It was Decoration Day before it was Armistice Day.
One of my military collectible rifles is a U.S. Model of 1917 Winchester, 30-06. The barrel is stamped W 11-18 and the serial number indicates it was produced November 3-4, 1918. Needless to say it wasn’t shot much (probably after for training use, etc.), the barrel is tight spec’d (checked by -.0002 Pin Gauge) and head spacing, Throat, etc. are all excellent.
Veterans Day is traditionally for those who served and are still alive. Memorial Day is for those who have gone on to meet their maker.
Four tenth of one percent (0.4%) of Americans are veterans. A stunning number when you think of it.
God bless my extended family, my brothers and sisters who have served! May you have a wonderful day and a blessed life!
Thanking four generations of servicemen in my family: my father, WW 2, my husband and brother, Vietnam, my son, Desert Storm, and my grandson, stationed in Turkey.
I have read accounts of furious firing in the last minutes before the cease-fire went into effect on the Western Front. It seems there was a competition, mostly among artillerymen and machine gun teams, to be the person who fired the last shot of “The War to End All Wars.”
Yeah, we got that one wrong too.
From this veteran to my fellow veterans:
A heartfelt thanks for being among those willing to defend the United States, its vital interests, and its fundamental values, often under difficult conditions in foreign places, in service of a public that is sometimes fickle and unappreciative of your sacrifices.
In Flanders Fields
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.
John McCrae, 1872 - 1918
My father’s cousin Jimmy was killed 9 days from the end of Wilson’s war. RIP Jimmy.