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The first Remembrance Day that I remember clearly...I had to have been about 7. It was my first, and only, year in Brownies. I was chosen to walk with the Canadian flag in my town's Remembrance Day ceremony. This meant standing at attention in the cold, marching just ahead of the Veterans, standing with the flag while everyone sat during the church ceremony. Clearly it made an impression on me. In fact, I was stunned when I went to university to find out that Remembrance Day was not observed on campus (it is now).
I think I've been reading on and studying Canada's involvement in the two world wars ever since that first Remembrance Day ceremony. It was more than natural for me to study in university. My grandfather was a merchant marine. He wanted to be in the Navy but he was colour blind and at the time that could keep you out of action. He found his way to serve. Storyteller that he was (and I could listen to him tell stories for hours, many of which were probably not entirely appropriate for my young ears), I never heard him say a single word about the war. I have his service records, I did research. I know what he did. It wasn't glamorous. It was kitchen duty mostly. But it was his way of "doing his bit."
Sweet Salty tells the story of her grandfather in quotations and with the words of those that loved him in parenthesis. You really must read it.
Caught in searchlights on the way to raid Dusseldorf, minutes become eternities. Riddled with flak, their navigator hit in the abdomen, knee, and leg, and one finger on his left hand shot off, they made a desperate push to make it back across the Channel on fumes.
One up on his mates, Grampa opted out of a routine mission the following day, staying on the ground. On that flight, the plane was shot down. All but two of his best friends were killed.
The memories of those that didn't return never left those that stayed at home. At Another Day, Another Story Marlene tells how her mother-in-law got a shock one Remembrance Day.
As she was expecting me, I knocked and then opened the door and walked in. As she came towards the door, she cried out and grabbed a chair to sit down. When she caught her breath, she said that she thought her brother had just walked in the door.
It was November 11th and my son had just finished participating in a parade. As a member of the Reserves, he was in full military uniform. This was the mid 1990's. Her brother had died in the First World War.
Uphilldowndale is British but Canadians fought side by side, often commanded, by the British. In many ways, though not all, we share a common memory. And for those that fought in WWII, the memories of war never really leave them.
The very last thing my brother heard my dad say, in his drug induced confusion and as they wheeled him in to resus, at the hospital, at the age of 82 and just hours before he died? ‘Get down, get down it’s a sniper’
Lest we forget.
Ten years ago singer/songwriter Terry Kelly was in a store when the clock struck 11am. The store observed a moment of silence and contemplation. Someone decided that it didn't apply to them and out of his anger he wrote this song, A Pittance of Time. It's seen been developed into a play.
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I'll be getting dressed soon and getting ready to head to the National War Memorial here in Ottawa. No, I don't get the day off work. I've never had a job that gives me that. I either take the day off or head out for a few hours and work through a few lunch hours to make up for it. I'll stand with others and do a very simple act, I'll remember. I'll keep faith. Even if you can't make it to a ceremony today, you can take a moment at 11am to remember. It is, after all, only two minutes - a pittance of time.
Contributing Editor Sassymonkey also blogs at Sassymonkey and Sassymonkey Reads.
