Lest We Forget
Today, I stood as part of a gathered crowd at 11 am on the 11th day of the 11th month and paused for a moment's silence. To many of you, this may not seem like a big deal, but to me, it was huge.
Before last year, I had never attended a Remembrance Day ceremony. The day, quite frankly meant little. It was an anniversary of an armistice that Ireland had seemingly forgot, from a conflict that Ireland seemed to pretend hadn't happened. The Great War is overshadowed in our history books. Civil War had threatened in Ireland from 1912 through 1914. There was a rebellion in 1916. Our War of Independence began in January 1919. Commemorating the dead of World War I flies in the face of Irish Republican history. World War II is referred to in hushed tones as "the Emergency".
Even last year, I did not wear a poppy. For me, it was part of the symbolism of the British army. A proud force, whose people take great pride in it and what it represents. To Irish people, the British forces are a sign of an oppression not easily forgotten. The poppy is theirs. It's red petals evoking memories of the famed Red coats, and what had transpired in my land. The poppy is forbidden. The poppy is taboo.
Today, I stood and listened as a Vice President of the University of Toronto spoke about a Great Uncle who he had never known. The boy had died at 17, writhing in agony in a field hospital at the Battle of the Somme. I listened as a young student spoke of a neighbour and childhood friend who died this year in Afghanistan. I watched as several people in the gathering wiped tears from their eyes, presumably in memory of people their family had lost. Afterward, as I mingled through the crowd, I heard people recount their tales of loved ones who had served, and sometimes died.
This year, I wore a poppy. I wore it not to dishonour my nation's heritage, nor to disgrace Ireland's freedoms, for which my great grandfather fought. But rather, I wore it to remember those who had fought in wars to protect the greater freedoms that we all enjoy, wars that Ireland did not fight in, that, like many countries, we wanted no part of. Whether it be by chance or design, Ireland's freedoms still exist because other nations took up their arms.
Since the Persian Wars 25 centuries ago, Western democracy and culture has come under threat from various tyrants and despots. It speaks volumes that, by and large, we have come through. It has not come cheap. There are those who have given up all in order to defend us. From the western shores of North America, through Europe and on to the eastern beaches of Australia and New Zealand, communities and countries are forever missing sons because these common freedoms and ideals needed defending.
Today, I understand what Remembrance Day is. I will no longer hesitate to don the poppy. Lest I forget.
Lest we all forget.
Before last year, I had never attended a Remembrance Day ceremony. The day, quite frankly meant little. It was an anniversary of an armistice that Ireland had seemingly forgot, from a conflict that Ireland seemed to pretend hadn't happened. The Great War is overshadowed in our history books. Civil War had threatened in Ireland from 1912 through 1914. There was a rebellion in 1916. Our War of Independence began in January 1919. Commemorating the dead of World War I flies in the face of Irish Republican history. World War II is referred to in hushed tones as "the Emergency".
Even last year, I did not wear a poppy. For me, it was part of the symbolism of the British army. A proud force, whose people take great pride in it and what it represents. To Irish people, the British forces are a sign of an oppression not easily forgotten. The poppy is theirs. It's red petals evoking memories of the famed Red coats, and what had transpired in my land. The poppy is forbidden. The poppy is taboo.
Today, I stood and listened as a Vice President of the University of Toronto spoke about a Great Uncle who he had never known. The boy had died at 17, writhing in agony in a field hospital at the Battle of the Somme. I listened as a young student spoke of a neighbour and childhood friend who died this year in Afghanistan. I watched as several people in the gathering wiped tears from their eyes, presumably in memory of people their family had lost. Afterward, as I mingled through the crowd, I heard people recount their tales of loved ones who had served, and sometimes died.
This year, I wore a poppy. I wore it not to dishonour my nation's heritage, nor to disgrace Ireland's freedoms, for which my great grandfather fought. But rather, I wore it to remember those who had fought in wars to protect the greater freedoms that we all enjoy, wars that Ireland did not fight in, that, like many countries, we wanted no part of. Whether it be by chance or design, Ireland's freedoms still exist because other nations took up their arms.
Since the Persian Wars 25 centuries ago, Western democracy and culture has come under threat from various tyrants and despots. It speaks volumes that, by and large, we have come through. It has not come cheap. There are those who have given up all in order to defend us. From the western shores of North America, through Europe and on to the eastern beaches of Australia and New Zealand, communities and countries are forever missing sons because these common freedoms and ideals needed defending.
Today, I understand what Remembrance Day is. I will no longer hesitate to don the poppy. Lest I forget.
Lest we all forget.
Hi Dave,
ReplyDeleteReally nice well written piece that needs to be read by a lot more people.
I dont know if you recall visiting the second world war submarine in Gosport, England on hiliday in 97. For me that was the moment it all changed, how could we hold people whose young sons willing enter what could become a watery tomb to sail half way around the world to fight in defense of freedom. In that moment I understood the truth and I felt a respect and unity for the ordinary people of what had been portrayed as our enemy. When I stand in front of the beautiful memorials to the young men and women in the little towns and villages in France who fell I feel that same sense of empathy, sadness and pride.
Whats more I know your great Grandad would be proud of you too, he never had any animosity towards people, only towards systems.
Well done
Love Dad