Updated: This is not an anti-war, pro-war, or anything about war post, but simply a remembrance of a day for those who who have served. It was formerly known as Remembrance Day or Armistice Day. All I am doing is remembering, remuniating, and reminiscing. If you have done so, then simply go to the next post. I have accordingly turned off the "comments" feature for this post. I have a link to the history at Wikipedia in the following post, and add another link too.
On this Veterans Day, I always take time to remember those veterans whom I served with who are alive and who have passed on, those who died or were injured in combat, those who did not survive their service and died from non-combat injuries but no less in service to the country, and my father who who was a tanker in the Battle of the Bulge and wore his wounds silently all his life.
As my wife reminds me, this land of the free is largely owed to the home of the brave. Those who served and those who supported the troops (civilian and military) were all part of the effort, and by giving their time, they gave up part of their lives.
A former client of mine reminded me of the gentle and humbling spirit that characterizes most of our fighting men and women as I once thanked this young sergeant for his service in Somalia as he continued to serve on active duty and with a limp from his combat injury; his response gave me pause to think and pray as I later brushed back a tear in private when I shared the story with Diane and others - "Don't think anything of it sir. Combat is highly overrated."
Of course, this was a soldier who gave up not only piece of his body and a part of his soul for his country as he would be reminded of his sacrifice with every step he would take due to a bad knee.
And as you look about and see those veterans from yesterday and today. Some whose bodies are wracked with war wounds and others with just the ravages of time. Remember the title from Bardstown, Kentucky's Hal Moore - We Were Soldiers Once . . . . And Young.
Billy Ray Cyrus did a song a few years back, "Some Gave All". This song together with God Bless the USA by Lee Greenwood and two songs written by Erig Bogle always hit me hard - The Green Fields of France and The Bank Played a Waltzin Matilda.
Here are the Cyrys lyrics:
All gave some and some gave all
And some stood through for the red, white and blue
And some had to fall
And if you ever think of me
Think of all your liberties and recall
Some gave all
And let us not forget the poem from World War I by a Canadian physician and surgeon John McCrae. This poem was handwritten on a piece of paper and found after his death. (updated typo thanks to a helpful comment from a reader.)
In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army
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.
Signed, Michael L. Stevens, LTC, JAGC, USAR (Retired)
BTW: Some of the song lyrics follow.
The Green Fields of France
How do you do young willie mcbride,
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside,
And rest for a while ’neath the warm summer sun,
I’ve been walking all day and I’m nearly done
I see by your gravestone you were only 19
When you joined the great fall-in in 1916
I hope you died well and I hope you died clean
Or young willie mcbride was it slow and obscene.
Did they beat the drum slowly did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest
Did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined
Although you died back in 1916
In that faithful heart are you forever 19
Or are you a stranger without even a name
Enclosed then forever behind a glass frame
In an old photograph torn, battered and stained
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame.
Did they beat the drum slowly did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest
The sun now it shines on the green fields of france
There’s a warm summer breeze makes the red poppies dance
And look how the sun shines from under the clouds
There’s no gas, no barbwire, there’s no guns firing now
But here in this graveyard it’s still no man’s land
The countless white crosses stand mute in the sand
To man’s blind indifference to his fellow man
To a whole generation that were butchered and damned.
Did they beat the drum slowly did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest
Now young willie mcbride I can’t help wonder why
Do those who lie here know why did they die
Did they believe when they answered the call
Did they really believe that this war would end wars
Well the sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the pain
The killing and the dying were all done in vain
For young willie mcbride it all happened again,
And again and again and again and again
Did they beat the drum slowly did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest
And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda
Now when I was a young man and I carried my pack
and I lived the free life of the rover
From the Murray's green basin to the dusty out back
I waltzed my Matilda all over.
Then in 1915 my country said "Son
It's time to stop rambling, there's work to be done"
And they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
And they sent me away to the war.
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As the ships pulled away from the quay
And amid all the tears, flag waving and cheers
We sailed off to Galipolli
And how I remember that terrible day
How our blood stained the sand and the water
And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs to the slaughter.
Johnnie Turk was ready, oh he primed himself well
He rained us with bullets and he showered us with shell
And in five minutes flat we were all blown to hell
nearly blew us all back home to Australia.
But the band played Waltzing Matilda
as we stuck to bury our slain
We burned ours and the Turks buried theirs
and we started all over again
Those who were living just tried to survive
In a mad world of blood death and fire
And for ten weary weeks, I kept myself alive
While around me the corpses piled higher
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head
And when I awoke in my hospital bed
And saw what it had done and I wished I was dead
Never knew there were worse things than dying
For no more I'll go Waltzing Matilda
All round the green bush far and near
For to hump tent and pegs a man needs both legs
No more Waltzing Matilda for me.
They collected the crippled, the wounded, the maimed
And they shipped us back home to Australia
The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla
And as our ship pulled in to Circular Key
And I looked at the place where my legs used to be
I thanked Christ there was no one there waiting for me
To grieve and to mourn and to Pity
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
as they carried us down the gangway
But nobody cheered, they just stood there and stared
And turned all their faces away
So now every April, I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me
And I see my old comrades, how proudly they march
Renewing their dreams of past glory
I see the old men all tired, stiff and sore
The weary old heroes of a forgotten war
And the young people ask "What are they marching for?"
And I ask myself the same question
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
And the old men still answer the call
But year after year, the numbers get fewer
Some day none will march there at all
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
Who'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me
And their ghosts may be heard as they march by the billabong
Who'll come a waltzing Matilda with me.
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