Yesterday, my mother came home from whatever errands she was running, mentioned to me that Bellmoore, our former elementary school, was having a Christmas Bazaar, and was I interested in going. Sure, why not. I haven't been to Bellmoore in more years than I care to count, so sure I'd go. There was also another reason why I wanted to go too.
You see, since we amalgamated with the Hammer back in 2000, our community's population has gone through the roof, so much that Bellmoore is filled to capacity and then some. There's a new Bellmoore being built in the new surveys to house this new population, which means the original school will likely be torn down, and the property sold off to whatever developer is aching to snap it up. I wanted to go not just to see what items I could find at the bazaar, but because I wanted to see my old school before it goes the way of the albatross.
I knew it was a small school, believe me, but my god, I don't remember it feeling so tiny. Mum and I went through the doors, and I suddenly felt borderline claustrophobic. I remembered always feeling crammed in the hallways. Well, no wonder! They're so damn narrow, especially down the intermediate hallway with all the lockers. And to think that's were I went to school for nine years (kindergarten to grade eight)!
The colour scheme throughout the hallways was still the same, and also with the gym. The Bellmoore Bulldog that was painted on the gym wall when I was in the third grade is still there, which is rather awesome in its own pathetic way. I actually remember when Bellmoore had the contest to design the new bulldog mascot. I also remember being an honourable mention in that contest. Is the new Bellmoore going to redesign the bulldog, or are they going to keep the one that was designed when I was eight years old?
Another thing that crossed my mind was with regards to who I might still know around there. Every last teacher that I had either moved to a new school, retired, or passed on. Teachers that my sister had are still wandering around there, but the ones I knew were far and few between. However, there's still one person there who my mother and I doubt will ever leave. The secretary, Mrs. Porritt. We saw her yesterday, and she was amused when my mother said that she'd never leave. The custodian, Mr. Daniels, might still be there, but I have no idea.
Mum and I purchased a few things, in between wandering around seeing what there was to see. We ran into one of our neighbours as well, who I hadn't seen in ages, and whose son I also went to school with. She's an awesome artist, but that wasn't her purpose for yesterday's bazaar. She's also big on nature, so she was there representing the Glanbrook Conservation Authority (I think... Of course, if I blipped, my mother will give me grief, and then I'll have to write an apologetic comment). Also, I took advantage of doing some networking at this point (what can I say? I'm currently unemployed, so can you blame me? Sometimes, all you need to do is talk to people, which my mother and I are pro at).
There was also a silent auction. I didn't participate this time around, but there were some awesome ideas, and a few things I was interested in. For example, there was a gift basket done up titled, "Movie Night." It came equipped with a few DVD's (though I couldn't quite see which ones), popcorn, popcorn seasoning, a gift certificate to the local video store. You know. That sort of thing. The other baskets that looked awesome were the two "Family Game Night" ones. The only down side was that some of the games were too young for me, and I don't know who I'd give them to, especially when I don't know who has what. But, I was given the dire urge to go out and buy more games, such as Yatzee, or a couple of awesome ones that I've tried more recently (Dominion, and Ticket to Ride).
I still can't believe I used to go to such a tiny school. Also, I'm unable to remember if we had bazaars when I went there. I'm tempted to say yes, but who knows? What I do know is that I took a few pictures of Bellmoore on my phone because I'm almost positive that it won't be there forever.
I'm glad I went back. Besides, who doesn't love an inexpensive Holiday Bazaar?
Sunday, 27 November 2011
Sunday, 20 November 2011
I'm Back!
Hello, everybody!
The hiatus is over! I'm back, safe, sound, and still looking like Casper, despite having a tan (what can I say? I go from fish belly to just plain white). I know I didn't get around to writing today, but I promise updates are coming within the next day or so. I was just too drained to do anything today. Anyways, you can start to expect the posts to recommence right smartly!
-Tilly
The hiatus is over! I'm back, safe, sound, and still looking like Casper, despite having a tan (what can I say? I go from fish belly to just plain white). I know I didn't get around to writing today, but I promise updates are coming within the next day or so. I was just too drained to do anything today. Anyways, you can start to expect the posts to recommence right smartly!
-Tilly
Saturday, 12 November 2011
Hiatus
Hello all!
Just a heads-up, you likely won't see any posts from me for the next week (Nov 12- Nov 19) as I have a wedding to attend in the Dominican (I know, I'm so darn lucky). If I am lucky enough to have computer access, I doubt I'll have the chance to post. So, when you see nothing for the next week, don't panic! I'll be posting again on Sunday, November 20th upon my return. I promise to tell you all about my week in the heat... Okay, maybe not everything, but I'll still share something!
Until I return, have a great week!
-Tilly :)
Just a heads-up, you likely won't see any posts from me for the next week (Nov 12- Nov 19) as I have a wedding to attend in the Dominican (I know, I'm so darn lucky). If I am lucky enough to have computer access, I doubt I'll have the chance to post. So, when you see nothing for the next week, don't panic! I'll be posting again on Sunday, November 20th upon my return. I promise to tell you all about my week in the heat... Okay, maybe not everything, but I'll still share something!
Until I return, have a great week!
-Tilly :)
Friday, 11 November 2011
11 Days of Remembrance: Did You Remember Them?
I attended the Remembrance Day service today at the Canadian Warplane Heritage Museum. As always, it was beautiful, and was a spectacle all in itself. I was also fortunate enough to run into some of my former cadets, and I had the pleasure of enjoying the company of both a friend and former officer (all the same person) throughout the service.
The hangar was filled to the gills with nary a chair to spare. The Master of Ceremonies was well spoken. He was serious, of course, but he also knew when to lighten the mood. Normally, during a Rememberance Day service, you wouldn't expect to hear the MC say, "and now for the fun part." Some people could have taken such a statement in offense, however, such was not the case. Like every year, there was a guest speaker, and this year, he was a former WWII Mosquito pilot who also happened to be very good friends with the Master of Ceremonies. That's why he said the next part of the service would be fun.
The Lancaster bomber also did a fly-by during the service. The timing was amazing. There is an observation deck in the back of the hangar, with big windows surrounding it. When the Lanc came in for its fly-by, all that you could see through those windows were wings. At the same time, all of Warplane Heritage shook. I could feel the tremors start in my feet, and work their way up my body. It was incredible.
I managed to (somehow) keep myself composed throughout this year's service. I don't know how I was able to keep myself from breaking down, especially when the guest speaker, started to sing, "The White Cliffs of Dover," and the older people in attendance started to sing as well:
There'll be bluebirds over
The white cliffs of Dover,
Tomorrow, just you wait and see.
I'll never forget the people I met
braving those angry sky's
I remember well as the shadows fell
the light of hope in thier eyes
and though I'm far away I still can hear them say
thumbs up
for when the dawn comes up
There'll be bluebirds over
The white cliffs of Dover,
Tomorrow, just you wait and see.
There'll be love and laughter
And peace ever after.
Tomorrow, when the world is free
The shepherd will tend his sheep.
The valley will bloom again.
And Jimmy will go to sleep
In his own little room again.
There'll be bluebirds over
The white cliffs of Dover,
Tomorrow, just you wait and see.
...................
There'll be bluebirds over
The white cliffs of Dover,
Tomorrow, just you wait and see.
Written by Walter Kent and Nat Burton, 1941, made famous by Vera Lynn, 1942
Wreaths were laid, two minutes of silence was had, and hymns were sung. A couple thousand people in attendance in the hanger, along with thousands at home, all joining in to remember those who fought for our freedoms, the ones who died, and the ones who survived. Countless souls joined together in thanks.
A reception followed at the 447 Wing, though it's at a new location now. The old wing was actually in use during the Second World War. It was torn down within the last couple of years, and the 447 had to relocate. But, despite the change of venue, the feelings were all the same. Civillians, veterans, cadets, and everyone in between, all under one roof, sharing memories, food, and drink.
Thank you to all who have served, are serving, and to the Forces of our future. We will always remember you.
The hangar was filled to the gills with nary a chair to spare. The Master of Ceremonies was well spoken. He was serious, of course, but he also knew when to lighten the mood. Normally, during a Rememberance Day service, you wouldn't expect to hear the MC say, "and now for the fun part." Some people could have taken such a statement in offense, however, such was not the case. Like every year, there was a guest speaker, and this year, he was a former WWII Mosquito pilot who also happened to be very good friends with the Master of Ceremonies. That's why he said the next part of the service would be fun.
