CHRISTMAS IN GRAVENHURST

REMEMBRANCE DAY IN THE SNOW - OUR HOMETOWN HISTORY RE-LIVED

A wee neighbor, some time earlier, has left an interesting foot trail through the first snow of the season. It is the meandering trail of a carefree child, reluctantly on the way to the school bus stop…..contented to spend some extra moments seeing if the snow is ready for packing into snowballs first….a snowman later. It is the first snow on the ground for us here…..and it will make another wintery Remembrance Day. As a reporter I covered many memorial services at the cenotaphs, throughout our region, and a majority of them were as chilly and snow-clad as this one today. Yet it's so bright and cheerful none the less. It gives the services a touch of inspiration, and hopefulness, the sun possibly breaking from its cover, as we remember those who sacrificed their lives for our future well-being. There will be many footprints at the cenotaph, cast in the ice of this cold November 2011.

A couple of years ago, I picked up an interesting little book of poetry, from a second hand shop on the main street, here in Gravenhurst, entitled "Good Morning," by Camilla Sanderson. It was published in 1918, by William Briggs of Toronto. I don't buy poetry books, or fiction generally,…….and I do sell a lot of antiquarian books in my profession; but there was one poem in particular that caught my attention. A poem that seems perfectly suited to this snowy day in our hometown, as we recognize Remembrance Day. The poem is titled simply, "Christmas In War-Time." It was obviously composed in the final days of World War I, and was from a Canadian perspective. While it is not as poignant, or well known, as other war-time literature, it puts it in perspective of Christmas recognition, while battles continued in Europe…..many Canadians being killed in action.

As I found this book in Gravenhurst, and it might well have been owned by a local family, who shared this same sense of fear and loss, as the writer, I wanted to share some of the poem with you.

"How can the choirs of heaven with joyous breath, sing their sweet Bethlehem song of long ago, while raging nations keep war-flames aglow, and swing with fiendish swirl the sword of death? How can this Christmas be a time of joy, while pride and hatred ravage and destroy?

"Swift comes the answer. Let forebodings cease, these are but students in the school of life; ere long the sword of truth, like surgeon's knife, shall pierce to bone and marrow, give release, to conscience - of the nations of men - then peace and brotherhood shall live again.

"These are but students in God's earthly school, and some have climbed where faith and courage live; and some for others' good their all will give, and some, through lust of power, still play the fool, but much in this fierce struggle all must learn, ere each may bid the angel of peace return.

"Fret not thy soul because of human sin, grieve not thy heart because of human woe; heaven's seeding truths are planted and will grow, for Christ has lived and loved, and love must win; and Christ will cheer and strengthen for the fray, and Christ Himself will bless our Christmas Day."

When the Remembrance services are concluded, and the last drummer, the last flag bearer, and the last veteran march away, these footprints will remain, frozen in time, and these memorial wreaths will be dusted over by more snow in the forecast, and it will; in a matter of only several days, be gradually forgotten, the footprints melted away, and snowed over once again. There will be people who pass, and look upon the collection of wreaths, and pause for a moment in reflection of the price of conflict. They will think back to how war affected their own families over the centuries,……and they may think about present conflicts around the globe, and realize just how precarious it still is, to protect and guarantee the rights and privileges of freedom.

Others will pass here in a hurry, noticing nothing in particular, toting coffee cups, cell phone in hand, amidst the busy traffic of the day. There will be the din of daily life. A community on the go. Deadlines to meet, money to make, kids to tend, dogs to walk, and all related normalcy of societal's own regimen…..of economics and impatience, the vicious cycle of needing more from every second, than life can afford to spare. These are forward-looking times, when our days of work and recreation are planned well ahead, and there seems nary a moment to spare……for contemplation, of how we all got here, and why it's such a precious life; in consideration of all those, past and present, who have given their lives, such that we might enjoy ours in this vastness of freedom…… that we all, at one time or another, take for granted as permanent.

When we stand up, and confidently reach up from what we believe is a solid foundation, we don't often think about the names on the cenotaph, or the veterans we come in contact with almost daily on our busy rounds. Should this foundation falter, and erode, what base would we build our future upon? History is more than just words in a book, photographs in an album and memories. It's who we are. The history we find cumbersome, and boring, is that foundation I speak of, and we are losing it in our community.

There are far too many citizens today, who have very little knowledge about the war years, and how precariously close we came, to losing the freedom we take for granted today. Even though these folks will have seen the parade of veterans, marching to the cenotaph, and notice the cluster of wreaths against the snow, and watch portions of national Remembrance on the evening news, they feel a million miles from those conflicts of once, and show little interest in knowing more about history generally……as it simply doesn't apply to the "meaning of life" as they know it……as they prefer it. But as Camila Sanderson wrote into her timely poem, as the First World War raged on, "These are but students in God's earthly school, and some have climbed where faith and courage live; and some for others' good their all will give, and some, through lust of power, still play the fool."

The Remembrance memorial attests to the measure of courage, and passion for home and country, we historians write and talk about when asked about our community's future. While we will detail the pioneer period, and the early investors who brought industry and commerce to fledgling hamlets, it is this test of loyalty, as witnessed by the names on the cenotaph, and wreaths at its base, and the stalwart veterans who have walked into history, that holds the answer to the age-old question, what makes us proud of our community.

Forgive the historian, for worrying today, that we are forgetting the foundation of our hometown, and its future well being……and such is the danger of relying on it to support our ambitions, when we have, in large part, diminished its importance…….such that the sacrifices of war, would no longer be the anchor of hometown pride…..not even the tightly woven stones of accomplishment beneath our feet. There's an identity lost here, as we grow evermore distant from those years of world conflict, when we, at home, and serving overseas, came together to turn the tide. And while we brood about the shortfalls, and woes of modern day life here, we should, on occasion, march to the cenotaph ourselves, one day soon, to appreciate this reminder of courage and fortitude, and determination to succeed, especially when we are wondering what our town is all about. It is a fountain of goodwill, and optimism, just as it is a reminder of loss, tragedy, and sacrifice.

"Let forebodings cease, these are but students in the school of life."

The sun has still not broken through the thick cloud cover, but the brightness is pleasant and the air warming from earlier this morning. Most of the snow from overnight, has melted away, with half-made snowmen left tilting on neighborhood lawns. The curious footprints from some child, that I followed on our street, are all gone now but I'm glad I saw them. They reminded me of how I used to meander to school, on early winter days, just like this. It is an afternoon like all the others. I'm pleased to live here, and quite happy to represent history, amongst those who will listen, or read long enough, before the next meeting, or rush to the hockey rink, dance studio, or grocery store. History, like these lost footprints, belonging to one of my neighbors, will repeat again many times this season, and I will always ponder the path well travelled, in the place where I dwell. Time waits for no man…..for no child, but knowledge can last a lifetime…..and then, be passed on to those who also have an affection for the steps that came before. The foundation of what makes a town a hometown.