Memorial Day (Observed)

[Team Sergeant]

HEADQUARTERS GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC

Washington D.C. May 5, 1868

General Orders No. 11

I. The 30th day of May, 1868, is designated for the purpose of strewing with flowers, or other decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country during the late rebellion, and whose bodies now lie in almost every city, village and hamlet churchyard in the land. In this observance no form of ceremony is prescribed, but Posts and comrades will, in their own way, arrange such fitting services and testimonials of respect as circumstances may permit.

We are organized, Comrades, as our regulations tell us, for the purpose among other things, “of preserving and strengthening those kind and fraternal feelings which have bound together the soldiers, sailors and marines who united to suppress the late rebellion.” What can aid more to assure this result than by cherishing tenderly the memory of our heroic dead? We should guard their graves with sacred vigilance. All that the consecrated wealth and taste of the nation can add to their adornment and security is but a fitting tribute to the memory of her slain defenders. Let pleasant paths invite the coming and going of reverent visitors and fond mourners. Let no neglect, no ravages of time, testify to the present or to the coming generations that we have forgotten as a people the cost of a free and undivided republic.

If other eyes grow dull and other hands slack, and other hearts cold in the solemn trust, ours shall keep it well as long as the light and warmth of life remain in us.

Let us, then, at the time appointed, gather around their sacred remains and garland the passionless mounds above them with choicest flowers of springtime; let us raise above them the dear old flag they saved; let us in this solemn presence renew our pledge to aid and to assist those whom they have left among us as a sacred charge upon the Nation’s gratitude – the soldier’s and sailor’s widow and orphan.

II. It is the purpose of the Commander-in-Chief to inaugurate this observance with the hope that it will be kept up from year to year, while a survivor of the war remains to honor the memory of his departed comrades. He earnestly desires the public press to call attention to this Order, and lend its friendly aid in bringing it to the notice of comrades in all parts of the country in time for simultaneous compliance therewith.

Department Commanders will use every effort to make this Order effective. By Command of:

N.P. Chipman John A. Logan
Adjutant General Commander-in-Chief

[Guy]

I'll go alone again...cry a bit then...

"Hit'em hard at work!"

RIP!

Stay safe.

[Team Sergeant]

"BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD"



The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo;
No more on life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.
On Fame's eternal camping-ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And Glory guards, with solemn round,
The bivouac of the dead.

No rumor of the foe's advance
Now swells upon the wind;
Nor troubled thought at midnight haunts
Of loved ones left behind;
No vision of the morrow's strife
The warrior's dream alarms;
No braying horn nor screaming fife
At dawn shall call to arms.

Their shriveled swords are red with rust,
Their plumed heads are bowed,
Their haughty banner, trailed in dust,
Is now their martial shroud.
And plenteous funeral tears have washed
The red stains from each brow,
And the proud forms, by battle gashed
Are free from anguish now.

The neighing troop, the flashing blade,
The bugle's stirring blast,
The charge, the dreadful cannonade,
The din and shout, are past;
Nor war's wild note nor glory's peal
Shall thrill with fierce delight
Those breasts that nevermore may feel
The rapture of the fight.

Like the fierce northern hurricane
That sweeps the great plateau,
Flushed with the triumph yet to gain,
Came down the serried foe,
Who heard the thunder of the fray
Break o'er the field beneath,
Knew well the watchword of that day
Was "Victory or death!"

Long had the doubtful conflict raged
O'er all that stricken plain,
For never fiercer fight had waged
The vengeful blood of Spain;
And still the storm of battle blew,
Still swelled the gory tide;
Not long, our stout old chieftain knew,
Such odds his strength could bide.

Twas in that hour his stern command
Called to a martyr's grave
The flower of his beloved land,
The nation's flag to save.
By rivers of their father's gore
His first-born laurels grew,
And well he deemed the sons would pour
Their lives for glory too.

For many a mother's breath has swept
O'er Angostura's plain --
And long the pitying sky has wept
Above its moldered slain.
The raven's scream, or eagle's flight,
Or shepherd's pensive lay,
Alone awakes each sullen height
That frowned o'er that dread fray.

Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground
Ye must not slumber there,
Where stranger steps and tongues resound
Along the heedless air.
Your own proud land's heroic soil
Shall be your fitter grave;
She claims from war his richest spoil --
The ashes of her brave.

Thus 'neath their parent turf they rest,
Far from the gory field,
Borne to a Spartan mother's breast
On many a bloody shield;
The sunshine of their native sky
Smiles sadly on them here,
And kindred eyes and hearts watch by
The heroes sepulcher.

Rest on embalmed and sainted dead!
Dear as the blood ye gave;
No impious footstep shall here tread
The herbage of your grave;
Nor shall your glory be forgot
While fame her records keeps,
Or Honor points the hallowed spot
Where Valor proudly sleeps.

Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone
In deathless song shall tell,
When many a vanquished ago has flown,
The story how ye fell;
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight,
Nor Time's remorseless doom,
Shall dim one ray of glory's light
That gilds your deathless tomb.

