lunebleu
Well-Known Member
law74 said:
You've got my respect mate.
Lest We Forget
- Thread starter BlueSpice
- Start date
You've got my respect mate.
aka blue jambo
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- 2 Nov 2008
- Messages
- 5,778
yesterdays service at Tynecastle Park,Edinburgh
<a class="postlink" href="http://www.heartsfc.premiumtv.co.uk/articles/in-pictures-remembrance-20091109_2255995_1870522" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;">http://www.heartsfc.premiumtv.co.uk/art ... 95_1870522</a>
<a class="postlink" href="http://www.heartsfc.premiumtv.co.uk/articles/in-pictures-remembrance-20091109_2255995_1870522" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;">http://www.heartsfc.premiumtv.co.uk/art ... 95_1870522</a>
der-bomber
Well-Known Member
aka blue jambo
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- 2 Nov 2008
- Messages
- 5,778
Team of heroes
NO FOOTBALL club sacrificed more in the First World War than Heart of Midlothian. Sixteen players joined up, most of them enlisting in the 16th Battalion of Royal Scots, known as McCrae's Battalion. Seven members of the first team were killed in action. Three players died in a single day at the Battle of the Somme.
To mark the sacrifice, the club built the Haymarket War Memorial in 1922 and have held an annual service there ever since.
NO FOOTBALL club sacrificed more in the First World War than Heart of Midlothian. Sixteen players joined up, most of them enlisting in the 16th Battalion of Royal Scots, known as McCrae's Battalion. Seven members of the first team were killed in action. Three players died in a single day at the Battle of the Somme.
To mark the sacrifice, the club built the Haymarket War Memorial in 1922 and have held an annual service there ever since.
der-bomber
Well-Known Member
*singingtheblues*
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- 16 May 2008
- Messages
- 2,276
Do you know der-bomber, reading through this thread and before I enter each time seeing the "last post by... der-bomber", knowing what it would contain when I eventually entered the thread, was absolutely heartbreaking.
It really has brought it home, and made much more of an impact than any brief comment on the 10 o'clock news about the latest "statistic" ever would.
It has raised a genuine pause for thought for myself, and duly makes me hold even more respect for the men and women of the armed forces.
For that I thank you, it has made me sit up and take notice, it really has brought a great sense of humility over me.
Harrowing stuff, but your posts have brought it to the fore, and I hope I'm not the only one who has been genuinely struck by those posts.
My sincere condolences go out to the families of all concerned.
It really has brought it home, and made much more of an impact than any brief comment on the 10 o'clock news about the latest "statistic" ever would.
It has raised a genuine pause for thought for myself, and duly makes me hold even more respect for the men and women of the armed forces.
For that I thank you, it has made me sit up and take notice, it really has brought a great sense of humility over me.
Harrowing stuff, but your posts have brought it to the fore, and I hope I'm not the only one who has been genuinely struck by those posts.
My sincere condolences go out to the families of all concerned.
johnny on the spot
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- 19 Jul 2006
- Messages
- 24,748
Respect, der_bomber.
orange_wkd
Well-Known Member
"How to Die"
Dark clouds are smouldering into red
While down the craters morning burns.
The dying soldier shifts his head
To watch the glory that returns;
He lifts his fingers toward the skies
Where holy brightness breaks in flame;
Radiance reflected in his eyes,
And on his lips a whispered name.
You'd think, to hear some people talk,
That lads go West with sobs and curses,
And sullen faces white as chalk,
Hankering for wreaths and tombs and hearses.
But they've been taught the way to do it
Like Christian soldiers; not with haste
And shuddering groans; but passing through it
With due regard for decent taste.
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)
"Anthem for a Doomed Youth"
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
--Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries for them from prayers or bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,-
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of silent minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)
"Dulce et Decorum Est "
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! -- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under I green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, --
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Herbert Read (1893-1968)
"The Happy Warrior"
His wild heart beats with painful sobs,
His strin'd hands clench an ice-cold rifle,
His aching jaws grip a hot parch'd tongue,
His wide eyes search unconsciously.
He cannot shriek.
Bloody saliva
Dribbles down his shapeless jacket.
I saw him stab
And stab again
A well-killed Boche.
This is the happy warrior,
This is he...
W.N.Hodgson (1893-1916)
"Before Action"
By all the glories of the day
And the cool evening's benison,
By that last sunset touch that lay
Upon the hills where day was done,
By beauty lavisghly outpoured
And blessings carelessly received,
By all the days that I have lived
Make me a solider, Lord.
By all of man's hopes and fears,
And all the wonders poets sing,
The laughter of unclouded years,
And every sad and lovely thing;
By the romantic ages stored
With high endeavor that was his,
By all his mad catastrophes
Make me a man, O Lord.
I, that on my familiar hill
Saw with uncomprehending eyes
A hundred of Thy sunsets spill
Their fresh and sanguine sacrifice,
Ere the sun swings his noonday sword
Must say goodbye to all of this;--
By all delights that I shall miss,
Help me to die, O Lord.
Wilfred Gibson (1878-1962)
"Back"
They ask me where I've been,
And what I've done and seen.
But what can I reply
Who know it wasn't I,
But someone just like me,
Who went across the sea
And with my head and hands
Killed men in foreign lands...
Though I must bear the blame,
Because he bore my name.
