OT Remembrance Day, Two minutes of silence Options

[GWN7]

November 11th is Remembrance Day here. It started as a day to remember those who fought so we could have freedom in the first world war.

World war 1 ended on the 11th day of the 11th month at the 11th hour.

Traditionally two minutes of silence is held at that time for those that fought and died for freedom.

The tradition of Remembrance Day has been carried on to include all those who have served in the armed forces.

I won't be here to post this on the 11th (off to one of the other houses for a few days)

So here's a LINK to a short video about the 11th.

Got two minutes?

[Aaron Cox]

bruce asked me to bump this on the 11th....

[Jenny]

two minutes of rememberance is nothing in comparison to what others have sacrificed for our freedom. I will always remember.

Jenny

[anderssj]

Dulce Et Decorum Est - Wilfred Owen

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 disappointed shells 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 floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a 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.

Wilfred Owen served as an officer in the British infantry from 1917 until his death in 1918. He was blown up, concussed and suffered shell-shock. At Craiglockhart, the psychiatric hospital in Edinburgh, he met Siegfried Sassoon who inspired him to develop his war poetry. He went back to the trenches in September, 1918 and in October won the Military Cross by seizing a German machine-gun nest. On 4th November he was shot and killed near the village of Ors. The news of his death reached his parents’ home as the Armistice bells were ringing on 11 November 1918.