It's too late for Europe (and for that I sincerely apologise), but it will soon be 11am throughout North America. Despite what any one person may think about warfare, or any particular war in general (and trust me, I'm not pro-war by any means), the simple fact is that men and women have died in the line of duty within our lifetimes. This same theme links us very directly to the "games we play" on EB, the confused and tragic struggle of man to both defeat and accept himself. The wondrous complexity of EB allows us to "role-play" our factions, and to feel a hint of what it really must be like to struggle for one's very existence. This powerful pathos is, directly or indirectly, a major part of EB's motivation and appeal.
This simple fact is sobering, and beyond the depth of thought and heated debates it may spark, it is a simple and profound act to offer our thoughts and sympathies to those who have passed on, or who have otherwise sacrificed themselves in the hopes that we all may live a better life.
And to those of you who might currently be in dangerous areas or situations, friend or foe, we are thinking of you, and we will always remember.
Further, I invite you all to post your inspiring war stories, favourite war movies, or other thoughts on this hopeful but melancholy day, whether your nation follows the holiday or not. I would consider it a personal favour to you all if this thread were to remain staid and solemn, although I'm in no real position to demand anything.
I have a glass of gin in hand (one of the many gifts the Brits shared with us Canadians during the World Wars), and I have three films ready to watch: The Dirty Dozen, The Devil's Brigade, and the History Channel's special on the Raid on Dieppe.
As a Canadian, I feel compelled to post the National Poem of Remebrance Day, "In Flanders Fields" by John McRae:
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.
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.
That Owen would draw upon the (arguably) most beautiful Roman poet of the Golden Age, and transform Horace's sentiment into something so beautiful and tragic, shows both Owen's genius and the immense pressure and unimaginable pain that so many went through in the Great War. So...here it is...
DULCE ET DECORUM EST
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
inde consilivm mihi pavca de Avgvsto et extrema tradere, mox Tiberii principatum et cetera, sine ira et stvdio, qvorvm cavsas procvl habeo.
My birthday is August 19th, I consider myself Canadian despite being born in Ireland. So the Dieppe Raid has a... well a certain connection with me.
We should take a moment to sit, and reflect on the freedoms we have because of the millions who gave their lives and sacrificed their youth so that billions may live in peace. Though it was and probably never will be ever lasting peace, we should still thank the Veterans of all wars on all sides. Even the German's who fought in WW2 should be remembered, for they were unaware of their head of state's true ambition and reason, and they served for their nation, not their leader.
Though they deny it, the surviving veterans are true heroes, aswell as the fallen. All soldiers on all sides, of all conflicts are heroes[1].
Give thanks. You owe EVERYTHING to those men.
I personally owe my life to the French resistance, for if they did not pull my gramps out of his burning wrecked spitfire, and got him back across the channel, he would have died, and I would never have existed.
Remember, lest we forget. In your prime you might be called to make the ultimate sacrifice too.
To the Pilots, to the Soldiers, to the Sailors, Submariners, and to the glorious fallen. Thankyou.
Well, how do you do, Private William McBride,
Do you mind if I sit down here by your graveside?
And rest for awhile in the warm summer sun,
I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done.
And I see by your gravestone you were only 19
When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916,
Well, I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean
Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?
Did they Beat the drum slowly, did the play the pipes lowly?
Did the rifles fir o'er you as they lowered you down?
Did the bugles sound The Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?
And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined?
And, though you died back in 1916,
To that loyal heart are you forever 19?
Or are you a stranger without even a name,
Forever enshrined behind some glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn and tattered and stained,
And fading to yellow in a brown leather frame?
The sun's shining down on these green fields of France;
The warm wind blows gently, and the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished long under the plow;
No gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard that's still No Man's Land
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man.
And a whole generation who were butchered and damned.
And I can't help but wonder, no Willie McBride,
Do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did you really believe them when they told you "The Cause?"
Did you really believe that this war would end wars?
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame
The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain,
For Willie McBride, it all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.
I'd also like to end with a quote... "Never was so much owed by so many to so few."
[1] the SS and other murdering bastards are not heroes.
Last edited by Celtic_Punk; 11-11-2008 at 13:45.
'Who Dares WINS!' - SAS
"The republic stands for truth and honour. For all that is noblest in our race. By truth and honour, principle and sacrifice alone will Ireland be free."-Liam Mellows
Who knows? If it's a enough day we may all end up Generals!"
"It were not best that we should all think alike;it is difference of opinion that makes horse races." Mark Twain We super powers have it tough- Calvin and Hobbes
Balloons collected:and one for been a Calvin and Hobbes fan!
