posted 11-11- 02:35 PM               

Thank you.

posted 11-11- 04:05 PM               

Thanks,

posted 11-11- 04:30 PM               

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.

http://home.iae.nl/users/robr/poppies.html

------------------
Patch It!

posted 11-11- 05:25 PM               

I find myself (as a non-Brit, I live at the other side of the channel, in The Netherlands) a lot more (self) educated in the very-very much older history of England/Wales/Scotland. As in Roman period. Don't know why and how that happend Must've something to do with a lot of reading and a bit of a mythicaly inclinated brain.

However, one is never too old to learn, and I must say, this poem is one that grabs you by the throath.

At some time in the past I went to Flanders with school, forgot the name fo the location (*shame*) where there is this monument in the form of a giant grenade shell, whith a lot of names and birth/dead-dates on it... Can remember that we where over-awed when we started calculating the ages of the men who died there.

Again thanks for the link. The whole thing took some time to sink in..

Hertog

posted 11-11- 08:53 PM               

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young.
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted:
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end they remain.

posted 11-12- 03:49 PM               

TS

posted 11-12- 05:34 PM               

Is the poem about the gas attack "Dulce et Decorum Est"?

Werner

posted 11-12- 05:59 PM               

It wasnt a poem. A short story or a book i think. They didn't have enough gas masks for everyone so some of the men had to pee in their hankerchiefs and breathe through it to neutralize the gas.

TS

posted 11-12- 06:41 PM               

Yeah I remember reading it in school.

Somehow I still have those canadains at war scrapbooks for ww1 and ww2.

posted 11-12- 06:46 PM               

Its my girlfriends birthday on the 11th.

It always kinda bugged her cause she would be all happy and then her teachers would get mad saying she should be sad cause of the date.