We forget you not

By Ivan Morgan

I know time marches on, and old ways fade away. Sometimes that’s a good thing and sometimes not.

Old customs disappear, new ones grow and develop. Things change.

Sometimes a new generation picks up on something from the past which is all but forgotten by the generations before them. Sometimes they find in an old custom or pastime something that resonates in their young spirit. Mummering is a good example. I hope I can suggest another.

I offer to folk the tradition of the forget-me-not.

As we all know, on July 1, 1916, during the First World War, 801 soldiers of the 1st Newfoundland Regiment were ordered out of their trenches into German machine gun fire at Beaumont-Hamel, France. Knowing what they were facing, they went anyway. One short half hour later the regiment was all but wiped out, with 710 killed, wounded, or missing in action. The following morning only 68 men answered roll call. For those statistically minded that’s a 92 per cent casualty rate.

No other military unit took that kind of hit in that war. Everyone living here at the time was affected.

We were far from the only ones who faced tragedy in that war. July 1st of that year was the beginning of the Battle of the Somme, which lasted ‘til November 18. Of the roughly three million men who fought on either side, one million were killed or wounded.

Yet I contest that what our country faced at that time was just a little bit worse. The populace was tragically naïve in their desire to fight for king and country. They were naïve in their pride in sending their young men to what turned out for many a gruesome death. Naïve in their hopes the troops they sent would be appreciated.

But, also in their innocence, people here – especially young people – started wearing the forget-me-not as a sign of remembrance of that tragedy. The year following that massacre people started wearing the little wildflower to remember the dead. We were the first country to organize commemoration efforts for war dead. The poppy, an idea which originated in New Zealand and caught on in England, didn’t become popular until after that war.

Today remembrance is a huge industry, and our little blue flower is mostly forgotten.

That shouldn’t be.

Wearing the forget-me-not became a yearly tradition here years before “the war to end all wars” was over.

When I was little, the old people spoke of wearing the flower on a lapel, or as a brooch, or as a garland around a wrist. Many women wore them in their hair.

I like the idea of wearing the flower because it is a private act, without pomp or ceremony. If you don’t want to crowd around attention-seeking politicians, military brass or royalty (well, Princess Anne messed with a horse and isn’t coming), a small blue flower is a quiet personal statement to remember the damage done so long ago.

And it doesn’t cost you anything. Look in any meadow or ditch this week and you will find some. It’s blooming early this year so I wrote this a week earlier than I might normally have. Nature doesn’t follow the calendar.

I am not dissing the international poppy campaign. What I am saying is the people who left us this place lost hundreds of loved ones and didn’t wear poppies. The people who lived the loss, many for the rest of their lives, wore forget-me-nots.

Indeed, in Flanders field the poppies may blow, but forget-me-nots peek out from grassy patches all over this place. Take a look around. Why not pick a few and put them in a shirt button, lapel, or ball cap?

I will be wearing a forget-me-not. Not sure where or how just yet.

Ivan Morgan can be reached at ivan.morgan@gmail.com