Lest We Forget

[Brett Alex]

Futility-Wilfred Owen.

Move him into the sun-
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might wake him now
The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds,-
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides,
Full-nerved -still warm -too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
-O what made the fatuous sunbeams toil
To break the earth's sleep at all?

The author, Wilfred Owen ended up learning a lot about futility.

He was killed during the last week of the war.

 

[CTU_Agent24]

Shane McGowan sings "And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda" [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pfDyCbpf494]

When I was a young man I carried my pack
And I lived the free life of a rover
From the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback
I waltzed my Matilda all over
Then in nineteen fifteen my country said Son
It's time to stop rambling 'cause there's work to be done
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
And they sent me away to the war
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we sailed away from the quay
And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the cheers
We sailed off to Gallipoli

How well I remember that terrible day
How the blood stained the sand and the water
And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter
Johnny Turk he was ready, he primed himself well
He chased us with bullets, he rained us with shells
And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell
Nearly blew us right back to Australia
But the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we stopped to bury our slain
We buried ours and the Turks buried theirs
Then we started all over again

Now those that were left, well we tried to survive
In a mad world of blood, death and fire
And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive
But around me the corpses piled higher
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over tit
And when I woke up in my hospital bed
And saw what it had done, I wished I was dead
Never knew there were worse things than dying
For no more I'll go waltzing Matilda
All around the green bush far and near
For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs two legs
No more waltzing Matilda for me

So they collected the cripples, the wounded, the maimed
And they shipped us back home to Australia
The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla
And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay
I looked at the place where my legs used to be
And thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me
To grieve and to mourn and to pity
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As they carried us down the gangway
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared
Then turned all their faces away

And now every April I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me
And I watch my old comrades, how proudly they march
Reliving old dreams of past glory
And the old men march slowly, all bent, stiff and sore
The forgotten heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask, "What are they marching for?"
And I ask myself the same question
And the band plays Waltzing Matilda
And the old men answer to the call
But year after year their numbers get fewer
Some day no one will march there at all

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
Who'll come a waltzing Matilda with me
And their ghosts may be heard as you pass the Billabong
Who'll come-a-waltzing Matilda with me?

Beautiful.

 

[CTU_Agent24]

Poems away!
*regains posture to go with the solemn feel of the thread*

"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."

These words are the most beautiful thing to survive WW1.
They still send a shiver down my spine.

 

[Fire Daemon]

Shane McGowan sings "And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda" [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pfDyCbpf494]

A beautiful song. Very touching. I'm actually surprised people outside of Australia know about Gallipoli. I always thought it was one of those no one knew much about, like Kokoda.

I think my Great Grandfather fought at Paschendale.

*Edit* Thats all I really know about any relatives who fought in war. They seem to have a lucky history of avoiding wars.

 

[jim_doki]

Shane McGowan sings "And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda" [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pfDyCbpf494]

When I was a young man I carried my pack
And I lived the free life of a rover
From the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback
I waltzed my Matilda all over
Then in nineteen fifteen my country said Son
It's time to stop rambling 'cause there's work to be done
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
And they sent me away to the war
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we sailed away from the quay
And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the cheers
We sailed off to Gallipoli

How well I remember that terrible day
How the blood stained the sand and the water
And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter
Johnny Turk he was ready, he primed himself well
He chased us with bullets, he rained us with shells
And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell
Nearly blew us right back to Australia
But the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we stopped to bury our slain
We buried ours and the Turks buried theirs
Then we started all over again

Now those that were left, well we tried to survive
In a mad world of blood, death and fire
And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive
But around me the corpses piled higher
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over tit
And when I woke up in my hospital bed
And saw what it had done, I wished I was dead
Never knew there were worse things than dying
For no more I'll go waltzing Matilda
All around the green bush far and near
For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs two legs
No more waltzing Matilda for me

So they collected the cripples, the wounded, the maimed
And they shipped us back home to Australia
The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla
And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay
I looked at the place where my legs used to be
And thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me
To grieve and to mourn and to pity
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As they carried us down the gangway
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared
Then turned all their faces away

And now every April I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me
And I watch my old comrades, how proudly they march
Reliving old dreams of past glory
And the old men march slowly, all bent, stiff and sore
The forgotten heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask, "What are they marching for?"
And I ask myself the same question
And the band plays Waltzing Matilda
And the old men answer to the call
But year after year their numbers get fewer
Some day no one will march there at all

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
Who'll come a waltzing Matilda with me
And their ghosts may be heard as you pass the Billabong
Who'll come-a-waltzing Matilda with me?]

still makes me cry

 

[chronobreak]

Thank you for making this thread, I wish badges would be handed out for things like this, not topic whoring and the like. We owe everything to the brave men and women who dedicated and gave their life in service to this great country. I'll make sure to pour some out for those brave souls.

