November 11th is Veteran’s Day in the US, but some Americans may not know that it was originally called Armistice Day and celebrated the end of WWI. Hostilities of World War One, also known as the Great War, ended on Nov. 11, 1918. In 1954, the US changed the name of the holiday to Veteran’s Day.
The difference is between Memorial Day and Veterans Day is the former began in 1865 to honor the fallen of the Civil War, and later the fallen of all our wars. Veterans Day honors our vets, whether living or dead.
Poppies are handed out by veterans on Nov. 11. The fallen of World War One were buried where they died in France and Belgium, on muddy battlefields. Later poppies grew in these fields and became associated with the holiday.
Canadian soldier, John McCrae, wrote a famous poem entitled “In Flanders Fields” which he discarded due to dissatisfaction with what he wrote. His friends saved the poem and later that year it was published in the British Punch. This photo shows the entire poem.
Inscription of the complete poem in a bronze book at the John McCrae memorial at his birthplace in Guelph, Ontario. Photo by Lx 121 – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8455795
I’m glad his friends recognized the worth of the poem.
My father and brother both served proudly in the US Air Force. I’ll be thinking about my dad today.
I’m pleased to announce the release of In The Shadow of War by my friend, Colleen Adair Fliedner. Colleen has penned a wonderful story of war, spies, disaster and love.
The sinking of the Lusitania is not as well known as the story of the Titanic, perhaps because the Lusitania was a victim of war rather than a spectacular freak accident. Or perhaps because there has never been a blockbuster movie about the Lusitania.
Unlike the Titanic, which took hours to go under, the Lusitania sank in a matter of minutes, eighteen to be exact. 1198 people died and only 761 survived.
In 1915 while the First World War raged on in Europe, Americans, and especially New Yorkers, faced their own “silent war” at home. Disgruntled with America’s so-called promise of “neutrality” and overt trade deals with England and France, the German government set up a spy ring headquartered in Manhattan. Their espionage and terrorist networks had tentacles reaching all the way to the German Ambassador in Washington D.C. German operatives planted explosives on American and British cargo ships en route from New York to England, France, and Russia. They plotted to blow up trains, bridges, factories, and even the U.S. Capitol Building.
In the Shadow of War is available in bookstores in hard cover and paperback; e-book available exclusively at Amazon or read free with Kindle Unlimited.
“MY GOD,” Josette gasped. “They did it! They really did it!”
Seaman Morton glanced down at her and Curtis with a terrified expression. “Torpedo heading this way! Run!” He dropped the megaphone and disappeared inside the Bridge doorway.
Without a word, Curtis grabbed her arm. Together, they sprinted aft, in the direction of the stairwell. The thunderous sound of shattering metal followed a loud thud. An instant later, an explosion emanated from the heart of the liner, violently shaking the deck beneath their feet.
“This can’t be happening!” Her knees went weak, buckling beneath her. She grabbed the handrail on the bulkhead wall. Screams and shouts came from everywhere. Footsteps pounded on the deck.
“The dogs!” Josette turned around just in time to see a terrified-looking Mrs. O’Reilly, the three dogs, and several other passengers running in their direction. A thick column of water and steam spewed up from the area where the torpedo struck. Everything – the forward deck, the passengers, the dogs – were wet from the heavy spray and shaft of steam that had blown over the front section of the ship.
“Get your vests on!” a terrified Mrs. O’Reilly yelled, as she bolted past, heading for the stairwell. “We’re all doomed!”
“Wait!” Curtis yelled. “Are you all right?”
Mrs. O’Reilly didn’t answer, didn’t look back, and disappeared around the end of the bulkhead. Little Sassy followed her owner, her leash dragging behind her.
As Mr. Duns sprinted past, Curtis tried to grab him. Panicked, the Westie wasn’t having any of it. He zipped through Curtis’ grip and kept running.
“We need to go after poor Dunsy,” Josette yelled, feeling the urge to cry.
“No. We can’t. We need to get our life jackets.”
“No! I have to save him.” She stepped out to run.
He grabbed her arm. “Wait, Josie. Go get your life jacket. My room is near Mrs. Donaldson’s. I’ll check to make sure the dog—”
A deafening sound, an explosion far greater than the first one, shook the ship with such force that both Curtis and Josette were knocked to the deck. The ship shuddered, its bow lifting, then dropping hard. Horrible sounds – things crashing, breaking glass, shattering windows – could all be heard over the screams. The Lusitania rolled from side to side, finally settling itself.
Her ears ringing, Josette raised her head and glanced in the direction of the blast. The plume of steam was laced with fiery orange and black fragments, rising hundreds of feet into the air. Josette gasped, covering her mouth with her gloved hands. It looked like a volcanic eruption.
Strangely, the wreckage which had shot skyward seemed to hover in the air. As the ocean liner continued to move forward, burning chunks of debris began to rain down – wood shards, pieces of metal, and bits of glowing black matter – bounced and plinked as it hit the smokestacks, the Bridge, and the deck close to them.
“Get down!” Curtis said, pushing her to the deck and closer to the bulkhead wall. He laid on Josette to shield her, yanked at his coat, and pulled it up to cover the back of their heads. “Don’t move,” he whispered in her ear.
Josette laid face down, her cheek against the deck. Trembling, she closed her eyes. Where was her sister? Her parents?