And then there was one
I remember when I was a very little boy going to the Remembrance Day service on November 11th at Vancouver’s Cenotaph in Victory Square. We went because my dad’s uncle was in charge of all the arrangements for the World War One vets. And there were hundreds of them. And there were thousands more throughout the country.
They weren’t all that old then, these guys who had slogged in filthy, stinking, corpse-strewn trenches on the so-called Western Front for four years so that corrupt and equally stinking European monarchies could maintain their hold. The monarchies justifiably lost (and deserved to), but so did millions of young men from 1914-1918.
Anyway, lots of great-uncles and my grandfather served in that war. I loved hearing the tales. One of my great-uncles would periodically have to pick out shards of shrapnel that would still protrude from his skin after having made a long journey through his lymphatic system. My grandfather still had screaming nightmares until the end of his days.
When I was first in the newspaper business they used to have a thing called Vimy Night, at which all the remaining ‘Old Contemptibles’ (as they were called) would lift a few glasses and remember old comrades. There were lots of guys then.
Then Vimy Night in a few years diminished to Vimy Luncheon, and then ultimately to nothing as the last of the Comox Valley vets faded into that “long-long trail.”
I only bring this up because I noticed an item in the newspaper over the weekend that said that only one World War One vet in Canada remained alive, and he is 105.
Now that conflict can truly become ‘history.’ So, ultimately will all others. Issues that seemed so vital at the time may or may not be resolved, but the people who go to serve ultimately are resolved.
My father and his contemporaries served in World War Two. They are old now, and their numbers get fewer.
I grew up during Vietnam. Vietnam vets are becoming geezers. How can that be? They went off listening to the Stones and the Doors, how can they be old? But, they are.
And they’ll someday pass from the scene, too. As will those in Iraq and Afghanistan. This is not a pacifistic screed. Sometime wars must be fought – I guess. But, at the end of it all, you are still left with the question as to whiter it was worth it.
I have no answer for that.
They weren’t all that old then, these guys who had slogged in filthy, stinking, corpse-strewn trenches on the so-called Western Front for four years so that corrupt and equally stinking European monarchies could maintain their hold. The monarchies justifiably lost (and deserved to), but so did millions of young men from 1914-1918.
Anyway, lots of great-uncles and my grandfather served in that war. I loved hearing the tales. One of my great-uncles would periodically have to pick out shards of shrapnel that would still protrude from his skin after having made a long journey through his lymphatic system. My grandfather still had screaming nightmares until the end of his days.
When I was first in the newspaper business they used to have a thing called Vimy Night, at which all the remaining ‘Old Contemptibles’ (as they were called) would lift a few glasses and remember old comrades. There were lots of guys then.
Then Vimy Night in a few years diminished to Vimy Luncheon, and then ultimately to nothing as the last of the Comox Valley vets faded into that “long-long trail.”
I only bring this up because I noticed an item in the newspaper over the weekend that said that only one World War One vet in Canada remained alive, and he is 105.
Now that conflict can truly become ‘history.’ So, ultimately will all others. Issues that seemed so vital at the time may or may not be resolved, but the people who go to serve ultimately are resolved.
My father and his contemporaries served in World War Two. They are old now, and their numbers get fewer.
I grew up during Vietnam. Vietnam vets are becoming geezers. How can that be? They went off listening to the Stones and the Doors, how can they be old? But, they are.
And they’ll someday pass from the scene, too. As will those in Iraq and Afghanistan. This is not a pacifistic screed. Sometime wars must be fought – I guess. But, at the end of it all, you are still left with the question as to whiter it was worth it.
I have no answer for that.
Labels: end of the trail, what's it all about?
3 Comments:
I have no answer either Ian, though I tend to think it's not worth it. I'm sure it's not worth it to all those wives and children and mothers left behind.
It's a tough call, all about what you're willing to die for. Unfortunately, our leaders are quick to be willing to die for something, 'cept neither they nor their children are the ones dying. Go figure.
They were so young those who fought, and died in the mud, stink and death of Flanders, or in the hedgerows of Normandy or the jungles of Vietnam. I was listening to a documentary about the pilots and crews of the Lancaster bombers of the Dambusters. Their Squadron leader was known as the "old man" and yet he was 26 years old. He had flown more than 50 missions. The rest of them had an average age of 19. Only eleven of the nineteen Lancasters made it safely back.
War is a terrible waste, what might these young men and women have accomplished had they lived? There is nothing glorious or heroic about war and it is truly sad that we as a species have not learned to do without. We should always remember those who did fight, living or dead, for they displayed courage that we who have not fought can only imagine.
I would like to be a pacifist, the price of war is far too great. But it must be worst to have evil tyrants running a country and killing people at will.
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