 

[latenightapplepie]

I'm surprised no-one has mentioned Owen's 'Dulce et Decorum Est'.

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.

I like it because it resonates with my personal view. I have always been very uncomfortable on Rememberance Day (what it's called in Aust). Now, I don't mean to insult anyone who's posted already, but I've never really understood why we honour fallen soldiers.

I don't want to argue with anyone here because I'm not sure if I can back up my views logically or rationally, it's just something I feel. For me, it all reeks of the stench of nationalism.

That said, feel free to provide your perspectives/opinions.

 

[Lord Krunk]

...

...

...

...can I stop being silent now?

 

[Typecast]

My Great Uncle was gassed at Paschendale and in WW2 my Grandfather drove a supply truck full of toilet paper that was shot up by a dive bomber, he survived though.
My other Great Uncle died about a decade ago from shrapnel that had been imbedded in his leg from a torpeedo attack he had survived in WW2.
My history teacher, who incidentally recently suffered from a stroke, told us a story in about year 8, in the early days when everything went silent and everything stopped, no matter where you were or what you were doing, crossing the street, turning a corner in a car, the city ground to halt for the minute of silence.
But let me be utterly clear, I in no way condone the golrification of warfare or the lives lost in combat, or as the result of combat. To the extent I trust no one who carries a weapon and has been trained to kill.

 

[mshcherbatskaya]

@Fire Daemon
Honestly, I don't think most Americans have any idea what Gallipoli was, and would be stunned to learn that the Turks were involved in any World War. The most people between your age and mine probably first heard that song on a Pogues album, and most of them probably think it's about the Irish. Which is sad, but at least this beautiful song gets heard.

@latenightapplepie
I almost posted something by Wilfred Owen, but I honestly thought someone would beat me to it.

As far as honoring fallen soldiers, I think there are two aspects to it. The first is the nationalism, which I'm not a fan of, but the second is, for me, deeper and more compelling.

The second is that the best of these young men went into these battlefields with the best of intentions and faith that their country was spending their lives well, and they died for it. The fact that their countries might have lied and manipulated and profiteered and sold them out does not alter the fact that when we lost them, we lost some of our best young men. We lost some of them to shells, some of them to gas, some of them to bullets, and then later we lost more of them to alcohol, and and drugs, and suicide.

Sure, they were not all paragons of virtue, but how can we possibly know which graves deserve poppies and flags and which don't? So we honor them all. We don't celebrate the wars we won, we honor the dead we lost.

EDIT: It's good to remember the others we've lost, too, but who are aren't in the graveyard, they are in the homeless shelters and on the streets. I know several people who came out of the military, sick, broken, and betrayed by the government that told them it would look after them.

Tom Waits (he's weird, but I love him and his voice is perfect for this, when you think about it) - Brother, Can You Spare A Dime [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CVE72Ae82Tw]

They used to tell me
I was building a dream.
And so I followed the mob
When there was earth to plow
Or guns to bear
I was always there
Right on the job.
They used to tell me
I was building a dream
With peace and glory ahead.
Why should I be standing in line
Just waiting for bread?
Once I built a railroad
I made it run
Made it race against time.
Once I built a railroad
Now it's done
Brother, can you spare a dime?
Once I built a tower up to the sun
Brick and rivet and lime.
Once I built a tower,
Now it's done.
Brother, can you spare a dime?
Once in khaki suits
Gee we looked swell
Full of that yankee doodle dee dum.
Half a million boots went sloggin' through hell
And I was the kid with the drum!
Say don't you remember?
They called me Al.
It was Al all the time.
Why don't you remember?
I'm your pal.
Say buddy, can you spare a dime?

Once in khaki suits,
Ah, gee we looked swell
Full of that yankee doodle dee dum!
Half a million boots went sloggin' through hell
And I was the kid with the drum!
Oh, say don't you remember?
They called me Al.
It was Al all the time.
Say, don't you remember?
I'm your pal.
Buddy, can you spare a dime?

 

[Labyrinth]

Maybe one day we will see
That mano-a-mano
Is just futility.

I hate the driving forces of warfare, and I hate the fact that it's profitable. For the big businessmen who take that attitude, I have one thing to say which in my opinion sums up the horror of it all.
Arbeit macht frei.

 

[stompy]

Poems away!
*regains posture to go with the solemn feel of the thread*

"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."

The Ode, right? I await the trumpets to flair up.

Unfortunately, because I was in the Math School Certificate at the time, I wasn't able to pay my respects. I was going to, but by the time I'd looked at the clock, it'd passed. It's a shame.

