Remember

They shall not grow 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.

From Laurence Binyon's poem For the Fallen, written September 1914

Anthem for doomed youth

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 the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

Wilfred Owen
Owen was killed at Ors, near the French Belgian border, on 4 November 1918, at the age of 25.

Remember the youth

They shall not grow old as we who 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.

Rest eternal grant unto them O Lord, and let light perpetual shine upon them.

Have a think about this.

It is said, and who am I to disagree, that the average age of the soldiers in World War II was 26.

Yes, 26.

So at 26 what is uppermost in the mind of the average male? Yes, that's right, sex. Now this could be said of the average 26 year old female, but I'm not female and I can't say for certain but will welcome comments from those better placed than me to agree or disagree.

So anyway, that's why this year, as a tribute to the youngsters who died for me and for you so that we might be free and be able to do all the things we now take for granted, I include the image on the right. With poppies. And a lady.

And I mean no disrespect.  Those who know me will know this to be true.

And for those who wish to know why we wear poppies....

In Flanders Fields

by John McCrae, May 1915

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.

Inspiration for the poem

During the Second Battle of Ypres a Canadian artillery officer, Lieutenant Alexis Helmer, was killed on 2 May, 1915 by an exploding shell. He was a friend of the Canadian military doctor Major John McCrae.

John was asked to conduct the burial service owing to the chaplain being called away on duty elsewhere. It is believed that later that evening John began the draft for his famous poem 'In Flanders Fields'.

Remember

They shall not grow old as we who 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.

Donate to the poppy appeal now by clicking this link

Requiescat in Pace

It's that time of the year again. Remember those who gave their lives so that you, yes you, can be free.

They shall not grow old as we who 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.

Earlier this year I visited Tyne Cot cemetery in Belgium, near Ypres. That was an exceptionally sobering experience and I would urge you to visit one of the, sadly, many similar places dotted around. The images on the right and below are from Tyne Cot.

Remember