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A soldier stood at the pearly gate,
His face was scarred and old.
He stood before the man of fate
For admission to the fold.
‘What have you done,’ St Peter asked,
‘To gain admission here?’
‘I’ve been a soldier, sir,’ he said,
‘For many and many a year.’
The pearly gate swung open wide
As Peter touched the bell,
‘Inside’, he said, ‘and choose your harp.
You've had your share of hell.’
Excellent thread, I had the pleasure of visiting Ypres a few weeks ago and will be taking the family there this coming Tuesday. It is an experience that would move anyone.
Also, there is a Bastogne march on 20 December to commemorate the offensive there. I went last year and it was amazing, re-enactors set up all along the route making you feel you've stepped back in time. If only someone could get a few P-51s to fly overhead!
I don't own this space under my name. I should have leased it while I still could
Join Date: Dec 2002
Location: Lincolnshire
Age: 66
Posts: 5,571
I noted all the points about the BBC above and do you know what? So did the vicar.
At the service this morning he talked about CS Lewis and the Narnia Stories and the fact that the BBC, despite the success of the first 3 dropped plans to broadcast the last 4. The last one was The Final Battle and it did not fit the BBCs anti-war anti-Christian movement.
He said that the Christian movement was the most realistic as it recognised sin and the propensity of war. No war is utopian and not in the bibble.
Cool, white, simple, it stood and around, with heads bowed, our representatives.
Two minutes from our busy lives. So small a thing for those who gave so much.
Courtesy BBC was able to stand here and watch at the appropriate time, remember, say a quiet thank you, could not prevent a tear, did not feel it wasted. Another poem that sprang to mind was by WB Yeats.
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death
Last edited by Paterbrat : 10th November 2003 at 06:17.
Why did you die, Daddy, why did you die?
You said you'd be here tonight.
It's my birthday, Daddy, don't you remember?
The candles you were going to light?
You went away so long ago,
I can hardly remember your touch.
But I'll always feel, I'll always know,
The love we shared so much.
I remember your plane, Daddy, so big - so green
You were so proud, showing it to me.
It's in front of me now, Daddy, on the TV screen.
But you I can't see.
Mummy says we'll always remember you,
On this special day, though it's dark.
But where are you, Daddy, and why did you die?
And when will we next play in the park?
I have to agree, when popular culture meets military ceremony, the result is usually pretty cringe-making. Saturday's Royal British Legion Festival of Remembrance was no exception. I doubt the show impressed the young or the old (though it might have appealed to "Creme Brule" fans). When will military directors of music learn that songs written for bass guitar and wailing diva cannot successfully be arranged for military woodwind and brass? Incidentally, I thought the Barclay Square number was inoffensive enough, as it did, at least, have its origins in WW2 nostalgia.
The Festival ought to stick to what it does best, celebrating military tradition and remembering the fallen.
Furthermore, as Britain is a predominantly secular society, please can we be spared the religious bilge? As many of the above poems demonstrate, it is possible movingly and respectfully to remember the dead, without the whole thing being hijacked by the god squad.
Furthermore, as Britain is a predominantly secular society, please can we be spared the religious bilge? As many of the above poems demonstrate, it is possible movingly and respectfully to remember the dead, without the whole thing being hijacked by the god squad.
I cannot agree with this statement. Most, if not all who have been confronted by the spectre of death in battle, turn to their faith or their mother.
I have never been confronted with such a situation during my military career. I thank god for that.
FEBA
My little village church has a moving remembrance service. My wife and I attended it this year, as we always do, and as we stood outside at the war memorial we remarked that this year was different in that the sun was shining and the trees are particularly vibrant. As the vicar read out the names of those who died for England in 2 world wars it seemed more poignant than ever as we stood there in the chilly wind, but with the bright sun on our faces. Its a small village, but the list of names is quite long. Lets never forget what they did.
Closing it to open again in 12 months time is a good idea. I will check on that but normally threads older than 9 months naturally wither away.
Tell you what though. I will cut and paste the whole thread - hopefully - and store it on disc and then I will resurrect (fits well doesn't it!) it a couple of weeks before the time in 2004.
