Memorial Day
May. 25th, 2015 01:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shadowkatOn Friday, the Railroad had a ceremony honoring the veterans, and those who served and died in various wars. There was a little parade, bagpipes were played, and speeches made. As I stood there in the blazing sunlight, a soft wind rippling the flags in our hands and sitting at half mast on the pole...I remembered ages ago, sitting in my great uncle's living room as he attempted to tell us about his experience in the Battle of the Bulge, one of the worst battles of WWII.
I had recently returned from collecting ghost stories and legends in Wales. And I was regaling my family with stories from my trip. My Uncle immediately lit up and told me, that he too had been in Wales but in the 1940s, right before heading off to France and fighting in the War. It was hard to make out half of what he said, for one thing others were talking at the time...they began to quiet when they realized what we were talking about. And for another, My Uncle at the age of 80 some years, was death in one ear, and had troubles locating the right words. Syntax can be a problem at any age, but it becomes more so as you get older.
What I do remember from that conversation which took place over 20 years ago...is related below.
"I remember being hungry," he told me, as if no one else was there. Just him and me. "We had cans, but no can opener.
Must have forgotten it somehow. So we shot them open. Tricky. But not worried about anyone hearing. The gunfire was so loud they wouldn't heard it down in that bunker anyhow. We ate what was inside cold.
There were bodies everywhere. You couldn't really smell much." He seemed puzzled by that.
"I remember my hands shaking as I held the...gun," (I couldn't make out what he called it) " and firing into the dark. We were half blind anyhow. Couldn't see who we were firing at."
"It was cold. So cold. And no one slept.
We huddled there for hours, firing at shadows. Half death from the gunfire and the explosions."
"But mostly? I remember being hungry and cold, and afraid." Afterwards, on the way home, my parents discussed it with me. Apparently my Uncle had never told this story to anyone. Not his wife, not his kids. The room had gone dead quiet when we were talking. It was just him and me talking. Mainly him. My father, a frustrated historian, told me that the Battle of the Bulge was amongst the worst battles in the war, many died during it - it was harrowing.
Not long after that, I had a discussions with others about that Great War, the War to end all wars, yet it didn't, did it? My Grandmother's twin brother, a sensitive man, was an ambulance driver in the Great War and amongst the first inside the death camps at Aushwitz. It changed him. He was never the same afterwards...ended up drinking himself to death (I think, it's hard to remember what exactly happened). And a friend of my mother's told me that her husband had been amongst the first to rescue people from the camps...and he was still to this day, somewhat traumatized by the horrors he'd seen. That, it was unimaginable. The open graves. The stink.
All of it.
I've never heard a good story about war.
And I've seen first hand the scars it leaves on families. It scarred my Grandmother who had lost her twin brother to it. And it scarred my Uncle's family. And on Friday, there was a K9 dog named after a fallen service man in either Iraq or Afganistan, can't remember which, who had been blown apart by a bomb.
Last night, I watched the Avengers - a film that was packed with violence. After we left, my friend commented on how many civilians were killed in the movie. That you'd think - they'd want no part of these so-called heroes, The Avengers, after all that death. That wherever the Avengers went, there was lots of death afterwards. And the film had a heavy theme regarding WAR - violence merely creates more violence.
On this Memorial Day, I'm sorry, I just can't honor war, or the men and women who choose for whatever to engage in violence to prove a point or to win a goal or to solve a problem, but I do honor the poor souls forever scarred by it. I do honor the soliders who bravely enter it, trying to do the right thing by their beliefs, their families, their country -- who are tring to make the world better, and are so deeply scarred as a result. For violence scars us, changes us, remakes us. It is, unfortunately, deeply embedded in our culture - even though our stories, all our stories and histories advise strongly against it.
I hope for a day when we can fight for our beliefs and freedom without engaging in violence, and scarring both the earth and ourselves to obtain it. I hope for the day when we figure out another way, a way that does not end in death or destruction.
I had recently returned from collecting ghost stories and legends in Wales. And I was regaling my family with stories from my trip. My Uncle immediately lit up and told me, that he too had been in Wales but in the 1940s, right before heading off to France and fighting in the War. It was hard to make out half of what he said, for one thing others were talking at the time...they began to quiet when they realized what we were talking about. And for another, My Uncle at the age of 80 some years, was death in one ear, and had troubles locating the right words. Syntax can be a problem at any age, but it becomes more so as you get older.
What I do remember from that conversation which took place over 20 years ago...is related below.
"I remember being hungry," he told me, as if no one else was there. Just him and me. "We had cans, but no can opener.
Must have forgotten it somehow. So we shot them open. Tricky. But not worried about anyone hearing. The gunfire was so loud they wouldn't heard it down in that bunker anyhow. We ate what was inside cold.
There were bodies everywhere. You couldn't really smell much." He seemed puzzled by that.
"I remember my hands shaking as I held the...gun," (I couldn't make out what he called it) " and firing into the dark. We were half blind anyhow. Couldn't see who we were firing at."
"It was cold. So cold. And no one slept.
We huddled there for hours, firing at shadows. Half death from the gunfire and the explosions."
"But mostly? I remember being hungry and cold, and afraid." Afterwards, on the way home, my parents discussed it with me. Apparently my Uncle had never told this story to anyone. Not his wife, not his kids. The room had gone dead quiet when we were talking. It was just him and me talking. Mainly him. My father, a frustrated historian, told me that the Battle of the Bulge was amongst the worst battles in the war, many died during it - it was harrowing.
Not long after that, I had a discussions with others about that Great War, the War to end all wars, yet it didn't, did it? My Grandmother's twin brother, a sensitive man, was an ambulance driver in the Great War and amongst the first inside the death camps at Aushwitz. It changed him. He was never the same afterwards...ended up drinking himself to death (I think, it's hard to remember what exactly happened). And a friend of my mother's told me that her husband had been amongst the first to rescue people from the camps...and he was still to this day, somewhat traumatized by the horrors he'd seen. That, it was unimaginable. The open graves. The stink.
All of it.
I've never heard a good story about war.
And I've seen first hand the scars it leaves on families. It scarred my Grandmother who had lost her twin brother to it. And it scarred my Uncle's family. And on Friday, there was a K9 dog named after a fallen service man in either Iraq or Afganistan, can't remember which, who had been blown apart by a bomb.
Last night, I watched the Avengers - a film that was packed with violence. After we left, my friend commented on how many civilians were killed in the movie. That you'd think - they'd want no part of these so-called heroes, The Avengers, after all that death. That wherever the Avengers went, there was lots of death afterwards. And the film had a heavy theme regarding WAR - violence merely creates more violence.
On this Memorial Day, I'm sorry, I just can't honor war, or the men and women who choose for whatever to engage in violence to prove a point or to win a goal or to solve a problem, but I do honor the poor souls forever scarred by it. I do honor the soliders who bravely enter it, trying to do the right thing by their beliefs, their families, their country -- who are tring to make the world better, and are so deeply scarred as a result. For violence scars us, changes us, remakes us. It is, unfortunately, deeply embedded in our culture - even though our stories, all our stories and histories advise strongly against it.
I hope for a day when we can fight for our beliefs and freedom without engaging in violence, and scarring both the earth and ourselves to obtain it. I hope for the day when we figure out another way, a way that does not end in death or destruction.