In war, there are no unwounded soldiers.”
—Jose Narosky

When I was much younger November meant birthday parties; both my sisters that is. There was Pin the Tail on the Donkey, wee sandwiches made with Mom’s homemade blue, pink & purple bread, money cake & my Dad rubbing a balloon on his bristly hair & then sticking it to the wall like magic. Great November memories.

Things changed (and dare I say matured) with my Dad’s last posting to London, Ontario. Us Moad girls were in high school now and even though my favourite subjects were science and math, the school was keenly into teaching history. 

Now even though I was brought up an ‘army brat’ my Dad never talked about the war. Not many fathers did I suspect. The wars I learned about in history class seemed so remote – South African War, WW1, WW2, the Korean War (his War).

But that London high school, Sir Adam Beck, transformed November for me. They did these wonderful ‘singing auditoriums’ – the whole school all together with a huge screen on the stage guiding us all with the lyrics of so many well-known songs. Often these events ended with a pep rally for our pretty famous football & basketball teams, with me & my sister Sharon as part of our cheerleader squad up there on the stage…Ra-Ra-Sis-Boom-Ba! But I digress.

My November transformation: as well as all this fun stuff, the school always did a Remembrance Day Auditorium, ending with Canadian soldier/poet & physician John McCrea’s moving In Flanders Fields. The poem was up there on the screen but I knew it by heart and was keenly aware of my English teacher Miss Lewis wiping away tears unabashedly.

At some point, maybe ’68 or ’69, perhaps because of the music of the times the relevance became clearer. The music of the day was shaping my mind – John Lennon’s Give Peace a Chance, Barry McGuire’s Eve of Destruction, and Bob Dylan of course – Blow’in in the Wind and a favourite of mine Masters of War. I wanted to know more about the war my Dad fought in but he would just say he got to jump out of planes. And that he survived, not like so many others. That’s when I realized that a little acknowledgement, a small show of respect for those that fought and sacrificed so much was the very least I could do. I started to go to the Remembrance Day ceremonies.

When my Dad passed away in 2002 I inherited his Khaki jacket, mainly because I kept my ‘maiden’ name and (being a sentimental ol’ fool) I loved that my Mom had sewn his name badge on it. For the last 25 years I’ve worn it on Remembrance Day.

My thoughts about this Day evolved even further when we bought the farm, or more specifically when dogs and horses became members of my family. I had seen a couple of pictures of John McCrea with his horse, with his dog, and started to read about war horses and other animals that were used. Now I’m not one to be squeamish but I had to stop reading about the lives of not just horses and dogs, but mules, pigeons, and even dolphins and how these ‘unsung heroes’ fought so bravely, loyally beside their human comrades. Soldiers… all of them.

So here is my thought & I’ve been thinking about this for many years now. Maybe it’s time we did something about it (that’s the royal WE)! Each year when I see the veterans marching to the cenotaph I think there should also be a horse and a dog representing the contributions of the war animals. Maybe not this year. It would take some organizing, talking to a group that trains service/therapy dogs and horses. Four-leggers that are comfortable with crowds. Perhaps an RCMP horse with a redcoat rider. Talks with the Legion, the municipality, parade organizers. It’s time. It’s long past time. Anyone out there got some ideas? I need help with this one.                                                     

Jackie Moad has a new project percolating from an old idea. She’ll be doing her best thinking while making Nanaimo bars & oatmeal raisin cookies for the WI concession at the Cedar Hall, sponsoring the Yellow Point Drama Groups play ‘Five’ (from October 23 to November 8), all the while enjoying and appreciating her animal companions on that 20-acre slice of Paradise on earth.

Jackie Moad.
World Traveler.
Environmentalist.
Organic Farmer.

See all articles by Jackie Moad