November 11
- Thread starter CanuckMA
- Start date
Indeed. Never to forgive, never to forget... lest forgiveness leads to forgetting, and something similar happens again. :asian:
newGuy12
Master of Arts
To the Greatest Generation, Thank You!
Thank you to all that are serving, those that served, and to those we have lost alone the way, may your sacrifice not be in vein.
To those that are not accounted for, I say bring them home or send us back. You are not forgotten.
To those that are not accounted for, I say bring them home or send us back. You are not forgotten.
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.
We will remember them. All of them, from those in the First World War to those who die today and in the future doing their duty. We will remember with pride mixed with the sorrow, that there are still in this age of 'me' people who will lay down their lives so others can live. We will do our best to make sure those sacrifices aren't in vain. We will remember them.
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.
We will remember them. All of them, from those in the First World War to those who die today and in the future doing their duty. We will remember with pride mixed with the sorrow, that there are still in this age of 'me' people who will lay down their lives so others can live. We will do our best to make sure those sacrifices aren't in vain. We will remember them.
I utterly and completely stand beside my fellows and thank Tez particularly for her quote above (it was the one I was going to use myself).
Here's a single verse from a very good modern poem written, as ever is the best work on such a subject, by a man who has 'been there':
Let us devote today, Memorial Day,
To those who heeded Freedoms call.
Let us retell the tales... Lest We Forget,
That all gave some, and some gave all.
Frank J. Montoya
Retired Army CWO, Vietnam Vet , 9th Infantry
Here's a single verse from a very good modern poem written, as ever is the best work on such a subject, by a man who has 'been there':
Let us devote today, Memorial Day,
To those who heeded Freedoms call.
Let us retell the tales... Lest We Forget,
That all gave some, and some gave all.
Frank J. Montoya
Retired Army CWO, Vietnam Vet , 9th Infantry
Blotan Hunka
Master Black Belt
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1,000,000 casualties in the Somme alone. They find unexploded WWI ordinance and corpses to this day.
Kembudo-Kai Kempoka
Senior Master
The realities of war have been too long off of our native shores. Spend some time in Europe, and you'll find places that are memorials to liberation, still tended by people who remember what it was to live under the darkness and torture of tyranny.
On a roadside in Belgium, a tank in WW2 became disabled. The locals built a stone and chain ring around it, covered it in flowers, and keep it freshly painted. They remember what it was like to have no food, because the invading armies took it all. To have no men in the town to help with chores, because they had all been sent off to war or killed in executions. They remember the lifting of hearts when the Allied forces pushed the german war machine back from their yards. So they remember; the costs of war are real.
Thank you for all you did and do, who you are, and the legacy you all have left the world.
On a roadside in Belgium, a tank in WW2 became disabled. The locals built a stone and chain ring around it, covered it in flowers, and keep it freshly painted. They remember what it was like to have no food, because the invading armies took it all. To have no men in the town to help with chores, because they had all been sent off to war or killed in executions. They remember the lifting of hearts when the Allied forces pushed the german war machine back from their yards. So they remember; the costs of war are real.
Thank you for all you did and do, who you are, and the legacy you all have left the world.
A little while ago when in France we visited the Vimy Ridge Memorial, built after the First World War with money from the Canadian people. It is a magnificent memorial to those who fought and died but for us the small war cemetaries dotted around the site are the most touching.
Each is surounded by a small stone wall, you enter through a gate into another place, the gravestones are regimental in their lines and pristine whiteness, the grass is immaculately cut and there is a rose bush on each grave. You start the walk up the first row, you note the names and the regiment of the soldier who lies there and then you see their ages. These were no more than children. the numbers leap out at you, 17, 18, 17, 19, 20, 17, it goes on. The oldest only in their twenties. The regimental badges tell you these were from the same part of the country, "Pal's Regiment", friends who joined up together and died together to be buried where they fell.
By the time you walk down the last row, your heart is full of sadness, your eyes full of tears. There's anger too at the waste of these young lives. You can't help but compare these shortened lives with those of young people you know, in my case it was with those soldiers I knew that were going off to yet another war. Twenty seven of them didn't come back.
We will remember them.
:asian:
Each is surounded by a small stone wall, you enter through a gate into another place, the gravestones are regimental in their lines and pristine whiteness, the grass is immaculately cut and there is a rose bush on each grave. You start the walk up the first row, you note the names and the regiment of the soldier who lies there and then you see their ages. These were no more than children. the numbers leap out at you, 17, 18, 17, 19, 20, 17, it goes on. The oldest only in their twenties. The regimental badges tell you these were from the same part of the country, "Pal's Regiment", friends who joined up together and died together to be buried where they fell.
By the time you walk down the last row, your heart is full of sadness, your eyes full of tears. There's anger too at the waste of these young lives. You can't help but compare these shortened lives with those of young people you know, in my case it was with those soldiers I knew that were going off to yet another war. Twenty seven of them didn't come back.
We will remember them.
:asian:
It is better to forgive and never forget. Forgiveness doesn't always lead to forgetfulness. Not with the atrocities that we are forgiving. How else can there be peace of the animosity of unforgiving attitudes remain in people's hearts?
We are a brutal and violent species but we also are compassionate and peaceful. We must continue to strive learning the arts of peace and kindness to one another, just as we must continue to learn to defend and to stop those who would show their aggression against us.
Until that day where aggression and defense are no longer needed.
:asian:
- Thread Starter
- #15
I have forgiven today's Germans. Heck, I work for a German company. I will never forgive that generation.
These laid the world away; poured out the red
Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be
Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene,
That men call age; and those who would have been,
Their sons, they gave, their immortality.
from 'The Dead',
Rupert Brooke, 18871915
Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be
Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene,
That men call age; and those who would have been,
Their sons, they gave, their immortality.
from 'The Dead',
Rupert Brooke, 18871915
