‘In Flanders Fields’

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
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.

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It was published nearly 100 years ago, but its words still ring true today.

“It really grabs you when you hear it because it’s the dead speaking out to the living and putting the challenge to them.”

Lest we forget

I ride a GS scooter with my hair cut neat
I wear my war time coat in the wind and sleet.

well said

Kids,tired of being bothered by your pesky parents?
Then leave home, get a job & pay your own bills, while you still know everything.

This has been doing the rounds on social media (including mine), and is excellent:

I am the earth they’re buried in, I am the fields and seas, the lives and fate to mankind’s hate is lost into the breeze. They fell from high, they breathed their last, they drowned in icey water, I saw their ends and fallen friends and witnessed senseless slaughter. The beaches cleansed by waves and time, the trenches ploughed and gone, I am the land they fought for and in death I held them strong.

I am the earth they lay in, as their families cry with grief. I am the sky, the long goodbye of pain and disbelief. My only friend is time and that I share amongst you all, to take the shortest moment and in time remember all. Commemorate their valour well, Immortalise their death, they gave their souls for freedom as I heard their shallow breath.

I am the earth that gives you life, I am the earth that takes. A refuge to the fallen pitying mankind’s cruel mistakes. I am the past and present, giving hope in the darkest hour, a long forgotten soldier brave and honoured with a flower. A poppy I bequeath to you, with petals bright and red, a delicate reminder born to bless our cherished dead.

Seamus O’Brien
November 2015

We don't do possession; we do defense and attack. Everything else is just wa**ing with a football.

My great uncle died at Arras April 1917. He was a South Norwood boy but was with the Royal Dublin Fusiliers because they had already lost so many men. No known grave.

Yes, I am an agent of Satan but my duties are largely ceremonial

Found my uncles gave via the CWGC , died near arras 1918,couple of weeks before war ended, was only a teenager, actually went and visited his grave a few years back, in a small cemetery, quite an emotional feeling, even more so in that i think i'm the only family member ever to visit, will return before i pop my clogs as my only regret was not taking any flowers to lay on the grave. RIP George