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11 Nov

Veterans Day 2018

Veterans Day 2018

The McGlynn: Exactly 100 years ago today since this bloody arrangement ended, lest we forget the sacrifices of those from 1914-1918 and those afterwards, as a result of this war.

And WW1 did not end wars, but it was a clear warning sign of the horrors it caused. Monarchies, the cause of this War, were destroyed, scars from it’s battlefields still remain today. The wars never ended, but instead grew to be more deadly, and cruel than ever before seen by humankind.

And President Wilson, who ran for reelection  in 1916 on the promise of no war, in April, one month after his inauguration in March, 1917, sent to Congress the declaration of War.

And Let Us Never  Forget, today is the day, the 11th day of the 11th month, on the 11th hour 100 years ago, nearly 10 million men gave their lives for the arrogance of a few blind men, monarchies, who couldn’t see past their selves and see the lives of nearly 20 million end.

DULCE ET DECORUM EST

By Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots 
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud 
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Thought to have been written between 8 October 1917  and March, 1918

 

“In Flanders Fields” by John McCrae

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.

Lt.-Col. John McCrae. (National Archives of Canada)

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