I received an interesting text this morning at about 6:50. It was from my assistant manager at work asking if I would recite "In Flander's Fields" today before doing the two-minutes silence. Absolutely. It wasn't going to be the ceremony at Warplane Heritage, but it was going to be something.
When I got to work this morning, my one coworker was there with her five year old granddaughter. Her grandbaby goes to the school that's around the corner from our building, so it's not uncommon to see her in the office some mornings before classes start. As this young girl didn't have a poppy, I removed the one from my coat and passed it on.
I'd asked her if she knew why we wear poppies. She shook her head no, but at five years old, it's understandable. I told her that many many years ago, there were two very big wars. Many men went off to fight these wars, but a lot of them died. They died so you can think what you want, say what you want and play all you want. It's called freedom. They died for freedom. We wear poppies to say thank you to those men, because without them, you wouldn't be able to freely play your favourite games with your friends. Do you think you can remember that? She nodded and said yes. I told her that it's important that she wears her poppy every year, and on this day remember the people who made her free to play. I also said that if someone asks why we wear poppies that she can give them an answer. She said she would remember.
I hope she does remember. I tried to explain the importance as easily as I could, and in terms that would make sense for a child. Being free to play would be very important to a five year old.
I hope that she remembers our conversation, because at some point, when she gets older, someone's going to ask why, and the younger generation needs to be able to give the answers. After all, the older generations won't be around forever.
As the time drew closer to 11:00am, my coworkers made their way back to the boardroom. I had asked my manager if I could say a few words along with McCrae's poem. She gave me her blessing, and stated that since I had the floor, I could say whatever I wanted. Her only request was that I leave out any form of prayer, just so we didn't have to worry about conflicting religious beliefs. That was an easy request to follow. Aside from the Lord's Prayer, the only one I know is the Airman's Grace, and it's not like there was any food that needed to be blessed.
At about 10:50, everyone was crowded into the boardroom or stood in the doorway. My manager stood up front with me, and we had a radio on quietly off to the side. It was tuned onto a service that was going on in downtown Hamilton, and this way, we'd be able to get the Last Post, Lament, and Reveille.
Once everyone arrived, I began. I asked for forgiveness if things seemed rushed as I'd only received the text earlier in the morning. Then I went into my short, impromptu service. I can't recall in exact terms what I said, but this is roughly how everything went:
It's perhaps appropriate that I speak to you all today. I spent seven years as an air cadet, and in that time, I sold poppies with veterans, participated in war grave decorating ceremonies, and stood guard on many parade squares for Remembrance Day services.
I've been asked to recite "In Flander's Fields" for you. McCrae's most famous poem is symbolic of Remembrance Day. What you may not know is that Lieutenant-Colonel McCrae was born in Guelph, Ontario in the 1800's, and he died in 1918 overseas shortly before the end of the war. His best known piece is as follows.
(poem recital)
As we still have a few moments before our two-minutes silence, there are a few other things I'd like to share with you that are just as important to remember, but that you probably don't know about. During my time selling poppies with veterans, I learned that war is about more than bullets, bloodshed, who lives and who dies. One night, about ten years ago, I sold poppies with two veterans named Frank and Stan. The one to my right pulled out a black and white photograph of himself in the mid-forties, in uniform, surrounded by snowbanks. He told me that he was wearing the same pair of long underwear at that moment as he was in the photo. The veteran to my left said that he thought the one on my right was joking until that vet pulled up his pant leg to reveal the most ragged pair of long underwear I had ever seen. What made them so important, I do not know, but they must have meant something special.
Here's a local piece of history that you may not be aware of, especially if you're from the Hamilton area. During the war, Hamilton Airport was known as No. 33 Air Navigation School, which was part of the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan, and trained young pilots for war. Men would come over from Europe to train as our skies were safe and they didn't have to worry about being shot down. Tragically, 16 men were killed during training. Fourteen of them now lay buried behind St. Paul's Anglican church on Hwy. #6 in Mount Hope. If you ever get the chance to visit, do so. It's a humbling experience.
Finally, if you are able, shake the hands of our veterans. You do not realize the importance of that single gesture. It shows not only your thanks, but that you understand and your gratitude. They're our humble heroes. Shake their hands because you may never again get the opportunity to do so.
A moment later, the Last Post played over the radio, and we began our two-minutes silence. I thought I had heard a train in the background of the radio. However, I may have been very wrong. We were listening to a station from downtown Hamilton, and during the two minutes silence, the Lanc did its fly-by, as it's been known to do every November 11. We may have heard the sound of the Lancaster bomber. I choose to believe that I didn't miss out on the most important fly-by.
When the silence was over, the bagpipes played, the bugler played Reveille, and the well-known second verse of "For the Fallen" was said:
They shall grow not 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.
Out of force of habit, I found myself saying aloud, "we will remember them" like every other year on Remembrance Day.
I thanked my coworkers for having me speak, and ended with, "may we remember them." Next thing I knew, there was applause, a couple of people shook my hand and said good job, and others said thank you.
I don't think I can describe what I felt, being on the other side. I'm so accustomed to being the one who extends my hand and gives thanks. To be the one being thanked with a shake of the hand was a loss-at-words experience.
I doubt my coworkers realize what it meant to me to be able to be the one to give a service, as small as it was. But, the few who I spoke to, I told that once you sell poppies with vets, your perspective changes. You have a different understanding.
It was an honour to be the one to lead everyone in Remembrance. Maybe the memories of our vets will live a little bit longer as everyone got an education today. It may have only been a ten-minute lesson, but perhaps it's one that will last a life time.
As for the service I missed at Warplane Heritage? CHCH News videoed the service, and posted it to their website.
http://www.chch.com/remembrance-day-special-lest-forget/
I finally found the answers I've been looking for all these years. She still has the bright red hair. She still wears stilettos. She still kicks some serious ass. She probably still bakes cookies.
And thus concludes another year of
11 Days of Remembrance. Come back next year for the 2014 edition. If you can't wait that long, you can find previous editions from 2011 and 2012.
Lest we forget.
