The question of the moment seems to be: when to celebrate Memorial Day, May 28 or May 30? School is observing one day, the banks another. It gives one an unsettling feeling. Having all the holidays on Mondays does have the advantage of a three-day weekend but it diminishes the real reason for the holiday when its not on the day of the original event.
Some holidays seem to have lost their original impact all together. In this instance, I had difficulty recalling why we do celebrate Memorial Day anyway, and researched the subject in a book "Red Letter Days" by Elizabeth Sechrist.
The holiday dates back to the days after the Civil War and was instituted to keep alive the memories of soldiers who had been killed ins ervice to their country. Later, military deceased of the Spanish American and World Wars were included.
The first observance was on May 30, 1868 when women in the South decorated the graves of both Confederate and Union soldiers with flowers and was first referred to as Decoration Day. The day, May 30, was chosen by General Logan, the National Commander of the Grand Army of the Republic, "for the purpose of strewing with flowers or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country during the late rebellion, and with the hope that it will be kept up from year to year."
May 30 was observed as the national holiday from then on with the exception of some southern states which chose either April 26, May 10, June 3, 6 or 9.
The usual observance may include a parade with military and community organizations participating, assemblies, dinners and/or speeches. But most important is the continued tradition of decorating the graves of the honored dead with flowers and individual American flags.
The Memorial Day ceremonies at the National Cemetery at Arlington, Virginia are an impressive annual event. Similar ceremonies take place at other National cemeteries throughout the U.S.
Memorial Day has also become known as Poppy Day. The tradition originated when tiny red poppies were sold by ex-servicemen for the benefit of disabled veterans. The idea originated in France and spread to England, Canada, the United States, Australia and New Zealand.
The custom of decorating graves has a much older origin than the aftermath of the Civil War, however. It was practiced by the Druids and the ancient Greeks and Romans. In many countries of the world, graves are visited on special days and decorations of wreaths, food or flowers are brought to revere all the departed, whether service-connected or not.
It is ironic that when Memorial Day is celebrated that military units in full uniform are the major part of the display. It would almost seem that we are in fact glorifying war rather than promoting peace and the futility of war.
President Wilson, in a Memorial Day address on May 30, 1919, said: "It is for us, particularly fo rus who are civilized, to use our proper weapons of counsel and agreement to see to it that there never is such a war again." But apparently, no one was listening.
Austin Dobson echoes this thought in a verse from his "A Ballad of Heroes":
Because you passed, and now are not,
Because in some remoter day,
Your sacred dust from doubtful spot
Was blown of ancient airs away
Because you perished, must men say
Your deeds were naught, and so profane
Your lives with that cold burden? Nay,
The deeds you wrought are not in vain!
Peace!
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Friday, December 28, 2007
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Christmas, 1978
When my husband and I went Christmas shopping the other evening, we were shocked by the high prices and the poor quality of the merchandise. So many things were made of plastic that shiny, brittle plastic. My first thought was how long would they last?
Ever since that evening, I've been thinking about the durability of Christmas gifts. As I look around the house, I can identify several former presents, the table lamp, the stereo and the electric blanket. They are still in good condition and serving us well. But there must have been many articles which we received in the many Christmases which have passed which have disappeared from the scene.
As far as durability is concerned, some gifts do last and some just don't. What, then, do we retain from past Christmases? I think our memories are the only truly durable aspects of Christmas.
Memories of my childhood are all jumbled together and no one particular Christmas stands out. But I remember certain customs that persisted in our family. We children were allowed on Christmas morning to look at the contents of our stockings before breakfast. There was always an orange in the toe which harkened back to my mother's childhood when oranges were a rare treat. There were walnuts, too, the gift of Uncle Lou who had a walnut grove in California. Other small treasures included hair bows, chocolate Santas in gold paper and small toys.
After breakfast, we gathered in a circle around my widowed mother to "see what Santa had left under the tree." Most of our gifts were clothing in these Depression years, but there was always a book with our name inscribed inside with the date. And there would be a doll for me and my younger sister and a comparable toy for our brother.
Church occupied a large share of our Christmas celebration in those days. There were many services of solemn observance. Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and the Sundays in Advent and after Christmas. My mother was the daughter of an Episcopal priest and she never forgot her early up-bringing in the church and passed it on to us.
