Stacy E. Apelt - Bladesmith
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We will remember.
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To all Vererans, Living and Past
- Thread starter Stacy E. Apelt - Bladesmith
- Start date
Stacy E. Apelt - Bladesmith
ilmarinen - MODERATOR
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John McRae - May 3, 1915
This was written by a field surgeon sitting on the back of an ambulance at the end of the battle of Ypres in Belgium.
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.
Response upon reading McRae's poem in a New Your newspaper on November 9, 1918 (two days before the armistice):
Moina Michael, November 9,1918
Oh! you who sleep in Flanders Fields,
Sleep sweet - to rise anew!
We caught the torch you threw
And holding high, we keep the Faith
With All who died.
We cherish, too, the poppy red
That grows on fields where valor 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
We wear in honor of our dead.
Fear not that ye have died for naught;
We'll teach the lesson that ye wrought
In Flanders Fields.
Moinia was the founder of the YWCA, and upon hearing of the armistice, she sat down and sewed a red silk poppy. The next year, she had her ladies in the YWCA sew them and go out into the streets and hand them out.
Back in Britain, the Royal Legion of Britain ( like our American Legion) took thos up and built a factory in Richmond, a suburb of LOndon. They put disabled veterans to work making paper and fabro]ic poppies.These were sold t pay for veteran's care and recovery. They raised 1
over 100,000 ponds sterling in the first year.
The American Legion then adopted the poppy as the symbol of remembrance. It is now worn worldwide by all UK and commonwealth nations, as well as America and other countries.
This was written by a field surgeon sitting on the back of an ambulance at the end of the battle of Ypres in Belgium.
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.
Response upon reading McRae's poem in a New Your newspaper on November 9, 1918 (two days before the armistice):
Moina Michael, November 9,1918
Oh! you who sleep in Flanders Fields,
Sleep sweet - to rise anew!
We caught the torch you threw
And holding high, we keep the Faith
With All who died.
We cherish, too, the poppy red
That grows on fields where valor 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
We wear in honor of our dead.
Fear not that ye have died for naught;
We'll teach the lesson that ye wrought
In Flanders Fields.
Moinia was the founder of the YWCA, and upon hearing of the armistice, she sat down and sewed a red silk poppy. The next year, she had her ladies in the YWCA sew them and go out into the streets and hand them out.
Back in Britain, the Royal Legion of Britain ( like our American Legion) took thos up and built a factory in Richmond, a suburb of LOndon. They put disabled veterans to work making paper and fabro]ic poppies.These were sold t pay for veteran's care and recovery. They raised 1
over 100,000 ponds sterling in the first year.
The American Legion then adopted the poppy as the symbol of remembrance. It is now worn worldwide by all UK and commonwealth nations, as well as America and other countries.
Last edited:
Stacy E. Apelt - Bladesmith
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And my favorite poem/song. Written by a Scottish folk singer while walking through Flanders on a vacation.
Eric Bogle 1976
Well how do you do Private William McBride,
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside?
And rest for awhile beneath the warm summer sun,
I've been walking all day and now I'm nearly done
I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen
When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916;
Well I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean,
Or, young Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?
Refrain:
Did they beat the drum slowly,
Did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the Death March
As they lowered you down?
Did the band play
"The Last Post And Chorus?"
Did the pipes play
"The Flowers Of The Forest?"
Did you leave 'ere a wife or a sweetheart behind?
In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined?
And although you died back in 1916,
In that faithful heart are you forever nineteen?
Or are you a stranger without even a name,
Enclosed forever behind a glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn, and battered and stained,
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame?
Refrain:
Ah the sun now it shines on these green fields of France,
The warm summer breeze makes the red poppies dance,
And look how the sun shines from under the clouds;
There's no gas, no barbed wire, there're no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard is still No Man's Land,
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man,
To a whole generation that was butchered and damned.
