Poppies remember war losses

A profound and amazing tribute, Peggy, thanks. I’ve always thought the poppy, whatever colour, is an eloquent and dignified way to remember the fallen. The glory of war is excluded, and the solemnity reminds us, in poetic terms, yet again, of what a failed enterprise warfare is when all’s said and done. Today, Syria and Yemen – complete and utter failures, signifying nothing but death and destruction. It’s generally considered that WWII wouldn’t have occurred if WWI hadn’t happened. Granted, it was cause-and-effect, but one thing that’s emerged from a reassessment of WWI is, why did it happen at all? The nations involved were all prosperous and astoundingly rich from their imperialism. Some say it was because, when King Ed VII died, the entente cordiale frayed. It’s super-complicated, but it’s almost as if the big boys were saying, ‘We haven’t had a jousting in a while, why not now?’ And of course things got totally out of hand. Germany & Austria-Hungary were tidy little empires, and then when the Ottoman Turks were stupid enough to join in, they thought hegemony would’ve been a walk in the park. And of course, the deeply-flawed Treaty of Versailles gave rise to the Nazis, and the rest is well-known. I think that WWI’s effects in the US are lesser because the doughboys didn’t enter until the last year of the war, which was bad enough, but nowhere near the drasticness of the Somme, and all that. The great architect, Sir Edwin Lutyens, designed many of the war’s finest memorials, including the Cenotaph in Whitehall. The design of the Cenotaph in Calcutta, as well as in many other places, was inspired by it. Musically, I think the most powerful and brilliant tribute is John Herbert Foulds’ gigantic masterpiece, ‘A World Requiem’ – a work unlike any other (easily found on YouTube). Personal notes: My paternal grandfather was in WWI – on the German side, but because he was a man of the cloth, he served in the Red Cross. I can’t imagine what he saw. After the family emigrated to the US in ‘23, when WWII came around, my uncle served in the US Army, European theatre, from N. Africa all the way through to the Bulge. My dad, also Army, covered the Pacific theatre (including malaria in New Guinea) all the way through to Japan. Both draftee brothers made it home, and lived into their 90s. Regarding the war, they were as modest as they come. Dad pretty much limited things to humourous anecdotes. I totally understand why. When Vietnam came along, Dad was adamant about my brothers and I declaring Conscientious Objector status, or Canada, so opposed to the war was he. (The war had peaked just then, so the draft lessened dramatically.) Finally, my maternal great-grandfather was a teen soldier from Minnesota – in the US Civil War. My mom remembered him as a kindly elder with a long beard in which she used to tie bows for fun. And she told me many times that he would never, ever, despite requests, say ONE WORD (my mom’s emphasis) about the war. Not one. So, here’s to the many who paid the supreme sacrifice, and those who paid, but lived on, still paying.

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