I attended Remembrance Day for the first time in twenty years today. For 20 years I have wanted to attend but was too uncertain and nervous - read: "cowardly" - to attend.
I went because my girlfriend Tracy's 13-year-old son was marching for the first time as an Army Cadet and she was bursting with pride.
It turned out to be a greater moment than any I could ever have imagined. I dressed properly; in blazer, tie, green beret and medals. I was VERY nervous about placing my Airborne jump wings over my left breast; it is not, strictly speaking, legal. I was a Paratrooper at the time in Canada's history when the Airborne - Canada's magnificent spec-ops fighting force - was maligned, belittled and hated by the media and Canada's public. But my Wings are not mere symbols of my Paratrooper status. I was given them by members of the British Army One Paras. My wings are Bloodwings. No documentation exists on the Internet that explains what Bloodwings are. But if you can research it well enough, you will know why I am so willing to fight and die for their honour. (EDIT: Uh...All that is correct but Dave is worried that Edward (my alternate personality...I am a split-personality individual) might be getting too dramatic. Everything he says is true, but he's wording it in very heroic style, IMO. (FWIW Dave is the dominant personality; the real man that has served and fought. Edward is the creation that manifested about a year ago. He is false but very persuasive. There are times when I do not know which personality controls this body. From a forum perspective: Deal with it. I have to. Every freakin' day.) But uhh... Sorry. PTSD issues there. I was telling you about my day. Let's continue:
The display of my decorations is technically illegal too - military decorations cannot be displayed on a civilian suit. But my lover pressed me, and I relented. For the first time in 20 years I went to Remembrance Day in full colours, with decorations, wings and rank displayed. Tracy was quite captivating in a little coral number. As a veteran (though a very minor one IMO) I was offered a seat in the Reserved section; Tracy was quite thrilled - it's her first Remembrance Day.
But perhaps 15 minutes before ceremonies began another party came and sat in the seats in the row in front of us. I was shocked to the core: I knew the face of the Senior Officer that settled into the seat in front of Tracy. He was big, buff, bespectacled and I knew him instantly - a man I haven't seen since 1988. He was just another "Louie" at the time; a young Lieutenant (pronounced lef-tenant) with the superb Armoured (tank) Regiment The Lord Strathcona's Horse. But the face was the same, if heavier. Some guys are lucky enough to age well, the jerks. LOL!
"Excuse me Major," I said, leaning forward. He looked around, and I introduced myself. "Master Corporal Dave Organ, 2 PPCLI, retired. Play any bagpipe music recently?"
He looked confused and I explained. In 1988 I was a Line Infantryman - your everyday grunt - on exercise at CFB (Canadian Forces Base) Wainwright; the vast Western Canada training area. He would never have remembered me - I was just a dumb no-hook Private at the time - but I certainly remembered him. My Battallion - 2PPCLI (The Second Battalion, Princess Patricias Canadian Light Infantry: the greatest fighting foot to ever kit up) was working with the Strats in combined-arms training - Infantry and Tanks working in close co-ordination. I remember Major Long (Lieutenant, at the time) because he was chatty, friendly, outgoing and took an interest in his soldiers. He was also - as befits a junior Lieutenant - very weird.
He's the guy that thought hooking his Walkman into his tank's intercom system so he could listen to tunes in his headset would be a good idea - and the Battle Group was treated to an unscheduled concert by The Doors; just as the CO was trying to give his attack orders. Lt. Long had miscalculated just a bit on the required electronics. Ever heard a Colonel trying to read orders over "Light My Fire"? We were almost blue with lack of breath, we were laughing so hard. He's the guy that didn't realize he was reading his map upside down - and the combat team (1 Troop of tanks supporting 2 Platoons of Infantry) wound up invading a perfectly peaceful - and active - golf course one bright morning.
But the best moment came on the very last action before Endex - the order which announces the five-month training excercise has thankfully come to a close: the End Exercise order. On that last Battle Run - a range exercise in which tanks and grunts live-fire (use live ammunition - not blanks) at targets as they force their way up a kilometer-long battle range - Lt. Long put his meager electronic skills to good use and popped a bagpipe tape into his Walkman. The Combat Team charged while "Scotland The Brave" skirled out over the loudspeakers. It was totally unprofessional, weird and impractical, but we grunts charged, roaring, at our paper enemy while the heavy guns of the Strathconas roared overhead. And believe me - if you've never advanced ahead of fighting tanks; you cannot imagine the awesome power those great guns unleash. Amid the smoke, flames, shaking ground and flying dust of our charge, the skirl of the pipes sang through; driving straight into our hearts. It is, to this day, possibly the finest moment I ever experienced as a soldier. It was just an exercise: a "wargame" in civilian parlance. I have fought many battles far more intense and deadly. I have fought enemies of extreme cunning and determination; I have had great successes and failures. Men killed and died under my command. At the time of that battle-run, I was a lowly grunt. By the time I retired from the Army 6 years later I was an experienced combat leader: a Section Commander with 9 men in my charge. But I always remembered that crazy, beautiful Battle-Run; how the pipes skirled over us in the heat and bewildering violence of a combat team attack. How our hearts surged and our blood pounded as we shredded our paper enemies. How - at that one moment - we were Soldiers: the mythical perfection of the Fighting Man.
