THIS POSTING OF THE INFORMATION BELOW WILL HONOR OUR VETERANS, JUST AS THAT SMALL TOWN HAS HONORED THEM FOR AN UNBELIEVABLE NUMBER OF YEARS. I HAVE NO IDEA WHO TO ATTRIBUTE ALL OF THE INFORMATIONAL TEXT AND THE BEAUTIFUL IMAGES FOUND BELOW. FOR THAT I AM SORRY, BUT IF SOMEONE WILL LET ME KNOW WHO TO ACKNOWLEDGE FOR THIS GREAT INFORMATION, I WILL BE PLEASED TO ATTRIBUTE THEIR WORK.
Some of you will not be able to see the images below. I apologize, but here is the link for the town web site … you’ll like it:
THE FOLLOWING POEMS, IN FLANDERS FIELD BY LT. COLONEL JOHN McCrae AND TOMMY BY RUDYARD KIPLING SAY MORE ABOUT THE TRUE FEELING OF SERVICEMEN, AND NOW WOMEN, THROUGHOUT OUR WORLD THAN ANY OTHER POEMS ON THE SUBJECT OF WAR AND SERVICE. AND, EACH POEM DOES SO IN PLAIN, UNSTILTED LANGUAGE. AS MEMORIAL DAY PASSES , I POST THE POEMS IN THE HOPE THAT OUR MEN AND WOMEN WILL NO LONGER DIE, OR BECOME DISABLED IN WAR … UNDECLARED OR OTHERWISE.
In Flanders Fields
Veterans Day | Field of poppies (Photo credit: *Arielle*)
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.
Detailed information concerning the circumstances of the penning of In Flanders Fields can be found here
I went into a public-‘ouse to get a pint o’ beer, The publican ‘e up an’ sez, “We serve no red-coats here.” The girls be’ind the bar they laughed an’ giggled fit to die, I outs into the street again an’ to myself sez I: O it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, go away”; But it’s “Thank you, Mister Atkins”, when the band begins to play, The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play, O it’s “Thank you, Mister Atkins”, when the band begins to play.
I went into a theatre as sober as could be, They gave a drunk civilian room, but ‘adn’t none for me; They sent me to the gallery or round the music-‘alls, But when it comes to fightin’, Lord! they’ll shove me in the stalls! For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, wait outside”; But it’s “Special train for Atkins” when the trooper’s on the tide, The troopship’s on the tide, my boys, the troopship’s on the tide, O it’s “Special train for Atkins” when the trooper’s on the tide.
Yes, makin’ mock o’ uniforms that guard you while you sleep Is cheaper than them uniforms, an’ they’re starvation cheap; An’ hustlin’ drunken soldiers when they’re goin’ large a bit Is five times better business than paradin’ in full kit. Then it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, ‘ow’s yer soul?” But it’s “Thin red line of ‘eroes” when the drums begin to roll, The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll, O it’s “Thin red line of ‘eroes” when the drums begin to roll.
We aren’t no thin red ‘eroes, nor we aren’t no blackguards too, But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you; An’ if sometimes our conduck isn’t all your fancy paints, Why, single men in barricks don’t grow into plaster saints; While it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, fall be’ind”, But it’s “Please to walk in front, sir”, when there’s trouble in the wind, There’s trouble in the wind, my boys, there’s trouble in the wind, O it’s “Please to walk in front, sir”, when there’s trouble in the wind.
You talk o’ better food for us, an’ schools, an’ fires, an’ all: We’ll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational. Don’t mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face The Widow’s Uniform is not the soldier-man’s disgrace. For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Chuck him out, the brute!” But it’s “Saviour of ‘is country” when the guns begin to shoot; An’ it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ anything you please; An’ Tommy ain’t a bloomin’ fool — you bet that Tommy sees!
Below is a nice recitation of Tommy
You will also find a very lengthy account of Kipling and his life here, where one of his most popular poems, My Boy Jack is given full treatment (after all it was about his son Jack’s death in battle.) For reasons unstated, no mentions is made of Tommy. Perhaps others do not share my respect for the poem, but more can be found regarding Tommy’s publication by clicking here.
Finally, the reader has seen that both poems are written by those who wrote of their own nation’s experience in war and individual battles. The soldiers who fight, have much in common and little at odds … with the exception of the cause for which they must fight as dictated by their “Commanders in Chief.”
Veterans Day. I hope it was not to much to swallow for one setting, but if it is/was return to read it another day or days.