This is a good day to post a tribute to my Uncle, Parker, and brother of my Mother, Verna Rae (d), of Milton, P.E.I., an uncle I never knew.
I understand that his namesake, Parker, son of Harold, brother of our serviceman, visited Italy in recent years to discover the area where Parker disappeared.
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.