The Lancaster bomber also did a fly-by during the service. The timing was amazing. There is an observation deck in the back of the hangar, with big windows surrounding it. When the Lanc came in for its fly-by, all that you could see through those windows were wings. At the same time, all of Warplane Heritage shook. I could feel the tremors start in my feet, and work their way up my body. It was incredible.
I managed to (somehow) keep myself composed throughout this year's service. I don't know how I was able to keep myself from breaking down, especially when the guest speaker, started to sing, "The White Cliffs of Dover," and the older people in attendance started to sing as well:
There'll be bluebirds over
The white cliffs of Dover,
Tomorrow, just you wait and see.
I'll never forget the people I met
braving those angry sky's
I remember well as the shadows fell
the light of hope in thier eyes
and though I'm far away I still can hear them say
thumbs up
for when the dawn comes up
There'll be bluebirds over
The white cliffs of Dover,
Tomorrow, just you wait and see.
There'll be love and laughter
And peace ever after.
Tomorrow, when the world is free
The shepherd will tend his sheep.
The valley will bloom again.
And Jimmy will go to sleep
In his own little room again.
There'll be bluebirds over
The white cliffs of Dover,
Tomorrow, just you wait and see.
...................
There'll be bluebirds over
The white cliffs of Dover,
Tomorrow, just you wait and see.
Written by Walter Kent and Nat Burton, 1941, made famous by Vera Lynn, 1942
Wreaths were laid, two minutes of silence was had, and hymns were sung. A couple thousand people in attendance in the hanger, along with thousands at home, all joining in to remember those who fought for our freedoms, the ones who died, and the ones who survived. Countless souls joined together in thanks.
A reception followed at the 447 Wing, though it's at a new location now. The old wing was actually in use during the Second World War. It was torn down within the last couple of years, and the 447 had to relocate. But, despite the change of venue, the feelings were all the same. Civillians, veterans, cadets, and everyone in between, all under one roof, sharing memories, food, and drink.
Thank you to all who have served, are serving, and to the Forces of our future. We will always remember you.
Thursday, 10 November 2011
Review: Brimstone
I must confess. There were three Pendergast novels, by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child that I hadn't read, Brimstone being one of them.
Brimstone is the first novel in the Diogenes Trilogy. Though he's only mentioned and never seen, you get an idea as to how dangerous this character, who's the younger bother of Aloysius Pendergast, is going to be. With regards to the events in the book, is there any way that he can be more psycotic than a crazed, demon-impersonating Count? I'm not sure, but that, I will soon find out.
D'Agosta is now a Sergeant with the Southampton Police Force, and he hates it. While investigating the mysterious death of a most ignorant art critic, Special Agent Pendergast makes his trademark, pain-in-the-arse entrance. Together, they discover what demons really exist, along with the whereabouts of Stradivari's most famous violin, the Stormcloud. What could a musical instrument possibly have to do with demonic deaths or spontaneous human combustion? If you desire those answers, you'll have to read the book yourself.
As well, Captain Laura Hayward's grit and determination is put to the test when a former criminal-turned-reverend leads a group of fanatics outside the home of another grisly death. And don't forget about Bryce Harriman of the New York Post who wants so desperately to get back to the Times, not just because it has the better reputation, but to try to make the life of reporter Bill Smithback miserable.
Brimstone, just like every other Pendergast novel, leaves me cheering whenever the title character pisses someone off. I have the same feeling whenever D'Agosta decides to be both subtle and charming. The pace was good, the suspense was fantastic, and D'Agosta finally gets the chance to travel back to his family's homeland, and discover his roots in Italy.
As for Pendergast's fate, which was looking grim at one point, only in the next book Dance of Death, will I discover how he fared.
For more, check out my various film and book reviews. You can find many within each month.
Brimstone is the first novel in the Diogenes Trilogy. Though he's only mentioned and never seen, you get an idea as to how dangerous this character, who's the younger bother of Aloysius Pendergast, is going to be. With regards to the events in the book, is there any way that he can be more psycotic than a crazed, demon-impersonating Count? I'm not sure, but that, I will soon find out.
D'Agosta is now a Sergeant with the Southampton Police Force, and he hates it. While investigating the mysterious death of a most ignorant art critic, Special Agent Pendergast makes his trademark, pain-in-the-arse entrance. Together, they discover what demons really exist, along with the whereabouts of Stradivari's most famous violin, the Stormcloud. What could a musical instrument possibly have to do with demonic deaths or spontaneous human combustion? If you desire those answers, you'll have to read the book yourself.
As well, Captain Laura Hayward's grit and determination is put to the test when a former criminal-turned-reverend leads a group of fanatics outside the home of another grisly death. And don't forget about Bryce Harriman of the New York Post who wants so desperately to get back to the Times, not just because it has the better reputation, but to try to make the life of reporter Bill Smithback miserable.
Brimstone, just like every other Pendergast novel, leaves me cheering whenever the title character pisses someone off. I have the same feeling whenever D'Agosta decides to be both subtle and charming. The pace was good, the suspense was fantastic, and D'Agosta finally gets the chance to travel back to his family's homeland, and discover his roots in Italy.
As for Pendergast's fate, which was looking grim at one point, only in the next book Dance of Death, will I discover how he fared.
For more, check out my various film and book reviews. You can find many within each month.
The People of Montana's
I promised some wonderful people at the Montana's on Paramount that I would write a spiel on how much fun and fantastic they are. What can I say? They had me laughing so many times tonight, I lost count. So what possessed me to go there in the first place, you ask? Well, I shall tell you.
Omar called me (on speaker phone, so he could drive hands-free) on his way home from work, asking me if I was in the mood to go out for food tonight. Given my other dinner option, I was all for the idea. So, no more than 20-30 minutes later, I picked him up, and after minimal deliberation, we decided on Montana's. Not going to lie, more often than not, that's where we end up. The one we go to always has excellent food, and you can't beat the service. Don't worry, I'll elaborate in a moment.
So we get there, and the Montana's equivilant of a Maitre D' got the two of us seated, and told us that our server would arrive in a moment. A minute or so later, our server, Tim, came over, and got us taken care of right off the bat. We've had him once before. He's pretty good. A couple of minutes later, one of the girls we've had a few times in the past, Courtney, wanders over, all bubbly and happy, telling us how great it was to see us again (Yeah, Omar and I go there a lot...). Tim returned, and as he was taking our orders, Mercedes wanders through, all in a most entertaining huff that we sat in Tim's section of the restaraunt, and not hers.
Sidebar, before I forget, Mercedes wanted a piece dedicated soley to her (actually, she wanted the entire post to be about her, wth the bits about everyone else in a microscopic font in a colour that would match the background), so here it is:
Ode to Mercedes
Mercedes, Mercedes, you're the best.
Mercedes, Mercedes, better than the best.
Mercedes, Mercedes, you're the bomb.
Mercedes, Mercedes, you can't go wrong.
Mercedes, Mercedes, so much fun.
Mercedes, Mercedes, your ode is done.
So now Tim's wandered off, and Mercedes returns, and sits next to me. I don't even remember what went on, but next thing, Jen, one of the other servers, wanders through, with a similar no-fair-Tim-has-us-and-not-her attitude as well.
I know, I know, you're probably thinking I'm rather odd, having memorized the names of those who've served me, but seriously, if you had them, you'd know that they're hard to forget. You're also, more than likely, thinking that the staff are equally strange for pretty well knowing us too (whether or not they know us by name is beyond me, but they know us enough to be jealous when they don't have us sitting in their section). But seriously, this is how much fun, and how awesome they are:
The first time I had Mercedes, she was doing the YMCA. The next time I went in, and I believe I was with Omar that time, she'd found Jen and Courtney to do it with her should it come back on. She was pumped, and rip-rarin' to go, even though she, tragically, didn't have a fourth person to finish out the lettering.
The last time I had Jen, I was with Omar, and she wanted so badly to bring us a deck of cards, but she couldn't find any. She was sad that she couldn't find them because she didn't want to disappoint us. But, she was just such a fun personality that it didn't matter, which made up for it.
Courtney was awesome enough to bring Omar and I fresh crayons in every colour. She loved the table colouring we did, especially since we gave a shout-out to her. She wanted to keep the art piece, but I don't know if it happened. Still, though, she earned awesome points because she brought us crayons!
Last, we have Tim. Don't let the quietness of that guy fool you. Once he gets going, you will not be able to stop laughing. I couldn't tell you how long he and Mercedes kept on coming back to our table to hang out. He kept telling us how much trouble we were in for sitting in his area instead. He's hilarious! So much fun.
