The Place that Held You by Nancy M Bell

 

Laurel's Choice releases December 1, 2023

For this and the other books in the series please click the cover. 

It hasn't been that long since Remembrance Day and my thoughts turn to those who went bravely into the unknown and never returned home. Some who came home did so injured both in body and spirit. When I was a child we lived with my grandparents. My grandfather served in WW1 with the engineering corps and his brother, my great uncle lost his life on August 8, 1918 at the Somme. Uncle Joe is buried in France near a small town called Marcelcave. My Uncle Jim, my mother's brother served in WW2 and spent time in a German POW camp before coming home.

There are so many stories that have never been told, and so many we are losing as these brave souls pass on. It is important that we and the younger generations remember those who gave their lives in all the past wars and those who are currently putting their lives in danger to protect us on home soil.

I love the initiative No Stone Left Alone where the graves of soldiers are visited by school children and others. I wish I could visit Uncle Joe way over there in France. But I hold him in my thoughts and I tell them all in my prayers "The Place that Held You is Still There and I remember you.

We will remember you, all of you.

This is poem I wrote for Uncle Joe.

Somme

Sleep

Nancy M Bell 

Crouched and ready we wait,

Dawn is late in coming

And when it does it is shrouded

In mist and fog

It is more than the damp and wet

That sends the shivers over our skin

Anticipation and fear war with each other

Where are the tanks that are supposed to support us?

 Sky and earth merge when we peek over the top

Stitched together by mizzle and mist

Yards away, across the trampled earth

The enemy crouch and wait as we do

Where are the tanks? The support?

Whispers and rumours run up and down the line

Then—suddenly the wait is over

“Over the top, boys,” the sergeant yells

 And we go

Surging out of our earthen burrows

Running, firing blind, blinking in the fog

No time to think, only to run and fire

Ducking bullets whining by our ears

Then—it stops

I open my mouth and spit mud

Blood, hot and cold runs through my fingers

The old guys were right

There is no pain when it happens

Just a mixed sensation of disbelief

And relief…

Even if I die right here in the mud

It’s over:

The fear;

the wet;

the lice;

the killing.

Somewhere my mates are yelling and shots echo

But around me there is an odd silence

A separation from the man-made hell

One hand clutching my gut,

the other somehow still wrapped around my rifle

I let the lark song sing me to sleep.

  

Military Spouse by J. S. Marlo

Misguided Honor

Ghostly Murder Mystery on a Canadian military base

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J. S. Marlo's BWL Books

Nov 11 is a special day, a day to remember the brave men and women who served in the military and gave their lives for their country. In Canada, it is called Remembrance Day, also known as Poppy Day.

As we honour the ones who never came back home, let's not forget the ones they loved and left behind in the name of duty. This poem is for them.

The Silent Ranks

I wear no uniforms, no blues or greens,
But I am in the military, in the ranks rarely seen.
I have no rank upon my shoulders. Salutes I do not give.
But in the military world is where I live.
I am not in the chain of command, orders I do not give or get.
But my husband/wife is the one who does, this I can never forget.
I am not the one who fires a weapon, who puts his/her life on the line.
But my job is just as tough. I am the one who is always left behind.
My husband/wife is the patriot, the brave and proud man/woman in uniform.
Not all can understand the call to serve one’s country.
Behind the lines I see things needed to keep this country free.
My husband/wife makes the sacrifice, but so do our families.
I love the man/woman I married. The military is his/her life. 
So I pledge to support my hero and stand among the silent ranks known as
The Military Spouse

The poem was originally written by an unknown military wife, a woman very much like me, and was signed The military Wife. I took the liberty to adapt it to both military wife and husband.

Let's never forget the sacrifices made by so many to keep our country free.

J.S.

 

J. S. Marlo's Website 

Remembrance Day

  https://bookswelove.net/martin-paula/ 

Remembrance Day

 Earlier this month, Remembrance Day was observed in the UK and in many Commonwealth countries. It commemorates the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month – 11am on November 11th 1918 – when the guns fell silent along the Western and Eastern fronts in Europe. An armistice had been signed, and the Great War had ended, after over four years of the bloodiest warfare ever.

