Pittance of TIme - Terry Kelly
Yesterday was November 11th. Remembrance day in Canada. Veterans Day in the United States.
Yesterday morning I walked down Spring Garden Road toward the cenotaph downtown. It was very humbling to be in the crowds with so many men and women in uniform as we all walked together. Of course, as they walked proudly with heads held high the only thing that stood out for me was my admiration for their selfless commitment - I was beneath them. Attending that service yesterday was the first time I had done so in many years. I have been present for many pseudo-services that were held in the schools in Ontario. There was a time when Remembrance was a day off for school children in that province. But it wasn't a day to sleep in and/or play. We bundled up in our scarves and mittens and prepared to stand in the cold and blistery November day to remember and reflect at the local memorial. Back then, there were a lot of veterans from the two great wars in attendance. Like all Italians, my father did his one year stint in the country's army but as he died when I was an infant, I don't know any stories relating to war from/or about his family. My maternal grandparents sometimes talked about the second world war, but only in the context of being in fear of the Germans taking them to POW camps and my grandfather being arrested/taken away for a time. I don't know if he was a soldier or relieved of duty for some reason since at 30 years of age at the start of World War II I assume he was suitable age-wise. I don't know and I don't know anyone left on that side who might share stories with me. (Mom's family wasn't to fond of Dad's side - and consequently I didn't value their opinion on much). Regardless the point is that with the exception of once hearing my grandfather talk about the sky disappearing in blackness because of the sheer numbers of planes flying over head, I have not heard of personal experiences of war. 
But I have always been emotional drawn to the experience and have some very strong feelings and opinions about it. As I got older and started to read stories and see movies and news stories about effects of war and strife it started to resonate. Canada was a peaceful nation but the advent of television brought the global conflicts into the living room. We didn't just hear about teenage boys jumping the border to avoid the draft, we saw the protests that drove them. We saw the passion they had against the war and we heard the reasons, we sat on our couches and saw the battles and the devastation. There are certain things that I am drawn to that I can't explain, an attachment that I don't fully comprehend. It has always been that way with Ireland and Scotland - the countries, the people, the music, the history - everything. It's also Nova Scotia. And that is the only one that I have been able to fulfil and that is why this place feels like home - and it always has. But I don't know why - there is no family history of living here etc, that I am aware of. I have my theories but that is another story :) All I know is that I don't have an explanation for the pain I feel for victims of war - both those surviving the experience or never returning from it.
Back to Remembrance Day services. With most of the veterans of the second World War now passed on naturally, there are not a lot of them left to go to the schools and share the stories and it seems that the people who have sacrificed for our country in the name of Peace are being forgotten. Fortunately there is a far smaller percentage of us being directly affected by our country's involvement in Afghanistan, Korea and Vietnam to mention just a few missions that have claimed Canadian lives - but it means that there aren't enough of them to speak at the public gatherings. In the schools, the organization of services falls on the volunteerism of teachers and as some teachers put to me when I asked, there is more prestige and recognition given to the teacher who volunteers to coach a team. Sad really. To that end, where we once had a gathering in the school gymnasium for an assembly complete with speakers, stories (read or re-told), the recitation of the poem In Flanders Field, a lone bugler playing Taps and The Last Post to a sea of often wide-eyed children and young people all wearing the familiar red poppy above their heart as they were told was proper. We now have students sitting at their desk in their classroom listening to a recording of the national anthem, and a canned bugle rendering and shuffling of papers and people in the office during the two minutes of silence. Depending on how the schedule of classes fell - not even necessarily close to the 11th hour. And in the high school if you were on a spare or in the halls - you went about your business, as did most of the office staff. More than once, I sat there disgusted as I watched the teacher at his/her desk continue marking papers, reviewing notes while the students followed their example. In the staff room, no one stopped chewing or talking. No one stood. No one cared.
I care. Too much perhaps. Yesterday's service is the first service in many years that I attended from beginning to end without being escorted out or falling apart. Not that it wasn't emotional for it was, but my heart was lifted being among the many young and old from all factions of the military. ANAVET many had emblazoned on their head gear. Army Navy Air Force Veteran. There were men and women, RCMP, cadets and boy scouts. And as another round went off from the guns at Citadel Hill went off, I noticed the young children who were not bothered by the loudness of the blast from the 21-gun salute. I noticed the many families in the crowd, the teens and the throngs of university students. Their attire (many suits and ties paired with running shoes) and their behaviour exuded reverence. No cell phone ringing/texting was evident, no giggling, talking or frivolity. And I thought, this is what it is supposed to be like. This is Remembrance Day. And it wasn't just in this city, it was the same in every town large and small in every one of the 3 Maritime provinces. Case in point, not far from the city of St. John and the Bay of Fundy, the small town of St. George made the news. A personalized banner was erected along the main streets for some of the towns war heroes. It puts a face to the dead and by seeing the image and the names, the youth got more engaged and everyone wanted to know a bit more about the faces they drove past. They became real people (the near forgotten soldiers) they could be a grandparent or other relative.
