Vimy

Vimy... it is such a simple word. Vimy. Short, and very simple. Yet the name has such complex meanings to Canadians. Properly, the name is Vimy Ridge. It is place in Northern France where, 4 days and 92 years ago, all four divisions of the Canadian Corps fought together for the first time, and the modern country of Canada was truly born.

Vimy Ridge was a Canadian achievement. It is not a battle, it is an institution. Vimy, to Canada, is like Waterloo or Trafalgar to Britain, or Gettysburg to America. It represents the independence of Canada within the British Commonwealth, it represents courage and sacrifice in the face of overwhelming odds. But most of all: Vimy represents our nation's, my nation's, birth and baptism of fire. Many Americans will call the Second World War their country's crowning achievement. The First World War was the same for Canada. Even though it is nearly a century after the end of the Great War, it's echoes still effect us... still haunt us.

My great-grandfather fought in the First World War. I knew him only as a small child before age took him from us. Being a small child, I was very curious about wars, and I often pestered my great-grandfather to tell me about it. Like most veterans, he never wanted to talk about it. He only spoke of what he did once... he said he had bayonetted a German boy in the throat, and that the sounds of the boy choking in his own blood echo in his ears still. I remember him silently crying after he told me this. I think all the sounds of the Great War echoed in my great-grandfather's ears, all of his life. Many years later, when my great-grandfather was on his deathbed, he kept saying "Forgive me... I'm sorry... I'm sorry," over and over again. I've always thought he was trying to apologize for all the things he did, from 1915 (the year Canada's troops entered combat) to 1918.

The Great War was the furnace that forged this country, and Vimy Ridge was the hottest part of that furnance. The French had lost 150,000 men in earlier attempts to take the strategically vital ridge and the surrounding territory. The Canadian leadership, Arthur Currie in particular, was not eager to repeat their mistakes. Through meticulous training, preparation and planning, the attack on the 9th of April went off without a hitch. All four divisions of the Canadian Corps emerged from the trenches and marched through sleet and snow to attack one of the most heavily fortified and defended positions of the Western Front. They faced barbed wire, artillery, rifles, machine guns by the thousands. They marched into the valley of the shadow of death, knowing that many of them would fall, but at the same time knowing that they would bring victory. Perhaps they were not fighting to overthrow a great evil, as their sons and grandsons would do in the Second World War. These men fought for King and Country, they fought for Canada and England, but most of all they fought for each other. Shakespeare would've named these men a true band of brothers. They all came to the War from different backgrounds and for different reasons. From aristocrats to peasants, from noblesse oblige to just needing a job. As they marched, they knew that the day's work would be desperate and deadly, and they knew the mettle of their foes. It did not dissuade or dishearten them. Perhaps it even encouraged them, for Canadians have always taken well to a great challenge. I cannot say, I was not there, and those who were there are slowly disappearing from this Earth, slowly, but surely, God is giving them the rest they so deserve.

I can think of no better way to honour the fallen than Laurence Binyon's most famous poem 'For the Fallen'

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.