Armistice Day
At the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month,
Anno Domini 1918, the guns fell silent on the Western Front; the Great War, the First World War, was ended. The Great War seems terribly far away from our world of iPads & the eurozone crisis, & indeed it grows more distant year on year: the last survivor of the American Expeditionary Force, Frank Buckles, perished in February of this very year; the last combat veteran of the war, Claude Choules of the Royal Navy & the Royal Australian Navy, met his demise in May '11; there is only one known living veteran remaining, Florence Greeen of the Women's Royal Air Force, born 1901. When she passes, a link will be severed. The duty will fall to us, the children, grandchildren, & great-grandchildren of those who knew the glory & the folly of the
Weltkrieg, to remember the triumphs & the tragedies of 1914-1918; lest we fall prey to the same vainglory, the same misjudgments & errors, lest it all happen again. Lest we forget.
I encountered a Canadian fellow on Sunday, after Mass when Mother & I motored to the mall to find the new winter coat I'd requested as a Christmas gift. He was getting into his motorcar & we exited hers, & I spied a Remembrance Day poppy on his parka. I'd desired such a poppy pin, much like the one seen above, for several years, but had not found a way to acquire one here in the States, & only last year did I acquire the enhanced operator's license now necessary to cross the American-Canadian frontier (by land or sea, but not by air). I smiled as I approached his vehicle & gently knocked on the driver's window. He lowered the window & I begged his pardon, asking him where he had acquired his Remembrance Day poppy. He replied that they were easy enough to find, he'd acquired his from the Legion, for a charitable donation. I grasped his meaning, the Royal Canadian Legion—their leading veterans' organization—& thus divined his origin; of course, I replied, in the Canadas. Canada, as part of the British Empire, joined the mother country, Great Britain; her fellow dominions of Australia, New Zealand, Newfoundland, & South Africa; & India & the rest of the colonies in fighting all four years of that unremitting nightmare, & unto the present day commemorates the Armistice with Remembrance Day, the remembrance of the glorious dead. I was about to thank him for his time, & bid him a good day & a safe journey, when he caught me off guard by offering me the poppy pin. I asked if he was sure, which he was, & thanked him as he handed over the small badge, thin plastic covered with felt or some approximation. I thanked him again & we came to the parting of the ways; I've worn the poppy since, explaining its significance when asked, which was not as frequently as I'd hoped. I'm obliged to the gentleman, an exemplar of his country's renowned politeness.
As ever, my reverence for Armistice Day at the expense of Veterans Day* is not intended as a slight against those still living who have fought on my behalf in all of America's wars, both hot & Cold. But I hold that we forget the specific lessons of 1914-1918, of trench warfare & the Chemists' War, at our grave peril. The Commonwealth's commemoration of Remembrance Day is, for that purpose, better suited than our Veterans Day. (It may be tiresome to regular readers that I repeat this apology every Armistice Day, but I am desperate not to be misunderstood.) Lest we forget. War on a large scale, war that engulfs nations & lasts years or generations, was a distant memory to the Europe of that fateful summer of 1914, just as it is to the Europe of the restless fall of 2011. Lest we forget. Lest the bane of internecine war again befall the Western liberal democracies. When we assume that the potential for such warfare is no longer in our midst, then are we most vulnerable to its pernicious influence. Lest we forget.
"The Anxious Dead"
by John McCrae
O guns, fall silent till the dead men hear
Above their heads the legions pressing on;
(These fought their fight in time of bitter fear,
And died not knowing how the day had gone.)
O flashing muzzles, pause, and let them see
The coming dawn that streaks the sky afar;
Then let your mighty chorus witness be
To them, and Caesar, that we still make war.
Tell them, o guns, that we have heard their call,
That we have sworn, and will not turn aside,
That we will onward till we win or fall,
That we will keep the faith for which they died.
Bid them be patient, and some day, anon,
They shall feel earth enwrapt in silence deep;
Shall greet, in wonderment, the quiet dawn,
And in content may turn them to their sleep.
"Corporal Stare"
by Robert Graves
Back from the line one night in June,
I gave a dinner at Bethune—
Seven courses, the most gorgeous meal
Money could buy or batmen steal.
Five hungry lads welcomed the fish
With shouts that nearly cracked the dish;
Asparagus came with tender tops,
Strawberries in cream, and mutton chops.
Said Jenkins, as my hand he shook,
"They'll put this in the history book."
We bawled Church anthems
in choro
Of Bethlehem and Hermon snow,
With drinking songs, a jolly sound
To help the good red Pommard round.
Stories and laughter interspersed,
We drowned a long La Bassée thirst—
Trenches in June make throats damned dry.
When through the window, suddenly,
Badge, stripes, and medals all complete,
We saw him swagger up the street,
Just like a live man—Corporal Stare!
Stare! Killed last May at Festubert.
Caught on patrol near the Boche wire,
Torn horribly by machine-gun fire!
He paused, saluted smartly, grinned,
Then passed away like a puff of wind,
Leaving us blank astonishment.
The song broke, up we started, leant
Out of the window—nothing there,
Not the least shadow of Corporal Stare,
Only a quiver of smoke that showed
A fag-end dropped on the silent road.
*I prefer the spelling Veterans' Day, regarding it as more apropos, but the official government designation of the holiday is Veterans Day. I bow to officialdom, the authorized executors of the electorate's will.
The Rebel Black Dot Song of Armistice Day
Great Big Sea, "Recruiting Sergeant" from
Play (T.L.A.M.)
Commentary:
"…
Enlist, ye Newfoundlanders, and come follow me.
And it's over the mountains and over the sea,
Come, brave Newfoundlanders, and join the Blue Puttees,
You'll fight the Hun in Flanders, and at Gallipoli,
Enlist, ye Newfoundlanders, and come follow me."
