This song always brings a lump to my throat.
A Pittance of time
They fought and some died for their homeland
They fought and some died now it’s our land
Look at his little child, there’s no fear in her eyes
Could he not show respect for other dads who have died?
Take two minutes, would you mind?
It’s a pittance of time
For the boys and the girls who went over
In peace may they rest, may we never forget why they died.
It’s a pittance of time
God forgive me for wanting to strike him
Give me strength so as not to be like him
My heart pounds in my breast, fingers pressed to my lips
My throat wants to bawl out, my tongue barely resists
But two minutes I will bide
It’s a pittance of time
For the boys and the girls who went over
In peace may they rest, may we never forget why they died.
It’s a pittance of time
Read the letters and poems of the heroes at home
They have casualties, battles, and fears of their own
There’s a price to be paid if you go, if you stay
Peace is fought for and won in numerous ways
Take two minutes would you mind?
It’s a pittance of time
For the boys and the girls all over
May we never forget our young become vets
At the end of the line it’s a pittance of time
It takes courage to fight in your own war
It takes courage to fight someone else’s war
Our peacekeepers tell of their own living hell
They bring hope to foreign lands that the hatemongers can’t kill.
Take two minutes, would you mind?
It’s a pittance of time
For the boys and the girls who go over
In peacetime our best still don battle dress
And lay their lives on the line.
It’s a pittance of time
In Peace may they rest, lest we forget why they died.
Take a pittance of time
medic_1 (In Arduis Fidelis)
Well you are a week ahead...but do we need a day to remember them, I will never forget!
Good call Medic :thumbup:
Think of them as you listen to this:-
gulp........lump.........throat
that was beautifull
well said we will not foget
For all of the peolpe who have given up there lives ,for the freedom we hold dear.
Pray :we never forget them
A couple of years ago we went to Ypres and the Menin Gate. Every night at 8pm, the last post is sounded and flowers are laid to remember the thousands who died in the 'great War' (their words, not mine). I have never in my life felt so humbled as I did when I heard the haunting sound of the last post being played. The road had been closed, and hundreds (no exageration) of people stood in silence.
If these people can do it every day, then I feel that the least we can do, is give 2 minutes of our time to remember EVERYONE who has died through war.
Will be remembering here too! There is nothing that one can give to what has been given by those in sacrifice To honour the memory is at the least recognition. Because of them we're lucky to have two minutes to give.
Excuse me indulging my literary whim... but no matter how often I read or teach this, it still moves me.
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.
8 October 1917 - March, 1918
DULCE ET DECORUM EST - the first words of a Latin saying (taken from an ode by Horace). The words were widely understood and often quoted at the start of the First World War. They mean "It is sweet and right." The full saying ends the poem: Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori - it is sweet and right to die for your country. In other words, it is a wonderful and great honour to fight and die for your country
He was getting old and paunchy
And his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion,
Telling stories of the past.
Of a war that he had fought in
And the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies;
They were heroes, every one.
And 'tho sometimes to his neighbors
His tales became a joke,
All his Legion buddies listened
For they knew whereof he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer,
For old Bill has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer
For a soldier died today.
He will not be mourned by many,
Just his children and his wife.
For he lived an ordinary
And quite uneventful life.
Held a job and raised a family,
Quietly going on his way;
And the world won't note his passing,
Though a Soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth,
Their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing,
And proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell their whole life stories
From the time that they were young,
But the passing of a soldier
Goes unnoticed, and unsung
Is the greatest contribution
To the welfare of our land,
A guy who breaks his promises
And cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow who,
In times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his Country
And offers up his life?
A politician's stipend
And the style in which he lives,
Are sometimes disproportionate,
To the service that he gives.
While the ordinary soldier,
Who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal
And perhaps, a pension small.
It's so easy to forget them,
For it was so long ago,
That the old Bills of our country
Went to battle, but we know
It was not the politicians
With their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom
That our Country now enjoys.
Should you find yourself in danger,
With your enemies at hand,
Would you want a politician
With his ever-shifting stand?
Or would you prefer a soldier,
Who has sworn to defend,
His home, his kin and Country
And would fight until the end?
He was just a common Soldier,
And his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us
We may need his like again.
For when countries are in conflict,
Then we find the Soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles
That the politicians start.
If we cannot do him honor
While he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage
At the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simple headline
in a paper that would say:
"OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING,
FOR A SOLDIER DIED TODAY."
By Larry Vaincourt
I remember them everyday.
The Truly Great
I think continually of those who were truly great.
Who from the womb, remembered the soul's history
Throu corridors of light, where the hours are suns,
Endless and singing. Whose lovely ambition
was that thier lips, still touched with fire,
Should tell of the spirit, clothed from head to foot in song.
And who hoarded from the spring branches
The desires falling accoss their bodies like blossoms.
Wat is presious, is never to forget
The essential delight of the blood drawn from ageless springs
Breaking through rocks in worlds before our earth.
Never to deny its pleasure in the morning simple light
Nor its grave evenin demand for love.
Never to allow gradually the traffic to smother
With noise and fog, the flowering of the spirit.
Near the snow, near the sun, in the hightest fields,
See how these names are feted by the waving grass
And by the streamers of white cloud
And whispers of wind in the listening sky.
The names of those who in thier lives fought for life,
Who wore at their hearts the fire's centre.
Born of the sun, they trafelled a short while toward the sun
And left the vivid air signed with thier honour
Stephen Spender
Nola, Dulce et decorum est exactly what i was gonna post.
Lets hope we all live to see a world where there arent any "old soldiers".
Never too be forgotten, history is for learning from, lets not forget, lets embrace the past & try & learn from the mistakes that were made.
Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori.
That's all well and good as a last resort. I prefer the quote by one of the WW2 generals.
"The point of war is NOT to die for your country. It's to make the other bastard die for his."
Regardless of the correctness of the current conflict(s) - all strength to the men and women involved.
Wars aren't won by the righteous, they are won by whoever is left alive.
Seeing that photo of the Menin Gate brought back some intense memories. Some of the most beautiful and yet most moving locations I've ever visited are Commonwealth War Cemeteries. Taking time as a student over 20 years ago, to walk amongst the stones set in the sandy earth, on a glorious sunny day under an azure sky, by the sea at Gallipoli, reading the simple inscriptions, I found an experience far more powerful and personal than any poem.
Thank you for reminding me.
Medic_1...well put. This transcends all politics, cultures and race. From one who knows!
To all that laid their lifes so we may have one...we will never forget you!Thank you...
Remembering my grandfather who lost his eye in the first world war who passed away in the 1980's and for all those that have fought over the years for our freedom.
You will never be forgotten and should never be!
If anyone is intested in finding out abour your family members that fought for our freedom there is some great imformation on this link as to how to get started!
Hmmm... yes. The Menin Gate. My granddad's brother's name is on that. Fortunately both my granddads came home from WW1, and my dad and his brothers from WW2.
Not forgetting.
watching my sons parade with cadets on sunday always brings a lump to my throat but it is the old soldiers that join them too that get me really having to swallow back that lump
they are men that have seen things i can never even begin to imagine experience things i'm thankfull i will never have to experience and they did it all for me and you and our children and they don't even know us for that i will be eternally gratefull and will never forget them or let my children forget or my childrens children
one day my son will be joining up and this frightens the life out of me and if i could stop him i would i don't deny but yet at the same time it makes me intensly proud and i hope that in 60 years time he will be marching on armastice day with the local cadets giving then someone to look upto and inspire them just like those old soldiers did my boys on sunday
let us never forget
for all who fought for our freedom, and those who continue to fight for ours and the freedoms of others around the world.