There is an almost cruel irony in the fact that the first and also some of the last shots of the war were fired within fifty metres of each other in a small village called Casteau near the Belgian town of Mons which I visited several years ago.

On August 22nd 1914, a British cavalry troop, the 4th Dragoon Guards, were involved in the first skirmish with the Germans at Casteau. During this short battle, Captain E Thomas fired at the enemy, and killed a German cavalry officer.

Over 4 years of conflict later, on the morning of November 11th, 1918, a Canadian Infantry Battalion were on the trail of retreating German soldiers, and after firing their final shots, they stopped firing at 11 o’clock at the village of Casteau.

In between those first and last shots in this small Belgian village, hundreds of thousands lives had been lost in the trenches and battlefields on the Western and Eastern fronts.

                                                                         1914 Dragoon Guards Memorial           1918 Canadian Memorial

In 1915 Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, a Canadian medical officer, wrote a poem after presiding over the funeral of a friend who died in the Second Battle of Ypres:

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. 

The reference to the red poppies that grew over the graves of fallen soldiers in France and Belgium led to the poppy becoming one of the world's most recognized memorial symbols for soldiers who have died in conflicts.

In Britain, a Festival of Remembrance is held at the Royal Albert Hall in London on the Saturday nearest to November 11th. It commemorates all who have lost their lives in conflicts. Part concert, part memorial service, it concludes with a parade of representatives of all the armed forces as well as the uniformed volunteer organisations. Once they are all in place in the large arena, there is a two minute silence, and thousands of poppy petals are released from the roof. It is said there is one poppy petal for each person who has died in conflicts during and since the First World War.

The following morning, a memorial service is held at the Cenotaph in London’s Whitehall, and at the same time, similar services are held at hundreds of war memorials in every part of the country, and also wherever British troops are serving overseas.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

(Lawrence Binyon)

Find me on Facebook: www.facebook.com/paulamartinromances

Link to my Amazon author page:  author.to/PMamazon  

 

Holidays by J. S. Marlo

 

 

 

Seasoned Hearts

"Love & Sacrifice #1"

is now available  

click here

 

 

The Red Quilt

"a sweet & uplifting holiday story"

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J. S. Marlo's BWL Books

I started a new series titled Fifteen Shades. The series consists of holiday tales inspired by colours. The first book The Red Quilt was released in December 2021. The Red Quilt takes place at Christmas and features fifteen shades of red.

I started the second book. It is supposed to take place during Canadian thanksgiving and feature fifteen shades of blue. Now, in the last few weeks, I’ve been rethinking the setting, so I’ve been looking at other holidays celebrated in my home country.

Valentine’s Day (St. Valentine’s Day):

 

Valentine’s Day celebrates romantic love, friendship, and admiration. It is celebrated on 14 February in over 28 countries. In the Philippines, 14 February is the most common wedding anniversary day.

 

St. Patrick’s Day (The Feast of St. Patrick):

 

St. Patrick’s Day is a cultural and religious holiday celebrated on 17 March, the traditional death date of Saint Patrick, the foremost patron saint of Ireland. It is celebrated in more than 50 countries.

 

Easter:

 

Easter is both a pagan and a religious holiday. It is referred to a as a moveable feast. Its date varies according to the calendar originally used (Gregorian vs Julian) and the day of the last full moon (either astronomical or Julian). In Western countries, it can fall on any Sunday between 22 March and 25 April, but in some Eastern parts of the world, it can fall on any Sunday between 4 April and May 8. Around 95 countries celebrate Easter, but traditions vary by countries.

 

Canada Day:

 

Canada Day is celebrated on 1 July.

 

Thanksgiving:

 

Thanksgiving celebrates the harvest and blessings of the past year. There are roughly 17 countries that celebrate their own version of
Thanksgiving. The date and traditions varies by countries. In Canada, it is celebrated on the second Monday of October, and in the United States, it is celebrated on the fourth Thursday of November.

