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George Pollard Tribute

News for georgepollard.bravehost.com

Thursday 11th November 2004

Today all the fallen heroes will be remembered. I will be wearing my poppy and thinking of George all day. It is good that their sacrifice is not forgotten, it is just so tragic that people so young had to make such a sacrifice in the first place.

Here is a selection of poems for George Pollard...

Remembrance Day

We wear a poppy
On Remembrance Day,
And at eleven
We stand and pray.
Wreaths are put
Upon a grave.
As we remember
Our soldiers brave.

Are You Sleeping?
(to the tune of "Frere Jacques")

See the poppies
See the poppies
Oh so red
Oh so red
Growing on the hillside
Growing on the hillside
Soldiers lay dead
Soldiers lay dead

We remember
We remember
On this day
On this day
Soldiers on the hillside
Soldiers on the hillside
Far away
Far away

PLEASE WEAR A POPPY.

"Please wear a poppy," the lady said
And held one forth, but I shook my head.
Then I stopped and watched as she offered them there,
And her face was old and lined with care;
But beneath the scars the years had made
There remained a smile that refused to fade.

A boy came whistling down the street,
Bouncing along on care-free feet.
His smile was full of joy and fun,
"Lady," said he, "may I have one?"
When she's pinned in on he turned to say,
"Why do we wear a poppy today?"

The lady smiled in her wistful way
And answered, "This is Remembrance Day,
And the poppy there is the symbol for
The gallant men who died in war.
And because they did, you and I are free -
That's why we wear a poppy, you see.

"I had a boy about your size,
With golden hair and big blue eyes.
He loved to play and jump and shout,
Free as a bird he would race about.
As the years went by he learned and grew
and became a man - as you will, too.

"He was fine and strong, with a boyish smile,
But he'd seemed with us such a little while
When war broke out and he went away.
I still remember his face that day
When he smiled at me and said, Goodbye,
I'll be back soon, Mom, so please don't cry.

"But the war went on and he had to stay,
And all I could do was wait and pray.
His letters told of the awful fight,
(I can see it still in my dreams at night),
With the tanks and guns and cruel barbed wire,
And the mines and bullets, the bombs and fire.

"Till at last, at last, the war was won -
And that's why we wear a poppy son."
The small boy turned as if to go,
Then said, "Thanks, lady, I'm glad to know.
That sure did sound like an awful fight,
But your son - did he come back all right?"

A tear rolled down each faded check;
She shook her head, but didn't speak.
I slunk away in a sort of shame,
And if you were me you'd have done the same;
For our thanks, in giving, if oft delayed,
Thought our freedom was bought - and thousands paid!

And so when we see a poppy worn,
Let us reflect on the burden borne,
By those who gave their very all
When asked to answer their country's call
That we at home in peace might live.
Then wear a poppy! Remember - and give!

By Don Crawford

"The Soldier"

- Rupert Brooke (1914)

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.

"High Flight"

- John Gillespie Magee, Jr., Canadian Spitfire pilot, September 3, 1941

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
and danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings.

Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling
mirth of sun-split clouds, and done a hundred
things you have not dreamed of - wheeled
and soared and swung high in the sunlit silence.
Hovr'ring there, I've chased the shouting wind along,
and flung my eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up, the long, delirious, burning blue,
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
where never lark, or even eagle flew.
And while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
the high untrespassed sanctity of space,
put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

For The Fallen

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the daytime;
They sleep beyond the foam.

But, where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land, they are known
As the stars are known to the night.

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

Other news:

Tuesday 2nd November, 2004.

The site is now fully up and running. I eagerly anticipate people's comments and suggestions, which you can easily post in the Forum. Simply click on the Forum link, or Click Here. Then click on 'Post a New Message'.

Please feel free to contribute anything to the Forum. All messages are greatly appreciated. Perhaps, you have a story to share?

I hope you enjoy the site, please come back regularly as I am going to update the site on a very regular basis.

All the Best,

Jonathan. (e-mail me at jlm1415@yahoo.co.uk)


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