All this came flooding back as I saw the man's face. After I explained Major Steve Long smiled and laughed, and gratefully took my hand. "You remember that?" he roared, "Holy Fu** I did three weeks of duties for that! Nice to know it was appreciated!"
Oh yeah, it was appreciated. It was the kind of stupid, Hollywood-inspired thing a 20-year-old Lieutenant might dream up, but it was so, so good. Only a couple years later both the Patricias and the Strats would become embroiled in one of the most horrible, gritty, nut-busting conflicts of the century: the Bosnian War. Among many other things, that single glorious moment buoyed us up; gave us humour and pride. There was no glory, no flag-waving, no big ideals in the Bosnian War; only the stern pride of a terrible job done well.
We did what we had to. We helped when we could, we fought when we needed to, we killed when we were able and we died when we weren't. I lost two men on that (my third and last) tour and five (myself included) injured. We were a shell of a team when we rotated home; shocked, horrified, saddened and demoralized. We did the best we could. But when we returned home, we were not welcomed, but kicked in the goddamn teeth. The Media was playing up the Sidane Arone killing in Rwanda - a horrible crime but the media was just going to town on it. We returned to Canada as fugitives: furtive members of a disgraced Army; an Army which had done nothing to earn that disgrace. Individuals had done bad things - and for the record I'm not sure I'd have done anything differently given the circumstances - in the early '90's the Canadian Army was a virtual pariah in Canadian culture. But for twenty years I've lived with doubt and shame; wondering what I could have done differently to see that Dermot and Johnathan came back with us. I have lived with that uncertainty for 20 years and it has very nearly killed me.
But seeing Steve Long today brought many of the pleasant pre-war memories flooding back. We chatted for a while but soon he turned his attention back to RSM Richaud - the Sergeant Major accompanying him. I turned my attention back to Tracy; my love, lover and most lovely friend. We cooed and clapped as her son marched past with his Cadet Corps (and looking very sharp, I must add); Tracy bursting with pride.
Perhaps Matthew (her son) will one day join the Army. Perhaps one day I will put Bosnia behind me. Perhaps a day will come when Soldiers are no longer needed to fight.
But that day will not come soon. Until it does we - the Soldiers of every generation - will stand in readiness. We will wait to fight. And when asked to do so, we will give our lives to protect you.
Always A Patricia.
I went because my girlfriend Tracy's 13-year-old son was marching for the first time as an Army Cadet and she was bursting with pride.
It turned out to be a greater moment than any I could ever have imagined. I dressed properly; in blazer, tie, green beret and medals. I was VERY nervous about placing my Airborne jump wings over my left breast; it is not, strictly speaking, legal. I was a Paratrooper at the time in Canada's history when the Airborne - Canada's magnificent spec-ops fighting force - was maligned, belittled and hated by the media and Canada's public. But my Wings are not mere symbols of my Paratrooper status. I was given them by members of the British Army One Paras. My wings are Bloodwings. No documentation exists on the Internet that explains what Bloodwings are. But if you can research it well enough, you will know why I am so willing to fight and die for their honour. (EDIT: Uh...All that is correct but Dave is worried that Edward (my alternate personality...I am a split-personality individual) might be getting too dramatic. Everything he says is true, but he's wording it in very heroic style, IMO. (FWIW Dave is the dominant personality; the real man that has served and fought. Edward is the creation that manifested about a year ago. He is false but very persuasive. There are times when I do not know which personality controls this body. From a forum perspective: Deal with it. I have to. Every freakin' day.) But uhh... Sorry. PTSD issues there. I was telling you about my day. Let's continue:
The display of my decorations is technically illegal too - military decorations cannot be displayed on a civilian suit. But my lover pressed me, and I relented. For the first time in 20 years I went to Remembrance Day in full colours, with decorations, wings and rank displayed. Tracy was quite captivating in a little coral number. As a veteran (though a very minor one IMO) I was offered a seat in the Reserved section; Tracy was quite thrilled - it's her first Remembrance Day.
But perhaps 15 minutes before ceremonies began another party came and sat in the seats in the row in front of us. I was shocked to the core: I knew the face of the Senior Officer that settled into the seat in front of Tracy. He was big, buff, bespectacled and I knew him instantly - a man I haven't seen since 1988. He was just another "Louie" at the time; a young Lieutenant (pronounced lef-tenant) with the superb Armoured (tank) Regiment The Lord Strathcona's Horse. But the face was the same, if heavier. Some guys are lucky enough to age well, the jerks. LOL!
"Excuse me Major," I said, leaning forward. He looked around, and I introduced myself. "Master Corporal Dave Organ, 2 PPCLI, retired. Play any bagpipe music recently?"
