Remembrance Sunday

When you go home

Tell them of us and say,

For your tomorrow,

We gave our today.

This post is especially dedicated to my late, heroic Grandfather who was an RAF Desert Rat in WWII, my wonderfully gentle and kind Grandmother who was an ambulance driver in the WAAF in WWII, my husband's maternal Grandfather who faced and escaped a firing squad when caught as a member of the French Resistance in WWII, my Great-Grandfather who fought in WWI and was a night-watchman in WWII, and my Great-Grandmother whose house was bombed twice during the Blitz in London but continued to use her skills as a seamstress to make parachutes throughout WWII.  And to my parents, who grew up on rations in the post-war years. Thank you. 

Today my two Sea Cadet daughters and my Royal Marine Cadet Instructor husband paid their respects to the fallen.

Two parades, two services and one roast dinner with their unit later, they came home to snuggle in jim-jams and rest their feet.  

How blessed we are to live in a free country.

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.

..........................................................................................................


Oh! you who sleep in Flanders Fields,

Sleep sweet - to rise anew!

We caught the torch you threw

And holding high, we keep the Faith

With All who died.

We cherish, too, the poppy red

That grows on fields where valour led;

It seems to signal to the skies

That blood of heroes never dies,

But lends a lustre to the red

Of the flower that blooms above the dead

In Flanders Fields.

And now the Torch and Poppy Red

We wear in honour of our dead.

Fear not that ye have died for naught;

We'll teach the lesson that ye wrought

In Flanders Fields.