Remembrance Day Memories - guest post by Robert Stermscheg

               

Remembrance Day always has a special meaning for me. As a boy growing up in rural Manitoba, I recall taking in the ceremonies at our local school and pausing at the appropriate time to reflect and honor those who gave their lives during military conflict.

Then, as a member of a local Air Cadet squadron, I participated in the solemn ceremony, standing at attention and listening to the dignitaries as they recounted stories about men (and women) who paid the ultimate price.

Again, many years later, now a father myself, I would attend the November 11^th ceremonies in Winnipeg with my wife, being moved by the reading of John McCrae’s poem, In Flanders Fields. Looking around at all those who chose to give up a few hours of their day, both young and old, they came to pay their respects that memorable day. Curiously, I found myself reflecting on a personal connection to the horrors of war; through my father.

You see, my father, John Stermscheg, also fought during the Second World War, his unit pitted against powerful German invaders. Yet he didn’t enlist as a Canadian, because he was not born in Canada, but in Eastern Europe. Borders changed all the time in Europe, depending on which country had won the latest skirmish. Even though he was born in Austria, he was now (1939) living in Yugoslavia, and that made him fair game. Barely nineteen years old, he was conscripted into the Yugoslav army, took the requisite training, and participated in military exercises, even trained to become a pilot.

But then the storm clouds of war loomed over Europe and everything changed. The Yugoslav military brass cancelled a number of programs in order to prepare for an imminent war with Nazi Germany. My father, along with many hopefuls, was abruptly pulled from the aviation program and assigned to the army. Within a year, Hitler’s Germany declared war on the Allies, and Yugoslavia, though a small and independent country, was swept up with the rest.

In the spring of 1941, my father’s battalion was sent to stop the advancing armies of the Blitzkrieg. Preposterous. The Germans had armor-platted tanks and modern aircraft, while the Slovenian army pulled guns mounted on horse-drawn wagons and flew out-dated airplanes. His entire battalion was abruptly stopped on the outskirts of Belgrade, the capital. Faced with a formidable and superior foe, the commander had little choice but surrender. Not a single shot was fired and all were taken prisoner.

My father was not only confined in a German Stammlager, but he was forced to assume a new identity: POW #74324 . Camp Neubrandenburg, in northern Germany, housed Yugoslav, French, English and American prisoners. Caucasian, blue eyed, blond, and fluent in German, he stood out like a sore thumb. It took him some time to convince his fellow barrack mates that he wasn’t a spy.

My father was eventually released and sent back to his home town, so that as a man of German/Austrian descent, he could be useful to the German war machine. Fortunately, he was never conscripted to fight along-side the German army, though many “repatriated” Yugoslav soldiers were forced to don a German uniform.

Many would call it luck, the fact that he was never forced to enlist. Still, he believed in providence, in a power higher than the Third Reich. He survived and kept his war-time exploits mostly to himself. He would occasionally, over a glass of beer, recount some of the stories, choosing to dwell on the lighter side of life. But it wasn’t until years later that I paid much attention to them. I knew where our family had come from, but not of the communist repression or the hardships my parents had to endure.

When I probed further, he would open up and actually elaborate on some of his war-time experiences. I realized that it wasn’t all fun and games, unlike the light-hearted drama depicted on a former Hollywood TV show, Hogan’s Heroes. Dad didn’t particularly like the show, because it portrayed the German troops and their commander as inefficient, inept and stupid. But that wasn’t how he remembered the German army that he had personally encountered. They were far too efficient, regimented and driven by ambition.

Still, what stood out for me was my father’s integrity and sense of fair play. He recognized that men will do all sorts of things when pressured by corrupt and evil regimes. He didn’t personally hold things against those who had wronged him, even after the war, in post-war Yugoslavia. He and my mother endured much, sacrificed relationships, and risked all to flee a corrupt communist-run government in Yugoslavia, with the hope of starting over in their new-found country of Canada.

I’m forever grateful they had the courage to leave Yugoslavia, their homeland, and start afresh. It certainly wasn’t easy. Later, with my father’s blessing, I collaborated with him and wrote his memoir, POW #74324. Strangely though, he didn’t think it was worth telling. I beg to differ, because I got to know him as a young man, full of hopes and dreams for the future. Even though he wasn’t perfect, I began to fully appreciate him as a man, the struggles he overcame, and the man he turned out to be.

