Ruminations on war, part 2

Today, a very different scene presents itself as warfare, that of greed, with much machination.

Ruminations on war, part 2

Wars in this day and age, do not fulfill the need as in those former years.

In those long ago centuries, continuation of the clan was paramount; its needs, desires, purposes, and strengths, allowed it to thrive in the most hostile of environments.

Today, a very different scene presents itself as warfare, that of greed, with much machination. Profit through greed being the prime movers to, who can make the most profit with the least expenditure and interference, with the government footing the bill!

Those who can make the most destructive ordinance without succumbing themselves to its vile properties, in other words supplying the belligerents at arm’s length! Often win the warrant, no doubt a little baksheesh has been offered or assumed? This form of reward is usually accepted as proper and just to help these projects move as on greased tracks…surreptitiously; how sly we are become.

The unbridled energy of youth is the energy that enables this vicious display of Homeric effort/desire to rise or fall, plaudits or dismay scattered upon the dream.

Those that fall become heroes or die not knowing how come they received the medal. War is not heroic; war is a tragedy of Shakespearian proportion set beyond the hearth of home and family yet cheered by comrades of identical stature, companions to the end.

I never did smell the odour of spent ordinance or drying blood, spilt god knows where, the thunder of heavy guns blasting away relentlessly, at targets that were guided by spotter planes or in these days by remote observation, miles from harm’s way.

“Keep the home fires burning! While your heart is yearning,” so goes one of the First World War songs that has become a nostalgic piece of music echoing down the years.

It has become almost romantic to have been associated with this form of life.

You who now read these words have yet to feel the sword scything past your ribs, the explosive permanently deafening your ears, your ear drums blown apart so that the next piece of ordinance whistles by as though silent.

Then of course you have yet to tread the desert dunes, which of course are waiting, soft and silent, at times scouring your sun burnt skin, at one time handsome.

Perhaps, once it was thought romantic, a time to test your vigour; ah but that was a while back, when you dreamed of testing your will power against all odds. Yet that was in your sublime innocence. It happened to me, now it is my memory….

G. Manners

Cowichan Bay

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