It’s a Charge Boys, it’s a Charge!

On March 30th, 1918 in a Battle lead by General Seely, Canadian forces including the Lord Strathcona’s Horse fought for Moreuil Wood against the Germans.
Despite crippling odds, the Canadian troops fought both mounted on horses and in hand to hand combat, at the end of the day victorious with hundreds of thousands killed, wounded or missing.

The battle of Moreuil Wood is one that I am sad to admit I would have known nothing about had it not been for my husband’s job.  For a member of Lord Strathcona’s Horse (RC), the battle marks an important piece of Regimental history and includes a Parade and for some, Mess Dinners and other festivities.

The history of the battle, the key players, the victories and the losses, are usually read out at a parade by a solider assigned.  The famous rallying cry of  Lt Gordon Flowerdew rings out over the parade hall acoustics:

“It’s a charge, boys, it’s a charge!”

The losses of the battle are staggering, with over 200 000 allied forces killed, wounded or MIA.  And Lt. Flowerdew, who was killed in the battle with his men, received his Victoria Cross posthumously.

And yet, it was a victory and the war was won and that means that on Saturday night I sat at a formal dinner surrounded by soldiers who ate and drank and reminisced.

And I wonder if those men on that battlefield, the only 51 soldiers from LdSH(RC) left still standing when the dust settled, could have imagined that this is how we would remember.  With our dressiest clothes and fanciest silverware, fine food and Port to toast the fallen.

I’m sure they did not.  In fact, I am willing to guess that it never crossed their mind as they saw their friends fall and their battle rage around them.  And for those who had the chance to finish their lives in peace time, I wonder if the battle ever left them.  When they thought of their war, I doubt those thoughts involved quiet dining halls and sherry served in tiny glasses spelling out LdSH.

But close to 100 years later, wars are remembered through the lens of faded time.  So we sit, far removed from the losses but secure in the life that their battle won us, and remember in our own way what was done.

While at the dinner Saturday, I had the chance to meet an amazing gentleman, retired from my husband’s Regiment, one who was clearly the oldest in the room, with striking white hair, a beautiful welcoming smile and commanding handshake.

He found us at the reception and came over to introduce himself.  He told us nothing that would make himself sound special, only told intricate stories of his time in the service,mostly funny anecdotes where he laughed at himself a little.  Soon, his wife joined us, and through course of conversation the tiny woman mentioned that she thought she knew her husband pretty well now, considering she’d been taking care of him for over 60 years.

Over 60 years.

As her and I talked about what that looked like, she smiled as she spoke of her children and the life they had made.  The biggest challenge, she said, was convincing them for the 26 moves they made in 29 years, that each place they were going was more exciting than the one they were leaving.

60 years.

And she had no regrets or bitterness to share with me, practically a baby compared to her experiences.  No anger over a life married to a career soldier and war veteran. Only a gentle word of advice on moving as though that was the only hardship that had come her way over those many years, over their moves and deployments and the course of his time in the Korean war.

I found myself thinking that she saw time through rose coloured glasses.

But then I thought of the dinner itself and the hard truth of what we were really their to honour.

And I thought of the hurt and anxiety I have felt these last few weeks as I read about the ways Afghanistan will be remembered.

And I think about my children, and my grandchildren, and 100 years from now, I pray there will be peaceful Dining Rooms and never ending glasses of wine as they commemorate still.

There is a dignity and a joy in being able to see the good.  I believe, after meeting my new friend, that it comes from a life choosing to see the positive and holding on to what is truly important.

May I, 45 years from now, see it the same way. 

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