Michael Craig with a piece he initially wrote for a blog Red Plough in 2010. It is worthwhile republishing in the context of the discussion started by a piece from Maitiu Connel that featured on TPQ.
The eleventh day of November is a day of remembrance for me,
a date of coincidence as well as personal memories, a lot more than could be
fitted into that 'minute of silence'.
Even though some of those who are the subjects of my
thoughts are not directly connected to the day of remembrance as it was
originally intended, I have not lost sight of that intention.
A poem penned in anguish by a Canadian surgeon on the
battlefield at Flanders in WW1, after the death of a comrade, began the
association of the crimson poppy with the war dead and a desire for peace.
The poppy was first used as a memorial symbol in America and
then France, when paper poppies were made and sold to raise funds to help
children orphaned by the war.
The British connection only began in 1921 when the newly
founded British Legion started the 'Poppy Day Appeal' to collect for poor and
disabled veterans.
That the organisation's main founder had been the
Commander-in-Chief of the British armed forces in Europe, the man ultimately
responsible for sending hundreds of thousands 'over the top' to certain,
inescapable death is ironic, to say the least.
WW1 was a battle for territory lost in previous wars between
many colonial powers who shared all manner of treaties and alliances, some of
the participating countries using war as a convenient way to counter social
upheavals in their own jurisdictions. The millions of ordinary working class
people of all nationalities who died had nothing whatever to gain by fighting
in this war, so while I believe it is right to remember them, the language of
the organised memorial denies this truth and glorifies war.
A poet whose words described the horror of WW1 more vividly
than any picture, was to be one of its last victims. The young Wilfred Owen
wrote:
Dulce et Decorum EstBent double, like old beggars under sacks,Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,Till on the haunting flares we turned our backsAnd 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 hootsOf 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 stumblingAnd 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 paceBehind 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 bloodCome gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cudOf vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, –My friend, you would not tell with such high zestTo children ardent for some desperate glory,The old Lie: Dulce et decorum estPro patria mori.
My paternal Grandfather was taken in by that lie, so keen
was he to fight for his country that he couldn't wait until adulthood. Adding a
year to his age on the application, the young Willie Craig went to France in
1915 where he soon learned that war was more about brutality than glory. Like
most of those involved in the battles of WW1 Willie didn't talk much about his
experiences but here's one of the few that he did pass on.
One warm summer night Willie was on watch in the trench
illuminated by the full Moon. As he crouched, his back against the wall with
his rifle resting upright by his side, bayonet pointing towards the cloudless
sky he heard a scraping sound coming from 'no man's land', above and behind
him. Without getting up or moving the rifle, he reached over and placed his
finger on the trigger. Just then a shadow appeared on the opposite wall of the
trench, someone was coming over the top above him. When the shadow grew bigger
Willie called out, 'who goes there?', but when he got no reply he pulled the
trigger, the rifle shot rang out followed by the thud of a body hitting the
floor of the trench. When the dust cleared, Willie was amazed to find that he
had not shot and killed an enemy soldier but a giant rat, which had been
feeding on the rotting corpses in 'no Man's land'.
A few weeks after this incident Willie was caught in a gas
attack, he was captured and spent the rest of the war in Germany as slave
labour in a coal mine. Returning to Belfast at the end of the war, my
grandfather with damaged lungs from the gassing and the mine, joined the ranks
of the unemployed digging the streets for relief payments, suffering state
brutality in the strike of 1932. By WW2 he had gained employment as a sorter in
the Royal mail, where he remained until his retirement in the 1960's.
If the wearing the poppy was about remembrance of people
like my Grandfather, I would be happy to wear one, but unfortunately the war to
end all wars did not, and the settlement agreed in its aftermath led to WW2.
It could be argued that WW2 was necessary because it was the
only way to stop World domination by fascism, but there were many opportunities
to prevent the fascists from taking power in the first place, but no will to do
so.
Since WW2 British forces have been involved in 60 wars, most
of these were imperialist, none can be justified. David Cameron gave the game
away in a debate with the football association this week when he said, “wearing
the poppy is an act of national pride”.
Jingoist Cameron and Irish nationalists share the mistaken
view that the poppy is an exclusively British symbol of remembrance.
As an Irish Socialist I am not anti-British but I certainly
am anti-imperialist and anti-war. Coincidently, my father, a life-long pacifist died on 11th
hour of 11th November in 1984!
Agree loyalists/Unionists monopolised the poppy, which is one reason why eurofree3.wordpress.com suggests wearing a green poppy to celebrate all irish people who died in war.
ReplyDeleteIn the same post have a look at the fate of catholic ex-servicemen in loyalist belfast after they were demobbed."Catholic ex-servicemen don't count"
Good article and it really is a shame that a poppy is so contentious.
ReplyDelete" Only began in 1921 when the newly founded british legion started the poppy day appeal to collect for poor and disabled veterans "
ReplyDeleteThose youth that joined up and came home veterans and limb-less
did so because of government propaganda and Royal pleas for help and the medias lies-the main movers and shakers who were the donkeys who led the youth-yet when the veterans came home they were shunned and their familys got
little help-it was left to the people to come up with the support and the money-the land was only fit for the lords-the heros starved with their own-
As I said on Maitiu’s piece the poppy doesn’t bother me but then again I only associate it with the great wars and it’s a pity that its original meaning has been hijacked for political expedience.
ReplyDeleteThere are those who wear it with pride in genuine somber remembrance but most wear one in an act of fitting in as in look at me I am one of the good people.
I think for the better part flags and emblems are trivial especially in Northern Ireland were we tend to look for any reason to disagree.
MH.See nothings changed.dont be suprised to see wee marty sporting 1 next year standing with the chief cuntstoble.
ReplyDelete