thank you

I just returned from a one hour Rememberance Day cermony in our town. I was there as scout leader with 6 teen age scouts and about 24 younger cubs. The weather was blowing cold, freezing rain and sleet and a decision to carry on outdoors was made in spite of an eaarlier written notice that the legion hall would be used in the event of inclimate weather. As a result nost of the scouts,cubs and beavers as well as attending leaders were "not prepared" for the outdoor session.
Howver, putting on a brave face we marched with the vetarns and then froze our badges off awaiting to present our wreath. It seemed that among those who made the decision on the outside session were of the opinion that if the vetrans we honour made the scarifice during the war at least we could brave the cold, rain and wind for an hour to hear the roll call and pay our respects.
I got the message but I belive the point was wasted on the scouts who will not likely be so keen next year to attend the cermony. I might add that during the ceremony, with the wind whipping and the sleett slamming against our faces , whatever names were called our in honour were not heard.
Howver, we were the chosen soldiers this day but without meaning to our efforts we will liklely be AWOL when called on again.
I know - it was the leader's fault for not preparing the troops but you try dragging teenagers out for bed at 8 am on Saturday morning or getting a 6 year old Beaver to stand motionless for 2 minutes of silence.

My grandfather was a paratrooper. My great aunt was a nurse on the front lines.

I stand for them.

Like many across Canada, mid-morning on Saturday found me making my way toward the Cenotaph at Veteran's Park in the centre of downtown. It's a simple and yet powerful memorial, speaking in silent eloquence to the human cost and futility of warfare. Since the dawn of the twentieth century roughly one hundred and fifty thousand Canadians have been killed, or are listed as "Missing-in-Action" on foreign battlefields. More than the entire population of this city - more than the entire population of this county!
There's always a beautiful solemnity to the ceremonies. People gather around the cenotaph at a respectful distance, quietly chatting with those immediately adjacent. Evident throughout the crowd are the beréts of the veterans, and barely audible over the gentle conversation the clink of medals pinned to blue blazers. And, in a somewhat mysterious way, even Mother Nature frequently recognizes the sombre tone of this day, helping to camouflage some tear-stain faces with the mists of a cold November rain.
This year all was as usual. Three or four hundred people awaited the commencement of the ceremony. About 10:45 someone near by observed that it seemed strange that no formal parade of Veterans had marched on to the site. The comment caught the ear of a young soldier in full uniform, who upon checking his watch, said that he was suppose to form part of the guard of honour, but the three other members had not as yet arrived. Just then a Navy officer came along and said that there had been a foul weather contingency plan for the ceremony to be conducted at the Legion, but he had received no instructions to that effect.
On the far side of the cenotaph, a young man with a huge umbrella hurried up to where everyone was gathered. Anxiously he announced to the expectant crowd what he'd just heard on his car-radio. Due to the inclement weather, and out of concern for the health of the Veterans, a last-minute decision had been made to move the ceremonies to the Legion. A general expression of empathetic understanding rippled through the assembled throng - but, what should we all do now? After all, it was now 10:50. Hardly time enough to travel the five city-blocks to the Legion building!
You know, genuine leadership expresses itself in all sorts of unexpected ways. As people began to aimlessly mill about wondering what to do now, a dignified gentleman in a peacekeeper's berét and dark blue blazer, smartly stepped to the centre of the cenotaph area. With a voice that clearly indicated experience in commanding respect, he called for the crowd's attention. Introduced himself as a retired Major from the Canadian Army, he asked if everyone would please move in closer to form a circle around the memorial. Willingly we all complied.
Skilfully reconnoitring the crowd as we all moved closer, he rapidly identified all of those who had brought wreaths to present on behalf of some organization. He suggested that since we had all braved the weather to paying our respects, we would proceed with our own impromptu ceremony, beginning with the laying of those wreaths. Turning to another gentleman in the crowd, the Major asked if he would speak to the crowd about recent tour of the troops in Afghanistan. This man, (a retired Lieutenant-colonel I believe) gave an extemporaneous account of all he'd witnessed of the young men and women who do our nation proud under appalling conditions. He concluded with a comment that anyone who's ever been a Canadian soldier would fully understand: "... They whole-heartedly believe in their mission - but, they hate what they have to do ..."
As 11:00 o'clock approached, the major asked that we all observe two minutes of silence. I've been to many Remembrance Day ceremonies, and always there some extraneous sound to mar the solemnity of the silence. But not on this day! Never before have I witnessed such genuine respect, culminating with the plaintive notes of a small bird, somewhere high above. The line from John McCrae's famous poem resonated "... the larks, still bravely singing, fly ..." The Major the repeated the immortal words of Laurence Binyon's Ode of Remembrance: "They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old; Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning; We will remember them."
A lady from the crowd handed the Major a crumpled copy of a brochure she had received at the local Zeller's store, and asked if he would advise the crowd of its contents. Unfolding the piece of paper he read out some of the details of the "Chosen Soldier" programme, adding in his own words just how much a parcel from home would mean to any soldier overseas. A man in the crowd observed: "It's a way in which we can show that all of us support our troops, and provide them with a few basic comforts." Another lady then displayed her bright red sweatshirt, with bold white letters which read "We support our troops". Everyone applauded.
It was then that a rather harried looking man with a large satchel over shoulder, finally made his way to the front of the gathering. Speaking to the Major he advised that he had his trumpet with him, and that he'd originally been invited to play at the scheduled ceremony. Since no one had bothered to inform him that the site had been changed, he was here and would very much like to offer his tribute. With the ready approval of everyone present, he instantly produced his trumpet from the satchel. To the most poignant rendition of Taps, we observed a second, two minutes of silence. This time we were called from our reflections the clarion notes of the familiar Reveille.
Terry Reilly was so justifiably upset by the failure of a father with his child to respectfully observe the Silence, that he wrote the song "A Pittance of Time". Personally, I'm glad he did, for if we can't spare two minutes out of our hurley-burley existence to honour those who died for our freedom, then what price freedom? I don't expect that anyone will write a song about the spontaneous Remembrance I was privileged to participate in this past Saturday. But, I think the rest of Canada should know; that a few fortunate folk, on one drizzly November Eleventh, in Southwestern Ontario - a pittance of time was spared - not once, but twice.
I'm more than a little ashamed to admit that I honestly don't remember his name. But, I sincerely need to say; Thank you Major! Thank you for providing us with a truly memorable Remembrance Day!