Sunday Sounds 56 - Remberance Day Edition

Whilst I am not religious and don't own a faith, there is something in tradition hymns which can really strike a chord with the human psyche. Having been brought up with many hymns (both mainstream and Brethren), these have stuck with me over the years.

 

One particularly resonant example is "Abide With Me" - sung, of course, on the (former) terraces of Anfield and, today, in many Remembrance Day services up and down the country.

 

Here is Emeli Sandé with a recording of the version she sung so electrically at the Olympic Opening Ceremony. Take a couple of minutes to pause and contemplate on the song and on the meaning of this day.



Andrew

The Poppy Appeal: Where your money goes

This is the last of my posts commemorating Armistice Day and Remembrance Sunday. I wanted to shift focus from remembrance to the practical action which the Poppy Appeals facilitate. To that end, I have chosen three videos and I make no apologies for the quantity or length of these.

The first is a fantastic poppyscotland video in which various veterans share their experiences and impressions of military life and facing action:

Next, a young man who was given practical help and advise through the Royal British Legion:

And finally, another poppyscotland video which also features a young man who needed help re-establishing himself in civilian life after receiving a medical discharge from the Army. I felt it was really important to include these last two videos as they highlight the ongoing need for the funds raised by the poppy appeals quite aside from the importance of remembering the sacrifice of those who have died in active service over the past near-century:

Andrew


This post is dedicated to my cousin, currently serving on his second tour to Afganistan. I sincerely hope, in the best possible sense, that he never needs to draw on the services of poppyscotland.

In Memoriam

For the Fallen

Tomorrow is Armistice Day and as in previous years, I shall be marking this with some appropriate posts.

Today's post is a classic and oft quoted poem by Laurence Binyon. It's sobering to think that although this was first published on the 21st September 1914 - just under two months into the Great War - it still has a relevance today.

For the Fallen by Laurence Binyon

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,

England mourns for her dead across the sea.

Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of 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 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.

Andrew

You can find my previous posts on the subject of Remembrance here.

Poems for Remembrance Sunday

Last year, as part of a series of posts on the topic of Remembrance, I posted the famous war poem "Dulce et decorum est" by Wilfred Owen. One of the comments I made on it was that it benefited from repeated reading.

Having revisited that post, I still believe it to be true, so I have decided to re-post it:

Dulce Et Decorum Est by 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 clunky helmets just in time,

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling

And floundering 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 spin,

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.

Also last year, I posted links to Carol Ann Duffy reading her poem "Last Post" which was commissioned by the Today programme.

Last Post by Carol Ann Duffy

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If poetry could tell it backwards, true, begin

that moment shrapnel scythed you to the stinking mud…

but you get up, amazed, watch bled bad blood

run upwards from the slime into its wounds;

see lines and lines of British boys rewind

back to their trenches, kiss the photographs from home-

mothers, sweethearts, sisters, younger brothers

not entering the story now

to die and die and die.

Dulce- No- Decorum- No- Pro patria mori.

You walk away. 

You walk away; drop your gun (fixed bayonet)

like all your mates do too-

Harry, Tommy, Wilfred, Edward, Bert-

and light a cigarette.

There's coffee in the square,

warm French bread

and all those thousands dead

are shaking dried mud from their hair

and queuing up for home. Freshly alive,

a lad plays Tipperary to the crowd, released

from History; the glistening, healthy horses fit for heroes, kings.

You lean against a wall,

your several million lives still possible

and crammed with love, work, children, talent, English beer, good food.

You see the poet tuck away his pocket-book and smile.

If poetry could truly tell it backwards,

then it would. 

Andrew

Silence really is Golden

This year the Royal British Legion has released what is going to be the first ever silent single to enter the UK charts. It's currently at 19 in the midweek charts and all sale proceeds go to the Royal British Legion and their work in support of both serving and ex-service armed forces personnel and their families.

You can buy your copy here or at the i-tunes store.

Andrew

Remembrance Day

Remembrance Wordle

Here is a word cloud from http://www.wordle.net/ of the 5 posts I've made on the subject of Remembrance:

A better version of it can be seen here.

Andrew

Remembrance Sunday

It's Remembrance Sunday today, and the annual ceremony of laying wreaths at the tomb of the Unknown Soldier has taken place in London.

I wanted to post this video of the 2-minute silence, puncutated by the chimes of Big Ben, followed by a rendition of The Last Post, but it's only available on the BBC website, so please follow the link.

