Mark Armstrong: Why I wear a poppy
Most of us have family members who've served or are serving in the military in some capacity. For me, that person is my Grandpa - Frederick Finlay Armstrong. A Canadian in the Royal Air Force, he piloted a Halifax bomber for 39 missions over Germany and captured Allied territory in World War 2. It was dangerous work to say the very least.
Thirty nine times he flew, freezing, through the night sky, dodging unimaginable odds. Thankfully, 39 times he returned to his airbase safely.
At the outset of his service, he had shared this note with his crew:
Like so many who've served, he didn't talk much about his experiences as I was growing up. Occasionally, once I got older, my Dad would prompt me to ask. At one point in high school, I decided whatever history project I was doing at the time needed to be about my Grandpa Armstrong. We talked on the phone and later in person. I saw his logbooks, his medals. I could tell how much it meant to him for his eldest grandson to hear these stories. It was cool at the time, I was a teenager after all. Now as a father and with the benefit of 42 years, it's humbling. My most harrowing experience has been shooting high school rodeo highlights in Idaho. I've lived an entirely different life in an entirely different world.
World War 1 ended 96 years ago today. Some of the bloodiest and most intractable battles of the "War to End All Wars" were fought in the fields of Belgium. Despite the terrible human toll and destruction to the land, poppies would still somehow flourish. The resilience of the flower inspired a Canadian field surgeon named John Alexander McCrae to write a now world famous poem "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.
Later, an American, Moina Belle Michael, jumpstarted the movement to wear poppies as a sign of respect and remembrance.
So if you happen to tune into our newscast tonight and wonder what that red flower is on my lapel, now you know. It's me saying thanks to my Grandpa Armstrong (http://en.ww2awards.com/person/48457) and all those like him. Lest we forget.
-Mark
