This weekend, we
will observe Memorial Day. The holiday began three years after the Civil War
in 1868 as Decoration Day, a time set aside to
decorate the graves of the war dead with flowers. The date of May 30 probably was
selected because flowers would be in bloom across the country in the late
spring.
The first large observance was held at Arlington National
Cemetery. The ceremonies began on the veranda of the Arlington mansion, once
the home of Gen. Robert E. Lee. Washington officials, including Gen. and Mrs.
Ulysses S. Grant, attended. After speeches, children from the Soldiers’ and
Sailors’ Orphan Home and members of the Grand Army of the Republic strewed
flowers on both Union and Confederate graves as they recited prayers and sang
hymns.
By the turn of the twentieth century, ceremonies were held on
May 30 throughout the country. After World War I, the day was expanded to honor
those who died in all American wars. In 1971, Congress declared Memorial Day a
national holiday. The date was also changed to the last Monday in May.
So, what does this
mean for us?
Some communities
hold parades. Local Girl Scouts and Boy Scouts place flags on the graves of veterans
in cemeteries. Many cities and communities sponsor concerts and fireworks
displays. And some families visit the graves of their relatives and friends.
For me, personally,
this is a time to remember our fathers, both of whom served in WWII. Fortunately,
neither of them was killed, but they gave years of their lives to the service
of their country.
One family member,
my grandfather’s older brother, Charles Methven, died on October 20, 1917 in Ieper,
Belgium during WWI. The family then lived in Canada, and Charles served for
Great Britain. He was buried in West Flanders, Belgium near where he fell. He was
twenty-three years old.
When I hear Lieutenant
Colonel John McCrae’s poem and see the poppies on Memorial Day, I think of
Uncle Charles. The poem was written in the same place where Charles died.
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.
This year, I will
once again remember those, including Charles, who went to war when their country
called and who never came home.
This holiday will
continue to focus our attention on those who made the ultimate sacrifice so we
can enjoy the freedoms we sometimes take for granted. They deserve our eternal
gratitude and respect.
In Flanders fields.