Title taken from the poem “Recessional” by Rudyard Kipling.
It has been exactly 91 years since the horror of World War I came to an end in the armistice, and so much in the world has changed, much for the better. However, many of the lessons that lost generation wished to pass down have been hard-learned time and time again.
Take a few moments this morning to reflect on what a world at peace would mean to all of us who share it, and to spare a thought or prayer to those who gave their lives trying to secure it for us. Better yet, take a few minutes out of your busy day to visit your local war monument or Remembrance Day service to show your support for future peace, and your respect to those who gave of themselves for something greater; that peace. Here is the list of services in Toronto.
I hope you’ll take the time to read the following poem by Poet and British Officer Wilfred Owen entitled “Dulce et Decorum Est“. Owen is widely regarded as one of the premier poets of the First World War who sadly did not live to be recognized. He was killed at the Battle of the Sambre Canal in Northern France just a week before the war ended. The poem graphically details the horrors of a German gas attack that Owen experienced first-hand, and strips away the myth that to die in battle is a glorious end to any life.
Dulce et Decroum Est
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori*.
*From an ode by the ancient poet Horace, this line translates to “It is sweet and right to die for one’s country” and was used widely in recruitment efforts in the Empire to recruit young men.
For those who came home…
… and for those who did not…
… you will be remembered.
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