Remembrance Thread

[minstral 5,375]

[BRITNEY IS NOT FEELING IT 8,293]

May they be in a better place , Lest We Forget

[bombaybadboy08 15,660]

Lest We Forget

[caseyjones 3,009]

[BigBlueDougie 1]

ABSENT FRIENDS

LEST WE FORGET

[cstamomusa 3,812]

For The Fallen

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,

Britain mourns for her dead across the sea.

Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,

Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal

Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,

There is music in the midst of desolation

And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,

Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.

They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;

They fell with their faces to the foe.

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.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;

They sit no more at familiar tables of home;

They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;

They sleep beyond Britain’s foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,

Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,

To the innermost heart of their own land they are known

As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,

Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;

As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,

To the end, to the end, they remain.

[OdioTutti 9]

[D'Artagnan 13,319]

Remembered.

With eternal gratitude and thanks.

[StayWestFree 107]

Shot At Dawn

Were You there God

On that summer's day

When a lover and his lass

Made love

Lying on the new mown hay

In the year of nineteen hundred?

And were You there

When nine months later

Tommy Atkins, like a silver bullet,

Shot out his mother's womb?

Oh! What time of happiness

Even for a bastard

And a lover and his lass.

And when about a decade and a half anon

The power of German might and force

Turned out the lights of Europe

In that war to end all wars,

Did You then mind when,

Seeing Kitchener's extended finger

Pointed straight at him,

Young Tommy Atkins

Lied about his age

To join the Colours of the Fusiliers?

Armed with the shilling of his King

And his chest puffed out with pride,

Young Tommy Atkins

Climbed aboard that troop ship

That sailed across the Channel

To a near yet foreign land.

He heard the Padre

Tell the lads that all was well,

That You were on their side,

And they'd be home

Before that Christmas tide.

And when that cargo of human flesh

Fetched up upon the beach,

The lads made their advance

Along the shore

And onwards unto Flanders

Where now the poppies blow

In unforgotten fields.

And Tommy Atkins

As he marched along

Saw not the washing

Hanging on some future Siegfried Line

But the bloodied bodies of his dead

And dying friends

Draped over wire of pointed steel.

But they were not alone - far, far from alone

For You are everywhere.

But Tommy Atkins was not destined

There to die pinned helpless on the wire.

He sheltered shivering in the shadows of his trench -

Freshly dug, and eight feet deep -

With a ladder to escape o'er the top.

He'd scarce been there for half an hour

When, of a sudden,

A funny noise droned overhead.

And then the droning stopped

And something dropped

A little further up the trench.

There was a flash, and then a bang

And bodies burst.

And Tommy Atkins saw his mates

Blown all to smithereens.

But You were there

For You are everywhere -

As everywhere are now

The spread and spattered bodies

Of Tommy Atkins' mates

And later,

When the Padre passed along the trench

He asked why,

When with You standing there beside,

His mates had all been killed.

And the Padre told him,

"The ways of God's are strange"

And then it rained and washed away

Some of the blood and gore -

And what remained was eaten by the rats.

Do You remember

Sending those of Your creatures

To keep Your soldiers company

In their cold and sodden trenches?

Those rats bit into them no less than did the winter nights

As they did try to sleep and dream of home

Amidst the tumult and the noise of battle.

But You were ever with them - were you not -

As your Onward Christian Soldiers soldiered on

In Delville Wood, at Loos and Arras, and at Ypres

And Cambrai and upon the Somme?

So was it You who on that fateful day

Did make the whistle blow

For them to raise themselves above the parapet

And march into the no-man's land?

But march they did - and to great cost.

When all about him fell and he was all alone

In trust young Tommy turned to You;

He turned to You

As he ran and ran and ran in fear and shock

For he knew not which the way he ran -

He was but sixteen years of age.

But You were there to guide him

You were there God, were you not

For the Padre 'd promised

You'd be always at his side?

The Colonel said he'd been a coward

To run away and not to face the foe.

So when dark Night gave way to hazy Dawn

They tied him, blindfold, to a stake

And through their misting eyes

His comrades ripped to ribbons

A heart that bled for England and its King -

His fellow Fusiliers had dared not but obey

When that last and dreaded order came

To take a steady aim and to Fire.

But You who would not save

Your own son crucified upon a cross

Why should You save him?

The Padre bowed his head

And in a broken voice did say

"Amen! Indeed the ways of God are strange."

But You were with him then God, were you not?

When he ran that day in fear and shock,

Why did You make him not to run

The other way and towards the foe,

For he knew not which way he ran?

And whilst he'd still be dead

He'd not have died

A bastard to the Fusiliers.

You were there God -

So why was it so, why was it so?

The Old Pals have returned

But some still lie in Delville Wood

At Arras, Loos, at Cambrai, Ypres

And on the Somme.

Some passed through the Menim Gates

And some stayed well within

Their names inscribed upon the walls

For families and generations

To stand before and bow their heads.

And elsewhere, in the fields of France

The saddened pilgrims chant

"They shall grow not old as we that are left grow old,"

As they pause before the crosses, row on row

In a close yet foreign land.

But not for him a cross to mark the spot

No name upon a stone

Where, bare sixteen, he fell

Shot by his own.

Who will remember him

Where e'er the sun does rise and set?

Remember reader - remember and mark well

He also served who ran away

Confused, and scared and shocked.

So in the fields of Flanders

Where still he lies alone

Will one poppy blow for him, Lord,

Will one poppy blow for him?

You should know God,

You should know

For You are everywhere.

But bloody hell, God

Bloody hell

Were you there - or were you not?

Lest we forget.

[TheNuts 552]

Remember the fallen. Care for the living.

[bluepeter 5,627]

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,

England mourns for her dead across the sea.

Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,

Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal

Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,

There is music in the midst of desolation

And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,

Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.

They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;

They fell with their faces to the foe.

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.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;

They sit no more at familiar tables of home;

They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;

They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,

Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,

To the innermost heart of their own land they are known

As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,

Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;

As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,

To the end, to the end, they remain.

Lest we forget.

[Poetry_In_Blue 1,043]

Was remembered by me, bit pissed of in work as there wasn't a county wide announcement for the two minutes silence or the bell going of at 11 to remind everyone of the time.

[blueben_d 40]

We will never forget your sacrifice

[delparlane 5,986]

[MosesMcNeil 1,664]

Aye remembered.

[jose 5]

Never want to see a Poppy on scum hoop strip

[RoyCropper 574]

i just got told that muslims broke the silence in central london and burned poppys.dont know if this true but would expect it of some of them.scum of the highest order.

[BlueDream 12]

Lest We Forget.

True Heroes.

[TravelingWilBEARy 4,319]

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?

[jose 5]

i just got told that muslims broke the silence in central london and burned poppys.dont know if this true but would expect it of some of them.scum of the highest order.

:mad:

Mow these cunts down :mad:

[RFCsince1690 5]

"Anthem for a Doomed Youth"

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?

--Only the monstrous anger of the guns.

Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle

Can patter out their hasty orisons.

No mockeries for them from prayers or bells,

Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,-

The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;

And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?

Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes

Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.

The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;

Their flowers the tenderness of silent minds,

And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

[ruaridhmac 29]

They will be remembered.

[markybear 136]

We will remember them.

We should never forget such sacrifices for the freedom we now have and we never will.

[stuart54 218]

At The Going Down Of The Sun And In The Morning,

We Will Remember Them.

LEST WE FORGET

[Cali-Billy-Boy 0]

it's Veterans Day here in the States!

We won't forget!!!