Philip Larkin (1922-1985)
"MCMXIV"
Those long uneven lines
Standing as patiently
As if they were stretched outside
The Oval or Villa Park,
The crowns of hats, the sun
On moustached archaic faces
Grinning as if it were all
An August Bank Holiday lark;
And the shut shops, the bleached
Established names on the sunblinds,
The farthings and sovereigns,
And dark-clothed children at play
Called after kings and queens,
The tin advertisements
For cocoa and twist, and the pubs
Wide open all day;
And the countryside not caring
The place-names all hazed over
With flowering grasses, and fields
Shadowing Domesday lines
Under wheats' restless silence;
The differently-dressed servants
With tiny rooms in huge houses,
The dust behind limousines;
Never such innocence,
Never before or since,
As changed itself to past
Without a word--the men
Leaving the gardens tidy,
The thousands of marriages
Lasting a little while longer:
Never such innocence again.
WE WILL REMEMBER THEM
Dark clouds are smouldering into red
While down the craters morning burns.
The dying soldier shifts his head
To watch the glory that returns;
He lifts his fingers toward the skies
Where holy brightness breaks in flame;
Radiance reflected in his eyes,
And on his lips a whispered name.
You'd think, to hear some people talk,
That lads go West with sobs and curses,
And sullen faces white as chalk,
Hankering for wreaths and tombs and hearses.
But they've been taught the way to do it
Like Christian soldiers; not with haste
And shuddering groans; but passing through it
With due regard for decent taste.
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)
"Anthem for a Doomed Youth"
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
--Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries for them from prayers or bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,-
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of silent minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)
"Dulce et Decorum Est "
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! -- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under I green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, --
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Herbert Read (1893-1968)
"The Happy Warrior"
His wild heart beats with painful sobs,
His strin'd hands clench an ice-cold rifle,
His aching jaws grip a hot parch'd tongue,
His wide eyes search unconsciously.
He cannot shriek.
Bloody saliva
Dribbles down his shapeless jacket.
I saw him stab
And stab again
A well-killed Boche.
This is the happy warrior,
This is he...
W.N.Hodgson (1893-1916)
"Before Action"
By all the glories of the day
And the cool evening's benison,
By that last sunset touch that lay
Upon the hills where day was done,
By beauty lavisghly outpoured
And blessings carelessly received,
By all the days that I have lived
Make me a solider, Lord.
By all of man's hopes and fears,
And all the wonders poets sing,
The laughter of unclouded years,
And every sad and lovely thing;
By the romantic ages stored
With high endeavor that was his,
By all his mad catastrophes
Make me a man, O Lord.
I, that on my familiar hill
Saw with uncomprehending eyes
A hundred of Thy sunsets spill
Their fresh and sanguine sacrifice,
Ere the sun swings his noonday sword
Must say goodbye to all of this;--
By all delights that I shall miss,
Help me to die, O Lord.
Wilfred Gibson (1878-1962)
"Back"
They ask me where I've been,
And what I've done and seen.
But what can I reply
Who know it wasn't I,
But someone just like me,
Who went across the sea
And with my head and hands
Killed men in foreign lands...
Though I must bear the blame,
Because he bore my name.
Philip Larkin (1922-1985)
"MCMXIV"
Those long uneven lines
Standing as patiently
As if they were stretched outside
The Oval or Villa Park,
The crowns of hats, the sun
On moustached archaic faces
Grinning as if it were all
An August Bank Holiday lark;
And the shut shops, the bleached
Established names on the sunblinds,
The farthings and sovereigns,
And dark-clothed children at play
Called after kings and queens,
The tin advertisements
For cocoa and twist, and the pubs
Wide open all day;
And the countryside not caring
The place-names all hazed over
With flowering grasses, and fields
Shadowing Domesday lines
Under wheats' restless silence;
The differently-dressed servants
With tiny rooms in huge houses,
The dust behind limousines;
Never such innocence,
Never before or since,
As changed itself to past
Without a word--the men
Leaving the gardens tidy,
The thousands of marriages
Lasting a little while longer:
Never such innocence again.
WE WILL REMEMBER THEM
mcfcliam
Well-Known Member
johnny on the spot said:
Was der-bomber in the army?
If so, respect bomber.
der-bomber
Well-Known Member
lts not about me. lts about the 232 British Service Personnel that have so far been killed in Afghanistan and another 179 in Iraq. The bottom line is that they are just ordinary ,normal people, like we all are, someone's much loved Son, Father, Brother, Husband...and will be sadly missed. This is the point l really wanted to highlight and by clicking on the links it is possible to read the eulogies written by their families and comrades ,which are very moving and a fitting tribute.
Sure, they have signed on the dotted line and taken the Queens shilling and accept that theirs is a dangerous job and they may be put in harms way whilst doing their duty, it goes with the territory.
But what they don't deserve, is to be needlessly sacrificed and stabbed in the back by a bunch of self-serving ,spineless politicians and faceless bureaucrats who couldn't give a rats arse about them.
l hope this whole wasteful episode is resolved soon before any more families are torn apart.
ln the meantime ,heads down, spirits up...
Sure, they have signed on the dotted line and taken the Queens shilling and accept that theirs is a dangerous job and they may be put in harms way whilst doing their duty, it goes with the territory.
But what they don't deserve, is to be needlessly sacrificed and stabbed in the back by a bunch of self-serving ,spineless politicians and faceless bureaucrats who couldn't give a rats arse about them.
l hope this whole wasteful episode is resolved soon before any more families are torn apart.
ln the meantime ,heads down, spirits up...