 

Halloween:

 

Halloween is a combination of pagan and religious rituals, and is believed to be one of the oldest celebrations in the world. It is celebrated toward the end of October/beginning of November (mostly on 31 October and 2 November) in around 40 countries.

 

Remembrance Day:

 

Remembrance Day is a memorial day observed on 11 November throughout the British Commonwealth since the end of WW1. It is also known as Armistice Day or Poppy Day. The day is also marked by war remembrances in many non-Commonwealth countries.

 

Every year since 1919, on the 11^th hour of the 11^th day of the 11^th month, we observe a moment of silence to mark the sacrifice of the many who have fallen in the service of their country, and to acknowledge the courage of those who still serve.

Christmas:

 

Christmas is both a sacred religious holiday and a worldwide cultural and commercial phenomenon. More than two billion people in over 160 countries celebrated Christmas. It is the most celebrated holiday in the world, but the day (see map) and the traditions associated with this holiday vary by countries.

 

New Year:

 

The New Year celebration is a global event with different types of celebration. The Pacific Islands of Tonga, Samoa, Kiribati were the first to welcome 1 January 2022 while Baker and Howland Islands were the last.

 

Happy Spring! Happy Easter! Stay safe!

JS

 

 

J. S. Marlo's Website

 

In Memory ~ Never Forget by Nancy M Bell

To find out more about Nancy's work click on the cover above. 

 My novel His Brother's Bride is very roughly based on my grandparent's story. We lived with my grandparents when I was younger and I can vividly remember my grandfather shaving and picking bits of shrapnel out of his face. This was many years after the end of World War One. Both Grampa Pritchard and his brother came to Canada as Dr. Barnardo's home children. They were shipped from Liverpool sheltering homes to eastern Ontario. Although they came a year apart, they were fortunate enough to end up close to each other near Eaganville Ontario. Grampa was given to the Wilcox family, Uncle Joe with the Mills. When World War One broke out he volunteered and lied about his age in order to be sent to Europe. His brother, my great Uncle Joe, enlisted after Grampa did. Grampa was a sapper and part of the engineering corps who went ahead to set up first aide areas and infrastructure. Along with others, he was buried for three days in rubble when the area they were working in was bombed. He was also gassed with mustard gas on six different occasions. 

 Uncle Joe was a private in the 21st Battalion of the Canadian Infantry (Eastern Ontario Regiment) and was lost on August 8, 1918 in an early morning Somme offensive near the village of Marcelcave at the age of 25. He is buried in France at Crucifix Corner Cemetary Villers-Bretonneux which is a village in the Department of the Somme, on the road from Amiens to St Quentin. CRUCIFIX CORNER CEMETERY is south of the village at the crossing of the road to Demuin and the road from Cachy to Marcelcave. 

Following the war, the British War Medal, Victory Medal, Plaque (Dead Man’s Penny) and Scroll were sent to his brother, Herbert Pritchard, c/o C.B. St. George, Sprucedale, Ontario

I wrote the following poem for Uncle Joe. 

 Somme Sleep 

 Crouched and ready we wait, 

Dawn is late in coming 

And when it does it is shrouded In mist and fog 

It is more than the damp and wet 

That sends the shivers over our skin 

Anticipation and fear war with each other 

Where are the tanks that are supposed to support us? 

 Sky and earth merge when we peek over the top 

Stitched together by mizzle and mist 

Yards away, across the trampled earth 

The enemy crouch and wait as we do 

 Where are the tanks? The support? 

Whispers and rumours run up and down the line 

Then—suddenly the wait is over 

“Over the top, boys,” the sergeant yells 

 And we go 

Surging out of our earthen burrows 

Running, firing blind, blinking in the fog

 No time to think, only to run and fire 

Ducking bullets whining by our ears 

 Then—it stops I open my mouth and spit mud 

Blood, hot and cold runs through my fingers 

The old guys were right 

There is no pain when it happens 

Just a mixed sensation of disbelief 

And relief… 

 Even if I die right here in the mud 

It’s over: 

 The fear; 

 the wet; 

 the lice;

 the killing. 

