War

I was remembering all the November 11th observations that have passed through my life.
I remember being a little Girl Guide and wearing my uniform on November 11th.  Everyone in our little town would gather at our Cenotaph beside the Anglican Church.  I remember the cold.  It seemed that Remembrance Day was always cold and often gray.  And there would us teeth-chattering little girls with our uniforms mostly covered up with beat-up jackets and boots.  We'd be in a group more or less, along with the Scouts, and church groups and Legion groups, and Moms and Dads.  We tried not to jump up and down to stay warm, and we thought the marching, and speeches, and tributes would never end.  It seemed such a solemn thing to see the town leaders approaching the Cenotaph with the wreaths - and trying to salute like a soldier, and getting it wrong, or the wreath falling over after it was propped up, and then turning the wrong way to leave, and us little girls would giggle.
As the years went by, it seemed I was there supporting other groups - the church youth group, or a school group - one time I even became part of a twosome taking a wreath up there!
There's something about war and the human spirit.  There's something about a young man going off to a far away country to fight for freedom, or victory, or honor.  These deaths are always remembered.  In a special and unique memory.  They are always pondered quietly and seriously -
In Canada, we feel specially solemn.  Our soldiers have always been the best.  The most committed.  It's beyond belief how our young men went to battle on strange land and lost their lives for freedom.
"Lest we forget".  These awesome three words that say so much.  "Lest we forget".