Highway of Heroes - The Trews
The "Hollywood" depictions of war are not always accurate and of course no matter how realistic the images and the story, nothing on the screen can depict the smell of death. Without having been in the bloodied shoes of the soldiers, we can't really know what it's like. But this past weekend (in particular) there were a number of documentaries about some of the battles during the wars where the actual surviving soldiers shared some of their experiences. It was the retelling of the D-Day and the storming of the beaches of Normandy that got me. The sheer number of boats and people that did the "dirty work" and the reference to the few Generals that planned the mission and the deadly calculation errors that were made and cost so many lives. Leaving the "relative" safety of the ships many soldiers jumped into the water to head for the beaches only to drown as the water was still too deep and the gear they carried too heavy. One man spoke of surviving because he had his helmet chin strap securely fastened and a pocket of air inside it brought him to the surface. Planes that were supposed to drop bombs in advance of the soldiers to create craters for some cover were late and there was nowhere on the wide open beach to hide. Then there was the seemingly impenetrable concrete "pillboxes" that protected German soldiers with narrow windows that allowed nothing but the muzzle of a gun to poke out and mow down approaching enemies. But they were not impenetrable. A soldier standing at the base of the structure could not be seen and with a hand grenade and good sense of timing and coordination the soldier could lob that grenade into the tiny window leaving the Germans within no time to react. In the mentality of war it never ceases to amaze me how one can go from recalling the horror or seeing body parts strewn about the beach to the near elation at storming that bunker to find only the lower portion of a soldier distinguishable among the flesh and pieces of bone strewn about the enclosure. And the thing that struck me was that people of other nations died. Young men and women from the other side died too. No one was safe. One veteran spoke of being wounded 5 times in the first day of the invasion alone. Another gentleman spoke of waking to find his leg missing and then being joyful that he was alive. Or the one who was troubled by finding comfort by laying his wounded body on the cushion of 6 fallen comrades. Another was haunted his entire life knowing that he used the body of a dead soldier that he didn't know as a shield to protect himself before realizing he was dead. And over and over again the sentiment was repeated - kill or be killed.
The Fallen 9000
The above picture is an art project conceived by Jamie Wardley and Andy Moss who paid tribute to the 9000 souls who died on the beaches of Normandy, France by scratching their silhouette in the sand. That number includes Allied and German forces and civilians. It is a sobering and tangible look at the sheer numbers lost in just one battle in one war/conflict. It took two years to pull together the permission and 200 volunteers to pull off the project and the force of the tide to wash it away like so much spilled blood 69 ago. This endeavour was organized to coincide with the observance of the International Day of Peace on September 21, 2013.
Truth be told, I am opposed to war. And over time that has morphed over to an opposition to organized religion as well. There has been an unacceptable amount of blood shed in the name of religion. My God is better than your God, my country is better than your country. Puts me in mind of a bully. And having faced my share of those monsters - I chose not to fight them - believing they aren't worth it. I'm not suggesting that Hitler (for example) didn't need to be stopped - for he did. His warped and distorted views caused grief and despair long before a gun was raised against his followers. So I wonder, were every one of Hiltlers' soldiers a believer in his philosophy of a superior race or were they drafted and/or forced to enlist and fight in his army? Getting back to that half body in the concrete tomb - he was somebody's son. Is his family in Germany permitted to mourn his lose. We call them the enemy and assign them derogatory terms to justify thinking them less than ourselves. But besides their crazed leader (and a few others) - were they really? I don't think so. If I live or am born in a certain country doesn't mean that I agree with the political agenda or policies. In some places I can voice it, others I can't. Today in our free and peacefully Canada, we often take pot shots at our leaders and suggest that they are certifiable and not fit for command. The way that our federal government is treating many of our veterans today while they line their pockets with tax payer dollars is an acceptable of way of them feeling superior to the "average Joe".
The bottom line for me is this - This Remembrance Day and those to follow I want to remember all the people that were sacrificed in the name of war. Maybe there was a reason for the conflict but in the resolution many innocent people were caught in the crossfire. And I for one am sorry about that.
I am Canadian and I can speak my mind. Thank you!
I heard a song by this band on the radio recently and decided to search for the video. A band I wasn't familiar with but liking the sound, I listened to a few other offerings. It was a random click that that brought me to this video and I knew right away that I had to include it here. It is less the song and more the commentary before that struck me. People who were supposed to be enemies because they were told that they were. Awful things happen during war. There is destruction and death, civilians and soldiers. But in the chaos there can still shine a bit of compassion that reassures us that there is faith to be had still. And here is the story of two men whose paths crossed as enemies and they became allies and a symbol of forgiveness that I for one needs to know exists in and out of the times of war.
So It Goes - Hollerado
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