I forgot.
It’s November 11th. Here, in Malaysia, it’s ten hours after 11:11am. I forgot Remembrance Day.
On the eleventh minute of the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, we pause to remember those who fought for our freedoms, and especially those who gave their lives.
I forgot.
Both my grandfathers fought in the Canadian brigades of the British army at Vimy Ridge in the Great War. They survived Hell on Earth.
I forgot.
Two of my mom’s uncles fought in the second world war. One was a naval aviator flying off a US carrier in the Pacific. The other was knighted for his role, fighting in the “Burma campaign.”
I forgot.
My father served in the Royal Canadian Navy, retiring as a lieutenant commander.
I forgot.
I participated in Remembrance Day services as both a Navy League Cadet (kind of a junior Sea Cadets), and an Air Cadet.
I forgot.
Lt. Colonel John McCrae, of Guelph, Ontario, wrote a poem about a friend who died beside him in the Great War. The poem, In Flanders Fields, gave us the image of the poppy as a rememberance of those who have fallen.
In Flanders Fields
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.