Remembrance Day in Our Little Town

Leaves danced along the sidewalk, following me down our quaint little main street. I had the day off for Remebrance Day - so I wanted to do just that- pay tribute to the fallen. Our local paper showed that our local service was to start at 10:45 at the modest cenotaph at the end of town. Hubby didn't think many would be there as the population in our rural community is small.

As I leaned into the wind making my way, groups of people quietly emerged from each side street, a sea of crimson poppies, falling in step, joining the growing informal parade. 

We walked in silence until we joined the hundreds already gathered at the cenotaph.  "The White Cliffs of Dover" was being sung by a small choir huddled in a circle for shelter from the wind. Two young cadets stood at attention, guarding the memorial.

Then strains of "Hallejuah" drifted on the autumn air, gaining strength and momentum as others joined the choir. How fitting that Leonard Cohen be included in the ceremony. I could feel the lump in my throat growing... A handful of elderly men and women leaned on canes, some sat in wheelchairs, and a few proudly stood at attention, eyes fixated on the monument. I couldn't help but wonder where their thoughts wandered; what memories were they reliving? 

As the final names of the fallen were read  we were asked to sing O Canada. I couldn't work my voice around the swelling golf ball in my throat. Tears streamed down my face; I could feel the pride, pain and memories from the 95 year old serviceman beside me. When the Last Post played he saluted with his gloved hand and held his head high... his eyes glistening to overflowing. I wanted to hug this elderly man and acknowledge his service. But instead I stood silently behind my sunglasses.

When it over, one by one people stepped forward to pin their poppies to the wreathes encircling the monument.   And in that moment we were bonded in community and peace. And that is something I will never forget.

We Remember

The air was fresh and woodsy; typical for a fall day. Walking without talking, deep in thought, kicking the leaves to hear the crunch, making my way to the local Remembrance Day service.

They arrived beneath the tall pines from all directions; all ages; hundreds of people, poppies pinned, congregating in eerie silence. The wistful strains from the Salvation Army ensemble got louder upon approach.

We stood a little taller, straighter, waiting by the cenotaph. The front row was reserved for veterans, experience mapped in the lines and creases on their wizened faces. Some stood tall and proud, while others sat hunched, bundled in blankets. 

The mournful call of the bag pipes sounded in the distance, and the rhythm of the marching parade drew closer, signalling the start of the proceedings. As we sang O Canada the breeze picked up the flag that was hung at half mast.

I studied the faces of the old and the uniformed. What was going through their minds as The Last Post was played? Did memory reels of horrific and tragedy replay? I saw a lone tear roll down the cheek of a tall elderly veteran as he stood at attention, saluting. 

The weight of sacrifice hung heavy in the air, and I couldn't help be overcome with emotion. I was saddened by the waste of war; that such a sacrifice is asked of our soldiers. I mourned the lives unlived, and the lives that were devastated and forever changed by that which they endured, survived and witnessed.

The carnage and human toll of war is unfathomable. And I walked away wondering when we will collectively decide there has to be a better way to resolve conflicts. I walked away with a deep respect for the grace and honour displayed by our men and women who have served, and who serve.

And for my part, the least that I could do, was pause for two minutes under the towering pines, in the fresh autumn air to remember.

Tradition of Remembrance

It's become a personal tradition. I get Remembrance Day off at work, so for the past five years I have used the day as it was intended. I, along with so many others in my community, make my way down to our local cenotaph. There is an eerie silence - save the crunching of dead leaves - that hangs in the air as people walk the sidewalks leading to the park. We come in a varieties - white headed, bent elders with hints of elegance and pride in posture shuffling along, young parents with kidlets in tow, service personnel from all branches, multi generational families walking arm in arm, and lots of dogs.

It was a prophetic event. The day was gray and dismal - typical for November in these parts. Bystanders pulled their coats tightly around them and pulled scarves over their faces to shield from the wind. The pastor opened the ceremony with a prayer and introduced the trumpeter who would play The Last Post. As the first melancholy note  sounded, the sun burst through the clouds, shining a spotlight on the band ensemble - so bright, I could barely take a picture. And as he played the final few bars, the sun disappeared as quickly as it came, and tiny, misty tears fell from heaven.

It seemed that the deeds and sacrifices of our service people were being remembered by all, everywhere.

Last Post

Thank you.

Reflections and Remembrance

They seemed to come from all directions, walking purposefully in silence, poppies pinned above their hearts. The cenotaph, nestled among the tall oaks and evergreens created an ethereal stage for the Remembrance Day service. The crimson flag gently waved in the breeze as though to welcome the onlookers, urge them closer; the crowds that were twice the size as last year.

