Lest We Forget: A Walk to Rememberance Day

"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."

Today is a day set aside for us to remember those brave souls who have fallen on our behalf. I dare say that everyone has had War directly, or indirectly, affect their lives.

It wasn't until I was 20 that I was told that my Scottish Great~Great Grandfather fought in World War I. Unfortunately, he was one who forfeited his life for a greater cause. His Granddaughter (My Nana) went on to marry a military man in my Gramps. He was set to be deployed to Cyprus and the Congo, but wound up never having to go. (This was probably for the best for everyone... Nana and Gramps ultimately had 9 kids to care for!)

The tragedy that was World War II cemented my existence. Of my four grandparents, three were born right here in Canada. My Grandma was the unique one, she was born in Switzerland in the early 1930's. By the time my Grandma reached the age of 8, the rumblings of Nazi Germany were becoming more apparent to her Father. (My Great Grandfather.) He had been to Canada before and figured it would be a good place to move his family to.

I asked my Grandma what she could remember about her time in Switzerland. She remembered things being rationed. I guess Grandma didn't have much of a sweet tooth as squirrelled away her sugar rations... Maybe she used the sugar as leverage, as she mentioned that she would use it to bargain with her mother (my Great Grandmother) - for what I don't know... She was 8! She told me about the boat ride over to Canada and what a bizarre experience that was. I guess as my Great Grandparents Gysler were on the dock waiting to board the ship with their 4 children, a Nazi Soldier clicked his heels and gave "the Solute" and Great Grandpa refused to solute back at first. After a little convincing from his brother, Great Grandpa finally did solute back and then was able to embark on the journey to Canada with his family. Grandma says she  remembers people getting sea sick and throwing up over the sides of the ship and the ship was a little bit hard to get used to at first.

Once the family got to Canada, Grandma remembers going to a male relative's house. (I can't remember if Grandma said it was her Uncle or her Dad's Uncle or cousin... But it was a relative.) Grandma mentioned that she saw there were swastika's on the rain barrels. Though Great-Grandpa planned to briefly stay at this relative's, after such a sight - the plan had changed. The family settled into a Canadian life and the school aged kids began school, which was hard at first... Their first language was German, so they had the added difficulty of learning English first. Great Grandma and Grandpa rounded out their brood with two more kids after coming to Canada. (Grand total of 6 kids.) Grandma and her siblings became Canadian Citizens and went on to raise Canadian children and saw the likes of Canadian grandchildren. (We're onto the third generation of Swiss Canadians as some of those grand kids have kids now.) My Great Grandparents Gysler also became Canadian Citizens. After they passed away that's how they stayed as they were buried in Vernon, BC.

I briefly dated a Paramedic who was in the Armed Forces. We didn't get too serious and only dated a matter of a few months. I don't know if it was something I did, or the fact that he was preoccupied with his deployment to Kandahar, Afghanistan - and rightfully so - but we didn't make it to his departure to the Middle East. Though we weren't longer together - I did breathe a sigh of relief when I heard that he had made it back to Canada safely after his tour of duty. I've even seen him once or twice since as well. No hard feelings... Maybe a few of gratitude... I always thought he had kind eyes, which is part of the reason I dated him in the first place.

I have recently heard of the White Poppy Campaign. This campaign encourages people to wear a White Poppy for a culture of Peace. Those associated with the campaign, wear a white poppy to symbolise "the belief that there are better ways to resolve conflicts than killing strangers". The poppies are really beautiful, and so is the idea... But the idea is also offensive and might see the Campaign getting sued by a Legion. Remembrance Day is a day of REMEMBERING those who have already lost their lives in order to protect our rights and freedoms. I'm all for World Peace and all that good stuff, but pick a different day to promote your ideas! I'd rather not see another war in my life time, but I know for a fact that Wars have happened in the past, so don't insult my intelligence.... And far above my intelligence are those who have perished in Wars past. We're supposed to remember to honour those fallen and hopefully never see another person die again.

I took a walk through St Joachim Cemetery today and thought about both the World Wars, Vietnam, Dessert Storm, and now in Afghanistan. I came to the hallowed ground where a monument stood dedicated to such souls. Around this monument, were the rows and rows of Military Graves. Some were of those who were lost in the Great Wars. (World War I &II) Some were those who had served Military Duty and were fortunate to return and live the rest of their years in a country they fought so hard to protect. I feel greatly indebted to these Fallen Fellows.

It's Not Always About Me; Thank you all you Military Personnel who make me proud to be Canadian! Today I wear my Poppy in Your Honour.

