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     \|_______| \   \_____|                  THE TALE SPINNER Special
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                 \ \   (_)o(_)               November 11, 2007
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LEST WE FORGET...

Barbara Wear forwarded this article, which was written by Bob Brown:

RED POPPIES

I will take you on a little guided tour of London on the Sunday nearest the 11th November.

The first thing you would notice is the that everyone is wearing a red poppy. Not real poppies, but artificial poppies that have been made by ex-service men and women throughout the year and which are on sale from the beginning of November, for a small donation from members of the general public. All the proceeds go towards supporting charities which specifically care for ex-military personnel and/or dependants who might otherwise find themselves in financial, medical, or domestic difficulties.

Thousands of ex-service men and women, many proudly wearing medals, form up in orderly columns at the end of Whitehall. At Horse Guards Parade at the centre of Whitehall stands a simple but dignified column bearing the Cenotaph. Waiting at the Cenotaph will be a military band, together with a detachment of foot guards (either Welsh, Scots, or Grenadier Guards). Each guardsman wears a scarlet tunic, black trousers and boots, and the large regimental bearskin (hat). They stand with their rifles with bayonets fixed. Lining both sides of Whitehall will be other similarly uniformed and armed Guards. Her Majesty The Queen, the Duke of Edinburgh, and members of the Royal Family will be in attendance, together with the Prime Minister, members of his Cabinet, the heads of the Royal Navy, Royal Air Force and Army, as well as ambassadors from all members of the British Commonwealth.

At precisely 11a.m. the chimes of Big Ben ring out with deep and majestic solemnity. As this ceremony is broadcast not only nationwide, but worldwide, there are two minutes of silence as a mark of respect held across the globe. The silence ends when a bugler sounds reveille. After a short service by the Bishop of London, the band strikes up and Her Majesty The Queen then lays the first wreath at the foot of the Cenotaph on behalf of the Nation. She is followed by all the other dignitaries. The band changes to military marches as the waiting thousands of ex-service men and women proudly march past the Cenotaph, many handing over their regimental association or personal wreaths to bowler-hatted attendants, who place them neatly around the column. At the end of it all, the military guard marches off behind the band to the barracks beside Buckingham Palace.

In the evening, a moving Remembrance Service by the Royal British Legion is held in the Royal Albert Hall, Kensington. Again this is all televised around the world. At the time when those immortal words, "They shall not grow old...." are said, millions of scarlet poppy petals are released from high up in the ceiling of the hall to flutter gently down upon the heads of those below. Each petal represents a fallen soldier, sailor, or airman in all the many conflicts. There are very few dry eyes after this.

The simple red poppy is a poignant reminder to us of the horrors of war. This was especially true during World War 1, or The Great War as it used to be known. The bright blood-red flower was always the first to show itself on the battlefield; usually in ground that had been churned up, polluted, and finally stripped bare of all living vegetation by man´s stupidity and greed. Literally a ´Hell on Earth!´

In the year 1915, Canadian Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae [of Guelph] wrote these moving lines and immortalised the poppy in the minds and hearts of the people:

IN FLANDERS FIELDS

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

Jack Peaker and Tom Williamson forwarded this timely story:

A PITTANCE OF TIME

On November 11, 1999, Terry Kelly was in a Shoppers Drug Mart store in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia. At 10:55 a.m. an announcement came over the store´s PA asking customers who would still be of the premises at 11:00 a.m. to observe two minutes of silence in respect to the veterans who have sacrificed so much for us. Terry was impressed with the store´s leadership role in adopting the Legion´s "two minutes of silence" initiative. He felt that the store´s contribution to educating the public to the importance of remembering was commendable.

When eleven o´clock arrived on that day, an announcement was again made asking for the two minutes of silence to commence. All customers, with the exception of a man who was accompanied by his young child, showed their respect. Terry´s anger towards the father for trying to engage the store´s clerk in conversation and for setting a bad example for his child was later channeled into a beautiful piece of work called, "A Pittance of Time".

To see a video of this event and hear the song, go to http://members.shaw.ca/jeansansum/TerryKelly.wmv

A. Lawrence Vaincourt wrote this poem in 1985 for his newspaper column and it was reprinted in his 1991 collection, Rhymes & Reflections.

JUST A COMMON SOLDIER

He was getting old and paunchy and his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion, telling stories of the past.
Of a war that he had fought in and the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies; they were heroes, every one.

And tho´ sometimes, to his neighbors, his tales became a joke,
All his Legion buddies listened, for they knew whereof he spoke.
But we´ll hear his tales no longer for old Bill has passed away,
And the world´s a little poorer, for a soldier died today.

He will not be mourned by many, just his children and his wife,
For he lived an ordinary and quite uneventful life.
Held a job and raised a family, quietly going his own way,
And the world won´t note his passing, though a soldier died today.

When politicians leave this earth, their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing and proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell their whole life stories, from the time that they were young,
But the passing of a soldier goes unnoticed and unsung.

Is the greatest contribution to the welfare of our land
A guy who breaks his promises and cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow who, in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his Country and offers up his life?

A politician´s stipend and the style in which he lives
Are sometimes disproportionate to the service that he gives.
While the ordinary soldier, who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal and perhaps, a pension small.

It´s so easy to forget them for it was so long ago,
That the old Bills of our Country went to battle, but we know
It was not the politicians, with their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom that our Country now enjoys.

Should you find yourself in danger, with your enemies at hand,
Would you want a politician with his ever-shifting stand?
Or would you prefer a soldier, who has sworn to defend
His home, his kin and Country and would fight until the end?

He was just a common soldier and his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us we may need his like again.
For when countries are in conflict, then we find the soldier´s part
Is to clean up all the troubles that the politicians start.

If we cannot do him honor while he´s here to hear the praise,
Then at least let´s give him homage at the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simple headline in a paper that would say,
Our Country is in mourning, for a soldier died today.

Printed with permission. You can find the original posted at http://www.vaincourt.homestead.com/Common_Soldier.html