Service and support for the Nation's Armed Forces holds special meaning in this part of the country. Unlike Ontario where the majority of people wouldn't even know an individual in the services personally, where the only recognition of Remembrance Day would occur at cenotaphs for an hour long ceremony, where all businesses remained open like it was a typical day, New Brunswick respectfully shuts down. Paying homage to the War Veterans and supporting the men and women presently in the Forces is taken seriously. CFB Gagetown, located close to my home is an integral part of the community fabric. The families linked closely to the base live in our neighbourhoods. As much as the war in Afghanistan seems surreal and far away when one watches the news on TV, it is felt deeply here. Every death is tragic. Every soldier is respected. Soon, many of our neighbours and family members will be deployed in the next round heading to Kandahar.
All year, I had forced myself to pay more attention to the conflict and to the stories behind the individuals who make up our Forces. I grew up in Ontario far away from an armed forces base, when years ago Remembrance Day was relegated to a 2 minute silence, while still attending classes. We didn't have the day off. We were detached from our history. Ever since I moved to the Maritimes, Remembrance Day and the role of our troops in the global community has taken on a much more significant meaning. Still, I wanted to understand it viscerally. I wanted to know why anyone would consider a life as a soldier. It still seemed a bit foreign to me. So this year, I watched the solemn funeral services of the fallen soldiers. I read many articles about the war to learn about the reasons behind our involvement. I absorbed the heartfelt stories Christie Blatchford wrote in the Globe and Mail about her intimate contact with the young soldiers entrenched in the war against the Taliban. It helped me feel more engaged with my neighbours.
Two personal encounters also provided an opportunity to shift my perspective and to allow me a much needed human touch.
Last winter I taught a counselling course at the University and serendiptously met a young reservist who had signed up to take my course. He was graduating with a degree in History and Political Science, had been sponsored by the armed forces to attend university, so why take a counselling course? He wanted to learn more effective ways to interact with his peers and with his Commanding Officer. He had also been pegged by the Forces to take part in a mediation type group who would be deployed to Kandahar to work with the local people. Bright and articulate but blunt in his assessment of other's skills during the times when they practiced in class, he quickly rose to the top of the class once he grasped the intricasies of how you couch your words.......of how you actively listen to the feelings behind the words.... of how you must choose the right approach by assessing the other individual's level of receptivity.
Of all the students in the class, he and I gravitated to one another during breaks where we would quickly jump into a discussion on the nuances of political theory, or the recent political climate, or a particular columnists' view on a topic. He had many questions pertaining to the lessons of the day and wanted to understand it more deeply. He was fascinated by my career and passion for working with people and I of his. Neither of us wanted to switch places, that's for sure but there was an underlying respect for our chosen paths. Today, he is in Kandahar. I havent heard from him since the day of the final exam, though I think of him often.
A couple of weeks ago, I had the pleasure of sharing lunch with another reservist. A graduate of RMC in Kingston, and an Officer who has experienced both the war in Afghanistan and a peace keeping mission in Bosnia working directly under General Hillier, he is now looking forward to making a run at the political arena, which was why we were meeting. It was an opportunity for both of us to get to share views and stories......his from the frontlines of the war, and mine from the frontlines of the fight against poverty. His stories offered me a clearer glimpse of the dedication and drive of our troops, for which I am grateful.
These two deeply felt encounters drove my determination this year to attend the Remembrance Day services. I hadn't attended in several years, mostly because I am a blathering idiot when it comes to anything emotionally intense and I didn't want to make a complete fool of myself in such a public venue. Add the sounds of the bugle and the bagpipes and I'm toast. Oh..........who am I kidding? I have been known to shed tears over Kodak commercials for goodness sake. I have found that the older I get, the more weepy I can be.........songs and emotionally stirring events zap my composure. So, knowing that I would most likely lose it, and still determined to attend to show my support, I donned my bright red coat, my poppy on my lapel and a big wad of kleenex in my pocket and went.
Scores of families and individuals lined Queen Street as the Veterans, the warm sun shining on their youthful souls led the parade to the Cenotaph. There were many more people attending than I expected. Applause filled the air, as we all watched the men and women in full regalia march behind.........representatives from CFB Gagetown, local RCMP proudly in their red uniforms, the little cadets with their familiar white hats, Scouts, and Girl guides and Brownies and Cubs...........local politicians and representatives of the Legion were all in the parade. With lumps in our throats and swelling hearts, we stood on the curb feeling grateful and proud.
Pomp and tradition and pride.
The service itself was a little less polished, though by no means less meaningful. Somehow in between the hymns, the prayers, the silence, the lone bagpiper and the bugler.........somehow while representatives laid wreaths, there was a bit of levity when the gentleman leading the service read a poem he had written about an old salty Vet who fought in the war and then returned to live amongst us as a husband and father. His words made the crowd unexpectantly chuckle.
