Remembering

Canadian physician Lieutenant-Colonel John McRae wrote this poem on May 3, 1915, after presiding over the funeral of his friend Lieutenant Alexis Helmer who died in the gun positions near Ypres.

In Flanders Fields

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.

The poem has been set to music many times, but this is my favourite version.

The Oxen

There`s an ancient tradition that the beasts of the field kneel at midnight on Christmas Eve to honour the birth of Christ in a lowly stable. British novelist and poet Thomas Hardy (1840-1928) told the story of Christmas Eve in his poem `The Oxen`written in 1915.

I learned this poem when I was at school, and it has always meant Christmas Eve to me, and I wonder if the animals really do kneel at midnight. I`ve never looked. I don`t want to be disappointed.

The Oxen

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.

“Now they are all on their knees,”

An elder said as we sat in a flock

By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where

They dwelt in their strawy pen,

Nor did it occur to one of us there

To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave

In these years! Yet, I feel,

If someone said on Christmas Eve,

“Come; see the oxen kneel,

“In the lonely barton by yonder coomb

Our childhood used to know,”

I should go with him in the gloom,

Hoping it might be so.