General Chat

There is a foreign field that shall be forever England... They shall grow not old As we that are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, Nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun, And in the morning, We shall remember them. In memoriam.

that brings a tear to my eye when they have the poppy ceromany on the saturday before remembrance sunday.all those young lives lostxxxxx(:

That'll mean more to me this year, since I found some relatives lost in both wars, on CWGC. Glenys.

Thank you Philip. That's strange Glenys, I was thinking exactly the same thing ... my dad has the original letter (written in pencil on a torn scrap of paper) telling his uncle's wife that her brother had been killed in WW1. It certainly makes it even more poignant. Mandy

nudge (please)

Baz Give me your uncle's name and date of death and I might be able to dig out some info.

Hello Baz, Picking up Brian's point, I don't know if you have records of your rellies' deaths, but a friend gave me details of an excellent site run by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. Address is www. [cwgc].org Hope this may be helpful. Philip

nudge (again - five days to go)

Always sends a shiver down my spine... Kim

11.11.1918 is also a day revered by Australians;Gallipoli was the scene of huge,stupid losses- but this is from the Turkish side, "Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives.... You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country, therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours.... You, the mothers, who senttheir sons from far away countries, wipe away your tears. Your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives in this land they have become our sons as well." Mustafa Kemal Ataturk ANZAC Memorial,1934 Gallipoli,Turkey There's nothing else to say, is there? Bloody wars, any old man who wants to start one should either go himself or send HIS son, mine's not going. Bobby in Melbourne

Philip, a few years ago I was in a little village where time had stood still since the beginning of WW2..at the moment I can't remember the name of the village..there was a service being conducted in the little church for Rememberance day and it was the most moving experience and I actually found myself crying for those poor boys . I have since read so much of the conditions that they had to fight in and try to survive in that I think that maybe the Boche were the lesser evil . My grandfather, who was an officer, came home utterley shattered for the rest of his life. I shall have 2 minutes silence for everyone, from 1914-18 right up to what is happening in places like Iraq now.

... as we are approaching, nearer and nearer, the 2 minutes silence, to be kept in commemoration, at the eleventh hour of the eleventh month ... The Kohima Epitaph:- "When You Go Home, Tell Them Of Us And Say, For Their Tomorrow, We Gave Our Today". Joy

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 McRae (1872-1918) The author of probably the best-known poem of the First World War "In Flanders Fields" McRae was a Canadian doctor who was appointed brigade surgeon with the First Brigade of the Canadian Forces. The death of one of his closest friends the day before caused him to write this timeless poem, which reflected his growing disillusion with the war and the tremendous human cost. It is in part due to this poem that the poppy was adopted as the Flower of Remembrance. John Mcrae fell ill during the summer of 1917, and died of pneumoniia and meningitis January 28th 1918

For The Fallen by Laurence Binyon With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children, England mourns for her dead across the sea. Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit, Fallen in the cause of the free. Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres, There is music in the midst of desolation And a glory that shines upon our tears. They went with songs to the battle, they were young, Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow. They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted; They fell with their faces to the foe. They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them. They mingle not with their laughing comrades again; They sit no more at familiar tables of home; They have no lot in our labour of the day-time; They sleep beyond England's foam. But where our desires are and our hopes profound, Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight, To the innermost heart of their own land they are known As the stars are known to the Night; As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust, Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain; As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness, To the end, to the end, they remain.

Always brings tears to my eyes when I hear this. Will have even more meaning this year as I have found war dead on both sides of our family in WWI, as well as civilian war dead from WWII. Will be in Canterbury on Sunday to see the Remerberance Parade. Wendy

Our local paper has aweekly page for readers' letters. This was in there last Saturday. The Inquisitive mind of a child Why are they selling poppies Mummy? Selling poppies in town today? The poppies, child, are flowers of love for the men who marched away. But why have they chosen a poppy Mummy? Why not a beautiful rose? Because, my child, men fought and died In the fields where the poppies grow. But why are the poppies so red Mummy? Why are the poppies so red? Red is the colour of blood, my child,, The blood our soldiers shed. The heart of the poppy is black Mummy, Why does it have to be black? Black, my child, is the colour of grief For the men who never came back. but why, Mummy, are you crying so? Your tears are giving you pain. My tears are the fears for you, my child. For the world is forgetting again. Jacquie Flounders.

It's also the anniversary of my grandma dying..11/11/74

From Billy McGee's Merchant Navy at War 1939-1945 On all the oceans white caps flow You do not see crosses row on row For those who sleep beneath the sea Rest in peace for your country is free. My mother lost a brother in WW1, her husband (my Dad) and bis brother both served in WW1 and died in WW2. I wear my poppy with pride. Kathleen

Remembrance also of the troops who have been killed in this war in Iraq - all nationalities, and to the innocent victims of the barbarians in that country who have been so brutally murdered. RIP all of them. Pauline

O valiant hearts who to your glory came Through dust of conflict and through battle flame; Tranquil you lie, your knightly virtue proved, Your memory hallowed in the land you loved. Proudly you gathered, rank on rank, to war As who had heard God’s message from afar; All you had hoped for, all you had, you gave, To save mankind—yourselves you scorned to save. Splendid you passed, the great surrender made; Into the light that nevermore shall fade; Deep your contentment in that blest abode, Who wait the last clear trumpet call of God. Long years ago, as earth lay dark and still, Rose a loud cry upon a lonely hill, While in the frailty of our human clay, Christ, our Redeemer, passed the self same way. Still stands His Cross from that dread hour to this, Like some bright star above the dark abyss; Still, through the veil, the Victor’s pitying eyes Look down to bless our lesser Calvaries. These were His servants, in His steps they trod, Following through death the martyred Son of God: Victor, He rose; victorious too shall rise They who have drunk His cup of sacrifice. O risen Lord, O Shepherd of our dead, Whose cross has bought them and Whose staff has led, In glorious hope their proud and sorrowing land Commits her children to Thy gracious hand. by John S Arkwright 1919. A Royal British Legion poster a few years ago read Remember the dead, but do not forget the living. Joy