This November 11, is a beautiful day not like the ones I remember when as a Boy Scout when we marched alongside the Vets on our way to the Cenotaph In Beauharnois. The debate always was, “do we ware our coats or not”. The weather mirrored the emotion of the day, cold and blustery, damp and drizzly, sombre. The Cenotaph was located in the park on the shore of Lake St Louis where the wind was always blustery the flags flapped wildly. It was an honour to march and stand along the Vets on that day, many had tears in their eyes. I was proud to be there with them, standing along with the Vet’s and especially standing alongside my dad.
In Flanders Field
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.
John McCrae