Every year for many years,
in November, we have a garden of red ‘poppies’ leap into our lives, and into the
lives of our communities. The stunning combination of the red and black of these
small flower symbols on lapels, caps and in car windows draw your eye, and you
cannot help but remember for what reason they come into our lives. These
brilliant red poppies are very significant, and each and every one is worn in
remembrance of lives lost, battles won and battles lost, the gratitude we feel
for those who gave their lives for our country, our freedom, and our way of
life. They also honour those who served and came home badly scarred, both in
body and spirit. The poppy also honours and remembers all those that were the
backup teams, the people who worked in factories, ran our transportation
systems, knit warm socks and caps for those on the front lines, and those who
supported their loved ones in the cause they were so desperately fighting for
and wanted to protect. And that cause was our freedom, a country free of anarchy
and chaos, and a better life for their children. We will always, and should
always, remember them.
So we pick up our poppy from the immaculately clad Legion Veterans at their
little kiosk and tables, chat with them, and marvel at the wonder of such a
country as Canada. In good times and bad, the Red Maple Leaf Flag flying above
our heads symbolizes all that has been fought for, the way of life we lead in
our country, our political right to vote, and our freedom to worship as we so
choose. All this came at a very high cost. We will never forget that. Nor should
we.
Most of the men who served our country are now grandfathers and
great-grandfathers, and also the women who served have moved into the tender
role of being a grandmother and great-grandmother. So most of us have, or have
had a ‘Pop’ or ‘Grand-dad’ or ‘Poppy’ of our own. And surely we all have a
‘Nanny’ in our lives, or in the lives of our friends.
A few years ago, in a large center, I attended the November 11th,Remembrance Day
Service at the War Memorial. All while we were growing up the Remembrance Day
Ceremony was part of our lives, and it continues to be, because my father served
in the British Royal Navy overseas during the last World War. I have a Dad who
is a ‘Poppy’ to my children, and to my grandchild. His name is Stephen Richard
Jarvis. Wearing a poppy is an important thing to me and my family because we
love and honour our Poppy. And thousands of other people do the same thing all
across this massive country. That day, after the Memorial Service, I watched as
the cadets and the local people took off their poppies and stuck them in the
ground near the memorial.
When I glanced back it looked like a sea of priceless blood. The red was
everywhere as hundreds of red poppies stood out brightly in the noon day sun. It
illustrated to me what the surgeon, Dr. John McCrae, a Major in the 1st Field
Artillery Brigade, saw beside the field hospital at the Canal de l’Yser, just
north of Ypres and its’ horrendous battles. Dr. McCrae had lost a friend a day
before he penned his verse. He wrote ‘In Flanders Fields’, then decided it was
not a good piece of work and discarded it. A colleague retrieved the paper, and
submitted the poem to a magazine in England who published it, and it has become
a classic. It was written in the midst of seventeen days of horror, on May 3,
1915, and was published in the English magazine on December 8, 1915.
My father rarely spoke of his wartime experiences. And we could not get him to
talk about it. But when I think back, we had small glimpses into that world. He
was a seventeen year old boy when he joined the Royal Navy, Newfoundland was a
British Colony, and he left Belloram, Newfoundland, for what was to become four
years of hell. He became a man through all that. He became a strong man, but
troubled when he came home at first. He was tormented, with wild, wide eyes and
bad dreams. The horrific sights, the sounds of gunfire, the panic, the cold, the
torpedoes, the sea water seeping into his bunk as he tried to rest on the
Corvette he was serving on, all haunted him.
We knew he had scarred legs, scalded by a blown boiler, we knew he, although a
policeman, wanted ‘peace and quiet’ in his life, and we knew he did not want to
discuss war. One incident stands out that told us so much about Dad and his
outlook on life. It took place with my brother. David, in his late teens,
arrived home, shall we say, saturated with ‘liquid courage’. He was prepared to
take on the world in his courageous state, and my mother was determined he
wasn’t, but he would punished, that was a given.
"Go to bed now," Dad said to Mother, "when I was his age I was fightin’ a war!"
And that was the end of that. It said a lot when you really analyzed it.
This past summer Dad showed me a photo my brother had found of the Corvette he
sailed on, the ‘H.M.S. Shoreham’. He is still proud of that ship. So I took the
chance and asked "Dad, what was your worst experience during those days?"
He shocked me by answering. I really did not expect he would.
"The Invasion of Sicily." he revealed quietly.
Then he went on to tell me his most memorable and frightening experience. My
heart ached for that young Newfoundland boy, caught in the midst of death and
destruction, trying desperately to stay alive. And it aches now as I tell you
about it. He is a ‘Poppy’, and he loves and is loved in return. I am sorry that
he had to go through that anguish and fear. But at least he came home. His
determination to give his children a good life, combined with their love for
him, and a strong wife who loved and supported him, became his port in the
savage emotional storms.
Yes, we will wear our poppies proudly, and we will remember them. All of them,
those who have left us and those we are thankful to still have in our lives.
Wear the poppy, read Major McCraes’ verse, remember, and give thanks for the
freedoms won with blood, sweat and tears and loss of life. Always remember them,
not just on Remembrance Day, but every day.
If you do not have the words, I will share a few of them
with you. Beautiful words written by a young man who had seen too much, lost too
much, but would not quit. Words that can be written in a free country
that allows us to do so, the freedom won with their lives.
Excerpt from: ‘IN FLANDERS’ FIELDS’
‘To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Written by Doctor Major (later Lieutenant-Colonel) John McCrae 1st Field
Artillery Brigade, 1915
They shall not grow old as those that are left grow old. Age will not weary them nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we shall remember them.
"Success is never final. Failure is never fatal. It is courage that counts." Winston Churchill
BACK TO BONNIES PAGE
HOME
MGM
© ALS Independence 2003-11