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War-weary WW1 surgeon penned In Flanders Fields
 
By Roy Bassett
In Flanders Fields, penned by a weary Canadian surgeon in the back of an ambulance after "17 days of Hades" at the front in Belgium, was almost discarded on that May day in 1915.
 
It was May 3 and Dr. John McCrae, was sitting in the back of an ambulance during a break from treating wounded soldiers from Canada, Britain, India, France and other allies, plus German prisoners in the second battle of Ypres.
 
A day earlier, McCrae had witnessed the aftermath of a shell blast that killed Quebec-born Lieut. Alexis Helmer, 22, a close friend and former student fighting with the Canadian Field Artillery. Within hours, he performed the funeral ceremony for Helmer in the nearby Menin Gate Memorial cemetery.

So McCrae, with the small cemetery and his dressing station on Canal de l’Yser in view, picked up pen and paper and vented his anguish by composing In Flanders Fields.

He could see the wild poppies that sprang up in that part of Europe and he spent 20 minutes of precious rest time scribbling 15 lines of verse in a notebook.
 
McCrae, who had dabbled with poetry while growing up in Guelph, Ontario, was dissatisfied with the poem and threw it away. But a fellow officer recovered it and sent it to newspapers in England. The Spectator in London rejected it, but Punch published it on Dec. 8, 1915.
 
The author of what is now an internationally recognized Remembrance Day poem, had no idea his poem had been saved when transferred from the 1st Field Artillery Brigade to the No. 3 Canadian General Hospital in France in the summer of 1915.
 
When it was published months later in Punch, McCrae was applauded as a tireless war surgeon – and a poet.
 
McCrae, who had participated in battles on the front lines when not caring for the wounded and dying in field dressing stations, became another casualty in January of 1918 when felled by pneumonia and then meningitis while working at the hospital in France.

The author of In Flanders Fields died on Jan. 28, 1918, four days after he was named the first Canadian appointed as consulting physician to the First British Army. He was buried with full military honours at Wimereux Cemetery in France.
 
McCrae did his duty – and much more during World War 1.
 
In 1914, World War 1 was declared "The Great War" or "The War To End All Wars."

It lasted four years, during which 619,636 Canadians served in combat situations; 172,950 of these were wounded and 66,655 were killed.
 
For each day of the war, the Canadian casualties totalled 118 wounded and 46 killed. The war ended on Nov. 11, 1918.

Remembrance Day has been a personal time for grief, usually on the anniversary of the death of a loved one, a member of a community or a group etc. This is when a relative or friend would make a special effort to attend the Memorial site to remember a special person.
 
The time Canadians have chosen to "Remember" is the anniversary of the end to World War One - at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month.

We take two minutes in silence to think of all those who have made that ultimate sacrifice.
 
I urge you all to plan to attend your local Memorial service and buy a poppy, a recognized symbol of remembrance for war dead in Canada, the countries of the British Commonwealth and the United States.
 
During the few weeks leading up to November 11, you will finds veterans offering poppies to one and all. They only ask for a small donation, which will be used to assist veterans who have fallen upon hard times, or to establish memorials to those who sacrificed their lives for us.
 
And take a moment to remember the Canadian surgeon who left us with 15 lines of heartfelt poetry called In Flanders Fields.
 
In Flanders Fields
By Lt. Col. John McCrae, MD (1872 - 1918)

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 up high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
 
Other stories by Roy Bassett
 
Collecting police badges
 
Collecting Medals, a three-part series (Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3)
 
 
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