Remembrance is the Price

There is a sadness that follows victory – a deep and profound sense of loss.
After the day has been won and our flag flies from the ramparts of the intractable enemy,
After the mouths of cannons have been silenced by treaty,
After the stench of sulphur is swept from the battlefield by cool breezes,
After the salted earth has been reclaimed and planted in soft green wheat, and
After all that we’ve prayed for has come to pass…

There is a sadness.

For a brief time we walked with purpose, and we fought
With a clarity of mind and a certainty of heart we had never known.
Our foe stood between us and our loved ones.
Our foe stood between us and our lives.
Victory was life.

Today we have achieved our bloody goal.
Our intractable foe rests beneath soft green wheat and feeds our crops without complaint.
We stand victorious. We live.
But to what end?

We fought valiantly, certain that we had a reason to prefer our life to that of our foe.
And now, bloodied and victorious, we look around us
For a cause as full of purpose and certitude as the right to live and we find little
To assure us that our lives were worth so much more than those of our enemies.

We remember now, after the guns have been silenced,
The surprised and saddened face of our enemy
As he received our bullets and embraced our bayonets.
Counting the seconds as his soul sped from his wounds,
Counting the unspoken words and unfinished deeds,
That until this day could always wait for the next.

We remember now, after the treaty has been signed,
The screams of dying foes in the shallow craters of spent mortars
As they begged for well-aimed bullets to speed their journey and end their misery.
We remember honouring their requests grimly,
Offering, as a boon, what was moments before, a curse.

We remember now, after our glorious victory,
The look on the face of a friend as he choked and died of gas in our trenches.
We remember now, after the parades and marching bands,
The soft popping, ripping sound the bullets made
As they passed through a friend when he rushed the line.
We remember leaping into foxholes and finding bodies in the thick mud beneath our knees.

We stood awkwardly beside them, friend and foe, as they died without morphine or comfort.
Not one asked for his mother or sent words to his wife.
Not one was carrying the flag bravely as he fell.
They died screaming and kicking and mad with pain.
We stood above them awkwardly, embarrassed, and watched them until they quieted and died.
With bullets and bayonets, we had the power to do this thing, but were powerless to undo it.

They were men like us. They were fighting for their lives. We were the same.
No matter how hard we try, we can’t help but remember.

We remember the clarity of purpose, and the death of a friend,
The stench of spent powder, and laughing at a helmet dented by an enemy sniper,
The shocking ease with which a bayonet penetrated clothing and skin to find its mark.
And the rumble, like distant thunder, of artillery as our comrades died unseen miles away.

There was a time, in the thick of battle, that memory was a luxury and necessity was master.
Necessity was our armour against doubt and our shield against remorse.
It was the fountain of our certitude and the surety of our victory.
Today, we would give our lives for a necessity that suffocates memory.
In the absence of certainty and purpose, we can’t help but remember.

There is a price to be paid for victory. Before the war, we believed the cost was calculated
In the lives of men and the rounds of ammunition spent to achieve our goal.
Now we know a different truth. The true cost of victory is memory.
Memory is my master now. I am slave to it, and I pay the price grimly.

Do not misunderstand. I would go again if called. Victory was necessary. Victory was life.
But with victory comes memory.

So when you hear the words, don’t fail to comprehend.
If we forget the cost of war, necessity becomes master and our sons will once more
Be slaves to victory, be slaves to memory.

So please, my friend, when you hear it, understand,

Lest we forget.