November the 11th
In the eleventh minute of the eleventh hour of the eleventh month do we honour those that have gone before and laid down their lives for our freedom. I have always felt a particular pride on Remembrance Day since I was a child, and we would go from the school to the cenotaph just south of my parent’s house. These were our forebears. I remember looking to the faces of the veterans and thinking, these were the people who went and fought for us so many years ago. These people that on any other day I might see at the local grocery store, or taking their dog for a walk, or playing with their grandchildren. I always felt a deep connection and unbridgeable separation from these people who had gone to defend an ideal that was Canada. From this stock have we sprung. From these fearless hearts and steadfast souls have we taken council.
I was standing in the main cafeteria aboard Her Majesty's Canadian Ship Regina watching with a group of my fellow soldiers, in silence, the ceremony on television at 0811 hours Live from Ottawa. I was scanning the faces in the crowd hoping to see my beloved, but taking comfort in the knowledge that since I left her over a month ago I was again seeing the same sky as she. As always the sound of the pipers brought up in me a chill and a sense of kinship with these people who had sacrificed all to save that in which they believed.
The children's choir sung a haunting version of "In Flanders’s Fields", a song not of peace, but of constant struggle against oppression. The idea that evil men should be fought, whatever the cost. A promise we have made to the fallen, with the first free breath we drew, that we are obliged to honour. As the final refrain sounded the whispered promise escaped my lips as ever it did since I was a child, "I swear it."
At 1100 on the Flight Deck of HMCS Regina, we stood in black naval combat dress. Standing at ease with the waves crashing around us off the coast of San Diego, we paid our respects to those who had given their lives for us, our brothers in arms. The Boatswain's shrill call piped the Still, a long, high and sustained note that called us all to attention with ingrained snap of drill. The moment of Silence rang out with deafening loudness at 1111 hours.
Somber eyes stared out from heads proudly held. The tightening of mouths and the clenching of jaws could be seen throughout the rank and file, as each dealt with what this day meant to them. Standing there with the warm southern Californian wind blowing against us, I was reminded of another Remembrance Day...
The sky had been overcast, and freezing rain drenched us off and on in St. Jean sur Richelieu. I had just joined the military the previous August, and this was the first time I was to think of myself as a soldier. We had marched on parade through the small city, each step in perfect time, as if everyone knew the importance of this day. Not even Poole botched the timing as out heels clocked out the cadence. We halted and stood in front of the veterans and civilians alike, in three companies. No one wanted to be the one to move, or draw attention. We had too much pride for that. We were Romeo 2-10 Echo, Thirteen Platoon, Wylde Cards, and we were there to honour the soldiers that had come before. For over two hours we stood in the freezing rain, while we listened to our veterans speak, prayers offered, and hopeful visions of the future shaped. Some of the other platoons had people faint an hour in, but not us. We held the line. I can still recall the stinging rain pelting my face till it was numb, as I looked up and locked eyes with one of the veterans on the dais, he nodded to me with a look of fraternity and pride on his face, and I nodded imperceptibly back, but he saw, and a grim smile thinned his lips.
Hours of training and pushing out bodies past where we thought they could be taken, our minds challenged with the conflicting ideologies of "one man, one kit" and "one team, one goal". I now understand the meaning: if it's your responsibility, look only to yourself, but if you see your brother falling, he's your responsibility too. "You are a soldier first, never forget that". Words that sometimes I still hear in my head as I watch the news and hear of another Canadian soldier killed in a suicide bombing. They are me. A friend of mine turns to me and says, "I knew him..I went to basic with him..I fucking new him..” A comforting hand is placed on his back, a tightening of the hands that lets him know that he is not alone in his mourning, and for once, there are no ribald jokes, or snide remarks. Just a feeling of fraternity.
The last post sounds and we salute. First the Officers are dismissed, then the Non Commissioned Members. We all walk solemnly to the Quarter Deck. Our Poppies taken from over our hearts. We stare out over the waters, casting them down into the churning foam that is the final resting place of so many of our brethren. When it comes my time at the railing, I watch the red flower fall through my fingers, and down into the Ocean. I see it joined by other falling flowers, like red maple leaves falling from trees in my Ontario.
I miss my home as never before. I miss the simple beauty of her trees, the sharp chill to the autumn air, the sound of the mourning doves in the morning. I miss the endless summers and the warm comfort of my parent’s woodstove in winter. I miss the myriad colours of her forests, and the quiet solitude of her lakes. The loon's call and the wolf's howl, and the sweet swelling music of the cicadas in spring. But most of all, I miss you, my love. My dear and sweet Amorina.
