A lone Belgian boy is waiting at the side of a road to salute Canadian troops as they pass by. The Canadians had just attended a memorial service
Canadian troops, including both of my grandfathers, fought valiantly at the Battle of Ypres, in Belgium. I was given a beautifully embroidered handkerchief from Belgium by my Granny Dey. My grandfather had bought it for her during the war in Belgium. It is one of my treasures.
Please take a moment to watch this amazing video:
Such class from the Canadian troops...watch what they do for this little boy. Makes me so proud to be a Canadian.
The "Eyes Right" command is the biggest compliment troops on parade can pay and is normally reserved for dignitaries in reviewing stands.
And Lest we forget...please hold a minute of silence at 11:00 tomorrow morning (the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month) for all those men and women who fought and died for our freedom.
From the Canadian War Museum website:
"The poppy is the recognized symbol of remembrance for war dead in Canada, the countries of the British Commonwealth, and the United States. The flower owes its significance to the poem In Flanders Fields, written by Major (later Lieutenant-Colonel) John McCrae, a doctor with the Canadian Army Medical Corps, in the midst of the Second Battle of Ypres, in Belgium, in May 1915.
The poppy references in the first and last stanzas of the most widely read and oft-quoted poem of the war contributed to the flower's status as an emblem of remembrance and a symbol of new growth amidst the devastation of war."
Below is the poem, In Flanders Fields, which I was required in school to memorize as a young girl in Alberta, Canada:
In Flanders Fields
by John McCrae
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.
My Grandfather, James Dey (World War I)