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<blockquote data-quote="DS" data-source="post: 265068" data-attributes="member: 556"><p><strong><span style="color: #3333ff">[SIZE=+4]In Flanders Fields[/SIZE]</span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="color: #3333ff">[SIZE=+1]By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)[/SIZE]</span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="color: #3333ff">[SIZE=+1]Canadian Army[/SIZE]</span></strong> </p><p> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow'">[SIZE=+1]<span style="color: #000000">I</span><span style="color: #3333ff">N FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow</span>[/SIZE]</span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow'"><span style="color: #3333ff">[SIZE=+1]Between the crosses row on row,[/SIZE]</span></span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow'"><span style="color: #3333ff">[SIZE=+1]That mark our place; and in the sky[/SIZE]</span></span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow'"><span style="color: #3333ff">[SIZE=+1]The larks, still bravely singing, fly[/SIZE]</span></span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow'"><span style="color: #3333ff">[SIZE=+1]Scarce heard amid the guns below.[/SIZE]</span></span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow'"><span style="color: #3333ff">[SIZE=+1]We are the Dead. Short days ago[/SIZE]</span></span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow'"><span style="color: #3333ff">[SIZE=+1]We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,[/SIZE]</span></span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow'"><span style="color: #3333ff">[SIZE=+1]Loved and were loved, and now we lie[/SIZE]</span></span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow'"><span style="color: #3333ff">[SIZE=+1]In Flanders fields.[/SIZE]</span></span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow'"><span style="color: #3333ff">[SIZE=+1]Take up our quarrel with the foe:[/SIZE]</span></span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow'"><span style="color: #3333ff">[SIZE=+1]To you from failing hands we throw[/SIZE]</span></span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow'"><span style="color: #3333ff">[SIZE=+1]The torch; be yours to hold it high.[/SIZE]</span></span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow'"><span style="color: #3333ff">[SIZE=+1]If ye break faith with us who die[/SIZE]</span></span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow'"><span style="color: #3333ff">[SIZE=+1]We shall not sleep, though poppies grow[/SIZE]</span></span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow'"><span style="color: #3333ff">[SIZE=+1]In Flanders fields.[/SIZE]</span></span></strong> </p><p> </p><p><strong><span style="color: #000000">McCrae's "In Flanders Fields" remains to this day one of the most memorable war poems ever written. It is a lasting legacy of the terrible battle in the Ypres salient in the spring of 1915. Here is the story of the making of that poem:</span></strong> </p><p> </p><p><strong><span style="color: #000000">Although he had been a doctor for years and had served in the South African War, it was impossible to get used to the suffering, the screams, and the blood here, and Major John McCrae had seen and heard enough in his dressing station to last him a lifetime.</span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="color: #000000">As a surgeon attached to the 1st Field Artillery Brigade, Major McCrae, who had joined the McGill faculty in 1900 after graduating from the University of Toronto, had spent seventeen days treating injured men -- Canadians, British, Indians, French, and Germans -- in the Ypres salient.</span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="color: #000000">It had been an ordeal that he had hardly thought possible. McCrae later wrote of it:</span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="color: #000000">"I wish I could embody on paper some of the varied sensations of that seventeen days... Seventeen days of Hades! At the end of the first day if anyone had told us we had to spend seventeen days there, we would have folded our hands and said it could not have been done."</span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="color: #000000">One death particularly affected McCrae. A young friend and former student, Lieut. Alexis Helmer of Ottawa, had been killed by a shell burst on 2 May 1915. Lieutenant Helmer was buried later that day in the little cemetery outside McCrae's dressing station, and McCrae had performed the funeral ceremony in the absence of the chaplain.</span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="color: #000000">The next day, sitting on the back of an ambulance parked near the dressing station beside the Canal de l'Yser, just a few hundred yards north of Ypres, McCrae vented his anguish by composing a poem. The major was no stranger to writing, having authored several medical texts besides dabbling in poetry.</span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="color: #000000">In the nearby cemetery, McCrae could see the wild poppies that sprang up in the ditches in that part of Europe, and he spent twenty minutes of precious rest time scribbling fifteen lines of verse in a notebook.</span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="color: #000000">A young soldier watched him write it. Cyril Allinson, a twenty-two year old sergeant-major, was delivering mail that day when he spotted McCrae. The major looked up as Allinson approached, then went on writing while the sergeant-major stood there quietly. "His face was very tired but calm as we wrote," Allinson recalled. "He looked around from time to time, his eyes straying to Helmer's grave."