May 28, 2018 

The Fields of Ypres 

 Along the fields in Ypres, graves were dug to house the fallen men, who would never again ache for their brides embrace or return to school after the war was over. They were laying in a foreign land, while poppies grew above them; a symbol of a sweeter part of life amidst the horror of rat infested trenches and rotting feet. The men knew they would probably never leave those trenches on their own accord. The one hope they had was to be picked up and buried, and therefore, avoid the lice invested trenches without any care to who they were or what they had done for their country.

In and around the area of Ypres, from 1914 to 1917, over 100,000 men would perish. Ypres fell victim to some of the first trenches, weapons of mass destruction, shellshock, and chemical warfare.

Seeing the struggling men gasp for air as they lie dying from chlorine gas, left men like Patrick McCoy, a Scottish officer, reflecting, “Death had brought its blessed relief.” Escaping to the trenches, presumably to avoid the chlorine air above, only hastened one’s death, as the chlorine gas actually gravitates toward the ground. The survivors soon were engaged in a light show of artillery fighting that would be dubbed, The Northern Lights. In the sickening onslaught of death, the eerie lights culminated from the bombardment of mortars, bolt action rifles, machine guns, artillery, and canons.

Some were left with a new symptom of modern warfare, called shellshock, or most commonly known today as, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Involuntarily, men who would normally bear the brunt of life courageously, were found in corners, eyes wide, reliving the nightmare of the trenches forevermore. These men found little relief from sympathetic onlookers. Good men, yearning to be rid of this hell hole, only found themselves, after returning home, unable to leave the images and experiences behind. It had all crept into a place deep within their being they could never escape. Hell in the trenches would become their hell, as long as time was their companion. There was no escape, no relief.

The only thing we can do now is remember. We cannot not remember, for if we do, we leave all these men behind in open trenches. It isn’t just that they deserve to be remembered for their sacrifice, but because we are living and have a responsibility to to not repeat these atrocities. If war is a natural state of the world, more so than peace, then shouldn’t we embrace the past for it is; lessons to be learned. To consciously avoid eliminating other human beings may be a good thing, one would think.

How many of us are aware today that chlorine gas was used in World War l or that the poppies we see on Memorial Day are a reminder of McCrae’s poem, In Flanders Fields?  From May 25-27, 2018, for the first time, America has embedded the National Mall in Washington D.C. with poppies, in honor of the 645,000 American soldiers, who died while serving in the military during World War l and the wars since then.

John McCrae, a Canadian doctor wrote, In Flanders Fields on May 3, 1915, sitting on the back of an ambulance near the battlefront in Ypres. During the second battle of Ypres he lost a friend and witnessed the German chlorine gas massacre. McRae would dub this second battle at Ypres, “17 Days of Hades”, which began on April 22, 1915.

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.