Every year for many years, in November, we have a garden of
red ‘poppies’ leap into our lives, and into the lives of our
communities. The stunning combination of the red and black
of these small flower symbols on lapels, caps and in car
windows draw your eye, and you cannot help but remember for
what reason they come into our lives. These brilliant red
poppies are very significant, and each and every one is worn
in remembrance of lives lost, battles won and battles lost,
the gratitude we feel for those who gave their lives for our
country, our freedom, and our way of life. They also honour
those who served and came home badly scarred, both in body
and spirit. The poppy also honors and remembers all those
that were the backup teams, the people who worked in
factories, ran our transportation systems, knit warm socks
and caps for those on the front lines, and those who
supported their loved ones in the cause they were so
desperately fighting for and wanted to protect. And that
cause was our freedom, a country free of anarchy and chaos,
and a better life for their children. We will always, and
should always, remember them.
So we pick up our poppy from the immaculately clad Legion
Veterans at their little kiosk and tables, chat with them,
and marvel at the wonder of such a country as Canada. In
good times and bad, the Red Maple Leaf Flag flying above our
heads symbolizes all that has been fought for, the way of
life we lead in our country, our political right to vote,
and our freedom to worship as we so choose. All this came at
a very high cost. We will never forget that. Nor should we.
Most of the men who served our country are now grandfathers
and great-grandfathers, and also the women who served have
moved into the tender role of being a grandmother and
great-grandmother. So most of us have, or have had a ‘Pop’
or ‘Grand-dad’ or ‘Poppy’ of our own. And surely we all have
a ‘Nanny’ in our lives, or in the lives of our friends.
A few years ago, in a large center, I attended the November
11th,Remembrance Day Service at the War Memorial. All while
we were growing up the Remembrance Day Ceremony was part of
our lives, and it continues to be, because my father served
in the British Royal Navy overseas during the last World
War. I have a Dad who is a ‘Poppy’ to my children, and to my
grandchild. His name is Stephen Richard Jarvis. Wearing a
poppy is an important thing to me and my family because we
love and honour our Poppy. And thousands of other people do
the same thing all across this massive country. That day,
after the Memorial Service, I watched as the cadets and the
local people took off their poppies and stuck them in the
ground near the memorial.
When I glanced back it looked like a sea of priceless blood.
The red was everywhere as hundreds of red poppies stood out
brightly in the noon day sun. It illustrated to me what the
surgeon, Dr. John McCrae, a Major in the 1st Field Artillery
Brigade, saw beside the field hospital at the Canal de
l’Yser, just north of Ypres and its’ horrendous battles. Dr.
McCrae had lost a friend a day before he penned his verse.
He wrote ‘In Flanders Fields’, then decided it was not a
good piece of work and discarded it. A colleague retrieved
the paper, and submitted the poem to a magazine in England
who published it, and it has become a classic. It was
written in the midst of seventeen days of horror, on May 3,
1915, and was published in the English magazine on December
8, 1915.
My father rarely spoke of his wartime experiences. And we
could not get him to talk about it. But when I think back,
we had small glimpses into that world. He was a seventeen
year old boy when he joined the Royal Navy, Newfoundland was
a British Colony, and he left Belloram, Newfoundland, for
what was to become four years of hell. He became a man
through all that. He became a strong man, but troubled when
he came home at first. He was tormented, with wild, wide
eyes and bad dreams. The horrific sights, the sounds of
gunfire, the panic, the cold, the torpedoes, the sea water
seeping into his bunk as he tried to rest on the Corvette he
was serving on, all haunted him.
We knew he had scarred legs, scalded by a blown boiler, we
knew he, although a policeman, wanted ‘peace and quiet’ in
his life, and we knew he did not want to discuss war. One
incident stands out that told us so much about Dad and his
outlook on life. It took place with my brother. David, in
his late teens, arrived home, shall we say, saturated with
‘liquid courage’. He was prepared to take on the world in
his courageous state, and my mother was determined he
wasn’t, but he would punished, that was a given.
"Go to bed now," Dad said to Mother, "when I was his age I
was fightin’ a war!" And that was the end of that. It said a
lot when you really analyzed it.
This past summer Dad showed me a photo my brother had found
of the Corvette he sailed on, the ‘H.M.S. Shoreham’. He is
still proud of that ship. So I took the chance and asked
"Dad, what was your worst experience during those days?"
He shocked me by answering. I really did not expect he
would.
"The Invasion of Sicily." he revealed quietly.
Then he went on to tell me his most memorable and
frightening experience. My heart ached for that young
Newfoundland boy, caught in the midst of death and
destruction, trying desperately to stay alive. And it aches
now as I tell you about it. He is a ‘Poppy’, and he loves
and is loved in return. I am sorry that he had to go through
that anguish and fear. But at least he came home. His
determination to give his children a good life, combined
with their love for him, and a strong wife who loved and
supported him, became his port in the savage emotional
storms.
Yes, we will wear our poppies proudly, and we will remember
them. All of them, those who have left us and those we are
thankful to still have in our lives.
Wear the poppy, read Major McCraes’ verse, remember, and
give thanks for the freedoms won with blood, sweat and tears
and loss of life. Always remember them, not just on
Remembrance Day, but every day.
If you do not have the words, I will share a few of them
with you. Beautiful words written by a young man who had
seen too much, lost too much, but would not quit. Words that
can be written in a free country that allows us to do so,
the freedom won with their lives.
Excerpt from: ‘IN FLANDERS’ FIELDS’
‘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.
Written by Doctor Major
(later Lieutenant-Colonel) John McCrae 1st Field Artillery
Brigade, 1915
They shall not grow old as
those that are left grow old. Age will not weary them nor
the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the
morning, we shall remember them.