Andrew

Dulce Et Decorum Est

Carrying on this week's theme of remembrance, I thought I would post this poem by the Great War poet Wilfred Owen. Describing a gas attack in the trenches, it takes its title from lines in an Ode by the Roman writer, Horace. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori: It is sweet and honourable to die for your country.

Dulce Et Decorum Est by 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 clunky helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering 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 spin,
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.

This is a beautifully simple poem that, as with many pieces of poetry, benefits from repeated reading. It is also referenced in Carol Ann Duffy's poem "Last Post", which I've mentioned before on this blog and can be read here.

Andrew

Lest We Forget

Today I, and my colleagues, each spent some time collecting money for the annual poppy appeal.

As ever it was a privilege to be collecting for the Royal British Legion, who support ex-servicemen and woman throughout the UK (although in Scotland, the poppy appeal is managed by the Earl Haig fund).

The poppy appeal is, however, about more than charity. Wearing a poppy is not just a badge of generosity but a statement. For some that statement is support for armed forces. For others it's about remembrance. For still other's it's about respect. For many, such as myself, it's a mixture of all the above.

While I may not be in favour of every war we, as a nation, fight, it is important to divorce opinion on the policy and those who made it from that of the people who carry it out. Our servicemen and women are charged with exercising their duties to the best of their abilities and risk life and limb in doing so. They deserve our support as they strive to do so.

Remembrance is about more than wreaths and monuments to the war dead, it is about examining and learning from our history. Remembrance is about sober reflection and contemplation of what we ask of others in the name of the state. Remembrance is about hope that we can prevent history from repeating itself.

Finally, the poppy symbolises respect - respect for those who have fought and died. Respect for those who have been injured in the line of duty. Respect for those who are prepared to risk all for the defense of this country. It also indicates a respect for the values of our society - an acknowledgement that we do have a common interest and shared beliefs.

I know there are those who do not wear a poppy. Many of these people take what they believe to be a principled stand, whether that be a general pacifism, an antipathy to particular wars or aspects of the armed forces or a feeling that the poppy collection, and remembrance services, glorify war.

They are though, I believe, fundamentally mistaken. We have to believe that the collective act of remembrance can affect our futures. Our history is what makes us, what we do with the knowledge and experiences we have had will determine the legacy we pass onto our children.

Andrew

Read other posts on related subjects here.

A Moment to Pause

Today is the 70th Anniversary of the start of Britain's involvement in what became World War II. While we are very good at remembering other key anniversaries - D-Day, Battle of Britain, VE Day - this tends to be downplayed somewhat. Indeed, even for this significant anniversary, there are no official events to mark it.

As those who can remember the events of 1939 diminish in number, anniversaries become increasingly important in keeping them in the national consciousness.

Perhaps, then, we should all take a moment to pause and reflect on what happened in the lead up to Chamberlain's Declaration of War and the 5 years that followed.

Andrew

Last Post

Yesterday saw the funeral of Henry Allingham, one of the last 3 British veterans of the 1st World War. Next Thursday, the city I work in will grind to a halt for the funeral of Harry Patch, the last of our servicemen who experienced the Trenches. The only other surviving Brit, Claude Choules, now lives in Australia.

With the passing of Allingham and Patch, the reality of fighting in the Great War has passed out living memory in Britain. While it is inevitable that World War One will eventually become a part of history like Agincourt or Hastings, we need to keep actively remember its reality for as long as possible. We owe it to those who fought for freedom, to those civilians who died on both sides and to our combatants acting out of a similar sense of duty and responsibility to their own countries.

The Great War was the "war to end all wars". The century since has given the lie to this. A second World War was followed by a myriad of other conflicts. Almost daily we hear of another death in Afghanistan. The residents of Wootton Bassett line the streets of their town on a weekly basis as bodies of deceased soldiers are returned for burial.

In this context, remembering past sacrifices becomes both more important and more poignant. The past week should give us pause to reflect on the impact of war. On the human cost of destroyed houses and infrastructure, injuries and death. On the waste of life on all sides. It should make us stop and consider what lessons we have learned (and failed to learn) from our history.

War can be necessary. War can be justified. But it is does not occur in isolation from the rest of society. As the philosopher John Donne said "...any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind." This is why the events and sacrifices of the First World War remain relevant today.

Andrew

If you have not heard or read the Poet Laureate, Carol Ann Duffy's poem on this subject, I urge you to read it here. The poem is entitled "Last Post" and the audio version is spine-tingling.