 Somewhere my mates are yelling and shots echo 

But around me there is an odd silence 

A separation from the man-made hell 

One hand clutching my gut, the other somehow still wrapped around my rifle 

I let the lark song sing me to sleep. 

 Copyright 2020 Nancy M Bell 

Thank you and farewell

http://bwlpublishing.ca/authors/claydon-sheila-romance/

On 11 November 1918 the First World War effectively ended when a peace treaty was signed by Germany and the Commonwealth of Nations. An armistice, which is a truce made by opposing sides, was signed at 11 am on what has become known as the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. The following year, after the signing of the Treaty of Versailles, when what is now known as the Great War was formally ended, a peace parade was held. For a number of years after that, what came to be known as Armistice Day, was celebrated. It was not about victory. It was about peace. It was about remembering all those people who had died in the line of duty. To help us do this there has always been 2 minutes of silence at 11 am on 11 November.

It is now 100 years since the Great War ended. Tragically, WW2 followed in little over 20 years. There have been many other wars across the world since then as well, so now, what eventually came to be called Remembrance Day, is the day when nations remember all those other soldiers, sailors and airmen who have died more recently, as well as those who fought a century ago. Whether this will continue, only time will tell, but this year in the UK it was special.

Danny Boyle, the Academy Award winning film director, challenged the people in the UK to go to the beaches to remember those soldiers who boarded the troop ships that would take them into battle. 30 beaches around the UK were chosen and Formby Beach, which is right outside my front door, was one of them.

This might not look like many people walking towards the beach but they kept on coming and, if you look closely, you can see  crowds beginning to congregate on top of the sand dunes as well. They were making the journey to commemorate the lives of those millions of young men of all nations who never had a chance to grow old, and they were doing this on a day that started out overcast, cold and very wet. As the minutes ticked towards eleven o'clock, however, the clouds began to part, and by the time a lone bugler began to play the The Last Post, the haunting tune that would lead the crowd into 2 minutes of silence, the sun came out.

When the silence ended there was just one more thing the crowd had to do, and that was to watch as the incoming tide washed away the huge portrait that had been sculpted into the sand, an image of a WWI soldier. It was a final farewell and thank you to those who had suffered so much for the price of our freedom. 

My family, like so many others, suffered during both world wars. Uncles died and others sustained injuries that affected them for the rest of their lives, so I grew up knowing their stories, and also knowing about the deprivations many suffered after both wars. Unemployment, food shortages, a lack of decent housing, rationing...it all went on for a very long time. Yet, without those wars and the tremendous sacrifices, would I have been the recipient of free health care for the whole of my life, or received a free first class education, benefited from female emancipation, been able to pick and chose a career...even write books that are published by Books We Love...the list is endless. 

So as we watched the waves wash away all that was left we said thank you, and farewell.

Sheila Claydon on facebook

A Soldier’s Breakfast by Jude Pittman

A WWII Memory, dedicated to my Uncle William (Bill) Shipton (Canadian WWII Veteran) and my daughter Major Billie Cartwright (Active US Army Reservist)

Originally published in Western People Magazine, May 1991 as Egg on His Face

Bill was in his glory. Finally after weeks of courting young Phyllis Quelch, he'd been invited home to dinner. He pressed his uniform until the creases cut and shined his shoes until he could see his reflection.

Bill wanted to be sure that the Quelches recognized him as a serious young man with his own land and big plans for the future. Once the war was over he'd be returning to his homestead in Alberta, and it was going to take some doing to convince Phyllis to give up her life in England for the rough Canadian prairies. This dinner was Bill's chance to win the Quelches approval, and when he met them at their humble cottage he flashed his brightest smile and prepared to charm them with his native Canadian wit. The Quelches were a pleasant couple slightly reserved in the manner of the British but they soon warmed to Bill and after dinner they invited he and Phyllis to join them at the neighborhood pub.

The evening passed in easy camaraderie. Bill entertained the Quelches with amusing tales of life on the Canadian wilderness, and they responded with anecdotes of English country life. By the time they started home it was raining heavily, and Mrs. Quelch insisted that it was not a fit night for Bill to bicycle back to the base. He gratefully accepted a bed on the living room sofa and was soon fast asleep.

