Heroes: the Canadian
Army
Stan Scislowski
Perth Regiment of Canada, 11th
Infantry Brigade
of the 5th Canadian Armoured
Division
A D-Day
Poem
Here's a poem I wrote that was
originally written in prose form. I broke it up in an experiment to
see what it would look like in poetic for, and in the end, realized
it was more readable in this manner:
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In humble tribute to the
Memory
of our comrades who gave their
lives on D-Day
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Here, at Beny-sur-Mer
Canadian War Cemetery,
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close by the waters
of the English Channel,
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in the great crusade
of Liberation
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which began on the
beaches of Normandy
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in the waking hours
of June 6, 1944.
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Their last resting
place,
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enclosed by
whispering pines and maples,
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with cherry trees
gracing the space
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between the large
plots of headstones,
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yet one that stirs
the emotions
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to pay tribute to our
War Dead,
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and who see it for
the first time.
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Finely-cut hedges at
the entrance,
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flanked by Registry
buildings
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greet those who come
to honour them
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for the ultimate
sacrifice they made.
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The wide spread of
white, stone markers
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draws the visitors'
attention
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|
on entering the
Cemetery.
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so many barely out of
their teens,
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stormed in from the
angry seas
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to land on a hostile
shore.
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They died in the
foam-flecked water.
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Some felt the
yielding sand beneath their boots
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Others carried the
fight inland,
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only to fall in death
amidst
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the dunes and in the
village streets.
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Still others fell in
the grassy fields and orchards
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far beyond the tumult
on the beach.
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2,049 headstones mark
their last resting place.
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They lie beneath the
green sod
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in an alien land
whose bosom now holds
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They died at the very
threshold
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an abundant and
fulfilling life.
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Their dreams, and the
dreams
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have been swept away
by the cruel fates of war
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In the five decades
that have passed
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since they gave their
'all',
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nor the soft caress
of a woman's love,
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nor the loving
embrace of little children.
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Nor have they known
the torments of anger,
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In these many years
long since
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those tumultuous days
of a Norman summer,
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they 'rose not to
bright dawns,
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nor stood in awe at a
lightning's flash
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or heard the thunder
of summer storms.
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The song of the robin
greeted them
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They've known not the
joys of autumn
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and the rustle of the
leaves underfoot,
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as we have in the
coolness of late Octobers.
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Nor have they exulted
to the glories
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Their cheeks have not
felt the gentle touch
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nor the sting of the
frigid gusts of winter.
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Though the world has
trembled many times
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to the thunderous
echoes of the guns of war
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when they passed out
of the sight
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of their comrades and
were no more,
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for their sleep is
everlasting.
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They fought the good
fight and are now resting,
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a sleep that knows no
dawn. . .no tomorrow.
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We, who have walked
out of the shadows
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have remembered and
will remember them
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Yes, we will remember
until that time
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when we join them in
that white company
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where the brave shall
never die.
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--------------------------------And a Second Attempt here---------------------------------------
In humble tribute to the
Memory
of our comrades who gave
their lives on D-Day
Here, at Beny-sur-Mer Canadian
War Cemetery,
close by the waters of the
English Channel,
lie buried our
comrades
who gave their
lives
in the great crusade of
Liberation
which began on the beaches
of Normandy
in the waking hours of
June 6, 1944.
Their last resting
place,
enclosed by whispering
pines and maples,
with cherry trees gracing
the space
between the large plots of
headstones,
is one of simple
beauty,
yet one that stirs the
emotions
in all who come
here
to pay tribute to our War
Dead,
and who
see it for the first time.
Finely-cut hedges at the
entrance,
flanked by Registry
buildings
greet those who come to
honour them
for the ultimate sacrifice
they made.
The wide spread of white,
stone markers
draws the visitors'
attention
on entering the Cemetery.
young men who
lie here,
so many barely out of
their teens,
stormed in from the angry
seas
to land on a hostile
shore.
They died in the foam-flecked
water.
Some felt the yielding sand
beneath their boots
before they too, died.
Others carried the fight
inland,
only to fall in death
amidst
the dunes and in the
village streets.
Still others fell in the
grassy fields and orchards
far beyond the tumult on
the beach.
2,049 headstones mark their
last resting place.
They lie beneath the green
sod
in an alien land whose
bosom now holds
their earthly remains.
They are heroes.
They died at the very
threshold
of what should have
been
an abundant and fulfilling
life.
Their dreams, and the
dreams
of those who loved
them,
have been swept away by
the cruel fates of war.
In the five decades that have
passed
since they gave
their 'all',
they've known no weariness
or pain,
nor sadness or
joy,
nor the soft caress of a
woman's love,
nor the loving embrace of
little children.
Nor have they known the
torments of anger,
despair and ill-health.
In these many years long
since
those tumultuous days of a
Norman summer,
they 'rose not to bright
dawns,
nor stood in awe at a
lightning's flash
or heard the thunder of
summer storms.
The song of the robin greeted
them
no more at
daybreak; they've been resting.
They've known not the joys of
autumn
and the rustle of the
leaves underfoot,
as we have in the coolness
of late Octobers.
Nor have they exulted of
an awakening spring.
Their sleep is endless.
Their cheeks have not felt the
gentle touch
of a summer's
breeze,
nor the sting of the
frigid gusts of winter.
Though the world has trembled
many times
to the thunderous echoes
of the
guns of
war since that day
when they passed out of
the sight
of their comrades and were
no more,
they heard them
not,
for their sleep is
everlasting.
They fought the good fight and
are now resting,
a sleep that knows no
dawn. . .no tomorrow.
We, who have walked out of the
shadows
of the Valley of
Death
have remembered and will
remember them
as the long years pass.
Yes, we will remember until
that time
when we join them in that
white company
where the brave shall
never die.
&emdash;Stan
Scislowski
This poem could be applied to
every cemetery, with only a few changes that could be made to fit the
locale where the fighting took place, the description of the cemetery
and the numbers of stones that are in the cemetery. I 've done this
on the Moro River Cemetery where the Canadian 1st Division had a
knock-down-drag-out battle on the approaches to Ortona and in the
week-long battle in the streets of the town. The fighting was so
visious and so close-quartered it became known at the time as Little
Stalingrad.
Stan Scislowski
Original Story from messages
received on 14 May 2002.
Story originally submitted on:
18 May 2002.
The story above,
A D-Day
Poem, was written
and contributed by Mr. Stan Scislowski, who served with the Perth
Regiment of Canada, 11th Infantry Brigade of the 5th Canadian
Armoured Division. The moving story is a part of his published work
entitled: Not
All of Us Were Brave which was published by Dundurn Press.
Would you care to read more
tales of World War II written by Mr. Stan Scislowski? His work is
featured on a website devoted to the Perth
Regiment of Canada. Check out this very interesting website and while
you are there look at Stan's
Corner .
We at World War II Stories -- In Their Own
Words wish to
offer our profound "Thanks" for the excellent material contributed by
Mr. Stan Scislowski.
Do YOU have a story to
tell?
Contact me, Joe Richard and I
can help you tell YOUR story.
Send an e-mail to this
following e-mail address:
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Updated on 18 May
2002...1535:05 CST
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