Lest We Forget ...

At the going down of the sun

If I should die, think only this of me
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is forever England. There shall be
in that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam
A body of England's breathing English air
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness'
In hearts at piece under an English heaven.

Rupert Brooke

I prefer the sentiments of this one meself:


‘GOOD-MORNING; good-morning!’ the General said
When we met him last week on our way to the line.
Now the soldiers he smiled at are most of ’em dead,
And we’re cursing his staff for incompetent swine.
‘He’s a cheery old card,’ grunted Harry to Jack
As they slogged up to Arras with rifle and pack.
. . . .

But he did for them both by his plan of attack.

Merlin wrote:When you go home, tell them of us and say:
For Your Tommorrow We Gave Our Today.

Aye Merls

We will remember them

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.

The Bishop tells us: 'When the boys come back
'They will not be the same; for they'll have fought
'In a just cause: they lead the last attack
'On Anti-Christ; their comrades' blood has bought
'New right to breed an honourable race,
'They have challenged Death and dared him face to face.'

'We're none of us the same!' the boys reply.
'For George lost both his legs; and Bill's stone blind;
'Poor Jim's shot through the lungs and like to die;
'And Bert's gone syphilitic: you'll not find
'A chap who's served that hasn't found some change.
' And the Bishop said: 'The ways of God are strange!'

SS

Fine words all.

This beautiful song was written by Eric Bogle, it never fails to raise a lump in the throat:

Well, how'd you do, Private Willie McBride,
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside?
I'll rest for awhile in the warm summer sun,
Been walking all day, Lord, and I'm nearly done.
I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen
When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916,
I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean,
Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?

Well, the sun's shining down on these green fields of France;
The warm wind blows gently, the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished long under the plow;
No gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard it's still No Man's Land;
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man.
And a whole generation who were butchered and damned.

And I can't help but wonder now, Willie McBride,
Do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did you really believe them when they told you the cause?
Did you really believe that this war would end wars?
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame,
The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain,
For Willie McBride, it's all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.

I thought I'd put up something a bit different:

Paschendale by Iron Maiden

In a foreign field he lay
lonely soldier unknown grave
on his dying words he prays
tell the world of Paschendale

Relive all that he's been through
last communion of his soul
rust your bullets with his tears
let me tell you 'bout his years

Laying low in a blood filled trench
killing time 'til my very own death
on my face I can feel the falling rain
never see my friends again
in the smoke in the mud and lead
the smell of fear and the feeling of dread
soon be time to go over the wall
rapid fire and the end of us all

Whistles, shouts and more gun-fire
lifeless bodies hang on barbed wire
battlefield nothing but a bloody tomb
be reunited with my dead friends soon
many soldiers eighteen years
drowned in mud, no more tears
surely a war no one can win
killing time about to begin

Home, far away. From the war, a chance to live again
Home, far away. But the war, no chance to live again

The bodies of ours and our foes
the sea of death it overflows
in no-man's land God only knows
into jaws of death we go...

Crucified as if on a cross
allied troops, they mourn their loss
German war propaganda machine
such before has never been seen
swear I heard the angels cry
pray to God no more may die
so that people know the truth
tell the tale of Paschendale

Cruelty has a human heart
every man does play his part
terror of the men we kill
the human heart is hungry still

I stand my ground for the very last time
gun is ready as I stand in line
nervous wait for the whistle to blow
rush of blood and over we go...

Blood is falling like the rain
its crimson cloak unveils again
the sound of guns can't hide their shame
and so we die in Paschendale

Dodging shrapnel and barbed wire
running straight at cannon fire
running blind as I hold my breath
say a prayer symphony of death
as we charge the enemy lines
a burst of rounds and we go down
I choke I cry but no one hears
feel the blood run down my throat

See my spirit on the wind
across the lines beyond the hill
friend and foe will meet again
those who died at Paschendale

Let's not forget those who have survived wars, but have been irrepairably damaged by the experience. I had a great uncle who was a stretcher bearer during the first world war. He spent the last 30 years of his life in a mental institution having been completely unhinged by what he witnessed.

Just watched a programme about conscientious objectors. A difficult subject.

My favourite showing the differing treatment of soldiers between peace and war. Also inspiring the title "The Thin Red Line" for book and movie.

_____________________________________-


Tommy
I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!

RUDYARD KIPLING.

Something about war that brings out the best in poets.

"Virgil Kane was my name, and I rode on the Danville Train.

Basil wrote:Let's not forget those who have survived wars, but have been irrepairably damaged by the experience. I had a great uncle who was a stretcher bearer during the first world war. He spent the last 30 years of his life in a mental institution having been completely unhinged by what he witnessed.

There's stuff online I have seen over the years- WW I casualties (physical, psychological) - that beggars description.

Did you all observe the two minutes?

100 years today since the famous Cavalry charge by the Australian Light Horse at Beersheba.

Big Dog wrote:100 years today since the famous Cavalry charge by the Australian Light Horse at Beersheba.

Cricket relevance

embee wrote:

Big Dog wrote:100 years today since the famous Cavalry charge by the Australian Light Horse at Beersheba.

Cricket relevance  

Interesting

Another tragedy of this campaign was that, because of Australia's strict quarantine laws, the soldiers were not allowed to bring their horses home. Such was the bond that the men had with their horses, many lead their mounts into the desert & shot them rather than let them fall into the hands of local Arabs who had no respect for animal welfare.

.

Big Dog wrote:Another tragedy of this campaign was that, because of Australia's strict quarantine laws, the soldiers were not allowed to bring their horses home. Such was the bond that the men had with their horses, many lead their mounts into the desert & shot them rather than let them fall into the hands of local Arabs who had no respect for animal welfare.

I'd like to do the same to my dogs.

embee wrote:

Big Dog wrote:100 years today since the famous Cavalry charge by the Australian Light Horse at Beersheba.

Cricket relevance  

Tibby Cotter?

Big Dog wrote:100 years today since the famous Cavalry charge by the Australian Light Horse at Beersheba.

Mmmmmm..... beer....

JGK wrote:

embee wrote:

Big Dog wrote:100 years today since the famous Cavalry charge by the Australian Light Horse at Beersheba.

Cricket relevance  

Tibby Cotter?

Link

JGK wrote:

Big Dog wrote:Another tragedy of this campaign was that, because of Australia's strict quarantine laws, the soldiers were not allowed to bring their horses home. Such was the bond that the men had with their horses, many lead their mounts into the desert & shot them rather than let them fall into the hands of local Arabs who had no respect for animal welfare.

I'd like to do the same to my dogs.

JGK wrote:

embee wrote:

Big Dog wrote:100 years today since the famous Cavalry charge by the Australian Light Horse at Beersheba.

Cricket relevance  

Tibby Cotter?

Embee had a link attached to "cricket relevance". Fooled me too. I originally thought he was asking a trivia question.