Written in 1915, this simple and short poem still evokes memory, heartbreak and honour
My Great Grandfather fought in the first world war, earning medals for service on the front lines. Our family has his medals in a shadow box – ephemera that is evidence of his service and his bravery. But, was he brave? I have no idea. He may have actually been terrified and simply putting one foot in front of the other to survive. All I know is that he returned home, had a family – my grandfather, my great uncle and my great aunt – and he spoke very little of the war, telling my grandfather that if there was ever another world war that he should do everything in his power to avoid it. I met my Great Grandfather Samuel Bradley Shaw and my children carry forward two of his names. But, I was only a tiny wee babe and the conscious memory I have of him is relegated to a photo album where I am pictured on his lap. I have a lot of trouble with the ‘glory of war.’ I understand that in certain circumstances it is necessary, but I cannot celebrate it and am consumed with worry over the psychological and physical damage it does to those who are in it.
However, most people can not think about Remembrance day without thinking about John McCrae’s poem In Flanders Fields. And, I am no exception. I think about this Canadian physician who witnessed the death of his friend, Lieutienant Alexis Helmer who was 22 years old and I think of my Great Grandfather and my own sons and I simply feel heartbroken. In the disturbed earth of the battlefields and the cemeteries where men like Lieutienant Helmer and friends of my Great Grandfather were buried, poppies were prolific.
And so, despite my hesitancy to glorify conflict, I will on November 11th think of my Great Grandfather with pride and I will honour all the men and women who fought in the two World Wars and all others since.
John McCrae
May 3, 1915
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
Photo Credit
“The Barbers’ Garden: Poppies.” Flickr Creative Commons. © Some rights reserved by bill barber
Moira Gardener says
Very moving. I totally agree.
michael says
I simply feel heartbroken…exactly. Thank you for this.