Sadly, my father has passed away. However, the story need not end there. After all, I have his testament, his testimony, all there laid out on paper, compiled in a book that we co-wrote. So, whether it’s on his birthday, a special occasion, or on Remembrance Day, I can reminisce about him, the role model he was to me and the legacy he left behind for all to see. 

Who Will Remember By T. L. Wiens

This is the first year I am free of having the school bus come to the yard. Until November, that was a fact I celebrated and missed nothing about being involved in the school system. But Remembrance Day always represented a special time in our house and the school Remembrance Day competitions were an opportunity to talk to my children and have them talk to the people who lived during the world wars.

 It’s been 70 years since WWII ended. The veterans who lived through that war are getting older and soon there will be no living person left to testify to the horrors of this war. All that will be left is the written accounts. 

It shows me  how important it is to get it in writing.

Here's my youngest daughter's last year Remembrance Day Poem.

Dust to Dust

By

Jenna Wiens

The wind blows

Dust into the soldier’s

Face.

His heart heavy

Thoughts of his family,

Home.

He walks on

His comrades

On either side.

The gun shots echo.

He falls

Blood stains the ground.

Images of his wife and children

Seep from his grasp.

His lips whisper a

Sweet, silent

Goodbye.

Honoured

At a grand church.

His family

Say their

Final goodbyes.

His body is returned

To the dust.

 

My Brian is Numb By T. L. Wiens

I had a very creative piece I was going to submit to the blog this month. I lost it somewhere in the hundreds of files on my computer. I’ll probably find it ten minutes after posting this. Instead, you will get this Nanowrimo worn out brain.

I finished my 50000 words in eight days. I guess that’s what happens when I take a month off writing. I can’t type fast enough but I know a lot of people struggle to get the words down. That’s why I dislike the number game.

I know goals are good but we don’t all write fast. Some of us cannot stand to look at red scattered throughout our text and have to stop to correct. I know people who think getting one written paragraph a day is quite an accomplishment. All of these represent the same deep desire; they have to get the story written at whatever pace they are able to do this.

November is also Remembrance Day month. While I have plot complications that I want to get on paper, there are other things in life that are more important. Remembering the sacrifice of soldiers who all gave and give their lives is one of those occasions. Some die on the battlefield, some suffer slow excruciating living deaths and all are haunted with the memories that change them. This deserves my time. Writing stops.

For all of you challenging yourself to Nanowrimo, I pray the story comes and your fingers fly across the keyboard. For those of you who are seeking out other endeavors, I pray God’s leading.

God bless you all. It is wonderful to be a part of this family.

 

God's Goodness to Our Country by Connie Inglis

Today is a day for remembering--remembering the freedom we have and thanking God for those that gave us that freedom.

I grew up in small-town Saskatchewan, in freedom, especially from a child’s perspective. My neighbour knew your neighbour and the house on the other side of town knew exactly whose kids those were playing cops and robbers in the empty lot across the street. War was the farthest thing from our minds, especially for my siblings and me who grew up under Mennonite traditions. Our family history did not even include soldiers gone off to war.

Years later I was confronted by the opposite scenario in the country of Myanmar—a country crippled by leaders who offer anything but freedom. Leaders who fight with their own to retain status and power, without moral conscience. I was so far from my childhood. Yet it was there that my husband and I were called to be—to help minority language groups, specifically, to help a group in Myanmar, oppressed and seemingly forgotten. And it was there that I saw their hope in Aung San Suu Kyi, their figure of freedom. 

 
This woman, burdened by her people’s plight, helped form a new political party in 1988, the National League for Democracy, and she became its leader, embodying democracy and freedom for her nation. In 1990 her party won the election and she became their new Prime Minister, but then was instantly squelched by the military junta. Suu Kyi was put under house arrest and has been under house arrest for much of the last 20 years and was finally released in 2010. She gave up her freedom; she gave up her rights to see her children; she chose to remain in Myanmar as her husband lay dying in England. She gave up all.

