It’s been three years since we have been able to gather and Remember those who have given their lives in the service of freedom, safety, and country. The pandemic kept us apart, and staying apart kept many safe. Vaccines have provided some measure of immunity and/or reduction of risk of more serious harm, not perfectly, but enough to provide an opportunity for a more traditional gathering of respect.
As a child, I remember the school assemblies for Remembrance Day, but when I moved away and during my 20’s and 30’s, and probably into my 40’s, I don’t really recall observing the date.
I think 9/11 changed that for many of us.
Since 9/11 I don’t think I’ve missed the observance. Even when Mom was in the hospital and I was in Prince George trying to decipher a way forward, I made the time to visit the cenotaph and honour the fallen.
The past two years saw the gatherings cancelled, then moved to a virtual ceremony, but both years we still visited the cenotaph that day, while respecting distance.
It felt right to stand in silence and share the space with others, thinking about the past, the present, and trying to find hope for the future.
And, as always, when the bagpipes started their mournful music, emotional tears welled up behind my eyes. Their song is grating to some, but it goes straight to my heart for some reason.
For the fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children
England mourns for her dead across the sea,
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eyes, 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.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again,
They sit no more at familiar tables of home,
They have no lot in our labour of the daytime,
They sleep beyond England’s foam.
But where our desires and hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the night.
As the stars shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
– Written by Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)