For I know now that it is only in your arms that I am Home.
I am a Soldier.
O.S. André 941
Daniel M.
I was standing in the main cafeteria aboard Her Majesty's Canadian Ship Regina watching with a group of my fellow soldiers, in silence, the ceremony on television at 0811 hours Live from Ottawa. I was scanning the faces in the crowd hoping to see my beloved, but taking comfort in the knowledge that since I left her over a month ago I was again seeing the same sky as she. As always the sound of the pipers brought up in me a chill and a sense of kinship with these people who had sacrificed all to save that in which they believed.
The children's choir sung a haunting version of "In Flanders’s Fields", a song not of peace, but of constant struggle against oppression. The idea that evil men should be fought, whatever the cost. A promise we have made to the fallen, with the first free breath we drew, that we are obliged to honour. As the final refrain sounded the whispered promise escaped my lips as ever it did since I was a child, "I swear it."
At 1100 on the Flight Deck of HMCS Regina, we stood in black naval combat dress. Standing at ease with the waves crashing around us off the coast of San Diego, we paid our respects to those who had given their lives for us, our brothers in arms. The Boatswain's shrill call piped the Still, a long, high and sustained note that called us all to attention with ingrained snap of drill. The moment of Silence rang out with deafening loudness at 1111 hours.
Somber eyes stared out from heads proudly held. The tightening of mouths and the clenching of jaws could be seen throughout the rank and file, as each dealt with what this day meant to them. Standing there with the warm southern Californian wind blowing against us, I was reminded of another Remembrance Day...
The sky had been overcast, and freezing rain drenched us off and on in St. Jean sur Richelieu. I had just joined the military the previous August, and this was the first time I was to think of myself as a soldier. We had marched on parade through the small city, each step in perfect time, as if everyone knew the importance of this day. Not even Poole botched the timing as out heels clocked out the cadence. We halted and stood in front of the veterans and civilians alike, in three companies. No one wanted to be the one to move, or draw attention. We had too much pride for that. We were Romeo 2-10 Echo, Thirteen Platoon, Wylde Cards, and we were there to honour the soldiers that had come before. For over two hours we stood in the freezing rain, while we listened to our veterans speak, prayers offered, and hopeful visions of the future shaped. Some of the other platoons had people faint an hour in, but not us. We held the line. I can still recall the stinging rain pelting my face till it was numb, as I looked up and locked eyes with one of the veterans on the dais, he nodded to me with a look of fraternity and pride on his face, and I nodded imperceptibly back, but he saw, and a grim smile thinned his lips.
Hours of training and pushing out bodies past where we thought they could be taken, our minds challenged with the conflicting ideologies of "one man, one kit" and "one team, one goal". I now understand the meaning: if it's your responsibility, look only to yourself, but if you see your brother falling, he's your responsibility too. "You are a soldier first, never forget that". Words that sometimes I still hear in my head as I watch the news and hear of another Canadian soldier killed in a suicide bombing. They are me. A friend of mine turns to me and says, "I knew him..I went to basic with him..I fucking new him..” A comforting hand is placed on his back, a tightening of the hands that lets him know that he is not alone in his mourning, and for once, there are no ribald jokes, or snide remarks. Just a feeling of fraternity.
The last post sounds and we salute. First the Officers are dismissed, then the Non Commissioned Members. We all walk solemnly to the Quarter Deck. Our Poppies taken from over our hearts. We stare out over the waters, casting them down into the churning foam that is the final resting place of so many of our brethren. When it comes my time at the railing, I watch the red flower fall through my fingers, and down into the Ocean. I see it joined by other falling flowers, like red maple leaves falling from trees in my Ontario.
I miss my home as never before. I miss the simple beauty of her trees, the sharp chill to the autumn air, the sound of the mourning doves in the morning. I miss the endless summers and the warm comfort of my parent’s woodstove in winter. I miss the myriad colours of her forests, and the quiet solitude of her lakes. The loon's call and the wolf's howl, and the sweet swelling music of the cicadas in spring. But most of all, I miss you, my love. My dear and sweet Amorina.
For I know now that it is only in your arms that I am Home.
I am a Soldier.
O.S. André 941
Daniel M.
posted by Mad Red Carnelian at 11:11 AM
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