11/11/2011: England and Wales keep tradition
Day 1,452, 01:32
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Published in Belgium 
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by
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by Cooke4444
Special article today, as it is the 11th of november, the day that the First World War finally ended. To remember this, the English and Welsh football team will play tomorrow with a poppy on their shirt
At first, the FIFA forbade it, but after protest the FIFA and the football associations came to a solution: the poppy may be worn, but only on the black strip on the arm. The English tadition of "poppy month" can be held, even on the football field.
Once again, it is clear that the First World War still isn't forgotten. And by this article, I want to remember the horrible and cruel events that took place all over the world at the time. Almost every person in Europe has a relative that has fought/died in the trenches, and this is what makes this war so close to lots of people.
Maybe this poem from Wilfred Owen, who died one week before the end in the battle of the Sambre represents WW1 best from a soldiers point of view:
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.
At first, the FIFA forbade it, but after protest the FIFA and the football associations came to a solution: the poppy may be worn, but only on the black strip on the arm. The English tadition of "poppy month" can be held, even on the football field.
Once again, it is clear that the First World War still isn't forgotten. And by this article, I want to remember the horrible and cruel events that took place all over the world at the time. Almost every person in Europe has a relative that has fought/died in the trenches, and this is what makes this war so close to lots of people.
Maybe this poem from Wilfred Owen, who died one week before the end in the battle of the Sambre represents WW1 best from a soldiers point of view:
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.
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Remember the old Lie! Thanks Cooke4444 for helping us remember.
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.
(W. Owen)
IFF is from McRae btw
"Remember the old Lie!"
talking about yer presidency?
Cooke: thanks for correcting me (I was the victim of confirmed bias all this time)
shadow: it's a quote from Owen's poem published by Cooke4444 above - I think it's beautiful and true. (RL) war is indeed the Big Lie.
@ shadowucks: This article isn't meant to discuss eRepublik-topics. Please keep these opinions for the forum.
Indeed, we cannot forget. My grandfather and his twin fought for Canada in that war (McRae was also Canadian btw), and the twin lies buried in France. Grandpa, I believe, was never the same after that.
RL: For Freedom and Peace!
Voted for a nice article.