Remembrance...

[Moira]

I'm dragging this from the depths once more.

I'd be quite happy if someone is keen to start a new thread on Remembrance with their own take on the topic and what it means to them.

[Lavenderblue2]

For Johnny
by John Pudney

Do not despair
For Johnny-head-in-air;
He sleeps as sound
As Johnny underground.
Fetch out no shroud
For Johnny-in-the-cloud;
And keep your tears
For him in after years.

Better by far
For Johnny-the-bright-star,
To keep your head,
And see his children fed.

From the War Film - Johnny in the Clouds (1946)

[Lavenderblue2]

Hello God



Look God, I have never spoken to You.
But now I want to say; How do You do?
You see God, they told me You didn’t exist
And like a fool I believed all this.

Last night from a shell hole I saw Your sky
I figured right then, they had told me a lie,
Had I taken time to see things You made
I’d have known they weren’t calling a spade a spade.

I wonder God if You’d take my hand
Somehow I feel, that You will understand.
Funny I had to come to this hellish place
Before I had time to see Your face.

Well I guess, there isn’t much more to say
But I’m sure glad God, I met You today.
But I guess, the zero hour will soon be near
But I’m not afraid, since I know You’re here.

The signal! Well God, I have to go;
I like You lots, this I want You to know.
Look now, this will be a horrible fight
Who knows, I may come to Your House tonight…

Reported to have been found on the body of a dead soldier during the Great War.

[trinkie]

Armistice Day

They’ll Never Come Home
By Robert MacKay
The Caithness Violinist.

With hearts full of anguish, and eyes full of tears,
They stand in ‘The Silence’ and roll back the years,
Their sighs are ascending to Heaven’s High Dome,
Lamenting their boys who will never come home.

They sleep, in the war fields o’ Flanders and France,
That played with us, sang with us, joined in our dance
‘Tis so sad to remember and hard to forget,
Such cheery companions, that most of us met.

When their deeds are recorded on History’s Page,
By the hands, or the brain of some college bred sage,
Of these soldiers and sailors, and men from the Drome,
Our children will hear of, that never came home.

Remember, remember, with hearts most sincere,
This day and this hour, as to them we draw near
Wherever you are, or wherever you roam,
Spare a thought for the boys who will never come home!

[trinkie]

Anthem for Doomed Youth
By Wilfred Owen.

What passing bells for these who die as cattle?
- Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, -
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers of the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

[Lavenderblue2]

WE SHALL KEEP THE FAITH.
Oh! You who sleep in Flanders’ fields,
Sleep sweet - to rise anew,
We caught the torch you threw,
And holding high we kept
The faith with those who died.
We cherish too, the poppy red
That grows on fields where valour led.
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies,
But lends a lustre to the red
Of the flower that blooms above the dead
In Flanders’ fields.
And now the torch and poppy red
Wear in honour of our dead.
Fear not that ye have died for naught
We’ve learned the lesson that ye taught
In Flanders’ fields.

Miss Moina Belle Michael

[Moira]

Thanks Trinkie & LavenderBlue2.

Wilfred Owen is a particular favourite of mine but I enjoy reading the others too.

[Cedric Farthsbottom III]

The guys in the front writing diarys.The guys in the front writing letters to mothers and lovers.Wilfred Owen in the front writing poems.Writing one of the most powerful poems written in literature history.

Never forgotten.God Bless

[trinkie]

A Sailor’s Wishing

Oh! For a croft in Sutherland
How happy I would be
To own a croft, well shielded
By hills from the wild North Sea!

A little house, well builded
Of good strong Scottish stone;
Black peat stack at the corner,
Garden with cabbage grown.

Unfenced the fields, soft sighing
With fragrant grass in June,
And gold corn in September
Rustling through sunny noon.

Some sheep upon the hillside,
Some cattle in the byre;
And then – to wed my Mairi,
Dear queen of heart’s desire!

But still War’s guns are pounding
Heave ho! My lads away!
We serve our King and Country
“Come what come may.”

Nita H Padwick Bettyhill

[Moira]

Thanks Trinkie. Do you have any more with a local flavour?

[trinkie]

Remembrance Day

To the imperishable memory of the fallen – 1914-18 and 1939-45.

By The Caithness Violinist. 11 Nov.1948

And these are they whose names ye read,
As ye go passing by,
Brave were they all Our Glorious Dead
And not afraid to die.

Death was the price they had to pay,
For Freedom and the Right
And we who live can justly say
They fought a noble fight.

A mother’s eyes will dim with tears
For him her only joy,
But in her heart throughout the years,
He’s still her darling boy.

O God in Heaven comfort those
That sigh and weep and mourn,
For dear ones now in Death’s repose
That never will return.

And these are they whose names ye read
On stones as ye pass by
They’ve shown the world by word and deed,
The way to fight and die.

[Moira]

Not a poem but a poignant reminder all the same.