Cemetery's Tale: Silence Can Speak Volumes

I remember my first trip to a cemetery; I went with my Grandma and cousin to Pleasant Valley Cemetery in Vernon, BC to tend my Grandma's parents' graves. I was maybe 9 or 10, and didn't know what to think. I had never met my great grandparents in life, as both had passed before I was even born. I remember there being two older boys (about 13-14) that were running, jumping, screaming and just being disrespectful while we were there. I didn't like that much. I was better behaved and didn't have to be told how to act, and I thought they were the rudest people around. We only went the once, and I've only been back - maybe twice - since then.

My second trip to a cemetery was a few years later. This time I was accompanied by my grade 12 English Lit class on a field trip. I can't remember who we were studying at the time, but my teacher, Mr Krahn, thought the trip to Coldstream Cemetery on a blustery October/Novemberish day seemed appropriate... And it was. For respectful reasons, the class' trip was cut very short, within 20 minutes of arrival, we were packing up and leaving. (My memory fails me, I can't remember if a funeral procession had entered the cemetery or if a couple that came to lay flowers on an old grave. Either way, out of respect, we left without so much as a hesitation.) I was disappointed because we hadn't stayed long... I understood why it was the right thing to do. 

Early into the New Year, my third trip was made to a cemetery. This time it was for my first (and still my only) funeral. A guy who was a few grades a head of me in school had passed away. He was only 20 or so, and he also happened to be 4 of my cousins' cousin. (We were as close to being family, without actually being family, as you can get. He was their cousin on their Dad's side, and I was their cousin on their Mum's side.) The sad thing was, his younger brother was in my grade... And we were graduating from high school that Spring. The brother my age pulled through though, and wound up being MC at our grad... Older brother would've been proud, he had the personality of a performer as well.

It's been years since I've had to attend a funeral, or took a class requiring a field trip to a cemetery, or since I've been able to visit my Great-Grandparents' graves... It hasn't been years since I've wandered through a grave yard though. I guarantee I'm not morbid, or have any bizarre motives. It was out of curiosity more than anything.

While Edmonton has no shortage of cemeteries, I am most familiar with what I now realize are two separate grave yards. I came across these places quite by accident, yet in my usual way... They were on the route to work, years ago, when I first moved to Edmonton. At first I thought the cemetery was separated by the busy avenue, but still one place. It wasn't until I looked it up a few years later that I realized that there was literally a cemetery across the street from a cemetery.  On the south side of the Avenue sits St Joachim Cemetery, which happens to be Catholic Holy ground. (It was established in 1888 and is located at 105 Avenue at 117 Street.) On the North side of the Avenue lays the Municipal Cemetery to the City of Edmonton. (Information via the Internet is pretty sparse.)



St Joachim

Shortly after the discovery, I went for a wander through the grounds on a day off. I soon made new friends and had other places to be and the thought of a grave side walk evaporated. It wasn't until I started working, literally blocks from the cemeteries, that my visits increased. (I know it sounds creepy....) In the short few months that I worked near by, it almost came routine to take a stroll through the yards before my shift. Though so close to a busy thoroughfare, the cemeteries seemed so peaceful and serene amongst the trees. The odd time, I happened across a squirrel or two that would be playing amongst the head stones.



St Joachim Cemetery

Those interned in either place, told a history. Some head stones were extravagant, while others were plain. Some had the exact age on their stones, right down to the month. Some were nearly 100 years old when they passed. Some of the older stones told the story of the person that lay beneath it; where they were born, who their parents or children were. Some were so worn and weathered that it was hard to read much at all. Others had moss growing over them, while others were broken and crumbling. The ones that made me the saddest were the graves of children. Some were just a day old when they passed, some weren't named at all and were plainly marked "Baby" and distinguished by their last name. (IE/ Baby Smith) It made me wonder why there were so many tiny tombstones, then it dawned on me. Many died due to illness and disease that today's medical advances would have surely saved a great number of them.

If I would've been born 100 years ago, I would've most likely seen death as an infant. I was born with Pyloric Stenosis, which means that back then, I would most likely have starved to death. I'm not sure there wouldn't have been a way to figure out what was wrong with me, let alone fix it. My Grandma, who is almost 80, was born almost two months prematurely. The Doctors told my Great Grandfather not to bother naming or registering her, as she probably wouldn't make it long. Obviously she did, as she's my Grandma today. If she hadn't, she would have been Baby Gysler left in Switzerland when the family immigrated to Canada. (This is the same Grandma that took me on my first trip to the cemetery.)

It's not always about me; It was a great way to see some of the history of Edmonton first hand, even if it is a creepier way of going about it.

Municipal Cemetery



Municipal Cemetery