Also I hate war poetry (and poetry in general)... though, I've, for some reason or another, had a soft spot for Owens' The Next War:

Out there, we've walked quite friendly up to Death;
Sat down an eaten with him, cool and bland, -
Pardoned his spilling mess-tins in our hand.
We've sniffed the green thick odour of his breath, -
Our eyes wept, but our courage didn't writhe.
He's spat at us with bullets and he's coughed
Shrapnel. We chorused when he sang aloft;
We whistled while he shaved us with his scythe.
Oh, Death was never enemy of ours!
We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum.
No soldier's paid to kick against his powers.
We laughed, knowing that better men would come,
And greater wars; when each proud fighter brags
He wars on Death - for lives; not men - for flags.

**pause** Perhaps it's because it resonates with my feelings of war: soldiers fight for one thing, and one thing only. Survival.

 

[Pseudonym2]

Here's one of my favorite poems.

I sit in one of the dives
On Fifty-second Street
Uncertain and afraid
As the clever hopes expire
Of a low dishonest decade:
Waves of anger and fear
Circulate over the bright
And darkened lands of the earth,
Obsessing our private lives;
The unmentionable odour of death
Offends the September night.
Accurate scholarship can
Unearth the whole offence
From Luther until now
That has driven a culture mad,
Find what occurred at Linz
What huge imago made
A psychopathic god:
I and the public know
What all schoolchildren learn,
Those to whom evil is done
Do evil in return.

Exiled Thucydides knew
All that a speech can say
About Democracy,
And what dictators do,
The elderly rubbish they talk
To an apathetic grave;
Analysed all in his book,
The enlightenment driven away,
The habit-forming pain,
Mismanagement and grief:
We must suffer them all again.

Into this neutral air
Where blind skyskrapers use
Their full height to proclaim
The strength of Collective Man,
Each language pours its vain
Competitive excuse:
But who can live for long
In an euphoric dream;
Out of the mirror they stare,
Imperialism's face
And the international wrong.

Faces along the bar
Cling to their average day:
The lights must never go out,
The music must always play,
All the conventions conspire
To make this fort assume
The furniture of home;
Lest we should see where we are,
Lost in a haunted wood,
Children afraid of the night
Who have never been happy or good.

The windiest militant trash
Important Persons shout
Is not so crude as our wish:
What mad Nijinsky wrote
About Diaghilev
Is true of the normal heart;
For the error bred in the bone
Of each woman and each man
Craves what it cannot have,
Not universal love
But to be loved alone.

From the conservative dark
Into the ethical life
The dense commuters come,
Repeating their morning vow;
'I will be true to the wife,
I'll concentrate more on my work,'
And helpless governors wake
To resume their compulsory game:
Who can release them now,
Who can reach the deaf,
Who can speak for the dumb?

All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.

Defenceless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.


W. H. Auden

(I know the "we must love one another or die" line is incorrect but the poem's still one of my favorite poems)

 

[Excelcior]

*salutes*

Can't say that my family did much in both wars, but a friends grandfather was with the Dutch resistance, in WWII. I have a lot respect for what they did, and can't stand those kids who have to destroy any bouquet at a monument. (Yes, it's come that far over here...)
By the way, here in Holland, the carnival-season starts at 11-11, because 11 is usually called the number of fools... (Don't know how it is over there, but it is here...)

 

[Robert0288]

*salute*
I'm going to do my best to be at parliament hill tomorrow morning.
all of my grandparents where in the war. One Polish cavalry before joining the americans. Another one was polish resistance in warsaw.

 

[Elurindel]

I'll be observing the silence at 11. Things like this should never be forgotten, yet it's so sad that many children these days don't know why we wear poppies.

My granddad, still alive today, fought in WWII. He carried an old, clunky phonebox that didn't work half the time, yet he still carried it on his back when he stormed the beaches of Normandy on D-Day. He survived, too.

 

[PurpleRain]

"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."

This was announced over the PA at work before oe minute silence. It's still good to see the ANZAC legend has a massive effect on today.

 

[smallharmlesskitten]

I believe I performed a haka today. tears were shed.

 

[Reaperman Wompa]

They did the minute of silence at my school then read The Flanders Field Poem:

In Flanders? Fields

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.

 

[smallharmlesskitten]

Taringa whakarongo, kia rite, kia mau.
Hi!
Aha ko Ururoto
Ko Ururoto e ngunguru nei
Ara te, ara ta, ara tau
Ko matou nga e tu ake nei
Ara te, ara ta, ara tau
Ururoto hi, Ururoto hi
Huhua horo tangata
Kakariki, ma, ko te whero ra
Kei mauri ora matawhati
Ururoto te kaha, Ururoto te maia
Ururoto te kaha, Ururoto te maia.
Ururoto aue hi!

I'm not sure if there is a video but look up Westlake haka on youtube. and if possible post a link. Me and a few others performed it as a tribute. edit- search westlake haka on youtube. first few vids.(they were taken at the start of the year as a whole school thing)