Let's remember all those rave men who fought in the great ar and have given their lives.
"I should like to see any power of the world destroy this race, this small tribe of unimportant people, whose history is ended, whose wars have been fought and lost, whose structures have crumbled, whose literature is unread, whose prayers are no longer answered.... For when two of them meet anywhere in the world, see if they will not create a new Armenia!
I live in a country which hasn't seen a war for quite some time, but I still thought I'd contribute with a poem.
It's in Swedish, so most of you might not understand a word, but I don't think it would be the same translated.
At any rate, I think it captures some of what this is all about:
Försvunnen var en blodig dag,
Det var på Lemos strand,
De slagnas sista andedrag
Ren tystnat efter hand;
Det mörknade kring land och hav
Och lugn var natten som en grav.
Vid brädden av den dunkla våg,
Som skådat dagens strid,
En gammal krigare man såg,
En man från Hoglands tid;
Hans panna låg mot handen stödd,
Hans kind var blek, hans barm förblödd.
Ej kom en vän, som kunde få
Hans sista avskedsord,
Ej var den jord, han blödde på,
En älskad fosterjord.
Hans hembygd Volgas bölja skar;
En hatad främling här han var.
Hans öga lyftes opp ibland,
Fast slocknande och matt.
På samma slätt, på samma sand,
Helt nära där han satt,
En halvt förstelnad yngling låg;
Han såg på honom, när han såg.
När kulan ven, när striden brann,
När bådas blod rann varm,
Med vredens eld de mött varann
Och prövat svärd och arm.
Nu sökte ej den unge strid,
Nu höll den gamle kämpen frid.
Men natten skrider mer och mer,
Man hör ett årslags sus,
Och månen går ur moln och ger
Den hemska nejden ljus;
Då syns en julle tätt vid strand,
En ensam flicka ror i land.
En fridlös vålnad lik, hon steg
I spår, där döden gått.
Hon gick från lik till lik och teg,
Hon tycktes gråta blott.
Med häpnad hennes tysta tåg
Den gamle, väckt ur dvalan, såg.
Dock mera milt med var minut,
För varje steg hon tog,
Och mera tankfullt än förut
Hans sorgsna öga log.
En aning grep hans hjärta visst,
Han tycktes veta, vad hon mist.
Han tycktes vänta: och hon kom,
Som om ett bud hon hört,
Så tyst, så lugnt, så visst, som om
En ande henne fört.
Hon kom. Vid nattens bleka sken
Hon såg den fallne svensken ren.
Hon såg, och ropte högt hans namn,
Det kom ej svar igen;
Hon sjönk emot hans öppna famn,
Men slöts ej mer av den.
Hans genomstungna bröst var kallt,
Och stumt var allt, förvissnat allt.
Då, säger sångmön, föll en tår
Uppå den gamles kind,
Då talte han ett ord, vars spår
Försvann i nattens vind,
Då stod han upp, ett steg han tog
Och hann till flickans fot och dog.
Vad sade väl hans sorgsna blick,
Hans ord, ej tydda än?
Den tår, som ur hans öga gick,
Vad mening låg i den?
Och när till flickans fot han hann
Och föll och dog, vad tänkte han?
Var det för hjärtats frid kanske,
Han höjde än sin röst?
Var det en bön, han ville be
Till ett försonligt bröst?
Begrät han mänskans hårda lott
Att plåga och att plågas blott?
Han kom från ett fientligt land,
En oväns svärd han bar;
Dock fatta, broder, rörd hans hand,
Och minns ej, vad han var;
O, blott på livet hämnden ser,
Vid graven hatar ingen mer.
As a reservist I probably have a bit more understanding than most, but all my training is no replacement... I've lost friends in Afghanistan, and the ones that return who have seen the unthinkable, left as boys, and returned as men. Men who carry a weight on their shoulders none of us can understand.
EDIT: I forgot to mention that poem is an old Celtic song called The Green Fields of France
I'll throw another beautiful song in here, Sgt. MacKenzie, a scottish soldier in the trenches. His buddy shot dead at his feet, stood his ground and fought to the death, finally being bayonetted to death...
