Remembrance Day 2020
At 10:30, I would like you to watch BBC1, 'The Unknown Soldier'. Please watch this programme until the two minute silence has finished just after 11:00.
But why do we have Remembrance Day, every year, on November 11th?
Please have a look at the following Powerpoint and slides.
Wednesday 11th November
LC: To analyse a war poem to develop understanding
Below is the poem that you read on the slides - 'In Flanders Fields' by John McCrae. Below the poem, I have written a short commentary of my understanding of the poem. In order to do this successfully, I needed to use specific reading strategies:
In Flanders Fields
BY JOHN MCCRAE
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.
EXAMPLE
In Flanders Fields
I think that the first verse talks about the dead soldiers of World War One. The crosses symbolise the places where they were killed during battle. There are birds (larks) flying overhead but you can't hear them because of the relentless sound of the guns.
The second verse discusses the voice of the dead soldiers. It talks about them having families and experiencing life generally, such as watching the sunset before they were killed.
The final verse explains that the soldiers have given their lives so that the rest of us can be free. Their success in defeating the enemy is the 'torch' that we should hold high and never forget them.
Here is another famous war poem, written by Wilfred Owen during the time of World War One. He was a famous poet and soldier during the time of The Great War (WWI).
Read the poem carefully and try to understand the messages within it.
Dulce et Decorum Est
BY WILFRED OWEN
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.