The cherry tree in Victory Square gives up another yellowy leaf, fluttering softly to the damp ground.
The Cenotaph. The eleventh month, the eleventh day, the eleventh hour. The large crowd is not restless, there is too much respect in the chill air to be restless. Only soldiers’ ghosts have the right to be restless this poignant hour. Looking over shoulders toward the marble monument. Flags are bright against the morning dull of overcoats and scarves.
The cherry tree steals attention, burnt orange and yellow and faded green leaves now sparse on its dark wet branches. The Vancouver Bach Youth Choir sings beautifully beneath it, an ethereal sound, angelic voices coaxing the leaves to let go, asking our minds to remember.
The 15th Field Artillery Regiment begins the 21 gun salute with a dull thump in the thick misty air, startling only nervous pigeons to fly in circling squadrons. Marching cadets and full dress troops arrive in a staccato rhythm, heels upon pavement, commanded to halt by a disjointed voice. Military uniforms are especially crisp for this day. A full dress RCMP constable standing near with the scarlet tunic and perfect polished boots.
Well we've come from Picadilly Circus, and we plan to spend the day abroad,
and we hope to make it a surprise, so don't you tell.
Yes, we started early in the morning, we'll be there before the crack of dawn,
and you'll know by looking in the skies, you'll know darn well.
The crowd singing Oh Canada, with softness and pride, knowing we are the best. A patient grey sky of swirling cloud holds back its rain. A large old transport plane with full flaps down to fly as slow as possible glides overhead. Another cannon thump. Gulls circle above, watchful of food. Curious crows disappear into the dark evergreens. A poem is read, written by a high school student. Children’s voices in the crowd. Murmurs. Here and there a solemn glistening tear on a face.
So we're out here floating on the water, we can almost see the other shore,
when we get there then they'll know the party has begun.
And we'll take the day upon the beaches, doesn't matter if there is no sun,
'cause we won't be looking for a tan for anyone.
Many younger families clustered in an area they would never go to normally. A car alarm squawks irreverence, perhaps a comment to an almost forgotten generation. Bagpipes wailing, reproachful of modern interruptions. A phalanx of antique planes now circling, buzzing engines. The planes seem to fly so slow now. The earth smell is not unpleasant. Nor the odor of damp wool. Pipe smoke drifts through the crowd. Coughs from some who shouldn’t be out.
Oh that man there might have been your uncle, or a brother who was very dear,
or a father, never having seen, his little son.
Now he's lying softly in the grasses, and he keeps on looking at the sky,
and he's slowly giving up his dreams, one by one.
The elder Sergeant’s voice giving directions to the parade troops, losing its strength with a crackle. The Chaplain gives a prayer, I catch words, ‘in the journey through life’, and give a silent thanks that my passage has been without the fright of war, without the fear of death, without the tragic loss of dear ones.
My mind drifts to Belgium, a few years ago, of feeling a duty to visit Tyne Cot Cemetery. The largest Canadian World War II Memorial, even though I had no name to search for carved on any monument. Standing amid the wheat fields in a summer breeze where a sprinkling of red from poppies still shows, giving thanks that I was allowed to roam at will in a free Europe.
For we had one hardened resolution, and it was to rid the world of pain,
though we feared for life you know we kept that rendezvous.
And we're asking that you don't forget us, even though so many years go by,and you must remember, that it all, was just for you.
Normandy, Normandy, we fought for your liberty, and yes, we'd like to see you once again.
The eleventh month .... the eleventh day ...... the eleventh hour.
The cherry tree gives away another yellow leaf fluttering down, not to die in vain, but to give life to that tree for a future world.
Remembrance day, any year.
|© R.C. Westerholm Normandy © by RC Westerholm - SOCAN|
|All writing and photography © RC Westerholm website design - Masalla Galleries Graphics - Vancouver BC|