Lest We Forget. Powerful words.

This morning, as rays of a golden prairie sunrise glisten on the local cenotaph, I read the names engraved into the stone. As Remembrance Day draws near, I am overwhelmed to think of those who fought and died for this beautiful country.

I am saddened that so many never again got to enjoy the beauty of a prairie sunrise; that so many paid the ultimate price far away from home in foreign lands. All so that we could live in freedom.

Canada’s heart and soul has its roots in those sacrifices. I am grateful, not just on November 11th, but every day, for those who served our country.

Canada was brought into World War One in 1914 because we belonged to the British Empire. It wasn’t a question as to whether one should fight for their country. They just did.

Fathers, sons, grandsons, brothers, left their families, their farms, their jobs, and went to fight a war in battlefields across the world while women at home came into their own. They worked as nursing sisters, served in the Army Corps, were war correspondents and attended training schools for spies. They worked in factories and ran their family farms and businesses.

During “the Great War,” 650,000 Canadians and Newfoundlanders served. 66,000 never came home. The 172,00 that returned wounded were often changed forever.

My grandfather in Ontario was one of those. He came home a changed man, and he struggled the rest of his life. For him, the battles never ended. In his mind he could always hear the bombs falling and the screams of his comrades. 

Every town, farm, village, city across Canada saw someone go to serve.

On the Castor and District cenotaph, eight names are listed under “Killed in the Line of Duty: World War One.” Eight young men that never returned to their families, their farms, their lives. 

It was called “the War to end all Wars.” It was not.

Twenty-one years later, in 1939, over one million Canadians and Newfoundlanders answered the call to serve.

“From far and wide. O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.” Our National Anthem says it all. They stood on guard for us. 44,090 gave their lives and 55,000 were wounded.

On our local cenotaph, there are 33 names listed under “Killed in the Line of Duty: World War Two.”

Not all the suffering took place on the battlefield. I can’t imagine the fear and worry of those who watched their husbands, sons, daughters, and grandchildren leave for a country far from their world. Many to never return.

There is a telegram, pressed in our family bible, that my mother received from her sister: “Jimmy officially reported killed in action Sept. 23, 1944.” He left a wife, two little boys and a newborn who never knew his father. He is buried in a war cemetery in Ortona, Italy.

My cousin left his family farm to fight. He was wounded in Italy and returned home to his family, never to talk about the war.

Another of my cousins, now 98-years-old, was recently honored by the French Legion of Honor for serving with the Calgary Highlanders Regiment and fighting in the invasion of Normandy on July 6, 1944.

We are just one family. There are so many stories like ours among families across our country.

Every year, generations become further and further removed from understanding the human toll of these wars; from seeing anything but plastic poppies and unknown names on aging cenotaphs.

This Remembrance Day, please take a moment to consider the people who fought for our country, and the very real people who continue to serve.

Honor them. Go to your local Remembrance Day Service or watch the National Service on TV. Take the time to read the names on the local cenotaph. Buy a poppy. Go to your local Field of Honor Cemetery. Remember them.

Lest We Forget.

- Beth