Lest We Forget

Yesterday and today were days of remembering. Last night the Langford Bible study was a special Remembrance Day one. We watched a tape of the commemoration ceremony for the 60th anniversary of D-Day, and afterwards read a couple of verses and a story about enemies coming together in God's presence even during war time. It was held in Normandy, right along the beach where the Allies landed, and in the open air. A large group of singer/actors did a number of pieces (in French, so I couldn't understand the words, but the meaning was often clear... or at least the feeling) that were absolutely beautiful. They had different people come up and speak about the influence that battle of Normandy has had on their lives. Narrators in French and English gave parts of the history of the battle, while scenes, pictures and video clips from the time played on large fabric sheet/screens in the background. All in all, the ceremony was very moving, and I just about shed tears when the story of how a bagpiper was instructed to start playing, because the Allies had come to rescue Normandy was told, and a bagpiper began the refrain of Amazing Grace. I can't begin to fathom what the men who fought on that beach sixty years ago must have felt. To hear that tune... did it bring them straight back to the fearful, merciless, desperate day of fighting, when they heard the strains of hope cutting through the clash of battle...?

Today mom and I went down to the epitaph. We miscalculated traffic/parking, and so (with frustration and anger, I'm ashamed to admit) we missed the official minute of silence, but we went down anyway. It was... amazing. The guns were firing, once every minute. There were no cars for blocks, thanks to the blockaded roads, and although there were thousands of people, it was very quiet. Hushed communication; soldiers standing silent and stiff; propellers of a plane taxiing and taking off; smoke from the blasts settling into the air; rhythmic shots at invisible enemies; a sense of some presence looming on the horizon. Was this a small inkling of how the people of Normandy, or indeed any other invaded town, felt as the realization first dawned on them that they were being taken hostage? As I looked around, the feelings of the past settled on the scene around me like a blanket. Today children played, people talked, jugglers practiced their act, but their colours seemed muted—not a sound was uttered as balls were tossed back and forth; were the people silent in wonder and fear as the soldiers marched in, and the sound of terror cracked across the distance? Today modern guns shot their charges while honoured soldiers moved in formation and seagulls scattered in the air. The roar of seaplanes taking off easily became the propellered fighter planes of World War II. Was it the drone of planes they heard first once upon a time, or did explosions reach them first? Later, as the band played, patriotism and rejoicing stirred the hearts of all there and joined them as one body, singing out to God to protect our sovereign queen. Do you not think that cities released from bondage would cast aside their differences and dance with a neighbour, a stranger, an enemy, with thanksgiving and praise in their hearts? That is how it should always be, my brothers and sisters—what a world that would be! ...Then later still, the poppies were lovingly placed on wreathes surrounding the epitaph—simple symbols celebrating and mourning those who were lost, and remembering those who survive and those who continue to fight.

Lest We Forget.