Remembrance Thread

[debs1970 180]

Gone, but not forgotten..

They died for our freedom..

[IronRangerMN 2]

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.

- Dr. John McCrae

We will never forget.

[bringonthbarca 25]

Really touching stuff guys!

I used to take great pride in carrying the wreath from the church to the war memorial in my youth for the boys brigade. Anyone else do this?

Lest we forget...

[Oso 122]

Look left at the avatar. From the memorial to the 51st Highland Division at Beaumont Hamel.

Pte Stewart Holmes, 1/4 (Ross-shire) Battalion, Seaforth Highlanders.

Wounded in Action rescuing a wounded comrade, 11 Nov 1917. Died of wounds 20 Nov 1917. Still missed to this day.

[Jon-the-Stripe 2,459]

We are free today thanks to their Bravery - we will Remember them

[The Hammer 11 2,849]

Really touching stuff guys!

I used to take great pride in carrying the wreath from the church to the war memorial in my youth for the boys brigade. Anyone else do this?

Lest we forget...

Did it once when i was younger then when i was in the company section i was in the colour party carrying the saltire

[big dunk 0]

ALL GAVE SOME, SOME GAVE ALL. LEST WE FORGET

[richy1690 0]

lest we forget

[Allzo 91]

Lest we forget!

[OdioTutti 9]

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 gas-shells dropping softly 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

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.

[deleteduser1 169]

Lest we forget.

[Bluepeter9 5,167]

I served. I lost. I loved.

Anon

... and Wilfred Owen...

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 gas-shells dropping softly 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

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.

[Dado 334]

Lest we forget.

[caseyjones 3,009]