Shrimperzone: Pass a poppy...

[J]

Hopefully the mod's will see this, and either keep it here, or stick it at the top.

The idea was something that was started on one of those social network webistes, where people sent each other poppies and hopefully it would spread and everyone would have a picture etc.. I'm hoping to pass this on to you all: and hope as many as possible adopt this as an avatar or signature picture.

Remembrance day, and november 11th is one of the most immportant days in the year, and hopefully many of you will recognise this. Many people on here, may know of, or be family with serving members of the Armed forces, who day after day, lay their lives on the line for our freedom and for peace.

So i hope you adopt a poppy as a signature or avatar, as i am sure it would be a nice gesture.. and remember those who serve us.

J

 

[Matt the Shrimp]

J, I definitely agree with the sentiment - but this does belong in the Pub.

Matt

 

[TrueBlue]

WE WILL NEVER EVER FORGET THOSE THAT GAVE THEIR TODAY FOR OUR TOMORROW

 

[Matt the Shrimp]

Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

Always remember; never forget.

 

[Jonny_Stokes]

Each has won a glorious grave - not that sepulchre of earth wherein they lie, but the living tomb of everlasting remembrance wherein their glory is enshrined. For the whole earth is the sepulchre of heroes. Monuments may rise and tablets be set up to them in their own land, but on far-off shores there is an abiding memorial that no pen or chisel has traced; it is graven not on stone or brass, but on the living hearts of humanity.
Take these men for your example. Like them, remember that prosperity can be only for the free, that freedom is the sure possession of those alone who have the courage to defend it.


Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives. You are now living in the soil of a friendly country therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours. You, the mothers, who sent their sons from faraway countries wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well.

 

[GrimmRobes]

A good idea indeed.

 

[TrueBlue]

its worrying now CS J is in the green!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The world cometh to an end now!!!

also......

In Flanders field 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 with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

RIP

 

[C C Csiders]

Here is one I wrote many years ago:

KNOWN ONLY UNTO GOD

In the still squelching mud of Flanders and France
The young men died, and just what for?
Just for what did they die?
For their unmarked graves signify the sad story
Of the war that killed a generation
From Britain to Germany the weeping women wailed their songs
Of lost husbands, brothers and sons
The cross of Christ marks their place of death
Who is this man, this unknown warrior, who gave his life?
Known only unto God.
Maybe a relative of mine, or one of yours,
For every family lost somebody
In the terrible war, the First World War
The war ‘they said’ to end all wars
Take heed of “war to end all wars”
For now you see row upon row of dead young men
Many unmarked graves marking the place of death
From Mons to Passchaendale to the Somme
The cross of Christ marking the place of death
Who is this man, this unknown warrior, who gave his life?
Known only unto God.

 

[Kent Shrimper]

Good shout J

 

[HUTTON]

Well done J

 

[SUFC_Al]

good work J

 

[Matt the Shrimp]

Top work, CCC. That's called to mind Rupert Brooke:

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

 

[Matt the Shrimp]

And Brooke always makes me think of Wilfred Owen - whose descriptions on the gut-wrenching futility of the Great War, and of its horrors, chill me to the bone even today.

Anthem for Doomed Youth

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries for them from prayers or bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,—
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of silent maids,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

Dulce et Decorum est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! — An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime. —
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, —
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

 

[HUTTON]

Still think there should be a minutes silent at every game over weekend

R.I.P. All those that have fought for Queen/King and Country

 

[cockles is back]

agreed agreed a thousand times