Remembrance Day
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.
Lieut.-Col. John McCrae, M.D.
I am not quite sure the year, probably somewhere between 1983–85. But I do remember the day. It was November 11, it was Remembrance Day. I was a young kid, somewhere between 8 and 10 years of age, and was attending Vincent Massey Public School in Ottawa. This particular Remembrance Day was different, it was odd, at least it was to me.
Most Remembrance Days we wore our poppies, at 10:45 our classes would empty and we would make our way to the gymnasium for a school-wide assembly. There would be words of welcome, history and significance of the day expressed. At 11:00 we would observe our restless minute of silence, sing our national anthem and then shuffle back to our classrooms and resume our studies like any other day.
I cannot recall if we had our regular assembly, or any of the other features common to our public school observances, but on this occasion Vincent Massey added an additional element making this Remembrance Day stand out. Our individual classes were called down to the Library. Upon arrival, we were lined-up single file and were given instructions as to how we were to enter the room. How and where to stand, and how we were to address our school’s esteemed guests. Once the class before us exited the library, it was our turn to enter and follow our given instructions.
We politely, and quietly (at least for primary students) entered the library, and stationed before us were approximately six World War One army veterans. Now in their 80’s and 90’s, decorated and dignified in their uniforms, were these frail elderly gentlemen, some in wheelchairs others supporting themselves with a cane. We slowly marched past each one, quietly bowing our heads and muttering the words, “Thank you” to each forgotten hero. After our class finished the processional, we remained standing while the veterans were formerly introduced, including their rank and role played in the Great War. I cannot remember if any of the gentlemen spoke, or shared anything other than their respectful greetings as we passed. A minute or two later we exited the library and let the next class take their turn.
Sometimes we have experiences, when at the time, we do not fully appreciate their gravity. This was clearly the case for me as a kid walking past these aged veterans. I knew the occasion was meant for us to show honour to these men, yet for me, at the time, my feelings were more of pity. All I could see were the ravages time had played on these weathered soldiers. In truth I found the whole experience awkward — it was an event I would file away, ignore, and move on with life as I knew it.
It was February 18, 2010, some 25 years later, when unexpectedly the weight of that Remembrance Day experience landed upon this ignorant kid. The leading news headline of this day was: “Canada’s Last WW I Veteran Dies” (https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/canada-s-last-ww-i-veteran-dies-1.909280). The reporters told us that Mr. John Babcock had died at 109 years of age, and with his passing closed the end of an era. Upon reading of his passing, the memory of meeting those veterans in the library years earlier flooded back. The magnitude of being in their presence finally began to dawn on me. It is now those half-dozen veterans, and it is that awkward occasion in the Vincent Massey school library that I now think of every Remembrance Day.
On that Remembrance Day as a kid, I did not properly salute or honour their heroism, their sacrifice, their fallen friends, their generation. Today’s Remembrance Day post serves to atone for a young kid’s ignorance. This is my less than adequate way to salute and properly honour these soldiers and those who served with them — Their legacy, their love for country, their sacrifice is not forgotten!
“We are the dead, Short days ago we lived…”
