In Flanders Fields

A war poem (in the form of a rondeau)

was written during World War I

by Canadian  physician and Lieutenant John McCrae

from Guelph, Ontario.

He was inspired to write it on May 3, 1915,

after presiding over the funeral of friend and fellow soldier,

Alexis Helmer, who died in the Second Battle of Ypes.

In Flanders Fields was first published on December 8, 1915

in the London-based-magazine, Punch.

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.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

We shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be;

we shall fight on the beaches;

we shall fight on the landing grounds;

we shall fight in the fields and in the streets;

we shall fight in the hills;

we shall never surrender!

(Winston Churchill)

The object of war is not to die for your country,

but to make the other bastard die for his.

(George S. Patton)

War does not determine who is right...

but who is left.

(Bertrand Russell)

A soldier will fight long and hard

for a bit of coloured ribbon.

(Napoleon Bonaparte)

In modern war...

you will die like a dog for no good reason.

(Ernest Hemingway)

In peace, sons bury their fathers.

In war, fathers bury their sons.

(Herodotus)

War will exist until that distant day

when the conscientious objector

enjoys the same reputation and prestige

that the warrior does today.

(Robert F. Kennedy)

Mankind must put an end to war

before war puts an end to mankind.

(Robert F. Kennedy)

There is always enlightenment…in any deep subject…and when this occurs,

a ray of hope usually lightens the load of what might become depressing. 

My son forwarded to me this appropriate brief story …Innocence is Priceless!

A boy, dressed in a pale green long-sleeved shirt and wearing a royal blue

backpack, pensively studied something that hung on a building wall.

One Sunday morning, the pastor noticed little Alex standing in the foyer 

of the church staring up at a large plaque.  It was covered with names and 

small American flags mounted on either side of it.  The six-year old 

had been staring at the plaque for some time, so the pastor walked up, 

stood beside the little boy, and said quietly, “Good morning, Alex.”

“Good morning, Pastor,” he replied, still focused on the plaque.

“Pastor, what is this?”

The pastor said, “Well, son, it’s a memorial to all the young men and women

 who died in the service.”

Soberly, they stood together, staring at the large plaque.  Finally little Alex’s voice,

barely audible and trembling with fear, asked,  “Which service, the 9:00 or the 11:00?”

Merle Baird-Kerr...written October 31, 2012

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