Rising early the next morning to the smell of sizzling bacon, Bill slipped into the little kitchen to greet Mrs. Quelch.

"The top o'the mornin to ya," he quipped. "When I heard you humming away at that stove I thought for a sec I was back home with my Mum."

Smiling shyly, Mrs. Quelch poured him a cup of tea, dished up several slices of bacon and four eggs onto an old crockery plate and set it carefully on the warmer.

"That smells mighty good, ma'am," Bill said, gratefully carrying the plate to the little breakfast nook and happily digging into his breakfast. The portion was just right for his vigorous appetite, and pleasantly filled, he waited eagerly for Phyllis and her Dad to join them. When they finally gathered around the table, Bill wondered that all they ate was toast and tea, but assumed they'd adopted the modern habit of saving their appetite for the mid-day meal.

When Bill prepared to leave for the base Phyllis offered to ride part way and Bill delightedly accepted her company. They hadn't gone far though, when she stopped her bicycle and turned to him with a serious expression on her face. "Bill," she said. "Have you any idea what you've done this morning?"

"Done, why I haven't done anything at all, other than pass the time of day with your Mum and enjoy her fine breakfast."

"That's just it. You ate the entire family's ration of bacon and eggs this morning. We save our eggs all week long so on Sunday morning's we'll have enough to share at breakfast."

Well, the ground should have opened up and swallowed Bill. Never had a young man been so embarrassed. Back home in Canada--what with their own hogs and chickens--it was nothing to eat a rasher of bacon and six or seven eggs for breakfast. It hadn't even occurred to him that the plate Mrs. Quelch put on the warmer was for anyone but himself.

Bill's face flamed. He mumbled his apologies to Phyllis, bid her good day, and pedaled like a madman to the base. Wheeling in through the gates he headed straight for the mess hall. Bill had long been in the habit of offering a helping hand in the kitchen when no one else was willing, and his easy acceptance of even the meanest chores made him a favorite among the cooks. Therefore, when he reached the mess hall and tossed his knapsack in the door he was met with good natured grins.

"Fill 'er up lads," he said. "Whatever we've got to spare and don't stint the bacon and eggs. I've a debt to repay and I'll be thanking you not to make me look bad."

Next, Bill charged across the compound and descended on the warrant officer. "Sir, every month we're entitled to our ration books." he told the startled officer, "and in all these many months I've not drawn any of mine. This morning I made a colossal donkey of me, what with not knowing how hard-up these people are for food, and I'm sure in need of my ration books."

"Well soldier," the officer replied, "you're certainly entitled to them, but it'll probably take a little time for me to round them up."

"That'll be fine Sir. I've a few things to attend to and then I'll be back to pick them up."

With that Bill headed back to the kitchen, and finding the knapsack filled to overflowing, he thanked the cooks and swung the heavy knapsack onto his shoulders.

When the ration books were ready, he shoved them in his pockets, and fetched his bicycle. Then he pedaled furiously for Maidenhead and was soon knocking on the door of the cottage.

"Why Bill," Mrs. Quelch said, when she answered the door. "Whatever brings you back here this morning."

"There's a little matter I need to attend to," Bill said stepping inside the door and heading for the kitchen. "You know ma'am," he said, removing the knapsack from his shoulder. "I've never been so embarrassed in my life as when Phyllis told me I'd eaten the family's breakfast. Now, I'm hoping you'll let me makes amends."

Stunned, Mrs. Quelch's eyes widened in wonder as Bill began spilling the contents of his knapsack across the kitchen table. Then, turning to the astonished woman he reached in his pockets and pulled out the stack of ration books.

"Mrs. Quelch," he said. "I want you to know that as long as I'm around here there won't be any more breakfasts of dry toast and tea," and Phyllis, coming into the kitchen, watched in amazement as her mother burst into tears.

"You know," she told Bill later, "in 21 years I've never seen my mum cry, and I'll never forget what you've done for her today."