</span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="color: #000000">When McCrae finished five minutes later, he took his mail from Allinson and, without saying a word, handed his pad to the young NCO. Allinson was moved by what he read:</span></strong> </p><p><strong><span style="color: #000000">"The poem was exactly an exact description of the scene in front of us both. He used the word blow in that line because the poppies actually were being blown that morning by a gentle east wind. It never occurred to me at that time that it would ever be published. It seemed to me just an exact description of the scene."</span></strong> <strong><span style="color: #000000">In fact, it was very nearly not published. Dissatisfied with it, McCrae tossed the poem away, but a fellow officer retrieved it and sent it to newspapers in England. The Spectator, in London, rejected it, but Punch published it on 8 December 1915.</span></strong></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="DS, post: 265068, member: 556"] [B][COLOR=#3333ff][SIZE=+4]In Flanders Fields[/SIZE][/COLOR][/B] [B][COLOR=#3333ff][SIZE=+1]By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)[/SIZE][/COLOR][/B] [B][COLOR=#3333ff][SIZE=+1]Canadian Army[/SIZE][/COLOR][/B] [B][FONT=Arial Narrow][SIZE=+1][COLOR=#000000]I[/COLOR][COLOR=#3333ff]N FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow[/COLOR][/SIZE][/FONT][/B] [B][FONT=Arial Narrow][COLOR=#3333ff][SIZE=+1]Between the crosses row on row,[/SIZE][/COLOR][/FONT][/B] [B][FONT=Arial Narrow][COLOR=#3333ff][SIZE=+1]That mark our place; and in the sky[/SIZE][/COLOR][/FONT][/B] [B][FONT=Arial Narrow][COLOR=#3333ff][SIZE=+1]The larks, still bravely singing, fly[/SIZE][/COLOR][/FONT][/B] [B][FONT=Arial Narrow][COLOR=#3333ff][SIZE=+1]Scarce heard amid the guns below.[/SIZE][/COLOR][/FONT][/B] [B][FONT=Arial Narrow][COLOR=#3333ff][SIZE=+1]We are the Dead. Short days ago[/SIZE][/COLOR][/FONT][/B] [B][FONT=Arial Narrow][COLOR=#3333ff][SIZE=+1]We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,[/SIZE][/COLOR][/FONT][/B] [B][FONT=Arial Narrow][COLOR=#3333ff][SIZE=+1]Loved and were loved, and now we lie[/SIZE][/COLOR][/FONT][/B] [B][FONT=Arial Narrow][COLOR=#3333ff][SIZE=+1]In Flanders fields.[/SIZE][/COLOR][/FONT][/B] [B][FONT=Arial Narrow][COLOR=#3333ff][SIZE=+1]Take up our quarrel with the foe:[/SIZE][/COLOR][/FONT][/B] [B][FONT=Arial Narrow][COLOR=#3333ff][SIZE=+1]To you from failing hands we throw[/SIZE][/COLOR][/FONT][/B] [B][FONT=Arial Narrow][COLOR=#3333ff][SIZE=+1]The torch; be yours to hold it high.[/SIZE][/COLOR][/FONT][/B] [B][FONT=Arial Narrow][COLOR=#3333ff][SIZE=+1]If ye break faith with us who die[/SIZE][/COLOR][/FONT][/B] [B][FONT=Arial Narrow][COLOR=#3333ff][SIZE=+1]We shall not sleep, though poppies grow[/SIZE][/COLOR][/FONT][/B] [B][FONT=Arial Narrow][COLOR=#3333ff][SIZE=+1]In Flanders fields.[/SIZE][/COLOR][/FONT][/B] [B][COLOR=#000000]McCrae's "In Flanders Fields" remains to this day one of the most memorable war poems ever written. It is a lasting legacy of the terrible battle in the Ypres salient in the spring of 1915. Here is the story of the making of that poem:[/COLOR][/B] [B][COLOR=#000000]Although he had been a doctor for years and had served in the South African War, it was impossible to get used to the suffering, the screams, and the blood here, and Major John McCrae had seen and heard enough in his dressing station to last him a lifetime.[/COLOR][/B] [B][COLOR=#000000]As a surgeon attached to the 1st Field Artillery Brigade, Major McCrae, who had joined the McGill faculty in 1900 after graduating from the University of Toronto, had spent seventeen days treating injured men -- Canadians, British, Indians, French, and Germans -- in the Ypres salient.[/COLOR][/B] [B][COLOR=#000000]It had been an ordeal that he had hardly thought possible. McCrae later wrote of it:[/COLOR][/B] [B][COLOR=#000000]"I wish I could embody on paper some of the varied sensations of that seventeen days... Seventeen days of Hades! At the end of the first day if anyone had told us we had to spend seventeen days there, we would have folded our hands and said it could not have been done."[/COLOR][/B] [B][COLOR=#000000]One death particularly affected McCrae. A young friend and former student, Lieut. Alexis Helmer of Ottawa, had been killed by a shell burst on 2 May 1915. Lieutenant Helmer was buried later that day in the little cemetery outside McCrae's dressing station, and McCrae had performed the funeral ceremony in the absence of the chaplain.[/COLOR][/B] [B][COLOR=#000000]The next day, sitting on the back of an ambulance parked near the dressing station beside the Canal de l'Yser, just a few hundred yards north of Ypres, McCrae vented his anguish by composing a poem. The major was no stranger to writing, having authored several medical texts besides dabbling in poetry.[/COLOR][/B] [B][COLOR=#000000]In the nearby cemetery, McCrae could see the wild poppies that sprang up in the ditches in that part of Europe, and he spent twenty minutes of precious rest time scribbling fifteen lines of verse in a notebook.[/COLOR][/B] [B][COLOR=#000000]A young soldier watched him write it. Cyril Allinson, a twenty-two year old sergeant-major, was delivering mail that day when he spotted McCrae. The major looked up as Allinson approached, then went on writing while the sergeant-major stood there quietly. "His face was very tired but calm as we wrote," Allinson recalled. "He looked around from time to time, his eyes straying to Helmer's grave."[/COLOR][/B] [B][COLOR=#000000]When McCrae finished five minutes later, he took his mail from Allinson and, without saying a word, handed his pad to the young NCO. Allinson was moved by what he read:[/COLOR][/B] [B][COLOR=#000000]"The poem was exactly an exact description of the scene in front of us both. He used the word blow in that line because the poppies actually were being blown that morning by a gentle east wind. It never occurred to me at that time that it would ever be published. It seemed to me just an exact description of the scene."[/COLOR][/B] [B][COLOR=#000000]In fact, it was very nearly not published. Dissatisfied with it, McCrae tossed the poem away, but a fellow officer retrieved it and sent it to newspapers in England. The Spectator, in London, rejected it, but Punch published it on 8 December 1915.[/COLOR][/B] [/QUOTE]
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