THEODORE O'HARA
Poet-Soldier

[Jack Moroney (RIP)]

First, if someone wishes me another "Happy Memorial Day" I think I'll puke. There is nothing happy about celebrating the death of a comrade.

Second, there is not a day that goes by that I do not think about those with whom I served. To quote an infamous TV line, "I don't need no stinkin' Memorial Day" to remind me about anything. It is just another day the post office doesn't have to deliver mail dispite the fact that they keep on increasing the price of postage to ensure that it can. Go figure!

Third, while Memorial Day may assuage the guilt of the civilian community during a short ceremony prior to the big barbecue to celebrate the true meaning of memorial day-the start of summer-many do not seem to know the difference, or care, between Veterans' Day and Memorial Day. You can thank the NEA for that. I live with the guilt of what could I have done differently, or why was I not there when this all went down, or where did I fail those for whom I was either responsible or could have stood for had it been my turn in the barrel and I live it everyday not just one day out of the year.

Fourth, if the date is so special, why in hell does it fall on the last Monday of May rather than on the 30th which was the date for which is was created? I guess you have to create a three day weekend so folks might just stumble over the reason why they have the day off.

Yep it is special all right. If I had my way the village idiots would not be allowed to return to their states for their Memorial Day break during this day to drum up support for some other rediculous cause celeb before returning to Congress to further embarass the country and place the troops at additional risk. I would make them stand in formation on the veranda of Lee's Mansion where they can look down at the Capitol while they overlook the graves of those that gave their lives in the name of freedom as defined by political agendas and personal egos.

[Guy]

I am a PROFESSIONAL SOLDIER

I will teach and fight wherever my nation requires.

I will strive always, to excel in every art and artifice of war.

I know that I will be called upon to perform tasks

in isolation, far from familiar faces and voices,

with the help and guidance of my God.

I will keep my mind and body clean, alert and strong,

for this is my debt to those who depend upon me.

I will not fail those with whom I serve.

I will not bring shame upon myself or the forces.

I will maintain myself, my arms, and my equipment

in an immaculate state as befits a Special Forces soldier.

I will never surrender though I be the last.

If I am taken, I pray that I may have the strength

to spit upon my enemy.

My goal is to succeed in any mission

- and live to succeed again.

I am a member of my nation's chosen soldiery.

God grant that I may not be found wanting,

that I will not fail this sacred trust.

"De Oppresso Liber"

[Snaquebite]

In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

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.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

McCrae's "In Flanders Fields" remains to this day one of the most memorable war poems ever written. It is a lasting legacy of the terrible battle in the Ypres salient in the spring of 1915. Here is the story of the making of that poem:

Although he had been a doctor for years and had served in the South African War, it was impossible to get used to the suffering, the screams, and the blood here, and Major John McCrae had seen and heard enough in his dressing station to last him a lifetime.

As a surgeon attached to the 1st Field Artillery Brigade, Major McCrae, who had joined the McGill faculty in 1900 after graduating from the University of Toronto, had spent seventeen days treating injured men -- Canadians, British, Indians, French, and Germans -- in the Ypres salient.

It had been an ordeal that he had hardly thought possible. McCrae later wrote of it:

"I wish I could embody on paper some of the varied sensations of that seventeen days... Seventeen days of Hades! At the end of the first day if anyone had told us we had to spend seventeen days there, we would have folded our hands and said it could not have been done."

One death particularly affected McCrae. A young friend and former student, Lieut. Alexis Helmer of Ottawa, had been killed by a shell burst on 2 May 1915. Lieutenant Helmer was buried later that day in the little cemetery outside McCrae's dressing station, and McCrae had performed the funeral ceremony in the absence of the chaplain.

The next day, sitting on the back of an ambulance parked near the dressing station beside the Canal de l'Yser, just a few hundred yards north of Ypres, McCrae vented his anguish by composing a poem. The major was no stranger to writing, having authored several medical texts besides dabbling in poetry.

In the nearby cemetery, McCrae could see the wild poppies that sprang up in the ditches in that part of Europe, and he spent twenty minutes of precious rest time scribbling fifteen lines of verse in a notebook.

A young soldier watched him write it. Cyril Allinson, a twenty-two year old sergeant-major, was delivering mail that day when he spotted McCrae. The major looked up as Allinson approached, then went on writing while the sergeant-major stood there quietly. "His face was very tired but calm as we wrote," Allinson recalled. "He looked around from time to time, his eyes straying to Helmer's grave."

When McCrae finished five minutes later, he took his mail from Allinson and, without saying a word, handed his pad to the young NCO. Allinson was moved by what he read:

"The poem was exactly an exact description of the scene in front of us both. He used the word blow in that line because the poppies actually were being blown that morning by a gentle east wind. It never occurred to me at that time that it would ever be published. It seemed to me just an exact description of the scene."

In fact, it was very nearly not published. Dissatisfied with it, McCrae tossed the poem away, but a fellow officer retrieved it and sent it to newspapers in England. The Spectator, in London, rejected it, but Punch published it on 8 December 1915.

[Snaquebite]

Day is done, gone the sun,
From the hills, from the lake,
From the sky.
All is well, safely rest,
God is nigh.