Lay me doon in the caul caul groon
Whaur afore monie mair huv gaun
Lay me doon in the caul caul groon
Whaur afore monie mair huv gaun
When they come a wull staun ma groon
Staun ma groon al nae be afraid
Thoughts awe hame tak awa ma fear
Sweat an bluid hide ma veil awe tears
Ains a year say a prayer faur me
Close yir een an remember me
Nair mair shall a see the sun
For a fell tae a Germans gun
Lay me doon in the caul caul groon
Whaur afore monie mair huv gaun
Lay me doon in the caul caul groon
Whaur afore monie mair huv gaun
Whaur afore monie mair huv gaun
Lay me down in the cold cold ground
Where before many more have gone
Lay me down in the cold cold ground
Where before many more have gone
When they come I will stand my ground
Stand my ground I'll not be afraid
Thoughts of home take away my fear
Sweat and blood hide my veil of tears
Once a year say a prayer for me
Close your eyes and remember me
Never more shall I see the sun
For I fell to a German's gun
Lay me down in the cold cold ground
Where before many more have gone
Lay me down in the cold cold ground
Where before many more have gone
Where before many more have gone
'Who Dares WINS!' - SAS
"The republic stands for truth and honour. For all that is noblest in our race. By truth and honour, principle and sacrifice alone will Ireland be free."-Liam Mellows
Who knows? If it's a enough day we may all end up Generals!"
'Who Dares WINS!' - SAS
"The republic stands for truth and honour. For all that is noblest in our race. By truth and honour, principle and sacrifice alone will Ireland be free."-Liam Mellows
Who knows? If it's a enough day we may all end up Generals!"
There will be no need for alien invaders. We'll collectively destroy the Earth if we're not pulling together to reduce consumption, birth rates and taxing the environment. I don't see that happening, it's in our nature to exploit resources with a short perspective.
No direct threat to our survival indeed. Indirect threats obviously won't cut it.
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I think computer viruses should count as life. I think it says something about human nature that the only form of life we have created so far is purely destructive. We've created life in our own image. - Stephen Hawking
There will be no need for alien invaders. We'll collectively destroy the Earth if we're not pulling together to reduce consumption, birth rates and taxing the environment. I don't see that happening, it's in our nature to exploit resources with a short perspective.
No direct threat to our survival indeed. Indirect threats obviously won't cut it.
I read somehwere theres a monument in Australia I believe that on teh 11th day of the 11th month on the 11th hour, the light shines through the roof in such a way that it lands on the plaque or something like that.
This was my 666th post...
Last edited by Celtic_Punk; 11-12-2008 at 10:20.
Reason: This is just bloody creepy... 666th post...
'Who Dares WINS!' - SAS
"The republic stands for truth and honour. For all that is noblest in our race. By truth and honour, principle and sacrifice alone will Ireland be free."-Liam Mellows
Who knows? If it's a enough day we may all end up Generals!"
Thanks bovi. This was one of those threads that I actually checked on the close option but changed my mind at the last minute. There was almost a 100% chance this would happen and I should have just gone with my instincts when I first saw it.
I think there are oodles of memorial days for soldiers, which is natural in a macho society. But what people almost never drink a cherry to remember is the millions of unknown victims, of vast crimes which most people have never heard of. Those victims whose only representatives are a few specialized human rights organizations. I speak of such people as the people of East Timor, Nicaragua, Chile, El Salvador and the rest of Central and South America. I speak of Cambodia, Armenia, the list goes on.
"To know a thing well, know its limits. Only when pushed beyond its tolerances will its true nature be seen." -The Amtal Rule, DUNE
Gleemonex, I am afraid that I cannot join you in celebrating Remembrance Day.
Instead, I am re-reading Dalton Trumbo's Johnny Got His Gun and Howard Zinn's People's History of the United States ('War is the Health of the State') and thinking about the thousands of men who were interned during the First World War for refusing to kill another person. Between Britain, Canada and America at least a hundred died in prison, where they had been tortured. In Britain those who served their sentences had their right to vote suspended.
What I find tremendous about these men is their bravery in the face of almost universal revilement. The willingness and even eagerness of millions of young men to participate in the brutality, barbarity and horror of the war is something I cannot fully comprehend. The moral courage of men like Harold Bing, Mark Hayler, and Horace Eaton who endured beatings, solitary confinement, refusal of due process, and psychological abuse for their refusal to do so is something that I believe is more fitting to celebrate than those who fell in with the mad drum-beat of militarism.
I might as well die for a principle as for lack of one.
Reply of a Conscientious Objector sentenced to death for refusing to fight.
I also remember Jean Jaures, Bertrand Russel, Karl Liebknecht, Rosa Luxemburg, John Maclean, Willie Gallacher, Francis Sheehey-Skeffington, Zeth Hoglund and others in public life who had the courage to speak against a war that initially had almost universal support.