 Find more by Jude Pittman at http://bookswelove.net/judepittman.php

A PILGRIMAGE TO THE WW1 BATTLEFIELDS - MARGARET TANNER

REMEMBRANCE DAY - A TRIBUTE TO THE FALLEN OF WW1

At 11a.m. on the 11^th November, 1918, an Armistice was signed and the guns fell silent. The Great War had ended but the repercussions would be felt for years.

If you get the chance, please buy a red poppy and wear it proudly, in memory of the fallen.

Australia was a small country in 1914, with a population of less than 4 million, yet we sent over 300,000 men to the front, Gallipoli in Turkey, Egypt, France and Belgium.  More than 60,000 of our soldiers lie on Gallipoli or in the beautiful cemeteries of France and Belgium, 12,000 miles from home.

Our pilgrimage commenced in Amiens where we were met by our guide who runs tours of the French and Belgium battlefields. He has a wealth of knowledge regarding the battlefields. Using war time maps, he was able to point to within a hundred yards, where my grandfather’s cousin was seriously wounded near the village of Hermes in 1917. Chills ran down my spine, I felt as if a hand was gripping me from the grave. Unfortunately, this relative died of his wounds, leaving a wife and two small children behind.  He is buried in the war cemetery at Rouen, and we were elated but sad when we found his grave.

We visited large cemeteries where hundreds of white headstones stood amongst green lawns with pretty flowers nodding their heads between the graves.

At Thiepval we saw a monument with thousands of names engraved on it, for English soldiers who fell in the area but have no known grave. One of the most memorable monument wasn’t very big.  It was at Fromelles, a bronze statue of an Aussie soldier carrying his wounded mate. 

The battle for Fromelles was fought on the 19^th and 20^th July 1916, Australia had 5,500 casualties the British 1,500.  For over 90 years no-one knew the fate of nearly 300 of these soldiers, but there had been rumours for many years of mass graves in the area, and it was only after a tenacious campaign waged for years by an Australian school teacher that the authorities finally acted, and four mass graves were discovered about three years after our visit. 250 soldiers have now been laid to rest in separate graves in a new Commonwealth war cemetery.  Of the 250 bodies, nearly half have so far been identified by name using DNA volunteered by relatives, but the authorities are still hoping that more soldiers will eventually be identified.

At Beaumont-Hamel is the Newfoundland Memorial, a giant bronze caribou monument, the caribou being the 1^st Newfoundland Regiment’s emblem. The losses here were horrific. During one of the most costly days of the 1916 campaign, the 1^st Newfoundland regiment lost three-quarters of its soldiers in less than half an hour.

On the 28^th May, 1918, the 1^st American Division attacked Cantigny and took the village against overwhelming odds.

The men of the various American regiments who fell in the battles of 1917-18, are buried in a large American Cemetery at Bony (Aisne) on the Somme.

There is a lovely chapel there and staff at the visitor centre were very nice and showed us around. They were surprised at our interest, because they said that sadly not many Americans visited there. Those who came to France always went to the Normandy beaches. Hopefully, with the Centenary of the 1^st World War, this will be rectified and Americans in greater numbers will now come to pay homage to their heroes who fell on the Western Front.

In the Belgium city of Ypres is a soaring stone archway at an entrance to the town. The Menin Gate memorial to the Missing has etched into its walls the names of 50,000 thousand British and other Commonwealth soldiers who served in the region but have no known graves. Even after all these years, they still play the last post every evening as a mark of respect for the fallen.

The largest Commonwealth War cemetery is Tyne Cot with over 12,000 graves in it. More than half the headstones have no name. They bear the inscription “Known Only To God.

We visited large war cemeteries here and beautiful and sad as they were, the most touching was a small cemetery near Passchendale with only a handful of white headstones. Night was falling as we passed through this cemetery, and as we stopped to read the inscription on an eighteen year old soldier’s grave, we whispered that someone from home had come to visit him. When we turned and walked away through the misty rain, all we could leave behind for him was our tears and a red poppy.

Find Margaret Tanner's WWI Centenary Edition and her other titles here: http://www.bookswelove.net/tanner.php