I write this post with a feeling of great sadness. A truly great and storied generation has passed into history. With the passing of John Babcock, Canada's last First World War I veteran, the living memory of Canada's bloodiest and most heroic period is gone. I cannot help but think that something has been taken from me, something that I cannot hope to recover. Like a physical piece stolen from my heart and mind, and from my soul. Never again will I have a chance to hear their stories from their own lips, never again will I hear their tales of youthful valour, or see the distant pain of remembered horror. Never again will I see the slight smiles that cross their faces when remembered comrades visit from their clouded memories.
My wife and I attended Vimy day ceremonies here in St. Catharine's. It was a cold day and we were clearly not dressed for the weather. The police had blocked off Church and James Streets in anticipation of a crowed that would never arrive. There were local dignitaries and politicians, a Piper and a Bugler and a few members of the public that happened by. It saddens me to see that sacrifices of Grandfathers and Grandmothers, Great Uncles and Aunts, no longer matter to the current generation. Growing up in this country as an immigrant, I read stories of these men and women and their acts of valour and bravery. These people were heroes to me, people to be revered, even if they themselves did not think so. They heeded the call to arms for King and Empire. For the first time the New World coming to the rescue of the old.
Where ever soldiers go when they pass away, each man in his turn, smartly dressed took his place in rank and file. The Canadian Corps is complete, all four divisions present to the last man. All the companies can now be formed, the final Muster can now take place, and the final roll can now be called. Canada's greatest army is now once again complete.