I shall come back to my own England,
Of hedgerow and of field,
Where the wounds in my mind will be slowly healed,
And the graves in my heart will be overgrown,
And i'll sit in the sun.
Cpl Arthur Wainwright, Lancaster rear gunner, Stalag Luft 6, 12/10/1944, a POW after being shot down over enemy territory. My Grandfather.
(Edit: I'm not sure if this is his work or if it's that of someone else. I have googled and cannot find it, however i don't know it from anywhere else)
Last edited by joe2812 : 27th October 2004 at 12:49.
The first rays of the dawning sun
Shall touch its pillars,
And as the day advances
And the light grows stronger,
You shall read the names
Engraved on the stone of those who sailed on the angry sky
And saw harbour no more.
No gravestone in yew-dark churchyard
Shall mark their resting place;
Their bones lie in the forgotten corners of earth and sea.
But, that we may not lose their memory
With fading years, their monuments stand here,
Here, where the trees troop down to Runnymede.
Meadow of Magna Carta, field of freedom,
Never saw you so fitting a memorial,
Proof that the principals established here
Are still dear to the hearts of men.
Here now they stand, contrasted and alike,
The field of freedom's birth, and the memorial
To freedom's winning.
And, as evening comes,
And mists, like quiet ghosts, rise from the river bed,
And climb the hill to wander through the cloisters,
We shall not forget them. Above the mist
We shall see the memorial still, and over it
The crown and single star. And we shall pray
As the mists rise up and the air grows dark
That we may wear
As brave a heart as they.
D-Day and death
On 6 April, he was moved to a top-security camp for final training in sea-borne invasion. Exactly two months later, he was in command of a tank troop in the main assault on Gold Beach in Normandy. As he waited to embark on the journey across the Channel, he wrote 'Actors waiting in the wings of Europe'
Everyone, I suppose, will use these minutes
to look back, to hear music and recall
what we were doing and saying that year
during our last few months as people, near
the sucking mouth of the day that swallowed us all
into the stomach of a war.'
He never finished the poem.
The regiment helped liberate Bayeux and then, on D-Day + 3, arrived outside the little village of St Pierre. The 24-year-old Douglas and a comrade left their tank and walked towards the village, which was full of Germans. A mortar shell exploded directly above his head, killing him instantly without leaving a mark on his body. The chaplain buried him by a hedge near where he died.
I have just returned from a family holiday in Northern France during which I, two of my brothers, and my father visited the grave of my father's uncle who was killed, at the age of 24, on D-Day. He never even made it off the beach.
This was the first visit to the cemetery (Bayeux) for my brothers and myself, although my father had been before. Even though I never knew my great uncle (I was born 41 years after his death) it was still an incredibly moving experience. All of us were moved to tears at one point.
A few things will forever remain my mind:
The peace and serenity of the beautifully kept cemetery and memorials.
The way that whole RAF crews were buried together - just as they had trained, played, fought and died together.
The rows and rows of Marines who died on 6th June 1944 - their unit must have been decimated.
The presence of Czechs, Poles, Russians and even at least one Italian in the cemetery.
The fact that Jews and Christians were buried side by side.
The sight of a whole RAF crew of seven men killed just 6 days before the end of the war.
The presence of German soldiers in the same cemetery as the British and Commonwealth personnel - all equal in death.
Finally the youth of many of those who died - espcially the German soldiers, many of whom were 16, 17 or 18 years old.
As an ex serviceman I am well aware that it is only a matter of timing (and maybe some luck) that means that I am not there - the Cold War could have gone "hot" at any time. The sacrifice of these men (and women), service and civilian (there was at least on female church worker in Etaples cemetery, for example) touched me and although I never knew any of them, I always feel close to them.
I took my 7 year old daughter to the cemetery at Etaples, and did my best to explain. But how can you? All that we can do is remember, honour and cherish those who gave their lives and do our best to ensure that this sacrifice is not required in the future. I am confident that we will continue to do the former - I am not so confident of the latter.
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