I make a poppy every November in remembrance of those who lost lives, or part of their life fighting in wars. I grew up in a country that commemorates the 11th minute, of the 11th hour of November 11th. In school a bells rings and everyone stops for a minute of silence. We have remembrance ceremonies in school, lay wreaths, have a minute of silence during church etc. We’re taught how important it is to remember. I was raised hearing stories of my grandparents fighting in France and my Papa Stronach’s presence during the Liberation of Tilburg and want to pass that on to my kids.
In a world where we’re forgetting, it’s important to look back and connect. Real people payed a real price for us. Those who survived were haunted by it until they died. Grown, strong, brave men lived long after their service ended and had nightmares because of it until they died of old age. It’s a serious thing. War is not entertainment. It’s not for fun or a leisurely pass time. It’s serious, scary and cruel.
- 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 day-time;
- They sleep beyond England’s foam.