I know you're probably thinking to yourself, "shouldn't they have been working?" Well, the place wasn't dead, but all was quiet enough that they were able to kill a bit of time. As well, should they have been given a hard time, Omar and I were all set to tell the boss that the staff was merely positively enhancing our dining experience. So there.
I suppose I ought to at least give my two cents on the food. Omar loves every single thing he gets. He's never had a bad meal. I'm addicted to their garlic bread and brisket, though I decided to try the beer battered fish tonight. Neither will disappoint you.
Over all, you can tell the people at Montana's enjoy their job. It's contagious. Their good spirits just seem to make the rounds. Also, we knew it was a good place when Tim kept telling us how much he likes his job. I suppose working in the food industry can go either way, and in the case of these fantastic four, the way is in their favour.
There's a reason why we keep going back. They food is fantastic, and you really couldn't ask for a better bunch of people to serve you.
Thanks, Montana's people. You're all awesome!
Omar called me (on speaker phone, so he could drive hands-free) on his way home from work, asking me if I was in the mood to go out for food tonight. Given my other dinner option, I was all for the idea. So, no more than 20-30 minutes later, I picked him up, and after minimal deliberation, we decided on Montana's. Not going to lie, more often than not, that's where we end up. The one we go to always has excellent food, and you can't beat the service. Don't worry, I'll elaborate in a moment.
So we get there, and the Montana's equivilant of a Maitre D' got the two of us seated, and told us that our server would arrive in a moment. A minute or so later, our server, Tim, came over, and got us taken care of right off the bat. We've had him once before. He's pretty good. A couple of minutes later, one of the girls we've had a few times in the past, Courtney, wanders over, all bubbly and happy, telling us how great it was to see us again (Yeah, Omar and I go there a lot...). Tim returned, and as he was taking our orders, Mercedes wanders through, all in a most entertaining huff that we sat in Tim's section of the restaraunt, and not hers.
Sidebar, before I forget, Mercedes wanted a piece dedicated soley to her (actually, she wanted the entire post to be about her, wth the bits about everyone else in a microscopic font in a colour that would match the background), so here it is:
Ode to Mercedes
Mercedes, Mercedes, you're the best.
Mercedes, Mercedes, better than the best.
Mercedes, Mercedes, you're the bomb.
Mercedes, Mercedes, you can't go wrong.
Mercedes, Mercedes, so much fun.
Mercedes, Mercedes, your ode is done.
So now Tim's wandered off, and Mercedes returns, and sits next to me. I don't even remember what went on, but next thing, Jen, one of the other servers, wanders through, with a similar no-fair-Tim-has-us-and-not-her attitude as well.
I know, I know, you're probably thinking I'm rather odd, having memorized the names of those who've served me, but seriously, if you had them, you'd know that they're hard to forget. You're also, more than likely, thinking that the staff are equally strange for pretty well knowing us too (whether or not they know us by name is beyond me, but they know us enough to be jealous when they don't have us sitting in their section). But seriously, this is how much fun, and how awesome they are:
The first time I had Mercedes, she was doing the YMCA. The next time I went in, and I believe I was with Omar that time, she'd found Jen and Courtney to do it with her should it come back on. She was pumped, and rip-rarin' to go, even though she, tragically, didn't have a fourth person to finish out the lettering.
The last time I had Jen, I was with Omar, and she wanted so badly to bring us a deck of cards, but she couldn't find any. She was sad that she couldn't find them because she didn't want to disappoint us. But, she was just such a fun personality that it didn't matter, which made up for it.
Courtney was awesome enough to bring Omar and I fresh crayons in every colour. She loved the table colouring we did, especially since we gave a shout-out to her. She wanted to keep the art piece, but I don't know if it happened. Still, though, she earned awesome points because she brought us crayons!
Last, we have Tim. Don't let the quietness of that guy fool you. Once he gets going, you will not be able to stop laughing. I couldn't tell you how long he and Mercedes kept on coming back to our table to hang out. He kept telling us how much trouble we were in for sitting in his area instead. He's hilarious! So much fun.
I know you're probably thinking to yourself, "shouldn't they have been working?" Well, the place wasn't dead, but all was quiet enough that they were able to kill a bit of time. As well, should they have been given a hard time, Omar and I were all set to tell the boss that the staff was merely positively enhancing our dining experience. So there.
I suppose I ought to at least give my two cents on the food. Omar loves every single thing he gets. He's never had a bad meal. I'm addicted to their garlic bread and brisket, though I decided to try the beer battered fish tonight. Neither will disappoint you.
Over all, you can tell the people at Montana's enjoy their job. It's contagious. Their good spirits just seem to make the rounds. Also, we knew it was a good place when Tim kept telling us how much he likes his job. I suppose working in the food industry can go either way, and in the case of these fantastic four, the way is in their favour.
There's a reason why we keep going back. They food is fantastic, and you really couldn't ask for a better bunch of people to serve you.
Thanks, Montana's people. You're all awesome!
11 Days of Remembrance: The Almost Unnoticed
When I was a cadet, I used to participate in the annual effective speaking competitions. My first year, I placed second out of all the Hamilton Air Wing (HAW) cadets. The following year, I did one better, placing first in HAW, and then landing third at the Provincial level. You may be wondering what any this has to do with today's post. The answer to that is simple, as I'm going to take you back to 2005, and share with you the speech that made me one of the top cadet speakers in Ontario...
Close your eyes and picture this. Picture a leader, a motivator, a caretaker. Had they not played such major roles in the past, the present may have been significantly different, and not necessarily for the better. They take charge, command, and they wear their uniforms with great pride while representing Canada. They are also the proud owners of many firsts. Picture all of this being done not by the men in our military, but by the females of the Canadian Forces.
Good afternoon fellow cadets, officers, judges and parents. Throughout history, females have taken on some major roles in the Canadian military, from as early as 1885 during the Northwest Rebellion to the present day.
When looking behind ourselves and into the past, we mainly see females taking on medical responsibilities, working in hospitals at home and overseas. Either that, or working in munitions factories. One may see these as being their main, or even only places in the military. But then the year 1914 comes around, and with it, the First World War. The men go off to fight while the women of Canada stay behind. Though many of the women work as nurses, and in the factories, there were still those who wanted to do more. These women came together. They dressed themselves in military style uniforms, and they began to train. They were trained on how to use small arms, they learned drill and first aid, and they were taught how to maintenance vehicles. They felt it necessary to be prepared, just on the chance that they were needed to be home guards. When the Second World War came around, about 5000 nurses from Canada gave their services to the medical corps in the Army, Air Force and Navy. In the third year of the war, Canada enrolled more than 45 000 women in the military, and not to be nurses, or any of their other traditional roles either. Some of these roles included mechanics, parachute riggers, and heavy mobile equipment operators and drivers. Responsibilities typical of men now opened to the women of Canada.
In the past, present, and likely the future, there are many females in the Canadian Forces who are the proud owners of a first, whether it’s being a pilot, a skydiver, or being promoted to a very dignified and well-deserved rank. In the year 1974, Major Wendy Clay was no longer just a doctor. She qualified for her wings six years before this was open to all females. The year is 1982, a year of great accomplishment and gratitude for Second Lieutenant Inge Plug and Lieutenant Karen McCrimmon. For Second Lieutenant Plug, the satisfaction of being the first female helicopter pilot in the Canadian Forces. As for Lieutenant McCrimmon, a title of “the first female air navigator in the Canadian Forces”. In 1989, CF-18 Hornets were no longer flown by men... and men only. In that year, the Hornet is introduced to its first female pilot, Major Dee Brasseur. In 2001, a similar situation appears with the Canadian Snowbirds when Captain Maryse Carmichael was given a pilot seat. In the year 1978, Corporal Gail Toupin took to the skies, but not as a pilot. She became the first female member of the SkyHawks, the famous Canadian skydiving demonstration team that we all know and have come to admire.
These newly acquired roles do not remain only in the sky. Sheila Hellstrom became the first woman to be promoted to the rank of Brigadier General, and in 1994, a rank of Major General was given to none other than Wendy Clay.
All of these women have worked long and hard in the Canadian Forces to achieve these goals, ranks and positions. Today, about 11% of the regular force is contrived of women, and approximately 19% of the Canadian Reserve strength is female.
Canada is a world leader when it comes to the number of women in its military, and also with the roles in which they are able to partake.
Now open your eyes... and never forget. Never forget these courageous women who, through devotion, dedication and destiny, broke the path, so that we may now MARCH upon it.