I cannot fathom her burdened heart. I try to imagine walking in her shoes but I cannot. She seems superhuman and yet she is not. Bono, from the group U2 sings about her all too clearly: 

You're packing a suitcase for a place none of us has been
A place that has to be believed to be seen
You could have flown away
A singing bird in an open cage
Who will only fly, only fly for freedom

Walk on, walk on
What you got they can't deny it
Can't sell it or buy it
Walk on, walk on
Stay safe tonight

And I know it aches
And your heart it breaks
And you can only take so much
Walk on, walk on.

(“Walk On,” All That You Can’t Leave Behind, 2000)

Aung San Suu Kyi refused to give up. Yet we know not how history will be written for this country.
 

Then the contrast: Canada, the “true north strong and free.” No longer do I turn off my mind when I stand for our anthem. Now it brings tears to my eyes, every time. God has been and continues to be good to us. I want to remember and be thankful. Seeing the situation in Myanmar has helped me do so. It has given me a tiny taste of what our soldiers fought for at Ypres, at Normandy, at Passchendaele. Our soldiers prevailed and world’s history was written. Canada’s history was written, granting me peace and freedom. 

I do not want to forget. I want to wake every morning thankful to God for freedom. I plan my own day. I make my own choices. I voice my own convictions. As a child I did not understand that I was living in a free country. Today I do. Yet, my friends on the other side of the globe hope for freedom. I weep with a broken heart for them. I weep with a joyful heart for us. 

       

You Can Change the World by Connie Inglis

Remembrance Day. A day to remember the armed forces that died in WWI fighting for our freedom—and also a day to remember all those who serve and have served our country in war, conflict and peace.

When I ponder this day, I am always drawn to the words of a famous politician and war strategist: “never give in, never give in, never, never, never-in nothing, great or small, large or petty - never give in.” Of course, I’m referring to Winston Churchill, a man whose words gave his country and the allied forces, hope in a dark time—a man who spurred them on to “fight on the beaches...on the landing grounds...in the fields and in the streets...in the hills...and never surrender.” His words were an inspiration then and they are still an inspiration today.

What does this have to do with writing, you may ask? Well, if you are like me, a person that loves words and finds inspiration in words, Churchill’s way with words is worth noting and studying. For me, they transcend war and just encourage me to press on in my higher calling to follow Jesus and also to press on in my writing.

When I was teaching High School English, I placed a banner above the white board that read, “You can change the world with words.” I believed it and I wanted my students to believe it. So we discussed inspirational writers like Winston Churchill who changed the world with words and I challenged them to learn from such writers. After all, writers read good writers, right?

Reading a biography about Churchill was even more inspiring. Not because he was perfect but because he was very human. He had character flaws and a personality that could be downright abrasive. Yet, he was a leader. With dogged determination he led and his words caused people to believe. None of us, or few of us, will likely influence people and the world like Churchill did. However, if you and I as writers truly believe that God wants us to write, then we too can influence and encourage with our words, despite our own personal weaknesses or flaws. God can still use us. We can offer love and hope and draw people to believe with our writing, in all genres. We can change our worlds with words.

Connie Inglis grew up in small-town Saskatchewan. After graduating from Bible College, she began studying linguistics to go overseas with Wycliffe Bible Translators. She met her husband along the way and they have been members of WBT Canada since 1988. She has 3 children and, as a family, they have had many overseas adventures, mostly in Southeast Asia. She is a grandma of one and that is now her new favourite role. She has a passion for language, is always curious, and loves to learn, read, write, play guitar, sing and, more recently, paint.

Remembering Rembrance Day - Tracy Krauss

Remembrance Day has just passed and many of us are still reflecting on what that means on a personal level. There is something about the day that brings up strong emotions, even though I have never suffered personal loss because of war. Attending a service of some kind has become an important ritual for me and my family. I should not have been surprised, therefore, when my 22 year old daughter explained to her boss that she wouldn't be able to work on Nov. 11 until later in the afternoon. (She works at a restaurant.) Finding a service she could attend, no matter what the city, had become an important ritual for her, too.