They were all there - the Scottish Regiment, the air and sea cadets, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, the firefighters, police, first responders, the Salvation Army, the Canadian Legion and of course, the vets. Flanders Fields was haltingly recited in a voice that remembered.

The faces - many of them weathered with experience - remained solemn. A community stood in quiet contemplation - in solidarity for those who served and serve; for those who sacrificed and sacrifice. We mourned the loss of what went before and for that which is to be.

There was something oddly comforting about standing with my fellow townspeople, united in thought, saying a silent communal thank you. For no matter how our thoughts and opinions about war and politics may differ, we all agree that we owe a debt of gratitude to those women and men who voluntarily serve our country, willingly make the ultimate sacrifice. So much to ask - and to expect. Even more to give.

Post script: after walking the half mile back to my car, still processing the emotions that were swirling in my head, the tears still damp under my sunglasses, I was met with this surprise:

A warning that my license plate had been recorded and that if I parked there again, I would be ticketed. The yellow slip is a $30 ticket - guess the bylaw officer had second thoughts about just warning me ...

But the morning ended on a happy note. I took this message to heart and when I read it, I could actually feel the love ...

Lest we forget ... don't worry, we remember.

Day of Remembrance

My office shuts down on Remembrance Day, so I used my time off the way it was intended ... I went to the  ceremonies at the town square where the cenotaph stands. As I looked for a parking spot, I could hear the faint strains of bagpipe music. I fell into line with the masses who seem to be coming out of nowhere -- all heading for the square. I could feel my throat tightening and emotion starting to well with every step that took me closer. The first sighting of the wizened, craggy face of a veteran, standing slightly hunched - proudlly at attention, white gloved hand on the staff of the standard he bore ... tears released. It's the faces. They are faces of survivors, men and women who have born witness to unspeakable horrors, and suffered great losses.

The parade of military, Canadian Mounted Police, provincial and local police, firemen and Scottish Regiments that solemnly marched behind the piper painted a colourful canvas that completely overwhelmed me. People dabbed their eyes with tissue as they passed. Collective reverance and respect -- and gratitude. It doesn't happen often enough. But today we stood still and silent as a community and refllected. I thought of the men and women who spent years in trenches, water up to their knees, who faced their "enemy" in hand to hand combat. I reflected on the waste and pain of war -- and how soldiers are called into service in our country to keep peace and help rebuild nations. I thought of wars being fought at this very second around the planet and of people who cannot lay their heads down at night without fear.

I bowed my head in silent prayer and respect. No matter how we may feel about war and the politics that go with it, we have to remember that it is our brothers and sisters (and their families) who carry the torch and bear the burden of service.

And today, my beloved maple leaf flew at half mast, her brilliant crimson cutting the gray of the day -- and she was as glorious as ever.

Je me souviens.

A Day of Remembrance

Today is Remembrance Day - and because my workplace closes, I have a day off. I always look forward to this day - as a gift of sorts. I traditionally spend it Christmas shopping. So in keeping with tradition I set out early this morning. I couldn't help but notice how many people were wearing poppies and suddenly felt self conscious about the empty space on my jacket where my poppy had been pinned - until it blew away.

I shopped the morning away and just as I was making my way to the checkout, arms laden with goods and goodies, a young female voice came over the P.A. system and started to read "In Flander's Fields". Most people stopped in their tracks, looking confusedly about as if unsure of what to do next. Some ignored the voice altogether, oblivious to anything out of the ordinary. When the reader reached the end of the poem she asked everyone to honour a minute of silence. Everyone - save the newborn screaming for its lunch - fell silent. I have never witnessed such orchestrated, public silence. I found myself reflecting on the words of the poem I had just heard. I marvelled at how even 90 years later we are honouring the sacrifice of the young people of that generation. I thought of the young men and women who are at this very moment, serving in a god forsaken dust bowl in unbearable heat, another world away from their loved ones and all that is familiar to them. They are serving without the comforts of home -- or any comforts at all. They are missing family dinners, as well as milestones - weddings, graduations, births, deaths ... Their lives are in limbo; they are serving in a place what can be likened to purgatory - neither heaven nor hell.

And I wonder when their day is done, and silence falls around them, where do their thoughts take them? Do they know that their efforts are appreciated? Do they know that they will come home different people, forever changed by their experiences and hardships? If they could hear me now I would tell them - thank you. I remember.