Remembrance Day

As the 11 hour and the 11th day of the 11 month draws near... We remember

As you know this is a that is has deep meaning to our family as to some of yours. We remember.

The Men and Women that sacrificed their lives so that we all may live in peace and be free. We remember


There are so many unsung heros that do not want to stand on the pedestals and be honored. They sacrifice their lives so we may live. We remember.

So in this thread. I honor those in the past, present and future for what they sacrifice for what they have done, did do and will do for the sake of country before thy self. So that I may live and be able to type on this forum with out the wrath or without fear.

On the 11th month, 11 day and the 11th hour it is not only to remember but to also thank a soldier for all that they have sacrificed for our freedom.


As some people get the day off or go about their daily lives, I ask each and everyone one of you to take a few minutes to thank those past, present and future for their sacrifices so that we , our children, grandchildren will be FREE.


In Flanders Fields Poem
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae


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.

It is the soldier, not the reporter
who has given us the freedom of press.
It is the soldier, not the poet,
who has given us the freedom of speech.
It is the soldier, not the campus organizer,
who has given us the freedom to demonstrate.
It is the soldier, not the lawyer,
who has given us the right to a fair trial.
It is the soldier who salutes the flag,
who serves under the flag,
whose coffin is draped by the flag,
and who allows the protester to burn the flag.

"The Soldier"~ by Charles M. Province

THE FINAL INSPECTION

The soldier stood and faced God,
Which must always come to pass
He hoped his shoes were shining,
Just as brightly as his brass.

"Step forward now, you soldier,
How shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek?
To My Church have you been true?"

The soldier squared his shoulders and said,
"No, Lord, I guess I ain't.
Because those of us who carry guns,
Can't always be a saint.

I've had to work most Sundays,
And at times my talk was tough.
And sometimes I've been violent,
Because the world is awfully rough.

But, I never took a penny,
That wasn't mine to keep...
Though I worked a lot of overtime,
When the bills got just too steep.

And I never passed a cry for help,
Though at times I shook with fear.
And sometimes, God, forgive me,
I've wept unmanly tears.

I know I don't deserve a place,
Among the people here.
They never wanted me around,
Except to calm their fears.

If you've a place for me here, Lord,
It needn't be so grand.
I never expected or had too much,
But if you don't, I'll understand.

There was a silence all around the throne,
Where the saints had often trod.
As the soldier waited quietly,
For the judgment of his God.

"Step forward now, you soldier,
You've borne your burdens well.
Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets;
You've done your time in Hell."

I loved the last poem Mini,thanks for sharing it

We have lost a few to Viet Nam,they never really got a soldiers home coming,but we accepted that for what it was

Hopefully one and all will take a moment to be thankful to the men and women who have fought for both of our countries

Those posts were definitely tear-jerkers. Silence is perhaps the best I can offer, since wisdom would not be dripping from my lips at a time like this. I throw my hands up, as I read the papers and find out, another one of ours was taken. My thoughts immediately go to the mother. Don't know why....but I think of the very person, that gave life to that valiant soldier. Though we may not know them personally, when we see their pictures posted in the paper, and their names divulged publicly...it's personalized. Growing up...war was such a foreign concept to me (I'll admit that), since I didn't read about men coming back in body bags...but this 8 year stint (which was only meant to last 6 months), has taken more lives than it should.

I was down in the U.S. last month. A wonderful U.S. military family dropped by the place where we were staying, to say, that we are their kindred spirits, and "brother's in arms". Now, I'm not married to a military man, nor have any ties (personally to the military...just a deep respect for them). I just about died from crying. I learned that this war, totally has transcended so many boundaries....and touched so many lives beyond human comprehension.

Military men & women (past, present and future) will be thought of on November 11, 20nth!

He is profane and irreverent, living as he does in a world full of capriciousness, frustration and disillusionment. He is perhaps the best-educated of his kind in history, but will rarely accord respect on the basis of mere degrees or titles. He speaks his own dialect, often incomprehensible to the layman.

He can be cold, cruel, even brutal and is frequently insensitive. Killing is his profession and he strives very hard to become even more skilled at it. His model is the grey, muddy, hard-eyed slayer who took the untakeable at Vimy Ridge, endured the unendurable in the Scheldt and held the unholdable at Kapyong. He is a superlative practical diplomat; his efforts have brought peace to countless countries around the world. He is capable of astonishing acts of kindness, warmth and generosity. He will give you his last sip of water on a parched day and his last food to a hungry child; he will give his very life for the society he loves.

Danger and horror are his familiars and his sense of humour is accordingly sardonic. What the unknowing take as callousness is his defence against the unimaginable; he whistles through a career filled with graveyards.

His ethos is one of self-sacrifice and duty. He is sinfully proud of himself, of his unit and of his country and he is unique in that his commitment to his society is Total. No other trade or profession dreams of demanding such of its members and none could successfully try.

He loves his family dearly, sees them all too rarely and as often as not loses them to the demands of his profession. Loneliness is the price he accepts for the privilege of serving.

He accounts discomfort as routine and the search for personal gain as beneath him; he has neither understanding of nor patience for those motivated by self-interest, politics or money. His loyalty can be absolute, but it must be purchased. Paradoxically, the only coin accepted for that payment is also loyalty.

He devours life with big bites, knowing that each bite might be his last and his manners suffer thereby. He would rather die regretting the things he did than the ones he dared not try. He earns a good wage by most standards and, given the demands on him, is woefully underpaid.

He can be arrogant, thoughtless and conceited, but will spend himself, sacrifice everything for total strangers in places he cannot even pronounce. He considers political correctness a podium for self-righteous fools, but will die fighting for the rights of anyone he respects or pities.

He is a philosopher and a drudge, an assassin and a philanthropist, a servant and a leader, a disputer and a mediator, a Nobel Laureate peacekeeper and the Queen's Hitman, a brawler and a healer, best friend and worst enemy. He is a rock, a goat, a fool, a sage, a drunk, a provider, a cynic and a romantic dreamer. Above it all, he is a hero for our time. You, pale stranger, sleep well at night only because he exists for you, the citizen who has never met him, has perhaps never thought of him and may even despise him. He is both your child and your guardian. His devotion to you is unwavering. He is a Canadian soldier.

--author unknown--

His face is clean shaven
His bed is made tight
He's young and naive
but he's chosen to fight

He finds his back aches
when he carries his gear
But he'll offer his water
or a counselling ear

He fights long in the heat
and puts his body to the test
But at the end of the day
It's his mind that needs rest.

He fights for his family
his friends and the thankless
He fights against those
that come from the darkness

But sometimes his mind
is darker than most
Its infected with demons
to which he plays host

They fester and feed
on his hurt and his fear
You'll know when they're around
when he starts to shed tears

He sheds many tears
for the loss of his friends
But he holds his head high
while his heart heals and mends

In battle he's angry
at the things that he's seeing
but he holds honour high
on the altar of his being

And when he's upset
he thinks about home
and wishes he wasn't
standing there all alone

But he doesn't look far
He looks left and right
and sees that his family
is helping him fight

His brothers and sisters
are right by his side
and helping him walk
through the darkness with pride

He continues the fight
through shrapnel and shiv
He's willing to die
so that others may live

Of all of life's heroes
no-one is bolder
so remember and love
our canadian soldier.