Refrain:
Ah, young Willie McBride, I can't help wonder why,
Did all those who lay here really know why they died?
And did they believe when they answered the call,
Did they really believe that this war would end war?
For the sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the pain,
The killing and dying were all done in vain,
For, young Willie McBride, it all happened again,
And again and again and again and again.
Refrain:
Eric Bogle 1976
Well how do you do Private William McBride,
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside?
And rest for awhile beneath the warm summer sun,
I've been walking all day and now I'm nearly done
I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen
When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916;
Well I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean,
Or, young Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?
Refrain:
Did they beat the drum slowly,
Did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the Death March
As they lowered you down?
Did the band play
"The Last Post And Chorus?"
Did the pipes play
"The Flowers Of The Forest?"
Did you leave 'ere a wife or a sweetheart behind?
In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined?
And although you died back in 1916,
In that faithful heart are you forever nineteen?
Or are you a stranger without even a name,
Enclosed forever behind a glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn, and battered and stained,
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame?
Refrain:
Ah the sun now it shines on these green fields of France,
The warm summer breeze makes the red poppies dance,
And look how the sun shines from under the clouds;
There's no gas, no barbed wire, there're no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard is still No Man's Land,
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man,
To a whole generation that was butchered and damned.
Refrain:
Ah, young Willie McBride, I can't help wonder why,
Did all those who lay here really know why they died?
And did they believe when they answered the call,
Did they really believe that this war would end war?
For the sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the pain,
The killing and dying were all done in vain,
For, young Willie McBride, it all happened again,
And again and again and again and again.
Refrain:
A.McPherson
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Without a doubt my favorite "war" song. It makes me cry every time I hear it.
To all those out there remembering loved ones and friends who served: Thank you. It means a lot.
To all my brothers and sisters in arms still out there in the dark, we remember you.
Stacy E. Apelt - Bladesmith
ilmarinen - MODERATOR
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Every year I drink a wee dram in remembrance. I suggest we all take a glass tonight and join me to honor:
"To those who died over there, those who died over here after being over there, and those who are still dying inside from being over there."
My grandfather was an Iron Cross recipient in WWI. When I was young, I asked him about being on the losing side of the war. He told me there were no winners in that war ... only losers. I still remember his words, "The lucky ones died quickly. Some died slowly from their wounds. The rest of us are still dying." (Thus my annual toast above)
Grossvater never showed us his medals or other things from that war. Even my father had never seen them. When they were in their 90's I visited them and was writing down family history stories. Grossmutter brought out a box of stuff and gave it to me. On the top was an ancient cigar box. It held all their personal stuff from Germany, including grandpa's war medals. She told me about each item in the boxes so I would know what was their story and why they brought them with them from Germany. I asked about all grandpa's sports medals and trophies from before the war, and she said, "We left those behind." I asked grandpa if he would tell me about the battle that he won the Iron Cross in and he said, "Nein, I left that behind, too." Grandma told me later on when he was taking a nap.
"To those who died over there, those who died over here after being over there, and those who are still dying inside from being over there."
My grandfather was an Iron Cross recipient in WWI. When I was young, I asked him about being on the losing side of the war. He told me there were no winners in that war ... only losers. I still remember his words, "The lucky ones died quickly. Some died slowly from their wounds. The rest of us are still dying." (Thus my annual toast above)
Grossvater never showed us his medals or other things from that war. Even my father had never seen them. When they were in their 90's I visited them and was writing down family history stories. Grossmutter brought out a box of stuff and gave it to me. On the top was an ancient cigar box. It held all their personal stuff from Germany, including grandpa's war medals. She told me about each item in the boxes so I would know what was their story and why they brought them with them from Germany. I asked about all grandpa's sports medals and trophies from before the war, and she said, "We left those behind." I asked grandpa if he would tell me about the battle that he won the Iron Cross in and he said, "Nein, I left that behind, too." Grandma told me later on when he was taking a nap.
