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.
If I may interject, from this side of the border, PBS has put together a beautiful documentary on American overseas military cemeteries. It’s well worth watching.
http://www.pbs.org/program/hallowed-grounds/
I’m guessing those photos were taken at Hautot-sur-mer, near Dieppe, since to my knowledge it’s the only Commonwealth war grave cemetery where the dead lie head-to-head, German style (it was the Wehrmacht that buried them, after all). And no, I never forget — my father, grandfather, uncles, great-uncles and cousins were in one or the other of the World Wars. Not all of them came home; in fact, one of them is buried in that cemetery.
It’s also worth remembering that “In Flanders Fields” is a call to arms, rather than a lament, and it was written by an angry, grief-stricken man.