June 6th

[mhdishere]

On the 61st anniversary of D-Day I'd like to offer what someone much wiser than I said before another history-making battle:

    If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
    To do our country loss; and if to live,
    The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
    God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
    By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
    Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
    It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
    Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
    But if it be a sin to covet honour,
    I am the most offending soul alive.
    No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
    God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
    As one man more methinks would share from me
    For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
    Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
    That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
    Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
    And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
    We would not die in that man's company
    That fears his fellowship to die with us.
    This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
    He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
    Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
    And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
    He that shall live this day, and see old age,
    Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
    And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
    Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
    And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
    Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
    But he'll remember, with advantages,
    What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
    Familiar in his mouth as household words-
    Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
    Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
    Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
    This story shall the good man teach his son;
    And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
    From this day to the ending of the world,
    But we in it shall be remembered-
    We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
    For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
    Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
    This day shall gentle his condition;
    And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
    Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
    And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
    That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

   
From Shakespeare's Henry V, the St Crispian's Speech before the battle of Agincourt in 1415.


I've read those lines hundreds of times and they always choke me up.

Have you thanked a veteran lately?

[spacemanspiff]

The Hour is Go

Ones eyes closed tight, and families fade
When going to war, which other men made
Though anxious and frightened, we dont let it show
For the days approaching, when the Airborne must go
Each day now rolls past; we wait just the same
But D Day is near, and for this we all came
The hour grows near, each man feels it inside him
Soon well be falling with no where to hide
Our eyes are now down and the chatter the same
Each weapon now loaded; no longer a game
Eagles gather round, and bow your heads low
Europe awaits and the hour is go
Planes rumble past as we wait our turn
To fly over waters we have yet to earn
Checked buckles and straps, left nothing to chance
The jump master stands and calls Welcome to France
Flak turns to fire and the blackest of night
Too low too fast cant jump from this height
Theres no turning back; the risk has been taken
Free fall to hell, paratroopers forsaken
Eagles hold tight, scattered prey is to survive
Well hit the ground soon, whether dead or alive
As feet touch the ground each soldier moves on
Confusion and fear are beaten and gone
The enemy is close and sad they dont know
The Airborne is here; its time they must go
The hour is now; Hitlers had his last chance
On St Michaels wings, were taking back France



The Hills of Bastogne

The crops should be full in Belgium this year
The soils should be fertile, the price has been dear
For wheat should be red on the hills of Bastogne
For its roots have been drenched by the blood of our own
Battered and draining we stand in their way
Its here we are and here we will stay
Embittered, rough, we watch our pals fall
God was the end, the end of it all
Confident and powerful they strike at our lines
But we beat them back, fighting for time
Berserk with fury they are hitting us now
Flesh against steel; well hold, but how?
For each day that we stay mothers must grieve
For each hill that we hold more men must we leave
Yes, Honor the men who will someday come home
And pray for the men neath the hills of Bastogne


authors unknown