Forgetting is not an option…

This tune always had my grandfather weeping, sometimes uncontrollably. It took me a long time to understand why…

great-war Moniaive

Men my grandfather knew marching off to the great war (Copyright Moniaive.org.uk) He might even be somewhere in that crowd…

He was never at “The Front”. He tried many times, by all accounts, but he fell into that category of the lucky few, though I doubt they considered themselves thus, whose occupations were too valuable on the home front to allow them to go to war.

He fed the nation, supplied endless chords of wood for the “war effort”, and to heat the hearths of the nation, whilst his contemporaries trooped off to some distant land, high in spirit and conviction for something which, in hindsight, held little reward for them individually.

Most (more than 90 on the memorial plus 20 unaccounted for) did not return from that first conflict, and those that did had been changed forever by the experience. That a second should come so quickly on the heels of the first seemed inconceivable. Two generations torn apart by political madness. Two generations bound by grief beyond measure.

carsphairn war memorial

Carsphairn War Memorial

There is, of course, a memorial to the fallen in every town and village in the country. This one is no more or less important than any other, except it does contain the names of a great-uncle and the man who would have been my other grandfather had he made it back.

There aren’t even that many names on it, a mere 13 from the first war. When it is considered, however, that this is the toll from a village numbering around 60, some sense of the impact on communities across the land can be gauged.

100 years later, the impetus, born of grief, which saw these memorials raised, is in danger of being lost. The men and women they commemorate are just a list of names, without context, or meaning for those who walk past daily. Within the cossetted lives we now take for granted, it is all too easy to lose sight of what the ultimate sacrifice really means. We do so at out peril.

The eleventh itself, is usually my busy day. That night is invariably awash with bloodied souls marching towards a home they have still to find. On the weekend that is set aside for the purpose of remembrance,  I’d like to share a couple of pieces that touch the heart of why forgetting should never be an option:

http://scvincent.com/2014/11/09/poppies-for-peace/

http://alienorajt.wordpress.com/2014/11/09/amgels-love-lament/

About Running Elk

My given native name, Running Elk, was bestowed in 2008 as I took my first steps as a fully fledged Medicine Man of the Zuni tradition. A most unlikely candidate for the role, my journey as a healer began some four years prior. The detour onto the shamanic way was most unexpected, yet has been one of the most rewarding challenges to date.
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9 Responses to Forgetting is not an option…

  1. Sue Vincent says:

    Thank you, H.
    Sitting here with tears streaming at the pipes.
    “The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away”.

  2. alienorajt says:

    Me too. ‘Flowers of the Forest’ always makes me cry – and has done since I was a little girl; it seems to encapsulate such a depth of grief, loss and desolation – and the bagpipes never fail to move me anyway. An incredibly moving post. Thank you for sharing mine too. xxx

  3. Very moving, Running Elk, and thanks for the links to the two beautiful pieces!

  4. G. M. Vasey says:

    The pipes somehow evoke something very deep…. beautiful article.

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