Ypres Salient, Belgium, 1915
The Western combined forces were surrounded by the Germans on three sides in a small corner of Belgium. Both sides had dug in to escape the mayhem of exploding shells and gas. It was the beginning of Trench Warfare in World War I.
Major John McCrae was a surgeon attached to the 1st Field Artillery Brigade. He had just endured 17 hellish days treating the wounded; Canadians, Brits, Indians, French and Germans, in what would become known as the second Battle of Ypres.
McCrae saw more blood and heard more anguished screams than any man could endure. Later, McCrae would write, "I wish I could embody on paper some of the varied sensations of that seventeen days... Seventeen days of Hades! At the end of the first day if anyone had told us we had to spend seventeen days there, we would have folded our hands and said it could not have been done."
Of the terror all around him, bodies torn apart by shells and suffocated by gas, one death in particular affected McCrae. Alexis Helmer was a former student who McCrae had befriended. He was killed by a shell blast and buried that same day in a cemetery near McCrae’s dressing station, and in the absence of a chaplain McCrae performed the funeral rites.
Seeking release from the horror that replayed in his mind, McCrae sat on the back of an ambulance and began to express his anguish by writing a poem. In the cemetery, he could see wild poppies growing. Modern science tells us that the digging of trenches and exploding shells exposed the tiny poppy seeds, allowing them to germinate. This is why the poppies grew on battle fields. To McCrae, it must have seemed almost mystical, the bright red flowers covering the broken and torn earth like spattered blood.
A young soldier watched McCrae as he scribbled in his notebook. “His face was very tired but calm as he wrote,” the soldier said. “He looked around from time to time, his eyes straying to Helmer’s grave.”
McCrae didn’t like his own poem when it was finished and tossed it away. His description of that day was nearly lost to history. But a fellow officer retrieved it and read it and saw the power in those lines. He sent it to newspapers in England and it was published on December 8, 1915.
In that way the most famous poem of warfare comes down to us, and gives us our symbol of remembrance of our war dead, the red poppy. Here is McCrae’s poem, “In Flander’s Field:”
In Flander's Field
by John McCrae
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.
Memorial Day, 2010
Today the red poppy symbolizes “Remembrance Day” in Canada and Memorial Day in the U.S. The poppy serves as a reminder to us, the Warriors’ Watch Riders, to remain faithful to the memory of those who gave all so that we may continue to live our lives as free people. Chances are you will find yourself presented with a red poppy sometime this coming weekend, either real or crafted out of cloth – perhaps made by a disabled veteran or other military supporter. If so, please wear it with great honor.
One of the functions we, the WWR, perform is to pay our respects and to provide an honor guard at the funeral services of those who have fallen, and to veterans who at some point in their lives took an oath to defend us, even at the possible cost of life itself. There is no higher form of nobility than to risk – or sacrifice - one’s life for something larger than self – for an ideal, for freedom, for one’s friends, family, and nation.
We honor and respect homecoming soldiers for this same reason, because we know their hearts and the nobility that lives in those hearts. The SP4 supply clerk who comes home safely to his family from a tour in Iraq is every bit as heroic and deserving as the infantryman who looses his life in battle. Both took the same oath and wore the same uniform. Both knew the risks, both served despite the risk. We, the Warriors’ Watch Riders, hold both in the same high esteem. Sgt. Jennifer Hartman was a cook, this wonderful woman should have been “safe,” yet her tragic death at the hands of our enemies is just as final as that of any combat soldier who dies. When our soldiers turn aside our praise and cheers with words such as “I am not a hero,” thank them kindly but remind them that we will choose who our heroes are, thank you anyway.
We, the Warriors’ Watch riders, consider what we do for them not a job, or even a service, but our duty as free Americans. It is (or should be) the duty of every free man and woman to do the same.
We perform our duty freely and with joy, at our own expense, on our own time, and with no one’s permission. What is the cost of a tank of gas compared to the cost of a life sacrificed for our freedom? What is four hours spent riding on a Sunday or two hours standing in a flag line on a rainy day when compared to 15 months in a combat zone, or worse, when compared to eternity? The performance of this duty is our promise to them; it is our act of faith to our uniformed brothers and sisters
To the Warriors’ Watch Riders, God bless and preserve each one of you. God grant you peace and protect your families and your homes. You are special people. You are people who put honor above self and respect above comfort. On this Memorial Day, 2010, may your peace and prosperity be blessed 10 times over. You have the right and even the responsibility to enjoy and to be thankful for the freedom that is your birthright as an American, a birthright guaranteed in writing, the pact between our nation’s warriors and you – a pact witnessed by God and signed in blood - the blood of patriots. To our uniformed brothers and sisters, please be comforted as you go about your daily duties so far from home and hearth by the sure knowledge that WE , THE WARRIORS’ WATCH RIDERS, HAVE YOUR BACKS AT HOME. On this Memorial Day, you who have died may sleep peacefully in your fields of poppies, secure in the knowledge that WE WILL NEVER BREAK FAITH WITH YOU.