I remember sitting through two services each year as a child. The first usually took place on Nov. 10 at my school. Hundreds of students would cram in the gym and sit quietly through the familiar reading of 'In Flanders Fields' and the 23rd Psalm. Amazingly, everyone was able to remain still - even the normally fidgety ones, during the minute of silence. Somehow, the sense that this was something REVERENT had gotten through.

The second service took place at the Elks Hall. For some reason, this service had even more impact. It followed much the same program with the reading of 'thee' poem and 'thee' psalm, but there was something more. All the aging soldiers were there, medals jangling on their breasts as they marched in as best they could and sat in a place of honor. After the playing of 'Reveille' by our local trumpet player came what was - and still is - perhaps the most moving aspect of all: Reading the roll call.

There is something very poignant about hearing name after name being called; all young men and women who fell defending democracy. The other thing that made my heart flutter was the fact that I recognized most of the surnames. Many of these last names were repeated during my morning attendance at school. You see, I come from a small prairie town where everyone knows everyone. These were relatives of people I knew; fallen soldiers that claimed Mossbank as their home.

Added to this was the fact that my hometown of Mossbank used to be home to an airbase during World War Two. A lot of air force veterans trained there during the war years, so anything military was kind of a big deal. After the war, most of the activity was moved to nearby Moose Jaw, a much larger and better equipped air base. (And currently still the home of the famous Canadian 'Snow Birds'.) When I was a child we could watch for free as the Snow Birds did much of their flight training over our town, and you could still go exploring many of the abandoned hangers. They have since all been removed and the former base is now the home of the golf course.

 

When I moved away from Mossbank I continued to make attending a Remembrance Day service a part of my life. We moved a lot, so I've been at many different types of services. Most contain the same basis elements, but some seem more reverent than others. Still, I find it one of the most touching ceremonies, despite the sense of 'ritual' that it most often contains. I inevitably shed a tear or two, and usually go home to spend the rest of the day in reflection. One year I was able to take my children back to Mossbank for Remembrance Day. They were all a lot younger then, but I think it may have helped them understand the deep meaning that the day continues to hold for me. As we listened to the 'Roll Call', I think they may have recognized a name or two, as well.

May we never forget that these are not just story book heroes that we read about years later. They were real men and women who sacrificed themselves for our freedoms. No words can really express the gratitude that we owe. Thank you.

Remembering Heroes - Ramona Heikel

This month on Remembrance Day in Canada, and Veteran’s Day in the United States, we celebrate our military heroes, who have willingly committed themselves to defending our country.  My beloved peace-loving father served in the U.S. Marines and Air Force, and I am proud of him for making that sacrifice for his country and for his children and grandchildren. 

 

He was the most patriotic person I’ve ever known, and helped changed the world for the good by standing against hatred, prejudice, government oppression and terrorism.  Many others that I know—such as my dad’s cousin, a friend’s brother and my best friend’s son—also served, and in a way, so did all the parents, siblings and spouses of these families.  To all current and past members of our military forces, thank you—I could never thank you enough.

I also want to celebrate some non-military heroes, authors who have changed the world through literature, by giving worthy attitudes and vision to our minds, and who have consistently given joy and delight no matter what we’re facing in our lives.  Here are just a few that have been on my bookshelves since childhood.

Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, you introduced me to the magical world of books and adventures.  A. A. Milne, through Winnie the Pooh you taught me patience, gentleness and tolerance.  Beverly Cleary, your Ramona Quimby taught me to always be myself, and to not be afraid to laugh at myself.  

Robert Louis Stevenson taught me to dream and to take joy in being a dreamer.  He also introduced me to the utter beauty of poetic words, rhythm and rhyme.  C.S. Lewis and Madeleine L’Engle showed me that fiction—even science-fiction—can make its way deep into our souls and introduce us to the Savior.  Jane Austen taught me poise and discipline through her strong female characters, and Charlotte Bronte taught me self-sacrifice and courage through Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester.

 

The bottom line:  all of these authors made me smile inside.  They changed their worlds, and changed me.  It is because of them that I love to read and write, and I hope to give the same to my readers.  I’d like to think that I also have changed my world by being someone better than I would have been apart from these literary works.  

My admiration and appreciation goes out to all of these heroes, past, present and future.

Posted by Ramona

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