Of course, I'd be remiss if I didn't include one other amazing woman. Once upon a time, she was 779 Squadron's Padre. Her name is Kristine Swire, and she is one of the most incredible women I have ever met! When you picture a person of the cloth, I highly doubt that bright red hair, stilettos, and freshly baked cookies to die for come to mind. She left our squadron when she was promoted (is that the proper term?) to Canon for a church down the escarpment. Whether or not she's still there is beyond me, but that doesn't make her any less awesome.
This is an article from The Hamilton Spectator, dated November 3, 2006. As you'll read, I'm certain you'll find that I'm not the only one who finds Canon Swire to be one kick-ass lady!
I only just discovered this a few minutes ago, but she's also been given her Captain's stripes.
I told you she was awesome.
We always remember our men, but sometimes, we forget about our women too. So to all the ladies of our military, past, present, and future, thank you for all that you've done.
Cannon/ Captain Swire, if you're reading this, thanks for always being incredible. Thank you for your years spent as 779's Padre, and for spoiling us with your simply divine baked goods. Just don't forget to bake some of your famous cookies for all your men and women. :)
For more, refer to the other posts in my 11 Days of Remembrance series.
Close your eyes and picture this. Picture a leader, a motivator, a caretaker. Had they not played such major roles in the past, the present may have been significantly different, and not necessarily for the better. They take charge, command, and they wear their uniforms with great pride while representing Canada. They are also the proud owners of many firsts. Picture all of this being done not by the men in our military, but by the females of the Canadian Forces.
Good afternoon fellow cadets, officers, judges and parents. Throughout history, females have taken on some major roles in the Canadian military, from as early as 1885 during the Northwest Rebellion to the present day.
When looking behind ourselves and into the past, we mainly see females taking on medical responsibilities, working in hospitals at home and overseas. Either that, or working in munitions factories. One may see these as being their main, or even only places in the military. But then the year 1914 comes around, and with it, the First World War. The men go off to fight while the women of Canada stay behind. Though many of the women work as nurses, and in the factories, there were still those who wanted to do more. These women came together. They dressed themselves in military style uniforms, and they began to train. They were trained on how to use small arms, they learned drill and first aid, and they were taught how to maintenance vehicles. They felt it necessary to be prepared, just on the chance that they were needed to be home guards. When the Second World War came around, about 5000 nurses from Canada gave their services to the medical corps in the Army, Air Force and Navy. In the third year of the war, Canada enrolled more than 45 000 women in the military, and not to be nurses, or any of their other traditional roles either. Some of these roles included mechanics, parachute riggers, and heavy mobile equipment operators and drivers. Responsibilities typical of men now opened to the women of Canada.
In the past, present, and likely the future, there are many females in the Canadian Forces who are the proud owners of a first, whether it’s being a pilot, a skydiver, or being promoted to a very dignified and well-deserved rank. In the year 1974, Major Wendy Clay was no longer just a doctor. She qualified for her wings six years before this was open to all females. The year is 1982, a year of great accomplishment and gratitude for Second Lieutenant Inge Plug and Lieutenant Karen McCrimmon. For Second Lieutenant Plug, the satisfaction of being the first female helicopter pilot in the Canadian Forces. As for Lieutenant McCrimmon, a title of “the first female air navigator in the Canadian Forces”. In 1989, CF-18 Hornets were no longer flown by men... and men only. In that year, the Hornet is introduced to its first female pilot, Major Dee Brasseur. In 2001, a similar situation appears with the Canadian Snowbirds when Captain Maryse Carmichael was given a pilot seat. In the year 1978, Corporal Gail Toupin took to the skies, but not as a pilot. She became the first female member of the SkyHawks, the famous Canadian skydiving demonstration team that we all know and have come to admire.
These newly acquired roles do not remain only in the sky. Sheila Hellstrom became the first woman to be promoted to the rank of Brigadier General, and in 1994, a rank of Major General was given to none other than Wendy Clay.
All of these women have worked long and hard in the Canadian Forces to achieve these goals, ranks and positions. Today, about 11% of the regular force is contrived of women, and approximately 19% of the Canadian Reserve strength is female.
Canada is a world leader when it comes to the number of women in its military, and also with the roles in which they are able to partake.
Now open your eyes... and never forget. Never forget these courageous women who, through devotion, dedication and destiny, broke the path, so that we may now MARCH upon it.
Of course, I'd be remiss if I didn't include one other amazing woman. Once upon a time, she was 779 Squadron's Padre. Her name is Kristine Swire, and she is one of the most incredible women I have ever met! When you picture a person of the cloth, I highly doubt that bright red hair, stilettos, and freshly baked cookies to die for come to mind. She left our squadron when she was promoted (is that the proper term?) to Canon for a church down the escarpment. Whether or not she's still there is beyond me, but that doesn't make her any less awesome.
This is an article from The Hamilton Spectator, dated November 3, 2006. As you'll read, I'm certain you'll find that I'm not the only one who finds Canon Swire to be one kick-ass lady!
Padre has faith in Rileys Soldiers' new pastor grateful for freedom
| |
By Sharon Boase
The Hamilton Spectator(Nov 3, 2006) She's a red-headed, rouged, high-heeled minister of the Word who's about as unorthodox as you can be in a collar, except when it comes to paying homage to our men and women in uniform.
That's where the Rev. Canon Kristine Swire -- "your flamboyance" to her private circle -- is a throwback to tradition and times gone by. To a time when serving one's country was tantamount to serving God. It's an intriguing contradiction that made Swire go out of her way to become padre to the men and women of the Royal Hamilton Light Infantry (RHLI). It's not as if she doesn't have enough on her plate as pastor at Church of the Ascension near Corktown. And she's taking it on just as the Canadian military's role in Afghanistan has become about as popular as a spinach salad. Yet here is Swire, as passionate a defender of social justice as any political lefty, stepping up to minister to the spiritual needs of those who volunteer for the dirty work of armed conflict.
While she marshals resources to feed the poor and reach out to the downtrodden, she never forgets the five uncles who served in the military and "bought" her freedom in a way she's never had to.
"I don't think anyone is under any illusion that I would be an asset on the battlefield," quips Swire, enlisting her trademark sense of the absurd. "And I'm not aware that they make stiletto heels in camouflage."
The fact of the matter, she says, suddenly serious, is that the RHLI's commanding officer is in Africa and eight of its soldiers are working out of Kandahar. The way she sees it, the military is there for us. Swire wants to remind the military that God is there for them. She feels the support of a padre is something they are due.
The RHLI has been without a padre for almost a decade. Captain Robert Marini, second in command of administrative company, says that's because their last padre "wasn't very pro-military." It's hard being a reservist, he adds. For many RHLI members, friends and family just can't understand why they put themselves in harm's way on top of a day job or full-time studies.
Swire's joining the RHLI is very welcome. "To have someone in our ranks who wears a uniform that you can talk to that 'gets it' is nice to have."
The Hamilton Spectator(Nov 3, 2006) She's a red-headed, rouged, high-heeled minister of the Word who's about as unorthodox as you can be in a collar, except when it comes to paying homage to our men and women in uniform.
That's where the Rev. Canon Kristine Swire -- "your flamboyance" to her private circle -- is a throwback to tradition and times gone by. To a time when serving one's country was tantamount to serving God. It's an intriguing contradiction that made Swire go out of her way to become padre to the men and women of the Royal Hamilton Light Infantry (RHLI). It's not as if she doesn't have enough on her plate as pastor at Church of the Ascension near Corktown. And she's taking it on just as the Canadian military's role in Afghanistan has become about as popular as a spinach salad. Yet here is Swire, as passionate a defender of social justice as any political lefty, stepping up to minister to the spiritual needs of those who volunteer for the dirty work of armed conflict.
While she marshals resources to feed the poor and reach out to the downtrodden, she never forgets the five uncles who served in the military and "bought" her freedom in a way she's never had to.
"I don't think anyone is under any illusion that I would be an asset on the battlefield," quips Swire, enlisting her trademark sense of the absurd. "And I'm not aware that they make stiletto heels in camouflage."
The fact of the matter, she says, suddenly serious, is that the RHLI's commanding officer is in Africa and eight of its soldiers are working out of Kandahar. The way she sees it, the military is there for us. Swire wants to remind the military that God is there for them. She feels the support of a padre is something they are due.
The RHLI has been without a padre for almost a decade. Captain Robert Marini, second in command of administrative company, says that's because their last padre "wasn't very pro-military." It's hard being a reservist, he adds. For many RHLI members, friends and family just can't understand why they put themselves in harm's way on top of a day job or full-time studies.
Swire's joining the RHLI is very welcome. "To have someone in our ranks who wears a uniform that you can talk to that 'gets it' is nice to have."
