 PM PST by Clive
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