On this day, 1915, Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, Commanding 3 Canadian General Hospital, wrote ''In Flanders Fields'. He was inspired to write it on May 3, 1915, after presiding over the funeral of friend and fellow soldier Lieutenant Alexis Helmer, who died in the Second Battle of Ypres. According to legend, fellow soldiers retrieved the poem after McCrae, initially dissatisfied with his work, discarded it. "In Flanders Fields" was first published on December 8 of that year in the London magazine Punch.
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.
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.
Being the iconic poem of the Great War in Canada, it has been translated into French.
Les cimetières flamands
(Transl. J.P. van Noppen)
Sous les rouges coquelicots des cimetières flamands,
Qui parmi les rangées de croix bougent dans le vent,
Nous sommes enterrés. Et dans le bleu des cieux,
Les alouettes encore lancent leur cri courageux
Que plus personne n’entend sous le bruit des canons.
Qui parmi les rangées de croix bougent dans le vent,
Nous sommes enterrés. Et dans le bleu des cieux,
Les alouettes encore lancent leur cri courageux
Que plus personne n’entend sous le bruit des canons.
Nous sommes morts : il y a à peine quelques jours,
Nous connaissions les joies de la vie, de l’amour,
La fraicheur de l’aurore, les lueurs du ponant.
Maintenant nos corps sans vie reposent en sol flamand.
Nous connaissions les joies de la vie, de l’amour,
La fraicheur de l’aurore, les lueurs du ponant.
Maintenant nos corps sans vie reposent en sol flamand.
Nos mains inanimées vous tendent le flambeau :
C’est à vous, à présent, de le tenir bien haut,
De contre l’ennemi reprendre la querelle.
Si vous ne partagez des morts la foi rebelle,
Nos corps ne pourront pas dormir paisiblement
Sous les rouges coquelicots des cimetières flamands.
C’est à vous, à présent, de le tenir bien haut,
De contre l’ennemi reprendre la querelle.
Si vous ne partagez des morts la foi rebelle,
Nos corps ne pourront pas dormir paisiblement
Sous les rouges coquelicots des cimetières flamands.
In answer to LCol McCrae's poem, on 9 November 1918, two days before the War's end, American Moina Michael wrote a poem 'We Shall Keep the Faith', and became the driving force for the wearing of the Remembrance Poppy on Remembrance Day in honour of those who had fallen in the war.
We Shall Keep the Faith
Oh! you who sleep in Flanders Fields,
Sleep sweet – to rise anew!
We caught the torch you threw
And holding high, we keep the Faith
With All who died.
We cherish, too, the Poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led;
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies,
But lends a lustre to the red
Of the flower that blooms above the dead
In Flanders Fields.
And now the Torch and Poppy Red
We wear in honor of our dead.
Fear not that ye have died for naught;
We'll teach the lesson that ye wrought
In Flanders Fields.
Sleep sweet – to rise anew!
We caught the torch you threw
And holding high, we keep the Faith
With All who died.
We cherish, too, the Poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led;
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies,
But lends a lustre to the red
Of the flower that blooms above the dead
In Flanders Fields.
And now the Torch and Poppy Red
We wear in honor of our dead.
Fear not that ye have died for naught;
We'll teach the lesson that ye wrought
In Flanders Fields.
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