Arthur Hughes, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Started thinking about Remembrance Sunday which is fast approaching; such a loss of life over the years, so many lives cut short and what have we truly learned?
I have my own memories, particularly as it affects my Regiment and, in particular, my parent battalion 3 Para. I have been reviewing the list of casualties from the Falklands; so many dead SAS and Navy personnel, Welsh Guards and others but also a fair number from 2 and 3 Para. I served with the two recipients of the Victoria Cross from 3 Para; Colonel H Jones (whilst commanding 2 Para at Goose Green) and Sergeant Ian McKay who made a vital contribution to the success of the night attack by 3 Para on Mount Longdon: our youngest casualty was aged seventeen. RIP.
This is my take on the first World War, we have not moved on from those times. Just improved the means of large scale slaughter.
Reflections on a photograph – dated 1917
The face it stares across the years
the face that lights our greatest fears
so long ago a picture made,
so long ago a youth betrayed.
He stands there proud, near manhood he,
so young, so strong, what will he be
in years to come, a king, a knave?
’twas not to be, his life he gave.
If we should look on those years past
His vigour, strength was not to last
in time of war death does not care
what promise shewn, what hope they wear.
Stranger look upon that face,
Stranger think, from thy safe place
they trusting went off to a war,
in hope that war would be no more.
They did not know, they could not see
that they were pawns, no strategy
is worth the price our young men pay,
it was true then, it’s true today.
Our leaders think they have a right
to muddle through, but they don’t fight
the flower of youth who want to live
in peace, in love, their lives they give.
They left behind their many dreams,
so many hopes, but now it seems
that all they met was death and pain,
a field, a trench, that endless rain.
I wish that I could happier be
they gave their lives for you and me,
but at the end – I must confess;
I wished they’d loved their Country less.
Gillygangle 1996
Whenever I think of this poem Blair comes to mind:
A dead statesman
I could not dig, I dared not rob
and so I lied to please the mob
Now all my lies are proved untrue
and I must face the men I slew
what tale shall serve me, here among
Mine angry and defrauded young?
Rudyard Kipling
from Epitaphs of The War 1914 – 1918
The following poem is featured in the Cloth Hall at Ypres. Each evening the trumpeters of the Last Post Association play at the Menin Gate Memorial, dedicated to the tens of thousands British and Commonwealth soldiers who fought in the Ypres Salient and who have no known grave. I have attended this ceremony a few times, handkerchief at the ready.
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.
John McRae Canadian Army Doctor
Gillygangle 2025
