Today, many couples will get married. I wonder why. Is it perhaps because men are genetically incapable of remembering wedding anniversaries? If this date does not help them, nothing will work. I understand that some will even say "Yes, I will", exactly at 11.11 hours.
I suppose those getting married have not really thought about the significance of this date, Remembrance Day. Oegstgeest too has a number of war graves next to the oldest church here, the "Groene Kerk" (Green Church), or Willibrord Church. That last name is not generally used, as the big Roman Catholic Church which was built much later, is also called Willibrord Kerk (Church). At one time the "Groene Kerk" was covered in ivy, thence the name. The Groene Kerk is built on a protruding sand dune. At one time the river Rhine met the sea at Katwijk and the little church was built on the banks of the river. The river is now a canal, and the main branch of the Rhine joins the North See at Rotterdam. Willibrord landed at Katwijk and walked along the Rhine to Oegstgeest where he built a church on the exact spot where the Groene Kerk is now. There has been a church ever since, this one probably dating back to the 14th century. I was married in this church, and my husband is buried in the churchyard here.
For the Dutch Remembrance Day is May 4th, when in fact we think more about the men who lost their lives during World War II than the many lives that were lost during World War I. Perhaps England was harder hit during World War I than World War II, and that may explain the date chosen, in fact Armistice Day. In Oegstgeest we have a committee – of volunteers - which is responsible for the graves in this churchyard and which organizes the Remembrance service each year. It is a valiant attempt. The mayor attends with other representatives of the local council. There is a choir, an organist and a speaker. Once we had British chaplains who would perform the rites. But since a few years we have to do without them, why, I do not know. The speaker today was a well-known professor of history at Leyden University. Being a professor is no guarantee for an interesting address. All of a sudden I realised why I skipped lectures way back when I was a student, and why that did not really matter. The professor tried to do his best, explaining the differences between categories of graves, in churchyards, in cemeteries and on special war cemeteries. And why war graves will stay untouched and cared for forever – if forever exists – and why "normal" graves are dug up after so many years, mainly because of lack of space. We were given statistics: how many men were killed during those two wars, how many war cemeteries there are, where we can find the largest one and the oldest one and what nationalities are buried there. Very interesting, but not for a remembrance ceremony. I sometimes feel that we suffer from a total lack of tradition and protocol. Beautiful words have been written for such an occasion as this, and nevertheless we try to find our own.
Patrick Hopper, pianist, choir master and composer had the following famous poem put to music especially for this choir. It was sung today, as well as two other well-known and appropriate anthems:
In Flanders fields
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.
We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
(lieutenant-kolonel John McCrae, 1872-1918)
The former mayor of Oegstgeest played the organ, as always very poorly, but he insists on doing it. When the names of the dead were read out he repeated the same hymn over and over, making the same mistake over and over, every time hesitantly trying to find the correct note but not succeeding. It was very amateurish, but also touching in a way. Whatever, at least we keep this tradition alive, although with ever decreasing numbers, and honour the lives of those who gave theirs for our freedom.
When I saw the few veterans who are still able to attend this ceremony, I could not help but think of these classic words of remembrance
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.
The veterans stood in front of the simple white crosses, not straight as they used to when they were young and able, but bent and somewhat unsteady on their feet. They saluted the dead, who remain forever heroes, forever young. No aura of heroism for the veterans, just respect. The Last Post, flowers on the graves, a wreath, and we left.
Exactly 12 years ago I attended this ceremony with my husband. He no longer had the use of his legs and insisted on driving his scooter into the church. Very scary, as his scooter was far too wide for this and he had great difficulty turning or backing out again. After the ceremony, he took me on a tour of the churchyard and told the caretaker in which of the still available and empty graves he wanted to be buried and reserved his future home. Not even two months later, he took possession of it. No poppies for him. But he did his part after the war by joining the RAF as an interpreter at the trials of war criminals in Germany, translating from one foreign language into another, from German into English and vice versa. It seems a coincidence that the other day, when I was clearing out my room, I found a box with his RAF insignia, many documents and a newspaper clipping in which the work of the Dutch interpreters was praised as very valuable. His name was mentioned among those of three others.
Since his death I have taken over the task of attending the remembrance ceremony.
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