We will remember

 

Here in The Netherlands we remember our war deaths at May 4, but when my father was dying I promised him to remember him, his friend Ron and Father Richard Stoffels at the same time as the English remember those who gave their lives for freedom.

I still don't know which squadron(s) he served, even though I've spend many hours searching.
But in my mind's eye, the photos are engraved, and the memories these men created are still with me even though they're all long gone.
They're so close, that often I feel like I could stretch out my hands and lay them in theirs.

They gave us freedom, and they're still walking in that freedom with me and my family.

It's sad that I want to go to England so much, but I'm never able to go there.
I want to lay a wreath of poppies at one of the war memorials.
They deserve it.

The lost men of WW2 deserve to be acknowledged.
Not all lists are complete.
A lot of work needs to be done.
Sometimes I'm able to find a face and a name together. because of the way a man looks, because of his hair, or because of s smile.
Sometimes veterans can't be found in the records, and they're denied the place in the old veteran's home they deserve.
That makes me so sad.

Each year the tears in my eyes find their way to express how deep I feel about what all these men and woman have done to create freedom.
And I'm glad to say that my children also feel the deep gratitude we all should have.

Many young and also older people are not aware how important it is that tolerance and respect are central in our behaviour.
We should always have peace as a central goal in what we say and do. Other people are not our enemies, but when we're not able to make them our fellow fighters for freedom, they might become our enemies.
Never ever should we need to send so many men and women to free so many people from oppression.
That means that we have to guard our attitude each and every moment.

I try, because their love for peace and freedom has grown in my heart too.


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For the Fallen

For the Fallen

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,

England mourns for her dead across the sea.

Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,

Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal

Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.

There is music in the midst of desolation

And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,

Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.

They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,

They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;

They sit no more at familiar tables of home;

They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;

They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,

Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,

To the innermost heart of their own land they are known

As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,

Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,

As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,

To the end, to the end, they remain.

By Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943), 

published in The Times newspaper, September 21 1914.

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