I only just discovered this a few minutes ago, but she's also been given her Captain's stripes.
I told you she was awesome.
We always remember our men, but sometimes, we forget about our women too. So to all the ladies of our military, past, present, and future, thank you for all that you've done.
Cannon/ Captain Swire, if you're reading this, thanks for always being incredible. Thank you for your years spent as 779's Padre, and for spoiling us with your simply divine baked goods. Just don't forget to bake some of your famous cookies for all your men and women. :)
For more, refer to the other posts in my 11 Days of Remembrance series.
Wednesday, 9 November 2011
11 Days of Remembrance: The Saviour of Ceylon
As I cadet, I had the privilege of meeting some incredible people, but none left a greater impact than Air Commodore (retired) Leonard Birchall, better known as the Saviour of Ceylon.
I was only just finishing up my second year as a cadet when Air Commodore (retired) Birchall was my squadron's Reviewing Officer at our Annual Inspection. That Sunday, May 27, 2001, was rediculously warm. We were all formed up, standing at attention, and waiting for our R.O to take the podium to say a few words to us. I remember seeing Birchall. Then, from him, we heard the unexpected in a calm, aged, confident voice.
"I've stood on many parade squares in the heat. I understand duty and discipline, and I too have been where you are now, so Squadron, stand at ease!"
We weren't exaclty sure what to do, as I suppose the Annual R.O giving such an order wasn't a regular occurence. But, after a moment we listened because he then called out, "I gave you a direct order. Now Squadron, stand at ease!"
Our hands snapped behind our backs, before being told to stand easy. We then focused on the man before us...
Leonard Birchall was born and raised in St. Catherines, Ontario, Canada on July 6, 1915. He later attended the Royal Military College of Canada (RMC), and upon his graduation in 1937, he joined the Royal Canadian Air Force. For the first few years of the Second World War, as part of the 413 Squadron, he flew flying boats in Canada and the Shetland Islands. In 1942, his squadron was transfered to the island of Ceylon (now Sri Lanka).
On April 4, 1942, the Air Commodore was with his crew doing a routine patrol around the island when he spotted the same Japanese fleet that had devastated Pearl Harbor a few months earlier heading toward Ceylon to attack the island's naval base. He and his men gathered as much information as possible on the incoming fleet to send to the island. He was able to radio the ground crews with all gathered intel, and gave them time to disperse their fleets, and fend off the Japanese. Air Commodore Birchall, with this single act, changed the course of the Second World War.
While Birchall and his crew were warning the men on the island, his Canso aircraft was shot down. As a result, the Air Commodore and his men spent the remainder of the war in various Japanese P.O.W camps. I remember him telling us about the gruelling 100-mile marches that they had to endure, where if anyone fell down, or fell behind, they were killed on the spot. He would do his damndest to ensure that his men were well taken care of, and if his captors were to go at anyone, then to do their damage to him, and leave his men alone. He was always more concerned about the well-being of his crew than himself, though he was often known to say that everything was a team effort, and that not everything was the result of merely his own actions.
Because of Birchall's actions, Sir Winston Churchill dubbed our Canadian hero the Saviour of Ceylon, going so far to say that the Air Commodore, "made one of the most important, single contributions to victory."
After what he endured during the war, survived in the internment camps, and recieving numerous decorations, such as the Order of the British Empire, and the Distinguished Flying Cross, there was one battle that the Air Commodore just could not win. On September 10, 2004, at the age of 89, Air Comodore Leonard Birchall, the Saviour of Ceylon, lost his fight with cancer. The first time I heard that, my heart just broke. That's not the kind of passing a hero deserves.
On May 27, 2001, for the 779 Black Knight Squadron, Air Commodore Leonard Birchall was the Reviewing Officer. Though he was heavily involved with the Air Cadet program for many years, my squadron was the last one that he ever inspected. To know that makes me feel so proud and privileged.
Thank you, Air Commodore Birchall, for all that did for your men, your country, and for taking the time to inspect my former squadron. You were a hero, a human, and an inspiration. May you rest in peace.
For more, refer to the other posts in my series 11 Days of Remembrance, and the following links:
http://cfpilots.com/memory/birchall.htm
http://www.military-quotes.com/forum/passing-true-canadian-hero-savior-t3684.html
I was only just finishing up my second year as a cadet when Air Commodore (retired) Birchall was my squadron's Reviewing Officer at our Annual Inspection. That Sunday, May 27, 2001, was rediculously warm. We were all formed up, standing at attention, and waiting for our R.O to take the podium to say a few words to us. I remember seeing Birchall. Then, from him, we heard the unexpected in a calm, aged, confident voice.
"I've stood on many parade squares in the heat. I understand duty and discipline, and I too have been where you are now, so Squadron, stand at ease!"
We weren't exaclty sure what to do, as I suppose the Annual R.O giving such an order wasn't a regular occurence. But, after a moment we listened because he then called out, "I gave you a direct order. Now Squadron, stand at ease!"
Our hands snapped behind our backs, before being told to stand easy. We then focused on the man before us...
Leonard Birchall was born and raised in St. Catherines, Ontario, Canada on July 6, 1915. He later attended the Royal Military College of Canada (RMC), and upon his graduation in 1937, he joined the Royal Canadian Air Force. For the first few years of the Second World War, as part of the 413 Squadron, he flew flying boats in Canada and the Shetland Islands. In 1942, his squadron was transfered to the island of Ceylon (now Sri Lanka).
On April 4, 1942, the Air Commodore was with his crew doing a routine patrol around the island when he spotted the same Japanese fleet that had devastated Pearl Harbor a few months earlier heading toward Ceylon to attack the island's naval base. He and his men gathered as much information as possible on the incoming fleet to send to the island. He was able to radio the ground crews with all gathered intel, and gave them time to disperse their fleets, and fend off the Japanese. Air Commodore Birchall, with this single act, changed the course of the Second World War.
While Birchall and his crew were warning the men on the island, his Canso aircraft was shot down. As a result, the Air Commodore and his men spent the remainder of the war in various Japanese P.O.W camps. I remember him telling us about the gruelling 100-mile marches that they had to endure, where if anyone fell down, or fell behind, they were killed on the spot. He would do his damndest to ensure that his men were well taken care of, and if his captors were to go at anyone, then to do their damage to him, and leave his men alone. He was always more concerned about the well-being of his crew than himself, though he was often known to say that everything was a team effort, and that not everything was the result of merely his own actions.
Because of Birchall's actions, Sir Winston Churchill dubbed our Canadian hero the Saviour of Ceylon, going so far to say that the Air Commodore, "made one of the most important, single contributions to victory."
After what he endured during the war, survived in the internment camps, and recieving numerous decorations, such as the Order of the British Empire, and the Distinguished Flying Cross, there was one battle that the Air Commodore just could not win. On September 10, 2004, at the age of 89, Air Comodore Leonard Birchall, the Saviour of Ceylon, lost his fight with cancer. The first time I heard that, my heart just broke. That's not the kind of passing a hero deserves.
On May 27, 2001, for the 779 Black Knight Squadron, Air Commodore Leonard Birchall was the Reviewing Officer. Though he was heavily involved with the Air Cadet program for many years, my squadron was the last one that he ever inspected. To know that makes me feel so proud and privileged.
Thank you, Air Commodore Birchall, for all that did for your men, your country, and for taking the time to inspect my former squadron. You were a hero, a human, and an inspiration. May you rest in peace.
For more, refer to the other posts in my series 11 Days of Remembrance, and the following links:
http://cfpilots.com/memory/birchall.htm
http://www.military-quotes.com/forum/passing-true-canadian-hero-savior-t3684.html
Tuesday, 8 November 2011
Could You Be More Disrespectful?
Since the beginning of the month, I've been hearing about petty theives who have been hell-bent on stealing poppy boxes. Seriously, people? Who decides to stoop to such a low level of disrespect? As if theiving wasn't bad enough, these ingrates go and steal from veterans. Veterans! The people who are responsible for giving us all the ability to live freely, safely, without fear, and how do these criminals say thank you? They go and swipe the poppy boxes from various businesses. That's disgusting.
Another thing that royally irks me with regards to disrespectful people is the treatment of poppies. When I was in elementary school, some of my classmates, usually the boys, would remove the pin and the centre, flip the flower, and make them glorified lips. Yes, we were taught the reasons why we wear poppies, but they didn't care. Though I suppose there are worse things to worry about, I still found that to be rude, and I still do. However, I can't help but wonder which is more disrespectful: treating a poppy as a cheap costume piece, or not wearing one at all?
