The Grange tunnel. Part of a vast maze of tunnels built to protect the soldiers from the "toxic" open fields. Eighty two years ago on this ridge, on Easter Monday, April 9, 1917 there was no peace, no leaves, no
grass, no memorial, only ceaseless noise, unending mud (tilled by countless artillery shells) swallowing
the bodies of thousands of nameless men. Four divisions -one hundred thousand Canadians- men and
boys, many as young as sixteen, fought together for the first time as a distinct army corps. Here 20,000
soldiers, marching behind a "creeping artillery barrage" from 1079 guns rose out of their tunnels and
trenches and launched into the north-west wind that swept the devastated countryside with sleet, snow
and machine gun fire. Three days later they emerged, having accomplished what the French, with one
hundred and fifty thousand casualties over three years had failed, to achieve. They had taken Vimy
Ridge. Of the 10,602 casualties, 3,598 were young Canadians. They would never in the words of John
McCrae, "feel dawn or see sunset glow" again.

Many claim that this battle marked the end of our country's adolescence. This was the place where we earned the right to play at war with the bigger, older boys. In recognition, the French government gave the land to Canada and has recognised it as Canadian soil. When I read this I thought: so now we own a piece of French real estate, the price, only sixty six thousand Canadian lives, a bargain at the time. I put my hand on some of the names engraved on the monument, the ones whose bodies disappeared in the mud without a trace, and felt chagrin replace my earlier feelings of pride. Pride would have meant I had a right to glory in the suffering, pain, the fear and death of these Canadians who willingly or not, lost
their lives defending their King and his British empire.

The Grange tunnel. Part of a vast maze of tunnels built to protect the soldiers from the "toxic" open fields. Eighty two years ago on this ridge, on Easter Monday, April 9, 1917 there was no peace, no leaves, no
grass, no memorial, only ceaseless noise, unending mud (tilled by countless artillery shells) swallowing
the bodies of thousands of nameless men. Four divisions -one hundred thousand Canadians- men and
boys, many as young as sixteen, fought together for the first time as a distinct army corps. Here 20,000
soldiers, marching behind a "creeping artillery barrage" from 1079 guns rose out of their tunnels and
trenches and launched into the north-west wind that swept the devastated countryside with sleet, snow
and machine gun fire. Three days later they emerged, having accomplished what the French, with one
hundred and fifty thousand casualties over three years had failed, to achieve. They had taken Vimy
Ridge. Of the 10,602 casualties, 3,598 were young Canadians. They would never in the words of John
McCrae, "feel dawn or see sunset glow" again.

Many claim that this battle marked the end of our country's adolescence. This was the place where we earned the right to play at war with the bigger, older boys. In recognition, the French government gave the land to Canada and has recognised it as Canadian soil. When I read this I thought: so now we own a piece of French real estate, the price, only sixty six thousand Canadian lives, a bargain at the time. I put my hand on some of the names engraved on the monument, the ones whose bodies disappeared in the mud without a trace, and felt chagrin replace my earlier feelings of pride. Pride would have meant I had a right to glory in the suffering, pain, the fear and death of these Canadians who willingly or not, lost
their lives defending their King and his British empire.