I Will Remember

Remembrance day. Here in Canada, the day that we honour all those who have fought for our freedom, both the living and the now deceased.

Two things seems appropriate for me to do on this day. The first is a quote from a book, the second a famous poem. Firstly, i present for you a fitting quote, from the work of fiction called Into The Fire, by Dennis L. McKiernan (who just happens to be my favourite author).


And he turned to the gathering, and a hush fell over them all. And then he said, “The King has told you of the terrible cost of the war – lost comrades, lost friends, lost brothers and cousins and fathers and mothers and daughters and sons.” Tipperton held the pewter coin between finger and thumb and looked down on it on it’s thong, and then he looked up at the faces of the lords and ladies and honoured guests waiting and said, “Know this, my friends: freedom is not free, for in times of darkness, in the fires of war, freedom is forged of iron, iron oft quenched by the blood of the innocent, a terrible price to pay. Yet to let evil rule is even more costly. No, my friends, freedom is not free, so cherish it and know its true value, for it is paid for by the highest coin of all.”



And now, I present this...

In Flanders Field
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McRae, 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.


McCrae's "In Flanders Fields" remains to this day one of the most memorable war poems ever written. It is a lasting legacy of the terrible battle in the Ypres salient in the spring of 1915. Here is the story of the making of that poem:
Although he had been a doctor for years and had served in the South African War, it was impossible to get used to the suffering, the screams, and the blood here, and Major John McCrae had seen and heard enough in his dressing station to last him a lifetime.

As a surgeon attached to the 1st Field Artillery Brigade, Major McCrae, who had joined the McGill faculty in 1900 after graduating from the University of Toronto, had spent seventeen days treating injured men -- Canadians, British, Indians, French, and Germans -- in the Ypres salient.

It had been an ordeal that he had hardly thought possible. McCrae later wrote of it:

"I wish I could embody on paper some of the varied sensations of that seventeen days... Seventeen days of Hades! At the end of the first day if anyone had told us we had to spend seventeen days there, we would have folded our hands and said it could not have been done."

One death particularly affected McCrae. A young friend and former student, Lieut. Alexis Helmer of Ottawa, had been killed by a shell burst on 2 May 1915. Lieutenant Helmer was buried later that day in the little cemetery outside McCrae's dressing station, and McCrae had performed the funeral ceremony in the absence of the chaplain.

The next day, sitting on the back of an ambulance parked near the dressing station beside the Canal de l'Yser, just a few hundred yards north of Ypres, McCrae vented his anguish by composing a poem. The major was no stranger to writing, having authored several medical texts besides dabbling in poetry.

In the nearby cemetery, McCrae could see the wild poppies that sprang up in the ditches in that part of Europe, and he spent twenty minutes of precious rest time scribbling fifteen lines of verse in a notebook.

A young soldier watched him write it. Cyril Allinson, a twenty-two year old sergeant-major, was delivering mail that day when he spotted McCrae. The major looked up as Allinson approached, then went on writing while the sergeant-major stood there quietly. "His face was very tired but calm as we wrote," Allinson recalled. "He looked around from time to time, his eyes straying to Helmer's grave."

When McCrae finished five minutes later, he took his mail from Allinson and, without saying a word, handed his pad to the young NCO. Allinson was moved by what he read:

"The poem was exactly an exact description of the scene in front of us both. He used the word blow in that line because the poppies actually were being blown that morning by a gentle east wind. It never occurred to me at that time that it would ever be published. It seemed to me just an exact description of the scene."

In fact, it was very nearly not published. Dissatisfied with it, McCrae tossed the poem away, but a fellow officer retrieved it and sent it to newspapers in England. The Spectator, in London, rejected it, but Punch published it on 8 December 1915.



- We thank all the veterans who fought for our freedom, this day and all days. Also, our thanks go out to the brave men and women who fight the good fight around the world today. Special Thanks go out to the Canadians soldiers serving in Afghanistan and other areas. May God keep you safe, and grant you strength. -