Veterans Day

 

DENCHFIELD RAYMOND

CAPT. US ARMY

30 NOV 1950

KIA CHOSIN RESERVOIR

We are a military family. Men in every generation back to the 1700s (and probably before) have donned the uniform of their country. Fortunately, all except one returned home safely to pass away of old age. Today is for Capt. Raymond C. Denchfield.

WHEN HELL FREEZES OVER
By Judith Knight

We've all heard
This casual remark
And thought little of it
And just as well
For whoever heard
Of a frozen hell

Well listen to me
And you will know
Of the frozen hell
Where soldiers go
I can tell you now
How it was then
When I went to hell
And back again.

It was back in fifty
You know the score
When the Thirty-first
Went off to war.
We were the Polar Bears!
We'd been around,
But we almost lost it
On that frozen ground.

It was called Chosin
That frozen place
Unhabitable I'd say
By Gods own race
But there we were
At forty below with frozen ear
And frozen toe
With weapon frozen
To the hand
Then forced to fight
For this bitter land
Out-numbered there
By the Devils brood
Fighting to death
And dying crude.

We did not bleed
For our blood was frozen
There on the battleground
We recall as Chosin
And on we went
Our numbers small
To Hagarui-ri,
As I recall.

And even in Hell
A hero's born
And we had ours
That frozen morn
When Donald Faith
Redeemed us there
But stayed behind
In the Devils lair.

Like one before
A sacrifice made
He gave his life
For those he saved
Four thousand strong
Were nevermore
Three thousand lay
On the Devils floor

And of those left
To fight again
There were but a handful
Of Faith's own men
He led us out
That day from Hell
It's sacred ground
Where our hero fell.

A rag-tag lot
Half-frozen men
Half-able but willing
To fight again
And I am one
And you may be too
We are known today
As the Chosin Few!

A Pittance of Time

National Veterans Foundation

On November 11, 1999 Terry Kelly was in a Shoppers Drug Mart store in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia. At 10:55 AM an announcement came over the store's PA asking customers who would still be on the premises at 11:00 AM to give two minutes of silence in respect to the veterans who have sacrificed so much for us.

Terry was impressed with the store's leadership role in adopting the Legion's "two minutes of silence" initiative. He felt that the store's contribution of educating the public to the importance of remembering was commendable.

When eleven o'clock arrived on that day, an announcement was again made asking for the "two minutes of silence" to commence. All customers, with the exception of a man who was accompanied by his young child, showed their respect.

Terry's anger towards the father for trying to engage the store's clerk in conversation and for setting a bad example for his child was later channeled into a beautiful piece of work called, "A Pittance of Time". Terry later recorded "A Pittance of Time" and included it on his full-length music CD, "The Power of the Dream".

While the uniforms are Canadian, the sentiment applies to all veterans everywhere. Remember them all on their day for just a pittance of time.

11th Hour 11th Day 11th Month

This is probably the most famous poem to come out of World War I. The whole story of the poem can be found here on the Arlington Cemetery site.

In Flanders Fields

By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)

Canadian Army

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.

And then there is another great poem:

GRASS

By: Carl Sandburg

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.

Shovel them under and let me work -
I am the grass; I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg

And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.

Shovel them under and let me work.

Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
What place is this?

Where are we now?
I am the grass.Let me work.