But I remember too, participating in childish and joyous Christmas programs at church. I was a shepherd in our dramatization of "What Made the Chimes Ring?" and I recall a lumpy Santa handing out pasteboard boxes of hard candy which usually came apart spilling the contents on the floor.
I don't remember our Christmas trees especially but I recall a story Mother told about a tree she had trimmed in a school where she taught before she married Dad. The school was located in the mountains and the pupils were from a settlement which didn't mix much with the outside world. Mother found out that the children had never seen a Christmas tree. So she got her brothers to chop one down and bring it to the school house.
She persuaded her mother to let her have some of the old Christmas ornaments which had been brought over from Germany. And on the tip of many branches, she fastened a clip-on candleholder with its candle. After she stationed buckets of water near the tree in case of fire, she lighted the candles and then led the children in singing "Silent Night."
Right in the middle of her carefully planned celebration, the door flew open and there stood a man, the father of one of the children. He drew out a gun and shot out each of the candles in turn. Berating Mother for her pagan observance in highly colorful language, he grabbed up his children and hurried them out of the building.
I don't remember what Mother did afterward, whether she laughed or cried or just set about restoring the chaotic condition. When she used to tell us the story, we thought it was the most exciting kind of Christmas story.
Recalling these childhood memories brings with it a certain warmth. What of Christmas 1978 will I remember in the years to come? Only the hurry and hustle, the planning and buying, the commercialism of Christmas shopping? I think I'd better slow down and soak up some of the enduring experiences in the coming weeks, the church celebrations, the musical programs, and the happy times with friends for future happy memories of Christmas.
Ever since that evening, I've been thinking about the durability of Christmas gifts. As I look around the house, I can identify several former presents, the table lamp, the stereo and the electric blanket. They are still in good condition and serving us well. But there must have been many articles which we received in the many Christmases which have passed which have disappeared from the scene.
As far as durability is concerned, some gifts do last and some just don't. What, then, do we retain from past Christmases? I think our memories are the only truly durable aspects of Christmas.
Memories of my childhood are all jumbled together and no one particular Christmas stands out. But I remember certain customs that persisted in our family. We children were allowed on Christmas morning to look at the contents of our stockings before breakfast. There was always an orange in the toe which harkened back to my mother's childhood when oranges were a rare treat. There were walnuts, too, the gift of Uncle Lou who had a walnut grove in California. Other small treasures included hair bows, chocolate Santas in gold paper and small toys.
After breakfast, we gathered in a circle around my widowed mother to "see what Santa had left under the tree." Most of our gifts were clothing in these Depression years, but there was always a book with our name inscribed inside with the date. And there would be a doll for me and my younger sister and a comparable toy for our brother.
Church occupied a large share of our Christmas celebration in those days. There were many services of solemn observance. Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and the Sundays in Advent and after Christmas. My mother was the daughter of an Episcopal priest and she never forgot her early up-bringing in the church and passed it on to us.
But I remember too, participating in childish and joyous Christmas programs at church. I was a shepherd in our dramatization of "What Made the Chimes Ring?" and I recall a lumpy Santa handing out pasteboard boxes of hard candy which usually came apart spilling the contents on the floor.
I don't remember our Christmas trees especially but I recall a story Mother told about a tree she had trimmed in a school where she taught before she married Dad. The school was located in the mountains and the pupils were from a settlement which didn't mix much with the outside world. Mother found out that the children had never seen a Christmas tree. So she got her brothers to chop one down and bring it to the school house.
She persuaded her mother to let her have some of the old Christmas ornaments which had been brought over from Germany. And on the tip of many branches, she fastened a clip-on candleholder with its candle. After she stationed buckets of water near the tree in case of fire, she lighted the candles and then led the children in singing "Silent Night."
Right in the middle of her carefully planned celebration, the door flew open and there stood a man, the father of one of the children. He drew out a gun and shot out each of the candles in turn. Berating Mother for her pagan observance in highly colorful language, he grabbed up his children and hurried them out of the building.
I don't remember what Mother did afterward, whether she laughed or cried or just set about restoring the chaotic condition. When she used to tell us the story, we thought it was the most exciting kind of Christmas story.
Recalling these childhood memories brings with it a certain warmth. What of Christmas 1978 will I remember in the years to come? Only the hurry and hustle, the planning and buying, the commercialism of Christmas shopping? I think I'd better slow down and soak up some of the enduring experiences in the coming weeks, the church celebrations, the musical programs, and the happy times with friends for future happy memories of Christmas.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
