A Note from the Leutnant: As a small child I always had a fascination with Germany especially early 20th century. I've always had a keen interest in the history of flight, especially the era of the First Great War. I feel very strongly about the events and occurrences of those bloody years are not remembered for what they really were. It is hard to have people understand a War that has been over for more than 80 years, I don't think there are any veterans or people left from that time, with the exception of any children that lived through it.
The images from that time still haunt me. I ask you not to judge us. Some memories are very difficult for me to comprehend and at times I don't want to remember the suffering and pain.
In 1914 I was a young man, well educated, peaceful, just looking forward to a good life with a wife and kids. Months later I found myself dodging bullets and eating mud in Belgium and France. As the war dragged on I lost my innocence and my dream of happiness was shattered somewhere between the trenches and the sky.
Through the years of heart ache and suffering, I did manage to have some very pleasant times. The people that I knew were from the finest stock. I also know that the men we fought against were from the finest stock also. I only wish that we all could have met during less brutal times.
I'm posting these memories in memory to all those who participated in war in hopes that a similar tragedy will not occur again. It's not only soldiers who suffer in war , but it is the children who suffer far greater. It is important to end the hate in the world and promote mutual understanding of people and culture. Imagine what people can accomplish if we start taking care of each other, instead of worrying about our own group of people.
The following is a poem written by John McCrae, a Canadian soldier who lived in the trenches. This poem is the most used poem for Rememberance Day. I think it is important for people to read it and understand it, in hope that wars will be less frequent.
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.