My reflections on traveling through the region of France that was invaded on D-Day June 6, 1944 by Canadian, British and American forces.
From the memorial on top of Vimy Ridge, I can see the town in the distance. Twin mountains of coal mine tailings, a church steeple, and indistinct buildings, all nestled on the green clouds of surrounding trees and grassy
fields - unassuming, sleepy, now peaceful. This ground is so soaked in Canadian, French, British and German blood that any flower growing here must surely blossom red.
The pamphlet's description of the memorial reads " The twin white pylons, one bearing the maple leaves
of Canada, the other the fleur-de-lis of France, symbolize the sacrifices of both countries. At the top are
figures representing Peace and Justice, with Truth, Knowledge, Gallantry and Sympathy below them. In
the centre, at the base of the pylons, a young dying soldier, the Spirit of Sacrifice, throws the torch to his
comrades."
A noble picture, with no trace of the mud and carnage of trench warfare. Life, so little valued, that the
deaths of one of every six soldiers, and a further half of the rest being wounded, was considered an
acceptable price. This was the first war of the industrial age. Mass production applied to killing.
From the memorial on top of Vimy Ridge, I can see the town in the distance. Twin mountains of coal mine tailings, a church steeple, and indistinct buildings, all nestled on the green clouds of surrounding trees and grassy
fields - unassuming, sleepy, now peaceful. This ground is so soaked in Canadian, French, British and German blood that any flower growing here must surely blossom red.
The pamphlet's description of the memorial reads " The twin white pylons, one bearing the maple leaves
of Canada, the other the fleur-de-lis of France, symbolize the sacrifices of both countries. At the top are
figures representing Peace and Justice, with Truth, Knowledge, Gallantry and Sympathy below them. In
the centre, at the base of the pylons, a young dying soldier, the Spirit of Sacrifice, throws the torch to his
comrades."
A noble picture, with no trace of the mud and carnage of trench warfare. Life, so little valued, that the
deaths of one of every six soldiers, and a further half of the rest being wounded, was considered an
acceptable price. This was the first war of the industrial age. Mass production applied to killing.
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