I STOOD IN THE BARN’S MAIN AISLE head bent; hand over the Silver Cross of Sergeant Percy Hall that hung from my neck. The haunting call of the Last Post filtered over the airways on the radio and drifted through the stable. Then the silence came. For a brief moment I could smell the gun powder and hear the bullets zinging by sometimes meeting their target with a deadly thud. I heard the screams and saw faces of fear, yet driven forward by the call of duty and ‘freedom.’ It was surreal. The only sound breaking the sacred moment of quiet were the horses munching away at the remnants of morning hay. It stirred another vision as if I was watching from above as the gun carriage horses strained to pull the cannons through the mire. The chargers galloped on command towards the enemy that cut them down in a hail of bullets as they fell in death and suffering. I think of Bonfire and Dr. John McCrae and his poignant poem “In Flanders Fields.” I feel the shiver of the wet and mud, snow and pounding hearts as bombs explode and scatter their deadly contents. I choke at the thought of the poisonous gases filling the trenches. A common pigeon flaps its wings as it takes flight out the barn door and waves its way through the sky. And so I remember those little birds that carried messages of warning and hope on their tiny bodies. And then as if a wave of peace transcends the moment, I feel a deep gratitude that wells in my eyes and burrows deep within. I honour my grandfather, father, uncles and more recently my nephew Michael who did a tour of duty in Afghanistan. Two simple words “Thank You” seems such a small token but carry with them the sentiments of a grateful people. Lest we forget on this 11th hour, 11th day and 11th month.
Posted on: Tue, 11 Nov 2014 18:17:57 +0000
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