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[Dishevelled Den]

On this day of National Remembrance;



[media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H0UV1XKdqKM&feature=PlayList&p=E978C1EA88F06AC7&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=25[/media]

[waspy]

It's not just today that i remember. Allways

[rob in gib]

I will remember all that they did for and are doing for us

[webby23]

Yep, we never forget the sacrifices so many people made to give us the freedom we have.

[Chris_H]

Expecting a minute's silence in church this morning.

They will be remembered with eternal gratitude.

[Debs.]

"Number the Brave........."

and "Keep the Covenant"

[Plomien]

Always have done, more so when I used to do the standard bearing for the ATC, Paras, Royal Britsh legion or whoever else needed it when I was in cadets

[Lizzie_Zoom]

Everyday I remember my Uncle Wally:

Private Edwards, Walter Frank 13369 of the East  Kent Machine Gun Corps (Infantry)

Succumbing to the mud at Ypres 30th July 1917
 
Beloved brother of my Great Aunt Catherine Edwards, who treasured his memory, often sharing those memories and tears with me, who at last was reunited with him in 1990 aged 95.
 



Also always remember everyday my Grandad Freeman:

Killed on 12th September, 1940 by a Luffwaffe bomb,

Beloved father of Fredrick Edward Freeman, who has cried many a tear with me, and can never forget his loss, and that of his mother, my Grandmother, in 1945 "of a broken heart"
 

We will NEVER forget!!

DULCE ET DECORUM EST by WILFRED OWEN

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.

[Jimbob]

Everyday I remember my Uncle Wally:

Private Edwards, Walter Frank 13369 of the East  Kent Machine Gun Corps (Infantry)

Succumbing to the mud at Ypres 30th July 1917
 
Beloved brother of my Great Aunt Catherine Edwards, who treasured his memory, often sharing those memories and tears with me, who at last was reunited with him in 1990 aged 95.
 



Also always remember everyday my Grandad Freeman:

Killed on 12th September, 1940 by a Luffwaffe bomb,

Beloved father of Fredrick Edward Freeman, who has cried many a tear with me, and can never forget his loss, and that of his mother, my Grandmother, in 1945 "of a broken heart"
 

We will NEVER forget!!

DULCE ET DECORUM EST by WILFRED OWEN

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.

Best war poem.... Ever 

[Martin_1962]

A great grandfather late in 1918

[I_want_an_Omega]

My 25 year old Son has been to 7 funerals - he has been in the Army for less than 2 years.