Remembrance Day or Armistice Day
FROM BBC NEWSROUND: WHAT IS REMEMBRANCE DAY? AND WHY DO WE WEAR POPPIES?
NO MORE REMEMBRANCE DAYS by Simon Jenkins in The Guardian
"Remembering is easy. Forgetting is hard – in personal relationships as in a nation’s collective response to the world around it. The task is not to ignore some past event but to view it in proportion, to find some compromise between present and past. Throughout history, societies that do this, that manage to “let the dead bury their dead”, have tended to succeed and move forward. Those that cannot forget, that wander the stony paths of their past and drink at the rancid well of grievance, are those that decay from within. "
What do you think this paragraph means?
Do you agree or disagree with it?
Armistice Day is on 11 November and is also known as Remembrance Day.
It marks the day World War One ended, at 11am on the 11th day of the 11th month, in 1918. A two-minute silence is held at 11am to remember the people who have died in wars. There is also Remembrance Sunday every year, which falls on the second Sunday in November. This year, it will fall on Sunday 12 November.
On this day, there are usually ceremonies at war memorials, cenotaphs and churches throughout the country, as well as abroad. The Royal Family and top politicians gather at The Cenotaph in Whitehall, London, for a memorial service. The anniversary is used to remember all the people who have died in wars - not just World War One. This includes World War Two, the Falklands War, the Gulf War, and conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq.
Why do they hold a two-minute silence?
The first two-minute silence in Britain was held on 11 November 1919, when King George V asked the public to observe a silence at 11am. This was one year after the end of World War One. He made the request so "the thoughts of everyone may be concentrated on reverent remembrance of the glorious dead".
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, 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.
~ John McCrae, May 1915
Why do they wear poppies?
In the days leading up to 11 November, you will see people on the TV and in the streets wearing a poppy. This is a symbol to remember those who have given their lives in war. Millions of poppies will be given out over the coming days by tens of thousands of volunteers. The reason poppies are used to remember those who have given their lives in battle is because they are the flowers which grew on the battlefields after World War One ended.
Some anti-war songs and poems
JOHNNY I HARDLY KNEW YE (TRADITIONAL IRISH)
LYRICS: When goin' the road to sweet Athy, hurroo, hurroo When goin' the road to sweet Athy, hurroo, hurroo When goin' the road to sweet Athy A stick in me hand and a drop in me eye A doleful damsel I heard cry, Johnny I hardly knew ye. With your drums and guns and guns and drums, hurroo, hurroo With your drums and guns and guns and drums, hurroo, hurroo With your drums and guns and guns and drums The enemy nearly slew ye Oh darling dear, Ye look so queer Johnny I hardly knew ye. Where are the eyes that looked so mild, hurroo, hurroo Where are the eyes that looked so mild, hurroo, hurroo Where are the eyes that looked so mild When my poor heart you first beguiled Why did ye run from me and the child Oh Johnny, I hardly knew ye. Where are the legs we looked you run, hurroo, hurroo Where are the legs we looked you run, hurroo, hurroo Where are the legs that looked you run But first you went to carry a gun Indeed your dancing days are done Oh Johnny, I hardly knew ye. Ye haven't an arm, ye haven't a leg, hurroo, hurroo Ye haven't an arm, ye haven't a leg, hurroo, hurroo Ye haven't an arm, ye haven't a leg Ye're an armless, boneless, chickenless egg You'll have to be left with a bowl out to beg Oh Johnny I hardly knew ye. I'm happy for to see ye home, hurroo, hurroo I'm happy for to see ye home, hurroo, hurroo I'm happy for to see ye home All from the island of Sulloon So low in flesh, so high in bone Oh Johnny I hardly knew ye.
"BALLAD OF A HERO" BY KATE TEMPEST
Your Daddy is a soldier son,
Your Daddy’s gone to War,
His steady hands they hold his gun,
His aim is keen and sure.
Your Daddy’s in the desert now,
The darkness and the dust,
He’s fighting for his country, yes,
He’s doing it for us.
Your Daddy’s coming home soon though,
Not long now till he’s back,
We’ll dress you in your smartest shirt
And meet him down the track.
He’ll put you on his shoulders and
You’ll sing and clap and laugh,
I’ll wrap my arms around his waist,
And hold him close at last.
You Dad ain’t left the house again,
Your Dad ain’t brushed his teeth,
Your Dad keeps getting angry son,
At nights he doesn’t sleep.
He’s having his bad dreams again,
He seems worn out and weak,
I’ve tried to be there for him, but
We barely even speak.
He can’t think what to say to me,
He don’t know how to tell it,
Won medals for his bravery,
But just wants to forget it.
He’s drinking more than ever son,
Before, he never cried. But now,
I wake at night and feel
Him shaking by my side.
He spoke to me at last my son!
He turned to me in tears,
I held him close and kissed his face
And asked him what he feared.
He said it’s getting darker,
It hasn’t disappeared,
And I can see it sharper
Now the sand and smoke have cleared.
There was this kid he’d got to know,
Young boy. Just turned eighteen,
Bright and kind, his name was Joe,
He kept his rifle clean.
Joe’s girlfriend was expecting,
Joe loved to joke and laugh,
Joe marched in front of your old man,
As they patrolled a path.
Everything was quiet until
They heard the dreaded blast.
The man that marched in front of Joe
Was completely blown apart.
Some shrapnel hit Joe in the face,
Gouged both eyes at once,
The last thing those eyes ever saw
Was the man in front:
Limbs and flesh and bone and blood,
Torn up and thrown around,
And after that — just blackness.
The taste, the stink, the sound.
I tell you this my son because
I know what you’ll be like,
As soon as you’ve grown old enough
You’ll want to go and fight.
In whatever battle needs you,
You’ll pledge your blood and bone,
Not in the name of good or evil -
But in the name of home.
Your dad believes in fighting.
He fights for you and I,
But the men that send the armies in
Will never hear him cry.
I don’t support the war my son,
I don’t believe it’s right,
But I do support the soldiers who
Go off to war to fight.
Troops just like your daddy son,
Soldiers through and through,
Who wear their uniform with pride,
And do what they’re told to do.
When you’re grown, my sweet, my love,
Please don’t go fighting wars,
But fight the men that start them
Or fight a cause that’s yours.
It seems so full of honour, yes,
So valiant, so bold,
But the men that send the armies in
Send them in for gold,
Or they send them in for oil,
And they tell us it’s for Britain,
But the men come home like Daddy,
And spend their days just drinking.