On May 17th of this year, I walked the short walk from a parking lot to a monument on the ridge of a hill overlooking a town in France. There were sheep everywhere. One little lamb had escaped a fence and become separated from the flock; she desperately ran back and forth along the ridge looking, searching, hoping for someway to break through the fence; hoping to join her flock, looking for safety she bleated, she cried as she looked out terrified over the ridge. This ridge, on which she was lost and bleating, is Vimy Ridge
As I stood atop Vimy Ridge by the memorial to our Canadian soldiers, the symbolism of this bleating lamb running back and forth, looking for someway through the fence, was not lost on me.
April 9th to 12th, 1917, a brutal battle was fought as our Canadian soldiers desperately looked for a way to break through the fences and trenches on this very same ridge. Many had tried before. Many had died before. But here were our troops, trying to get over those fences and through those trenches; trying to climb the ridge, to succeed, to survive.
Our troops were able to secure the high ground on April 9th; On April 10th they secured the village and the crest of the ridge; the final objective fell to the Canadians on April 12th. The battle was the first occasion when the four divisions of the Canadian Expeditionary Force fought together. Our soldiers climbed through barbed wire fences, deep trenches, hazards and perils and accomplished what others had not - but at great cost: By nightfall on 12 April 1917, the Canadians had sustained 10 602 casualties; 7 004 soldiers had been wounded, some never to recover, and 3 598 people breathed their last breath on that ridge overlooking that town in April of 1917.
On April 16th, George Morton Bird, from the Alberni Valley, wrote this:
“I suppose you have read all about the Great Easter Advance, and the part the Canadians took in it. If you should get an opportunity to see any of the moving pictures of it, you might see me amongst the other boys. I am the first man in a party of 12 or 13 advancing in single file. I believe Jack Mathison and Edwin Davey were both wounded. Also one of the Greenards. Arthur Lewis, Pryde, Tom and the rest of us are all O.K.,”
George Morton Bird died of injuries sustained in a later battle in June 1917. People from our Valley served in many battles. The Roll of Honour lists the names of 25 people from our community here who gave their lives there in World War 1.
May 15th and May 16th of this year, I walked along a beach in France, in Dieppe. I looked out across this beautiful beach covered with large smooth rocks that gave way under my feet, drawing me inwards, drawing me downwards, backwards, toward the sea; as I stumbled, I looked up to see steep, steep cliffs and even ancient fortifications; in the evening they were beautifully lit up by an amazing sunset.
August 19th, 1942, over 80 years ago, 6 100 mostly Canadian infantry arrived at this same beach. The same rocks that gave way under my feet gave way under theirs. Only they were wearing heavy packs and carrying weapons and supplies. Balance must have been near impossible. They would have been so heavy, soaking wet as the sea wanted to claim them for her own. And she claimed many. As the Canadians looked up at the sheer cliffs, I am sure it was not the beauty of the moment that captured their imagination but rather the sheer horror of having to find a way to scale those cliffs, sopping wet, heavy with gear, while being shot at. The fortifications seemed insurmountable to me this past May; the fortifications were impenetrable for many in August of 1942. 3 623 Canadians died on this small strip of beach. As I stood there 80 years later, watching the sunset over the water, this fact was not lost on me. 3 623 Canadians, after visiting this very same beach, never saw a sunset again.
Nelson Longeuay, of the Alberni Valley, was one of a few Canadians to survive Dieppe. Commenting on the raid 45 years later he asked, “what more could a man do than give his life?”
Many Canadians never returned from serving in World War 2. Twenty-two are on our honour roll from the Alberni Valley. One such person is Edward John Clutesi; born to be hereditary chief of the Tseshaht First Nation, instead he gave his life for us, in August of 1944, in Normandy, at age 26.
As I walked silently along the beach at Dieppe this past May, I looked at the stones, the cliffs, the fortress, the waves, the sea and I imagined and remembered those who had gone before. Then I noticed a monument in a garden, in a place now called Canada Square, put there by the citizens of Dieppe. It reads:
On the 19th of August 1942
on the beaches of Dieppe
our Canadian cousins
marked with their blood
the road to our final liberation
foretelling thus their victorious return
on September 1, 1944.
This memorial does not talk about the futility of war. Neither does this monument glorify war. This memorial simply notes that those who died, “marked with their blood the road to our final liberation, foretelling thus their victorious return”.
The monument at Dieppe remembers the sacrifices of the Canadians on their beaches, celebrates their victorious return and final liberation. May we likewise honour the lives of all our servicemen and women of every time and place. Let us remember them and their sacrifice and continue to work towards a time where there will finally be no more war and all of our service people and everyone else can safely return, and, like the little lamb on Vimy Ridge, be re-united with our families once and for all – forever in Peace. Lest we forget. Lest we forget.
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