"Poetry of Wilfred Owen
Preface
This book is not about heroes. English Poetry is not yet fit to speak
of them. Nor is it about deeds or lands, nor anything about glory, honour,
dominion or power,
except War.
Above all, this book is not concerned with Poetry.
The subject of it is War, and the pity of War.
The Poetry is in the pity.
Yet these elegies are not to this generation,
This is in no sense consolatory.

They may be to the next.
All the poet can do to-day is to warn.
That is why the true Poets must be truthful.
If I thought the letter of this book would last,
I might have used proper names; but if the spirit of it survives Prussia, --
my ambition and those names will be content; for they will have
achieved themselves fresher fields than Flanders.

Note. -- This Preface was found, in an unfinished condition, among Wilfred Owen's papers."

[trinkie]

May God go with You, Son.
By C. Wright

You said ‘May God go with you, Son
And may you soon come safely home
Remember that where’er you go
You’ll never be alone.’
Well I carried those thoughts with me, Mum
But when the aeroplane took me higher
I couldn’t see the Angels, Mum
And I never heard their choir.

I looked for signs of Holiness
Wherever I was sent
And ‘though I saw all kinds of men
They knew not what love meant
I saw the bodies of children, Mum
And oil wells set on fire
But I couldn’t see the Angels, Mum
And I never heard their choir.

I tried to find a reason
For laying to waste Mankind
And always, Mum, your parting words
Were present in my mind.

[Mosser]

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.

— Lt.-Col. John McCrae

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_Flanders_Fields

Reply to Flanders Fields
Oh! sleep in peace where poppies grow; The torch your falling hands let go
Was caught by us, again held high, A beacon light in Flanders sky
That dims the stars to those below. You are our dead, you held the foe,
And ere the poppies cease to blow, We'll prove our faith in you who lie
In Flanders Fields.
Oh! rest in peace, we quickly go To you who bravely died, and know
In other fields was heard the cry, For freedom's cause, of you who lie,
So still asleep where poppies grow,
In Flanders Fields.
As in rumbling sound, to and fro, The lightning flashes, sky aglow,
The mighty hosts appear, and high Above the din of battle cry,
Scarce heard amidst the guns below, Are fearless hearts who fight the foe,
And guard the place where poppies grow. Oh! sleep in peace, all you who lie
In Flanders Fields.

And still the poppies gently blow, Between the crosses, row on row.
The larks, still bravely soaring high, Are singing now their lullaby
To you who sleep where poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.
- John Mitchell
Mosser

[trinkie]

Remembrance Day
By the Caithness Violinist c. 1942

Remembrance Day, Remembrance Day
Must it return again
To fill my eyes with bitter tears
And my old heart with pain ?

His laughter still rings in my ears
And oft I see his smile
Tho’ cold he lies in Flander’s Field
He’s with me all the while.

Can I forget the songs he sang,
Or how he spoke to me,
While in my breast he lives anon,
Tho’ now a memory?

Remembrance Day, Remembrance Day,
Must it return again,
To fill my eyes with bitter tears
And my poor heart with pain ?


Trinkie

[trinkie]

Remembering the Crew of 269 Squadron Royal Air Force who died near Wick in July 1940.

Brave young men, Rest in Peace.



Trinkie

[Mosser]

Remember too the bravery of our Merchant Navy

On all the oceans white caps flow, you do not see crosses row on row,
But those who sleep beneath the sea, rest in peace, for your country is free.

[Mosser]

The words of John Masefield

Even in peace scant quiet is at sea, in war, each revolution of the screw,
Each breath of air that blows the colours free,
May be the last life movement known to you

But, if you escape, tomorrow you will steer
to peril once again to bring us bread.
To dare again, beneath the sky of fear,
The moon moved graveyard of your brothers dead.

You were salvation to the army lost,
Trapped, but for you, upon the Dunkirk beach;
Death barred the way to Russia, but you crossed;
To Crete and Malta, and you succoured each.

Unrecognised, you put us in your debt,
Unthanked, you entered, or escaped the grave,
Whether your land remember, or forget,
You saved the land, or died trying to save.

[trinkie]

Peace and War


How beautiful is Peace – Peace and her sister Love!
A glow of soft delight beams from their happy eyes;
Bright wreaths of summer flow’rs are twin’d amidst their hair;
Their sweet and smiling lips are curved in calm content;
Their ample, flowing robes trail o’er the grassy plains,
With gentle, soothing sound which lulls the world to sleep;
And so men do not raise a rev’rent glance towards Heaven!
Nor see beyond the stars the glory of God’s face.


How terrible is War – War and his brother Hate!
Fierce lust of battle gleams from their threatening eyes;
Foul writhing snakes of hell are twined around their brows;
Their cruel hands are dripping red with human gore;
Their flesh is torn by "reeking tube and iron shard,"
The clanging of their brazen shields murders all sleep;
And so men their aching eyes towards Heaven and see
Afar ‘midst rifted clouds the glory of God’s face.




Nuntius