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.
So begins the iconic poem, In Flanders Fields by Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae.
Those guns, which drowned out the songbirds, did eventually fall silent, 105 years ago, today.
And those poppies, of course, are the Flanders poppies we now, a century hence, associate with Remembrance Day.
At 11am on the 11th of November, 1918, an Armistice came into effect that would herald the end of The Great War. The conflict that, at its end, many hoped would be the 'war to end all wars'.
Tragically, The Great War would instead be renamed World War I after Nazi Germany's invasion of Poland (and Imperial Japanese aggression in the Pacific) set the stage for World War II.
In time, Armistice Day would come to be known as Remembrance Day – a day to reflect and pay tribute to those who gave their lives in the service of Britain, Australia, other Commonwealth countries and their Allies.
Remembrance doesn't glorify war. It isn't an act of nationalism or military chest-beating.
It is to recognise and give thanks to those who, in their country's name, made the supreme sacrifice.
Like those in McCrae's poem, as it continues:
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.
These were men, and later also women, who had families, friends, hopes and dreams. But who, for one reason or another, found themselves in the service of their country; a service dutifully discharged unto death.
They left behind shattered families and communities. Their names adorn War Memorials across the countries — in cities and towns stretching from coast to coast.
McCrae, in their voice, exhorts us to do two things: To remember, and to be worthy of their sacrifice:
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.
I have been to some of the Western Front battlegrounds. It was surprisingly jarring to see those poppies growing wild by the roadside, just as they would have, when our servicemen fought and died there.
And as they have, ever since, while wars were fought in Europe and elsewhere, and as our service personnel put their lives on the line in our name.
Remembrance is a sacred duty. Of reflection, and dedication. To hold the torch high.
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.
Lest We Forget