He looked confused and I explained. In 1988 I was a Line Infantryman - your everyday grunt - on exercise at CFB (Canadian Forces Base) Wainwright; the vast Western Canada training area. He would never have remembered me - I was just a dumb no-hook Private at the time - but I certainly remembered him. My Battallion - 2PPCLI (The Second Battalion, Princess Patricias Canadian Light Infantry: the greatest fighting foot to ever kit up) was working with the Strats in combined-arms training - Infantry and Tanks working in close co-ordination. I remember Major Long (Lieutenant, at the time) because he was chatty, friendly, outgoing and took an interest in his soldiers. He was also - as befits a junior Lieutenant - very weird.
He's the guy that thought hooking his Walkman into his tank's intercom system so he could listen to tunes in his headset would be a good idea - and the Battle Group was treated to an unscheduled concert by The Doors; just as the CO was trying to give his attack orders. Lt. Long had miscalculated just a bit on the required electronics. Ever heard a Colonel trying to read orders over "Light My Fire"? We were almost blue with lack of breath, we were laughing so hard. He's the guy that didn't realize he was reading his map upside down - and the combat team (1 Troop of tanks supporting 2 Platoons of Infantry) wound up invading a perfectly peaceful - and active - golf course one bright morning.
But the best moment came on the very last action before Endex - the order which announces the five-month training excercise has thankfully come to a close: the End Exercise order. On that last Battle Run - a range exercise in which tanks and grunts live-fire (use live ammunition - not blanks) at targets as they force their way up a kilometer-long battle range - Lt. Long put his meager electronic skills to good use and popped a bagpipe tape into his Walkman. The Combat Team charged while "Scotland The Brave" skirled out over the loudspeakers. It was totally unprofessional, weird and impractical, but we grunts charged, roaring, at our paper enemy while the heavy guns of the Strathconas roared overhead. And believe me - if you've never advanced ahead of fighting tanks; you cannot imagine the awesome power those great guns unleash. Amid the smoke, flames, shaking ground and flying dust of our charge, the skirl of the pipes sang through; driving straight into our hearts. It is, to this day, possibly the finest moment I ever experienced as a soldier. It was just an exercise: a "wargame" in civilian parlance. I have fought many battles far more intense and deadly. I have fought enemies of extreme cunning and determination; I have had great successes and failures. Men killed and died under my command. At the time of that battle-run, I was a lowly grunt. By the time I retired from the Army 6 years later I was an experienced combat leader: a Section Commander with 9 men in my charge. But I always remembered that crazy, beautiful Battle-Run; how the pipes skirled over us in the heat and bewildering violence of a combat team attack. How our hearts surged and our blood pounded as we shredded our paper enemies. How - at that one moment - we were Soldiers: the mythical perfection of the Fighting Man.
All this came flooding back as I saw the man's face. After I explained Major Steve Long smiled and laughed, and gratefully took my hand. "You remember that?" he roared, "Holy Fu** I did three weeks of duties for that! Nice to know it was appreciated!"
Oh yeah, it was appreciated. It was the kind of stupid, Hollywood-inspired thing a 20-year-old Lieutenant might dream up, but it was so, so good. Only a couple years later both the Patricias and the Strats would become embroiled in one of the most horrible, gritty, nut-busting conflicts of the century: the Bosnian War. Among many other things, that single glorious moment buoyed us up; gave us humour and pride. There was no glory, no flag-waving, no big ideals in the Bosnian War; only the stern pride of a terrible job done well.
We did what we had to. We helped when we could, we fought when we needed to, we killed when we were able and we died when we weren't. I lost two men on that (my third and last) tour and five (myself included) injured. We were a shell of a team when we rotated home; shocked, horrified, saddened and demoralized. We did the best we could. But when we returned home, we were not welcomed, but kicked in the goddamn teeth. The Media was playing up the Sidane Arone killing in Rwanda - a horrible crime but the media was just going to town on it. We returned to Canada as fugitives: furtive members of a disgraced Army; an Army which had done nothing to earn that disgrace. Individuals had done bad things - and for the record I'm not sure I'd have done anything differently given the circumstances - in the early '90's the Canadian Army was a virtual pariah in Canadian culture. But for twenty years I've lived with doubt and shame; wondering what I could have done differently to see that Dermot and Johnathan came back with us. I have lived with that uncertainty for 20 years and it has very nearly killed me.
But seeing Steve Long today brought many of the pleasant pre-war memories flooding back. We chatted for a while but soon he turned his attention back to RSM Richaud - the Sergeant Major accompanying him. I turned my attention back to Tracy; my love, lover and most lovely friend. We cooed and clapped as her son marched past with his Cadet Corps (and looking very sharp, I must add); Tracy bursting with pride.
Perhaps Matthew (her son) will one day join the Army. Perhaps one day I will put Bosnia behind me. Perhaps a day will come when Soldiers are no longer needed to fight.
But that day will not come soon. Until it does we - the Soldiers of every generation - will stand in readiness. We will wait to fight. And when asked to do so, we will give our lives to protect you.
Always A Patricia.
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to you all!
It's always good to be reminded that no matter how bad things get the big dude with the handlebar moustache can find oh so many ways to make your life much, much worse. (chuckle)
