Memorial Day: 2008, Danny Boy

The Penta-Posse at

Arlington National Cemetery, 2005 Our good friend Mackubin Owens, Ph.D., has a terrific article up on NRO, Mystic Chords of Memory, From America’s Founding, to the sacrifices of her sons and daughters, we remember.

This weekend, we mark the 140th anniversary of the first official observation of the holiday we now call Memorial Day, as established by General John A. Logan’s “General Order No. 11” of the Grand Army of the Republic dated 5 May, 1868. This order reads in part: “The 30th day of May 1868 is designated for the purpose of strewing with flowers and otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country during the late rebellion, and whose bodies lie in almost every city, village and hamlet churchyard in the land.” Logan’s order served to ratify a practice that was already widespread, both in the North and the South, in the years immediately following the Civil War.

Alas, for many Americans today, Memorial Day has come to signify nothing more than another three-day weekend, a mere excuse for a weekend cook-out. Such an observance of Memorial Day obscures even the vestiges of its intended meaning: a solemn time, serving both as catharsis for those who fought and survived, and to ensure that those who follow will not forget the sacrifice of those who died that the American Republic and the principles that sustain it, might live.

“Mac” continues,

Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address gives universal meaning to the particular deaths that occurred on that hallowed ground, thus allowing us to understand Memorial Day in the light of the Fourth of July, to comprehend the honorable end of the soldiers in the light of the glorious beginning and purpose of the nation. The deaths of the soldiers at Gettysburg, of those who died during the Civil War as a whole, and indeed of those who have fallen in all the wars of America, are validated by reference to the nation and its founding principles as articulated in the Declaration of Independence.

Some will object, claiming that linking Memorial Day and Independence Day glorifies war and trivializes individual loss and the end of youth and joy. How can the loved ones of a fallen soldier ever recover from such a loss? I corresponded with the mother of one of my Marines who died in Vietnam for some time after his death. He was an only child and her inconsolable pain and grief put me in mind of Rudyard Kipling’s poem, Epitaphs of the War, verse IV, “An Only Son”:

I have slain none but my mother, She

(Blessing her slayer) died of grief for me.

Kipling too, lost his only son in World War I.

But as Holmes said in 1884, “[G]rief is not the end of all. I seem to hear the funeral march become a paean. I see beyond the forest the moving banners of a hidden column. Our dead brothers still live for us, and bid us think of life, not death — of life to which in their youth they lent the passion and joy of the spring. As I listen, the great chorus of life and joy begins again, and amid the awful orchestra of seen and unseen powers and destinies of good and evil our trumpets sound once more a note of daring, hope and will.”

This Memorial Day the household of Your Business Blogger(R) will fly our Flag as we always do and remember those who “gave the last full measure” and died in service.

***Dad is buried in Arlington National Cemetery. The years on his head stone tell of his full life. Our family was so lucky.

Nearby head stones tell of service men who died far too soon. Far too young. In war for us.

Danny Boy

The BalladThe Irish classic Danny Boy has a long and varied history. The following explanation is my favorite and the simplest,

Once, a long time ago there was an old man who had raised many sons who he loved dearly. A war raged over the land that they lived in and one by one he saw each of them go off to fight and not return. Then one day, as harvest time drew near, he knew that his youngest, and most precious, son would soon be going off to fight just as his brothers before him. The old man was sad and knew that he may never see his last boy alive. He looked intently at the young lad, and with tears in his eyes he sang this song.

The ballad cannot begin to reveal the emotion and the pain of fathers and mothers who bury sons in a time of war.

I do not know how families do this.

But I do know that we must be grateful.

We are so lucky. Happy Memorial Day.

###Thank you (foot)notes:

See Meditation on Suffering and Sacrifice,

The famous chapel on the grounds of the United States Air Force Academy nestled at the base of the Rocky Mountains is more truly a cathedral. Outwardly, it is all sleek silver-wing metal, with seventeen external buttresses, knifing severely skyward. Designed to evoke an air-frame, the architecture does not immediately summon spiritual devotion.

But cross the threshold, step inside, and one is transported to another plane. The solemn air is bathed in the soft splendor of muted light. While the stern steel silhouette dominates the external view, the interior reveals the fragile panels of stained-glass that the harsh ribs support. The intricate glass panes filter and animate the sunlight, illuminating the sacred space with almost a visual hush.

At the front of the chapel, a single row is roped off. “Reserved” the sign says, for all the United States aviators who are missing in action or prisoners of war. The only occupant of the pew is a single, burning candle.

“Greater love hath no man than this. . .” reads the plaque. The Scripture it alludes to concludes: “that a man lays down his life for his friends.”

My thoughts immediately fly to my boy, my sweet Dude, who wants to be a fighter pilot. And baby Boo, who will almost certainly want to follow his older brother. My heart blanches. How could I bear it? And yet so many other mothers — gold-star mothers — even this very day, must find a way when their sons have given the last measure of devotion.

Be sure to read Charmaine’s post from 2005, Memorial Day: Arlington National Cemetery

Danny Boy Lyrics at the jump

Lyrics

Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling

From glen to glen, and down the mountainside.

The summer’s gone, and all the roses falling.

‘Tis you, ’tis you must go and I must bide.

But come ye back when summer’s in the meadow

Or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow,

‘Tis I’ll be here in sunshine or in shadow.

Oh Danny Boy, Oh Danny Boy, I love you so.

And if ye come, when all the flowers are dying

And I am dead, as dead I well may be.

Ye’ll come and find the place where I am lying

And kneel and say an Ave there for me.

And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me,

And o’er my grave will warmer, sweeter be,

If ye’ll now bend and tell me that you love me,

Then I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.