As well, I hate finding poppies on the ground, though that can't always be helped. We've all had them fall off our coats, myself included. I mean, I've had that happen to me twice already. Unless the people swiping the poppy boxes are tossing them by the wayside. Then I become incensed instead of sad.
I've had enough with people stealing the poppy boxes, and I've had it with people being disrespectful of the poppies themselves. That's not how you thank a veteran.
Another thing that royally irks me with regards to disrespectful people is the treatment of poppies. When I was in elementary school, some of my classmates, usually the boys, would remove the pin and the centre, flip the flower, and make them glorified lips. Yes, we were taught the reasons why we wear poppies, but they didn't care. Though I suppose there are worse things to worry about, I still found that to be rude, and I still do. However, I can't help but wonder which is more disrespectful: treating a poppy as a cheap costume piece, or not wearing one at all?
As well, I hate finding poppies on the ground, though that can't always be helped. We've all had them fall off our coats, myself included. I mean, I've had that happen to me twice already. Unless the people swiping the poppy boxes are tossing them by the wayside. Then I become incensed instead of sad.
I've had enough with people stealing the poppy boxes, and I've had it with people being disrespectful of the poppies themselves. That's not how you thank a veteran.
11 Days of Remembrance: Dachau
"All that evil requires to triumph is the silence of majority."- United Nations General Secretary Koffi Annan
On December 14, 2007, I toured Dachau's concentration camp. This post is composed of both my journal entry, and numerous notes I took throughout the day. Once again, I apologize if anything seems abrupt, or random in any way. Just realize that I have more notes, and pictures than I would normally know what to do with, and that my goal with such is to educate the rest of you. May we never forget those who were killed in these camps, those who survived, and the ones who got away.
Dachau, December 14, 2007 (journal entry)
Today, I felt the worst feeling of my life thus far, and it'll probably be the worst feeling I'll have ever felt in my entire life. This feeling was felt at the Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial.
The memorial's at the site of the former camp. I knew it was going to have an effect on me, I just didn't realize the calibre. We met up at Hauptbahnhof for 11:00 this morning. We then took the S2 out to the town of Dachau. Once there, we took a bus out to the site of the former camp.
The town of Dachau is really quite pretty. Honestly, if you didn't know a concentration camp site was there, you wouldn't think that there had been any evil in that town.
Before I go any further, I have to say that this entry is extremely difficult for me to write. However, it will be written because the need for what happened to be known is quite great. It just left such an impact on me that I'm having a hard time writing it all out.
The bus let us off at a small path that led to the gates of the camp, which was about a two minute walk away.
The Jourhaus and the gates are original from back when the camp was first opened. Before we went inside, Allen, our guide, told us that pictures were greatly encouraged, so for those of us who were snap happy, this was very good news.
I took my pictures of the Jourhaus and the gates. So did everybody else.
When we were done taking our pictures, nobody moved. No one wanted to be the first of our group to walk through those gates. Finally, after some hesitation, we went through. The moment I crossed the threshold, shivers shot down my spine, and I became chilled to the bone, even though I was perfectly warm. At some point, my breathing changed too.
I took photographs of everything that was there. I had to. I needed to.
Many parts of the camp are still original, but there are many aspects that had to be rebuilt when the decision was made to turn the camp into a memorial site, as much of the camp was torn down when the war ended.
We went to the barrack first. It had been rebuilt, and featured various stages of sleeping quarters. The rooms were only meant to hold twenty or thirty people. Instead, hundreds were crammed inside.
If it's anything like what the prisoners had to deal with, which I believe it was, it would have been hell on earth. The whole god-damn camp would have been hell on earth.
Next, we were headed for the crematorium. Just before the crematorium, or "Barrack X" as it was known, you'd see an area with grass, a moat, electric fence, and a watch tower.
Stepping on this grass meant that you were out of bounds. If you stepped out of bounds, you were shot. Many prisoners wandered out of bounds because they couldn't handle life in the camp any longer, and quite frankly, I don't know how anyone managed to survive.
Some might have tried to escape. If the prisoners managed to avoid getting shot, they'd go running into the electric fence. If, by some miracle, a prisoner didn't get electrocuted, and made it past the fence, there would be a member of the SS on the other side with a nasty dog waiting for him.
We went over to the crematorium. Actually, there were two. "Barrack X" had to be built because there wasn't enough room for all the corpses in the first one.
We went inside "Barrack X." It housed a gas chamber, but for reasons unknown, it was never put into operation.
"Barrack X" made me shiver. So much death and suffering. As well, prisoners endured pole hangings, where they were strung up with their arms behind their backs, in front of the ovens that were working full steam ahead. Eventually, the camp ran out of coal for the ovens, and when Dachau was liberated, piles of bodies were found unburned outside the dreaded "Barrack X."
We exited the crematorium, and walked down the centre roadway towards the museum.
I started to shake. Not a little. I started to shake uncontrollably, and I couldn't stop. We were walking the exact same path as thousands of innocent prisoners before us. For the entire time that I was at that former camp, I kept on having to remind myself that I didn't just want to be there, but that I needed to be there. I needed to try to better understand all that went on. I still don't fully comprehend, and I never will, because I never experienced what those lost and surviving souls did.
We went inside the museum where we watched a film that was about 25 minutes long. It went into more detail about the camp. When the film finished, we explored the museum. I took pictures of pretty much everything. They had artifacts in glass cases from the camp, whether they be clothes, or torture devices.
They had propaganda posters, and maps of every single concentration camp, and sub-camp...
Dachau, December 17, 2007 (notes from the tour)
The Nazis established the first major concentration camp in Dachau in 1933, 18km from Munich. This was where the Nazis created the, "blueprint for a network," that spread over at least half of Europe.. It resulted in the brutalizing and murdering of millions of innocent people.
"Academy of Terror"
The camp was the originator, role model, and training centre for a system of unparalleled cruelty, which still haunts the imaginations of the civilized world today, and is considered a historic nightmare.
"Arbeit Macht Frei," which is written on the gates of both Dachau and Auschwitz, still remains a cruel and sinister emblem of the past.
Hundreds of thousands of people from 34 different nations walked through Dachau's gates. Tens of thousands of these people perished.
Dachau Camp was liberated in 1945 by the Americans.
In 1965, Dachau, the first concentration camp in Nazi Germany, became the first memorial site in post-war Germany.
Here are a few of the on-site memorials:
And last, here are a few other pieces of interest:
A statue of a defiant prisoner. The prisoners were to keep their heads down at all times, and they were not permitted to associate in groups with more than three people, for the guards thought that such a group would be plotting against them. So for the statue to have a prisoner with his head held high shows his defiance towards the prison guards. The inscription reads, "the dead to be remembered, the living to be reminded."
Death mask.
Where special prisoners were shot.
The prison within. Certain prisoners, who were considered more threatening, were kept inside a separate cell inside the prison building.
Just a few final tidbits of trivia. Dachau only held male prisoners, so if you see any films were there are women and children at this particular camp, I'm sorry, but Hollywood lied. As well, since the gas chambers were never actually put to use, Dachau was never classed as a death camp. Don't you worry, the irony's not lost on me either. One last thing! The question has been raised on occasion of which camp first, the village, or the camp, and the answer is the village, hundreds of years ago. You might be wondering if anyone escaped Dachau camp, and the answer is yes. The prisoner overtook his guard, donned the guard's clothing, and as he was fluent in German, he walked right out the gate. However, I can't for the life of me remember the man's name, but apparently, he left the country, and sent out warnings of what was really going on.
For more about Dachau, visit the Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial site:
http://www.kz-gedenkstaette-dachau.de/index-e.html
I apologize if this post was more disturbing than what you're comfortable with, but I didn't want to leave this experience out. Though remembering our veterans, and the ones who died fighting, is important, we also need to remember those who were held in the camps, both the ones who didn't make it, and the ones who survived.
For more in the series, refer to my other 11 Days of Remembrance posts.
On December 14, 2007, I toured Dachau's concentration camp. This post is composed of both my journal entry, and numerous notes I took throughout the day. Once again, I apologize if anything seems abrupt, or random in any way. Just realize that I have more notes, and pictures than I would normally know what to do with, and that my goal with such is to educate the rest of you. May we never forget those who were killed in these camps, those who survived, and the ones who got away.
Dachau, December 14, 2007 (journal entry)
Today, I felt the worst feeling of my life thus far, and it'll probably be the worst feeling I'll have ever felt in my entire life. This feeling was felt at the Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial.