And as I sang our national anthem with the thousands in attendance..........as I sang God Save the Queen.........as I sang Abide With Me.....................I realized that it had been a long time since I had been given an opportunity to sing those songs..............I realized that my small voice allowed me to feel engaged to my community, to the history of my country and to what the future may hold.
All year, I had forced myself to pay more attention to the conflict and to the stories behind the individuals who make up our Forces. I grew up in Ontario far away from an armed forces base, when years ago Remembrance Day was relegated to a 2 minute silence, while still attending classes. We didn't have the day off. We were detached from our history. Ever since I moved to the Maritimes, Remembrance Day and the role of our troops in the global community has taken on a much more significant meaning. Still, I wanted to understand it viscerally. I wanted to know why anyone would consider a life as a soldier. It still seemed a bit foreign to me. So this year, I watched the solemn funeral services of the fallen soldiers. I read many articles about the war to learn about the reasons behind our involvement. I absorbed the heartfelt stories Christie Blatchford wrote in the Globe and Mail about her intimate contact with the young soldiers entrenched in the war against the Taliban. It helped me feel more engaged with my neighbours.
Two personal encounters also provided an opportunity to shift my perspective and to allow me a much needed human touch.
Last winter I taught a counselling course at the University and serendiptously met a young reservist who had signed up to take my course. He was graduating with a degree in History and Political Science, had been sponsored by the armed forces to attend university, so why take a counselling course? He wanted to learn more effective ways to interact with his peers and with his Commanding Officer. He had also been pegged by the Forces to take part in a mediation type group who would be deployed to Kandahar to work with the local people. Bright and articulate but blunt in his assessment of other's skills during the times when they practiced in class, he quickly rose to the top of the class once he grasped the intricasies of how you couch your words.......of how you actively listen to the feelings behind the words.... of how you must choose the right approach by assessing the other individual's level of receptivity.
Of all the students in the class, he and I gravitated to one another during breaks where we would quickly jump into a discussion on the nuances of political theory, or the recent political climate, or a particular columnists' view on a topic. He had many questions pertaining to the lessons of the day and wanted to understand it more deeply. He was fascinated by my career and passion for working with people and I of his. Neither of us wanted to switch places, that's for sure but there was an underlying respect for our chosen paths. Today, he is in Kandahar. I havent heard from him since the day of the final exam, though I think of him often.
A couple of weeks ago, I had the pleasure of sharing lunch with another reservist. A graduate of RMC in Kingston, and an Officer who has experienced both the war in Afghanistan and a peace keeping mission in Bosnia working directly under General Hillier, he is now looking forward to making a run at the political arena, which was why we were meeting. It was an opportunity for both of us to get to share views and stories......his from the frontlines of the war, and mine from the frontlines of the fight against poverty. His stories offered me a clearer glimpse of the dedication and drive of our troops, for which I am grateful.
These two deeply felt encounters drove my determination this year to attend the Remembrance Day services. I hadn't attended in several years, mostly because I am a blathering idiot when it comes to anything emotionally intense and I didn't want to make a complete fool of myself in such a public venue. Add the sounds of the bugle and the bagpipes and I'm toast. Oh..........who am I kidding? I have been known to shed tears over Kodak commercials for goodness sake. I have found that the older I get, the more weepy I can be.........songs and emotionally stirring events zap my composure. So, knowing that I would most likely lose it, and still determined to attend to show my support, I donned my bright red coat, my poppy on my lapel and a big wad of kleenex in my pocket and went.
Scores of families and individuals lined Queen Street as the Veterans, the warm sun shining on their youthful souls led the parade to the Cenotaph. There were many more people attending than I expected. Applause filled the air, as we all watched the men and women in full regalia march behind.........representatives from CFB Gagetown, local RCMP proudly in their red uniforms, the little cadets with their familiar white hats, Scouts, and Girl guides and Brownies and Cubs...........local politicians and representatives of the Legion were all in the parade. With lumps in our throats and swelling hearts, we stood on the curb feeling grateful and proud.
Pomp and tradition and pride.
The service itself was a little less polished, though by no means less meaningful. Somehow in between the hymns, the prayers, the silence, the lone bagpiper and the bugler.........somehow while representatives laid wreaths, there was a bit of levity when the gentleman leading the service read a poem he had written about an old salty Vet who fought in the war and then returned to live amongst us as a husband and father. His words made the crowd unexpectantly chuckle.
And as I sang our national anthem with the thousands in attendance..........as I sang God Save the Queen.........as I sang Abide With Me.....................I realized that it had been a long time since I had been given an opportunity to sing those songs..............I realized that my small voice allowed me to feel engaged to my community, to the history of my country and to what the future may hold.
In Flanders Fields
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, saw dawn, felt sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up your 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.
John McCrae.
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