These people are heroes, but they received no medals and they have no holidays in their honour.
I am making this statement as an act of willful defiance of military authority, because I believe that the War is being deliberately prolonged by those who have the power to end it. I am a soldier, convinced that I am acting on behalf of soldiers. I believe that this War, on which I entered as a war of defence and liberation, has now become a war of aggression and conquest. I believe that the purpose for which I and my fellow soldiers entered upon this war should have been so clearly stated as to have made it impossible to change them, and that, had this been done, the objects which actuated us would now be attainable by negotiation. I have seen and endured the sufferings of the troops, and I can no longer be a party to prolong these sufferings for ends which I believe to be evil and unjust. I am not protesting against the conduct of the war, but against the political errors and insincerities for which the fighting men are being sacrificed. On behalf of those who are suffering now I make this protest against the deception which is being practised on them; also I believe that I may help to destroy the callous complacency with which the majority of those at home regard the contrivance of agonies which they do not, and which they have not sufficient imagination to realize.
No doubt they'll soon get well; the shock and strain
Have caused their stammering, disconnected talk.
Of course they're 'longing to go out again,' —
These boys with old, scared faces, learning to walk.
They'll soon forget their haunted nights; their cowed
Subjection to the ghosts of friends who died,—
Their dreams that drip with murder; and they'll be proud
Of glorious war that shatter'd all their pride...
Men who went out to battle, grim and glad;
Children, with eyes that hate you, broken and mad.
I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.
In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.
You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.
Siegfried Sassoon.
There is no way to participate in a war that does not implicate you in acts of unspeakable brutality.
οἵη περ φύλλων γενεὴ τοίη δὲ καὶ ἀνδρῶν.
Even as are the generations of leaves, such are the lives of men.
Glaucus, son of Hippolochus, Illiad, 6.146
Gleemonex, I am afraid that I cannot join you in celebrating Remembrance Day.
Instead, I am re-reading Dalton Trumbo's Johnny Got His Gun and Howard Zinn's People's History of the United States ('War is the Health of the State') and thinking about the thousands of men who were interned during the First World War for refusing to kill another person. Between Britain, Canada and America at least a hundred died in prison, where they had been tortured. In Britain those who served their sentences had their right to vote suspended.
What I find tremendous about these men is their bravery in the face of almost universal revilement. The willingness and even eagerness of millions of young men to participate in the brutality, barbarity and horror of the war is something I cannot fully comprehend. The moral courage of men like Harold Bing, Mark Hayler, and Horace Eaton who endured beatings, solitary confinement, refusal of due process, and psychological abuse for their refusal to do so is something that I believe is more fitting to celebrate than those who fell in with the mad drum-beat of militarism.
Reply of a Conscientious Objector sentenced to death for refusing to fight.
I also remember Jean Jaures, Bertrand Russel, Karl Liebknecht, Rosa Luxemburg, John Maclean, Willie Gallacher, Francis Sheehey-Skeffington, Zeth Hoglund and others in public life who had the courage to speak against a war that initially had almost universal support.
These people are heroes, but they received no medals and they have no holidays in their honour.
Siegfried Sassoon.
There is no way to participate in a war that does not implicate you in acts of unspeakable brutality.
Why hate the whole for what the few had done? That is like some of my family hating the Germans because their hometown was bombed. Except they were there. Seems some of us will always hate our governments no matter what happens. Those who died protect the conscientious objectors from those who would do us all ill. Also heroes? they shirked the duties they were called by their country to do. I have noticed in my country and probably the same in many western countries civic duty is a dirty word. I hear why vote my vote does not count, how do I get away from jury duty, and what is in it for me.
did they ask why or whats in it for me at Thermopylae? No they did their duty. (my tie in to make this post times specific) but true.
I think there are oodles of memorial days for soldiers, which is natural in a macho society. But what people almost never drink a cherry to remember is the millions of unknown victims, of vast crimes which most people have never heard of. Those victims whose only representatives are a few specialized human rights organizations. I speak of such people as the people of East Timor, Nicaragua, Chile, El Salvador and the rest of Central and South America. I speak of Cambodia, Armenia, the list goes on.
The reason we have a memorial day for soldiers is they willingly put themselves in danger, hopefully for the people of their country. I do think there should be a day for the victims of war, it is up to us to petition our congressman, ministers and all other representatives.
Remebrance Day
("Welcome to EB" from T.A.)
Re: Remebrance Day
and one for been a Calvin and Hobbes fan!
Originally Posted by Mithridates VI Eupator
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