The memorial's at the site of the former camp. I knew it was going to have an effect on me, I just didn't realize the calibre. We met up at Hauptbahnhof for 11:00 this morning. We then took the S2 out to the town of Dachau. Once there, we took a bus out to the site of the former camp.
The town of Dachau is really quite pretty. Honestly, if you didn't know a concentration camp site was there, you wouldn't think that there had been any evil in that town.
Before I go any further, I have to say that this entry is extremely difficult for me to write. However, it will be written because the need for what happened to be known is quite great. It just left such an impact on me that I'm having a hard time writing it all out.
The bus let us off at a small path that led to the gates of the camp, which was about a two minute walk away.
The Jourhaus and the gates are original from back when the camp was first opened. Before we went inside, Allen, our guide, told us that pictures were greatly encouraged, so for those of us who were snap happy, this was very good news.
I took my pictures of the Jourhaus and the gates. So did everybody else.
When we were done taking our pictures, nobody moved. No one wanted to be the first of our group to walk through those gates. Finally, after some hesitation, we went through. The moment I crossed the threshold, shivers shot down my spine, and I became chilled to the bone, even though I was perfectly warm. At some point, my breathing changed too.
I took photographs of everything that was there. I had to. I needed to.
Many parts of the camp are still original, but there are many aspects that had to be rebuilt when the decision was made to turn the camp into a memorial site, as much of the camp was torn down when the war ended.
We went to the barrack first. It had been rebuilt, and featured various stages of sleeping quarters. The rooms were only meant to hold twenty or thirty people. Instead, hundreds were crammed inside.
If it's anything like what the prisoners had to deal with, which I believe it was, it would have been hell on earth. The whole god-damn camp would have been hell on earth.
Next, we were headed for the crematorium. Just before the crematorium, or "Barrack X" as it was known, you'd see an area with grass, a moat, electric fence, and a watch tower.
Stepping on this grass meant that you were out of bounds. If you stepped out of bounds, you were shot. Many prisoners wandered out of bounds because they couldn't handle life in the camp any longer, and quite frankly, I don't know how anyone managed to survive.
Some might have tried to escape. If the prisoners managed to avoid getting shot, they'd go running into the electric fence. If, by some miracle, a prisoner didn't get electrocuted, and made it past the fence, there would be a member of the SS on the other side with a nasty dog waiting for him.
We went over to the crematorium. Actually, there were two. "Barrack X" had to be built because there wasn't enough room for all the corpses in the first one.
We went inside "Barrack X." It housed a gas chamber, but for reasons unknown, it was never put into operation.
"Barrack X" made me shiver. So much death and suffering. As well, prisoners endured pole hangings, where they were strung up with their arms behind their backs, in front of the ovens that were working full steam ahead. Eventually, the camp ran out of coal for the ovens, and when Dachau was liberated, piles of bodies were found unburned outside the dreaded "Barrack X."
We exited the crematorium, and walked down the centre roadway towards the museum.
I started to shake. Not a little. I started to shake uncontrollably, and I couldn't stop. We were walking the exact same path as thousands of innocent prisoners before us. For the entire time that I was at that former camp, I kept on having to remind myself that I didn't just want to be there, but that I needed to be there. I needed to try to better understand all that went on. I still don't fully comprehend, and I never will, because I never experienced what those lost and surviving souls did.
We went inside the museum where we watched a film that was about 25 minutes long. It went into more detail about the camp. When the film finished, we explored the museum. I took pictures of pretty much everything. They had artifacts in glass cases from the camp, whether they be clothes, or torture devices.
They had propaganda posters, and maps of every single concentration camp, and sub-camp...
Dachau, December 17, 2007 (notes from the tour)
The Nazis established the first major concentration camp in Dachau in 1933, 18km from Munich. This was where the Nazis created the, "blueprint for a network," that spread over at least half of Europe.. It resulted in the brutalizing and murdering of millions of innocent people.
"Academy of Terror"
The camp was the originator, role model, and training centre for a system of unparalleled cruelty, which still haunts the imaginations of the civilized world today, and is considered a historic nightmare.
"Arbeit Macht Frei," which is written on the gates of both Dachau and Auschwitz, still remains a cruel and sinister emblem of the past.
Hundreds of thousands of people from 34 different nations walked through Dachau's gates. Tens of thousands of these people perished.
Dachau Camp was liberated in 1945 by the Americans.
In 1965, Dachau, the first concentration camp in Nazi Germany, became the first memorial site in post-war Germany.
Here are a few of the on-site memorials:
And last, here are a few other pieces of interest:
A statue of a defiant prisoner. The prisoners were to keep their heads down at all times, and they were not permitted to associate in groups with more than three people, for the guards thought that such a group would be plotting against them. So for the statue to have a prisoner with his head held high shows his defiance towards the prison guards. The inscription reads, "the dead to be remembered, the living to be reminded."
Death mask.
Where special prisoners were shot.
The prison within. Certain prisoners, who were considered more threatening, were kept inside a separate cell inside the prison building.
Just a few final tidbits of trivia. Dachau only held male prisoners, so if you see any films were there are women and children at this particular camp, I'm sorry, but Hollywood lied. As well, since the gas chambers were never actually put to use, Dachau was never classed as a death camp. Don't you worry, the irony's not lost on me either. One last thing! The question has been raised on occasion of which camp first, the village, or the camp, and the answer is the village, hundreds of years ago. You might be wondering if anyone escaped Dachau camp, and the answer is yes. The prisoner overtook his guard, donned the guard's clothing, and as he was fluent in German, he walked right out the gate. However, I can't for the life of me remember the man's name, but apparently, he left the country, and sent out warnings of what was really going on.
For more about Dachau, visit the Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial site:
http://www.kz-gedenkstaette-dachau.de/index-e.html
I apologize if this post was more disturbing than what you're comfortable with, but I didn't want to leave this experience out. Though remembering our veterans, and the ones who died fighting, is important, we also need to remember those who were held in the camps, both the ones who didn't make it, and the ones who survived.
For more in the series, refer to my other 11 Days of Remembrance posts.
Monday, 7 November 2011
11 Days of Remebrance: Hitler and the Third Reich
Back in December 2007, I took a two-week adventure to Germany. While I was there, I did a few guided tours, as I'm always fascinated by the history of the places I visit. One of the excursions I did was a walk of Hitler's Third Reich. This post is comprised of various parts of my journal entry from December 11, 2007, so if parts and pieces seem abrupt, I apologize. I'll start you off where my tour really began...
Isartor, December 11, 2007, just leaving the train station
...after a few minutes, we hopped off, and started the tour. Across the street from where we got off the train was the Hotel Torbrau, which was where the German Secret Service, or SS, was born in 1923. From there, the official tour began.
...we made it to the next stop on our tour, which was the Hofbrauhaus.
It was here where Hitler held many of his meetings, but in the upstairs part of the building. The downstairs part of the Hofbrauhaus used to have swastikas painted on the ceiling.
A quick, little note: the swastika was a rather ironic symbol to choose because it's an old Indian symbol for peace, and yet there it was, back in the Second World War, being used as one of the most evil symbols in all history.
Anyways, you can no longer see the swastikas on the ceiling as they've since been painted over. Apparently, though, you can just barely see where they once were if you look hard enough, and hold your mouth right.
We exited the Hofbrauhaus, and continued on our tour. There was one building we came across on the tour that was really quite fascinating. I don't remember what its purpose was then, or what it is now, but the wings on it had been completely destroyed during the war.
The wings were later rebuilt when the war ended. The neat thing about this building, though, wasn't the wings. It was the pillars at the front entrance. They were still the original pillars, but the interesting part was that you could see the damage that had been done to them during the war. When I say damage, I mean you could see, clear as day, where the pillars had been hit with bullets and shrapnel.
Because of the rain and fog, we couldn't see the old art gallery. Apparently, Hitler was also quite finicky, and not surprisingly racist, when it came to art. Any, "modern," art was banned. Any work that he found abstract or that he didn't understand was not permitted, and if it was anything created by the hands of the people who he was racist towards, it definitely had to disappear. All the stuff that Hitler vetoed was auctioned off to Americans, because those in the know knew that they could make a pretty penny from the people in the States. Even the likes of Picasso and Van Gough were sold off. Anything that didn't get sold was taken away, and was burned. Same deal applied with any literature that Hitler didn't approve of. His minions would have a big bonfire, and set fire to the books.
After our little art history lesson, we continued on our way. By this time, not only was it pouring rain, but my hands were starting to go numb, the bottoms of my pants were drenched, and my feet were wet (I was wearing shoes instead of boots).
