Catacombs beneath Albert, Somme, Picardy, France

Most of you who have ever heard me rant about Europe know that when I go it is as a translator for my Grandmother. My Gramma’s interest in being there is her research into the first World War, so I spend much more time then I have ever wanted to at War Memorials. Since I often get overwhelmed at the immensity of the casualties cause by WWI, I usually take massive amounts of photos to distract myself. So now I am sharing that immensity with you. Normally I’d grin and tease but the subject matter is rather grim, regardless I hope it is useful.

The name of the series comes from the most recognisable Canadian poem ever written, In Flanders Fields. There is not a child in the country of whom has not had that poem inscribed on their psyche in some form or another.

For me it was most notably inscribed on my memory when I was sick with blood poisoning from bed bugs while in Ypres, Belgium. I felt absolutely wretched to begin with and was started to feel worse when we entered the museum about the Battle of Ypres Salient that is in the 14th Century cloth-hall in the centre of town. For those of you who didn’t know Ypres was the first place that they used Chlorine Gas in the war, so naturally part of the museum was dedicated to the Gas attacks on Ypres. The most memorable part of that exhibit was a clear plexi-glass tube with a mannequin of a soldier in full gear and gas mask inside; this tube would fill with the distinctive mustard coloured Chlorine gas while a recording of famous poems relating to Ypres, like In Flanders Fields, Dulce et Decorum Est and other extremely evocative works, were played on the surround sound. As I heard the line “We are the Dead, short days ago we lived, felt dawn, saw sunsets glow” I watched the sightless goggles of the soldier stare back at me as they were completely choked out by the gas. Needless to say, that stuck with me. So, being a wimp and an ill one at that, I spent the next hour curled against the comfortingly cool and beautiful stone wall ignoring the fact that I was in a war museum.

Now to share my affliction and some Canadiana, I give you the full poem of In Flanders Fields:

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.
Writen on May 3, 1915 by Lt.-Col. John McRae