Ypres, Belgium, 1915- As one officer would later recall, the wounded arrived “in batches.” Sometimes they fell at the feet of the field physician who struggled to maintain some sense of sanity and preserve of sanitation in the trenches where wounds could quickly turn to putrefacation. This was Ypres, Belguim, where Canadian troops saw battle for the first time in the First World War. It was here, amid the brutal horror of bullet and bayonet injuries and the blue green death masks of chlorine gas victem, that John McCrae wrote three stanzas which have come to symbolise the ultimate sacrifice of war.
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 gun
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.
As a Major, McCrae was an artillery brigade surgeon during the Second Battle of Ypres. He was 42 when he jotted the poem in pencil on a page torn from a dispatch pad on May 3, 1915. It was a moment of brief respite in the 16-day which saw more than 6,000 Canadians killed and wounded. McCrae had left his dressing station at thebase of a bank on the Ypres Canal and he was travelling in the back of a field abulance. Just north of the bridge, there was a field dotted with scarlet poppies and wooden crosses. The day before, McCrae had set a cross in that field to mark the grave of a friend, Lieut. Alex Helmer of Ottawa.
–
Everone, on this day of Rememberance on the eleventh minute of the eleventh hour, of the eleventh day of the eleventh month please hold two minutes of silence to those who have fallen in battle and for those who are still alive. For with out the people that have sacrificed their lives and those who didn’t, this world of ours would be very different.
“Please wear a poppy,” the lady said
And held one forth, but I shook my head.
Then I stopped and watched as she offered them there,
And her face was old and lined with care;
But beneath the scars the years had made
There remained a smile that refused to fade.
A boy came whistling down the street,
Bouncing along on care-free feet.
His smile was full of joy and fun,
“Lady,” said he, “may I have one?”
When she’s pinned in on he turned to say,
“Why do we wear a poppy today?”
The lady smiled in her wistful way
And answered, “This is Remembrance Day,
And the poppy there is the symbol for
The gallant men who died in war.
And because they did, you and I are free -
That’s why we wear a poppy, you see.
“I had a boy about your size,
With golden hair and big blue eyes.
He loved to play and jump and shout,
Free as a bird he would race about.
As the years went by he learned and grew
and became a man - as you will, too.
“He was fine and strong, with a boyish smile,
But he’d seemed with us such a little while
When war broke out and he went away.
I still remember his face that day
When he smiled at me and said, Goodbye,
I’ll be back soon, Mom, so please don’t cry.
“But the war went on and he had to stay,
And all I could do was wait and pray.
His letters told of the awful fight,
(I can see it still in my dreams at night),
With the tanks and guns and cruel barbed wire,
And the mines and bullets, the bombs and fire.
“Till at last, at last, the war was won-
And that’s why we wear a poppy son.”
The small boy turned as if to go,
Then said, “Thanks, lady, I’m glad to know.
That sure did sound like an awful fight,
But your son - did he come back all right?”
A tear rolled down each faded check;
She shook her head, but didn’t speak.
I slunk away in a sort of shame,
And if you were me you’d have done the same;
For our thanks, in giving, if oft delayed,
Thought our freedom was bought - and thousands paid!
And so when we see a poppy worn,
Let us reflect on the burden borne,
By those who gave their very all
When asked to answer their country’s call
That we at home in peace might live.
Then wear a poppy! Remember - and give!
by Don Crawford