We made our way over to Odensplatz, where Hitler's Putsch didn't go the way he'd planned.
Hitler tried to organize a revolution and march on Berlin, which had been inspired by Mussolini's march on Rome. Here was Hitler's problem: No one in the pub that Hitler stormed, which had been full of some very important leaders, took him seriously, even though he had taken his machine gun, pointed it into the air, and fired. Finally, a well-respected war hero came in to back Hitler. With the hero's help, a few of the leaders had been, "convinced," to march on Berlin. Not long after the conversation ended, though, the leaders had second thoughts, went to the police, and told them of Hitler's plans.
By the time Hitler and his men had finally left, the police had set up a barricade at Odensplatz. Someone in the crowd that had amassed had the brilliant idea to fire a shot from his pistol. Because of that, a gun fight broke out between Hitler's men and the police.When all was said and done, 25 people were left dead: 4 policemen, 15 martyrs, and 1 bartender, who Hitler claimed as one of his men, and a few civillians.
After that, Hitler, being the wimp he was, went into hiding, but he was arrested two days later.
I'd made mention to our guide that up to this point, everything was starting to sound like a nasty cross between George Orwell's 1984, and Farenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. Hitler was taken away, and he managed to weasel his way out of a life sentence, down to five years, and then to just under one year. He was let out after nine months because of good behaviour.
While he was in prison, he wrote his book Mein Kampf. According to Maxine, that book became a best-seller, or at least in Germany.
After we were finished at Odensplatz, we traipsed the path that Hitler's men had marched when they'd have their parades to comemmorate the martyrs killed at Odensplatz. While we were on this path, we stopped by a Jewish memorial. It's an eternal flame that was first lit on the anniversary of Kristalnacht back in the 1980's.
Kristalnacht translates into, "night of broken glass," and it was the unofficial start of the Holocaust. Kristalnacht was when all the Jewish synagogues were burnt down, and Jewish businesses were destroyed.
We continued along our path, which led us to what used to be one big-ass parade square. After the war, roads, tress, grass, etc., replaced the parade grounds. There are still many buildings surrounding these former parade grounds.
Our final stop was inside one of these buildings, which is now a music academy of sorts. Everything in this building is original. When I say everything, I mean floors, light fixtures, pillars, doors, door handles, the works!
Maxine took us to the top of the grand staircase. On the other side of the hall was a door.
That door led into what was once one of Hitler's offices. Taz said something that made me shutter after we learned that everything behind that door, inside that room was still original and in tact. Taz said, "if I were to open that door, I'd be touching the same door handle that Hitler touched. That's creepy."
That door pretty much concluded the tour, except for one final story from Maxine. I guess about half a year ago, she was giving a tour, but it was very uncomfortable because who she was guiding happened to be two Jews, three Neo-Nazis, and no one else. Apparently the Neo-Nazis were treating the Third Reich tour as a pilgrimmage, while the Jewish people wanted to learn the whys in their history, and go out of respect for their families. Can you say awkward?
The tour ended, and we all went our separate ways...
I had been told that if I wanted to tour Dachau, then I ought to walk the Third Reich first, just to put everything in chronological order. So, tomorrow's post will be the second half of my WWII history adventures. The Reich tour really put history in perspective. Hopefully, I was able to do the same for you with my 2007 journal entry.
For more, refer to the other posts in my 11 Days of Remembrance series.
Isartor, December 11, 2007, just leaving the train station
...after a few minutes, we hopped off, and started the tour. Across the street from where we got off the train was the Hotel Torbrau, which was where the German Secret Service, or SS, was born in 1923. From there, the official tour began.
...we made it to the next stop on our tour, which was the Hofbrauhaus.
A quick, little note: the swastika was a rather ironic symbol to choose because it's an old Indian symbol for peace, and yet there it was, back in the Second World War, being used as one of the most evil symbols in all history.
Anyways, you can no longer see the swastikas on the ceiling as they've since been painted over. Apparently, though, you can just barely see where they once were if you look hard enough, and hold your mouth right.
We exited the Hofbrauhaus, and continued on our tour. There was one building we came across on the tour that was really quite fascinating. I don't remember what its purpose was then, or what it is now, but the wings on it had been completely destroyed during the war.
The wings were later rebuilt when the war ended. The neat thing about this building, though, wasn't the wings. It was the pillars at the front entrance. They were still the original pillars, but the interesting part was that you could see the damage that had been done to them during the war. When I say damage, I mean you could see, clear as day, where the pillars had been hit with bullets and shrapnel.
Because of the rain and fog, we couldn't see the old art gallery. Apparently, Hitler was also quite finicky, and not surprisingly racist, when it came to art. Any, "modern," art was banned. Any work that he found abstract or that he didn't understand was not permitted, and if it was anything created by the hands of the people who he was racist towards, it definitely had to disappear. All the stuff that Hitler vetoed was auctioned off to Americans, because those in the know knew that they could make a pretty penny from the people in the States. Even the likes of Picasso and Van Gough were sold off. Anything that didn't get sold was taken away, and was burned. Same deal applied with any literature that Hitler didn't approve of. His minions would have a big bonfire, and set fire to the books.
After our little art history lesson, we continued on our way. By this time, not only was it pouring rain, but my hands were starting to go numb, the bottoms of my pants were drenched, and my feet were wet (I was wearing shoes instead of boots).
We made our way over to Odensplatz, where Hitler's Putsch didn't go the way he'd planned.
Hitler tried to organize a revolution and march on Berlin, which had been inspired by Mussolini's march on Rome. Here was Hitler's problem: No one in the pub that Hitler stormed, which had been full of some very important leaders, took him seriously, even though he had taken his machine gun, pointed it into the air, and fired. Finally, a well-respected war hero came in to back Hitler. With the hero's help, a few of the leaders had been, "convinced," to march on Berlin. Not long after the conversation ended, though, the leaders had second thoughts, went to the police, and told them of Hitler's plans.
By the time Hitler and his men had finally left, the police had set up a barricade at Odensplatz. Someone in the crowd that had amassed had the brilliant idea to fire a shot from his pistol. Because of that, a gun fight broke out between Hitler's men and the police.When all was said and done, 25 people were left dead: 4 policemen, 15 martyrs, and 1 bartender, who Hitler claimed as one of his men, and a few civillians.
After that, Hitler, being the wimp he was, went into hiding, but he was arrested two days later.
I'd made mention to our guide that up to this point, everything was starting to sound like a nasty cross between George Orwell's 1984, and Farenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. Hitler was taken away, and he managed to weasel his way out of a life sentence, down to five years, and then to just under one year. He was let out after nine months because of good behaviour.
While he was in prison, he wrote his book Mein Kampf. According to Maxine, that book became a best-seller, or at least in Germany.
After we were finished at Odensplatz, we traipsed the path that Hitler's men had marched when they'd have their parades to comemmorate the martyrs killed at Odensplatz. While we were on this path, we stopped by a Jewish memorial. It's an eternal flame that was first lit on the anniversary of Kristalnacht back in the 1980's.
Kristalnacht translates into, "night of broken glass," and it was the unofficial start of the Holocaust. Kristalnacht was when all the Jewish synagogues were burnt down, and Jewish businesses were destroyed.
We continued along our path, which led us to what used to be one big-ass parade square. After the war, roads, tress, grass, etc., replaced the parade grounds. There are still many buildings surrounding these former parade grounds.
Our final stop was inside one of these buildings, which is now a music academy of sorts. Everything in this building is original. When I say everything, I mean floors, light fixtures, pillars, doors, door handles, the works!
Maxine took us to the top of the grand staircase. On the other side of the hall was a door.
That door led into what was once one of Hitler's offices. Taz said something that made me shutter after we learned that everything behind that door, inside that room was still original and in tact. Taz said, "if I were to open that door, I'd be touching the same door handle that Hitler touched. That's creepy."
That door pretty much concluded the tour, except for one final story from Maxine. I guess about half a year ago, she was giving a tour, but it was very uncomfortable because who she was guiding happened to be two Jews, three Neo-Nazis, and no one else. Apparently the Neo-Nazis were treating the Third Reich tour as a pilgrimmage, while the Jewish people wanted to learn the whys in their history, and go out of respect for their families. Can you say awkward?
The tour ended, and we all went our separate ways...
I had been told that if I wanted to tour Dachau, then I ought to walk the Third Reich first, just to put everything in chronological order. So, tomorrow's post will be the second half of my WWII history adventures. The Reich tour really put history in perspective. Hopefully, I was able to do the same for you with my 2007 journal entry.
For more, refer to the other posts in my 11 Days of Remembrance series.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)