This is a rather serious and somber entry. If you’re looking to be entertained, please head elsewhere on the Internet.
The first time Rememberance Day actually meant something to me was when I was 14. Previously, Rememberance Day was something I knew had to do with war, but nothing really I knew about. History lessons in school up to that point were all about early Canadian history (ie confederation), social aspects of political issues and early scientific discoveries. Nothing really gave me an idea of what Rememberance Day was all about or what it was for.
Grade 9 came around, and there was an assignment in Humanities (English and Social Studies combined because the school was poor or just cheap). It was to find examples of poetry and write one poem of your own on a certain topic. Death was my topic. Harsh, I suppose, but given how certain it is in life, it was easy to find writing on it. I stumbled upon this poem, which basically started my interest in 20th century history and the wars that took place during it. It is a poem written by Wilfred Owen, perhaps one of the most famous poems that came out of the First World War.
Dulce Et Decorum Est
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.
GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!– An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.–
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,–
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
The last line translates as: “What an honour it is to die for one’s country.” It holds some merit. Those soldiers didn’t die for the flags sewn on their uniforms, they died for the people living in the countries those flags represent. I never really realized that until I studied the World Wars in depth. I began to see the brutality of war the day I read that poem. The chlorine gas, heavier than air, dropping into the trenches in World War I, resulting in a more painful death than the machine gun bullets when they all went over the top.From shell shock to major physical injury to permanent psychological damage, the toll was horrific. The men and women that served deserve more gratitude than we can give them. I don’t mean to sound like Don Cherry or even like an old fogey shaking a broom on his porch, but I’ll be damned if I don’t want to slap every mouthy teenager who won’t SHUT THE FUCK UP during a Rememberance Day ceremony 2 minutes of silence. Almost makes me want to throw them in the middle of the conflicts in the Middle East just to give them a smidgen of what the experience was even like for any war veteran. But that would be rather un-Christian of me to wish that kind of thing on others. Doesn’t make me want to slap some freaking sense into them any less.It’s odd because I don’t have a grandfather that fought in any wars. I don’t have family members that served in the military. The closest I have was an uncle that joined a British civilian militia-like detatchment in Hong Kong while it was still a British colony. I never had combat war stories from my grandparents, only the huddling inside bomb shelters praying for the Almighty’s protection as the Japanese stormed through parts of China. No, my interest in this chapter of history, and of this day, come from my interest in the human condition. And the question “why?”, because often that is the most important question to ask.
I’m always rather serious on this day of the year. It drove me to study more history, to learn why things happened the way they did. It’s why I have a history minor on my BSc. I am appalled at the stores that try to capitalize on this day to boost sales. It’s the one holiday that never was commercialized, and yet it slowly seems to be. I don’t even think there should be Hockey Night In Canada tonight. But I don’t control these things, and not everyone shares my point of view. I control what I can, and that’s myself, and I remember.
I hope you do too.
