A Thought for Remembrance Day, 2009                                                                                                                     

Last July, while on a trip to Italy, my wife and I and two friends resolved to visit the Canadian cemetery outside Ortona, a small town on the Adriatic seacoast, which, in late 1943, was the scene of some of the heaviest fighting Canadian troops encountered during World War II. I say “resolved” intentionally as the site, known formally as the Moro River Canadian War Cemetery, is not as well-marked as it might be and it took some doing to find it. In any event, after missing the turn on the road south out of Ortona and realizing we had done so, we doubled back and at last found ourselves at our destination.

The first thing you notice on entering the graveyard is the lawn. Lawns are not common in Italy. With about 25 million more people living in an area equal to just 3% of Canada’s landmass, they are not a good use of land that can be used to grow food. Besides, the Italian climate is much too hot and dry for a type of ground cover that thrives best in dampish weather such as in England, or in a country like Canada, where we are committed to our lawns and have the sprinkler systems to prove it.

We were told that the small house at the edge of the cemetery is reserved for the caretaker, a local man employed by the government of Canada to maintain the grounds. He is doing a great job. The immaculately manicured, deeply green lawns at Moro River tell you immediately this is indeed a patch of land that is forever Canada.

One thousand three hundred and seventy five Canadians are buried here, laid out beneath markers set in neat rows, around a giant stone cross on which is mounted a metal sword with crossbar. We walked along the rows, noting the names, the regiments, the dates of death, and---most startling---the ages at death: 19, 23, 21, 28, 24. That was the hardest part: the realization that young men less than half our ages gave their lives to defend Canada against a ruthless tyranny.

And then something else struck me, a thought I wanted to share with you this Remembrance Day. In our day to day lives, we often encounter all sorts of petty problems---anything from a thoughtless relative to a disagreeable neighbour or a rude salesperson.  Sometimes we let these matters consume our time, our thoughts, and our energies, even to the point of spoiling our day, if not those of others. Indeed, sometimes we are thoughtless, disagreeable, or rude with each other.

For those Canadians who met the enemy along the Moro River valley, life was much simpler---moving forward every day, engaging the enemy every day, trying to survive every day. Most in fact did, but 1,375 did not. And so, they are buried here.

Perhaps the best tribute we can pay them is for each of us to strive every day to live lives worthy of the sacrifices they made for us. 

Requiescant in pace.

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