Thursday, November 11, 2010

November 11th

My grandmother, who was born in 1904, used to tell me stories about the two Great Wars. She was born in a small village, at about 20 miles from the Ypres salient . Every night, she could hear the bombs, the windows of her bedroom rattling.
These pictures are taken a few years after the war, when she was already engaged (or married?) to my grandfather. So strange, a romantic picture on the ruins of a war...




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.

5 comments:

Natalie said...

A beautiful remembrance.
Thank you so much.

matty said...

Beautiful! Remember always...

Christine said...

Hi :) Sent you an email ;)
Lovely vintage photos

Flutterby Patch said...

So many memories. My parents (both in uniform) met in Brussels as the war finished and always planned to return one day but sadly never did (they often talked of their time there).

Cat B said...

Thanks for stopping by my blog.
I love the poem In Flanders Fields. And the photos of your grandmother are just lovely.
My grandfather was based in the Pacific during WWII - it's a life I can not imagine