Go to sleep, peaceful sleep,
May the soldier or sailor,
God keep.
On the land or the deep,
Safe in sleep.

Love, good night, Must thou go,
When the day, And the night
Need thee so?
All is well. Speedeth all
To their rest.

Fades the light; And afar
Goeth day, And the stars
Shineth bright,
Fare thee well; Day has gone,
Night is on.

Thanks and praise, For our days,
'Neath the sun, Neath the stars,
'Neath the sky,
As we go, This we know,
God is nigh.

[7624U]

“Do more than is required of you.”
GEORGE S. PATTON

They did.

[adal]

As Memorial Day is upon us I try to remember all the soldiers before us. The list of friends I "had" is growing. I am proud of, and miss dearly, each and every one.

I try to teach the "young pups" I currently work with the respect deserved to those soldiers that are no longer with us. I do this by leading from the front and by example. For many I am the only soldier they have day to day contact with. They may snear, laugh, or comment. In their hearts they know I'm right.

"Sheeple" today try to dissuade our youth and tell them it's wrong to be a soldier.

I, as a QP, am there to tell them they are wrong.

God bless all the Guardians of our way of life, past and present.

[Ambush Master]

In Honor of my many close Friends and Brothers that have not been "lost", but who gave their all for the rest of us, I salute you!!

As the Colonel said, "there is not a day that goes by that I do not think about those with whom I served. To quote an infamous TV line, "I don't need no stinkin' Memorial Day" to remind me about anything. It is just another day the post office doesn't have to deliver mail dispite the fact that they keep on increasing the price of postage to ensure that it can. Go figure!"

Rest In Peace Brothers and Sisters, I'll be looking for you all on that final DZ.

For the rest of you, that are still on the right side of the grass, Take Care!!

Martin

[Hipshot]

Saturday morning (May 26th - my Son's birthday), about 0700 MST, I worked with a bunch of volunteers putting flags on all of the graves at the National Memorial Cemetery. I don't know how many participated, but I can tell you that over 38,000 grave sites were adorned in less than an hour.

As I helped the Cub and Boy Scouts place the flags, I couldn't help but notice the names and branches of service represented. As to be expected in this part of America, we had a lot of World War 2, Korea, and some Vietnam veterans buried there. I even ran across some World War I vets.

After all the flags were placed and the workers were leaving, I stopped to take some time to reflect on what I had witnessed. I found a small bench near the final resting place of Fred Peters, a World War 2 Army Air Corps veteran laid to rest in 1996. He had been a Staff Sergeant during the war. From my work on a World War 2 web site for the 445th Bomb Group, I guessed that he had probably been a gunner on a B-17 or B-24. Knowing what he had lived through through my research, I wondered if anyone really understood the sacrifices that he and countless others, before and after, like him made during times of war.

Looking out across row after row of flags, like a sea of red, white and blue, I realized that most folks look on Memorial Day as a day off from work, no mail service, and a lot of old war movies on TV. I, for one, am glad that I decided to go up and help out. It made me appreciate what all of the vets have done for our Country. It was very humbling to be a part of that very select group of people. For me, Memorial and Veterans Days takes on a new meaning.

To all of the other vets out there - Thanks, guys and gals, for your service!

[The Reaper]

This is one of my favorites.

Thank you for your courage, your service, and your sacrifices, brothers.

TR

"If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day."

William Shakespeare - Henry V

[Bill Harsey]

A most respectful day, to those who have given all.


As already stated here, I remember year around my friends who have served in our military and gave all they possibly could.

[82ndtrooper]

As I read MSG Bob Horrigans biography this morning my son asked me "Who's that?" I replied by saying simply, "He's a Special Forces soldier who has given his life in order for us to remain free in the United States" We then looked up many others and read their bios as well.

Now we are going to Eden Park to the Vietnam Memorial service. I cant think of anything else that I would want to do with my son on this day. We have flags that we are going to place at the memorial.

Bios for those that have given their all in the SF community can be found here: http://www.quietpros.com/

God Bless those that have fallen for us.

[jwt5]

Gardens of Stone
Every military cemetery has its own name,
But all could be called gardens of stone.
With row after row of white granite markers,
Bearing names of fallen soldiers, except for the unknowns.

These places are quiet and always well tended
And a reverence and stillness prevails at the scene.
Its almost as if GOD has willed it to be,
to ensure those resting here, have a place that’s serene.

For many of these dead, who have given their all,
took part in campaigns that did not go well.
And so paid the price that some battles charge,
leaving each cross and star with its story to tell.

These tales will not be of sought after glory,
for in warfare, only fools have such dreams.
No, the stories will speak of the unfilled lives,
as many lying here, were still in their teens.

The years will pass by and the gravestones take on age,
and only spirits of sleeping warriors will now roam.
But homage will be paid, down through the years,
by those who know the meaning of these gardens of stone.

Donald A. Chase
15th Infantry Regiment

I don't know what to do. I've lost friends, and I don't know what to do. I feel ashamed that I'm still here and they're not. QPs and older Vets, does it get any easier?