Veterans are remembered

Today, we find our veterans too well represented as "homeless". Even though they sacrificed much to serve their country, that country too often does not do justice for them when they return, physically or mentally ill, their jobs and homes gone. For some in Congress, they say "We can't afford to fund programs for those people."
You should not vote for such selfish politicians even though they may be your party!
Remembering veterans on one day only, well, this isn't what we should do. There are private individuals and organizations that try to help veterans and those serving. Find one of these and do what you can to help...all year long.

Our servicemen have been selflesses in doing their jobs. Because of their sacrifices, we enjoy freedom and all it brings. Write your congressman and tell him/her to put aside partisan politics and to do more to help these brave men and women, who continue to serve.


"Veterans Day, formerly Armistice Day, holiday observed annually in the United States in honor of all those, living and dead, who served with the U.S. armed forces in wartime. Some states observe the holiday on November 11 and others on the fourth Monday of October. Armistice Day, the forerunner of Veterans Day, was proclaimed in 1919 to commemorate the termination (at 11 AM on November 11, 1918) of World War I. On the first anniversary of the truce, U.S. President Woodrow Wilson issued a proclamation eulogizing fallen Allied soldiers and referring to November 11 as Armistice Day. It became a holiday in the United States, France, the United Kingdom, and Canada.The holiday acquired its present name and broadened significance in the United States in 1954."   
 (Author unknown)





IN FLANDERS FIELD
Written by: Captain John D. McCrae




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 poem was written during WW I., a most horrific war. To get an idea of the uselessness of that war (as many other wars) read Ken Follet's fictionalized version, well researched and put into human terms, FALL OF THE GIANTS.

Thanks to Bee McGee, the  following information about the poem can be found on the Internet.

"McCrae's "In Flanders Fields" remains to this day one of the most memorable war poems ever written. It is a lasting legacy of the terrible battle in the Ypres salient in the spring of 1915. Here is the story of the making of that poem:

Although he had been a doctor for years and had served in the South African War, it was impossible to get used to the suffering, the screams, and the blood here, and Major John McCrae had seen and heard enough in his dressing station to last him a lifetime.

As a surgeon attached to the 1st Field Artillery Brigade, Major McCrae, who had joined the McGill faculty in 1900 after graduating from the University of Toronto, had spent seventeen days treating injured men -- Canadians, British, Indians, French, and Germans -- in the Ypres salient.

It had been an ordeal that he had hardly thought possible. McCrae later wrote of it:

"I wish I could embody on paper some of the varied sensations of that seventeen days... Seventeen days of Hades! At the end of the first day if anyone had told us we had to spend seventeen days there, we would have folded our hands and said it could not have been done."

One death particularly affected McCrae. A young friend and former student, Lieut. Alexis Helmer of Ottawa, had been killed by a shell burst on 2 May 1915. Lieutenant Helmer was buried later that day in the little cemetery outside McCrae's dressing station, and McCrae had performed the funeral ceremony in the absence of the chaplain.

The next day, sitting on the back of an ambulance parked near the dressing station beside the Canal de l'Yser, just a few hundred yards north of Ypres, McCrae vented his anguish by composing a poem. The major was no stranger to writing, having authored several medical texts besides dabbling in poetry.

In the nearby cemetery, McCrae could see the wild poppies that sprang up in the ditches in that part of Europe, and he spent twenty minutes of precious rest time scribbling fifteen lines of verse in a notebook.

A young soldier watched him write it. Cyril Allinson, a twenty-two year old sergeant-major, was delivering mail that day when he spotted McCrae. The major looked up as Allinson approached, then went on writing while the sergeant-major stood there quietly. "His face was very tired but calm as we wrote," Allinson recalled. "He looked around from time to time, his eyes straying to Helmer's grave."

When McCrae finished five minutes later, he took his mail from Allinson and, without saying a word, handed his pad to the young NCO. Allinson was moved by what he read:

"The poem was exactly an exact description of the scene in front of us both. He used the word blow in that line because the poppies actually were being blown that morning by a gentle east wind. It never occurred to me at that time that it would ever be published. It seemed to me just an exact description of the scene."

In fact, it was very nearly not published. Dissatisfied with it, McCrae tossed the poem away, but a fellow officer retrieved it and sent it to newspapers in England. The Spectator, in London, rejected it, but Punch published it on 8 December 1915."