Column: Remembering why we remember the fallen

She thought it might be too much of a culture shock for Asha and Elijah to move from the sedate streets of the Model Town of the North to the meaner streets of the Nickel City. She wanted them to be able to walk to school or the park without dodging traffic. She wanted them to be able to enjoy the quieter life she enjoyed as a kid in Espanola and Nairn Centre, or the one I enjoyed in Deep River, where I'm from.

So, Coniston is where we bought a house, on a quiet little cul-de-sac.

And while I might be more of a downtown guy, I love living in Coniston. Our neighbours are friendly (and they don't judge my poor lawn-keeping abilities too much, at least not out loud); the tattoo of train wheels on the tracks that run through the centre of town reminds me of Chalk River, where my mom is from and where I spent many a day as a child.

Unless you live here, there's really no reason to drive through Coniston, so the streets are quiet — it's the quintessential Canadian small town that just happens to be a 20-minute drive from the bustling downtown core of Northern Ontario's biggest city.

In other words, Coniston is just about perfect.

I love coming home from a trip down south, hitting the bypass and seeing those twin stacks rising up over the rolling, rocky hills of the Canadian Shield. It feels like home.

So why would I throw on a suit on a Saturday afternoon to go to the park?

Well, I'm sure many of you remember a few weeks back when the Coniston War Memorial was vandalized. It wasn't the first time.

First, let me say we should all tip our hats to Conistonian Maj. Kirk Langon of the Second Irish Regiment for all the work he did publicizing the vandalism, collecting funds for the repair and organizing the war memorial dedication. It was a truly herculean effort and he deserves our thanks and praise.

The tribute to those Conistonians who gave up everything to fight Canada's wars (including the three Forestell brothers) features a tall dark cenotaph, granite benches and granite-lined reflecting pool. It's a unique design among war memorials.

In that pool, shaped like a grave, you can see reflected the names of the community's war dead, as well as the words to the Ode of Remembrance, taken from Laurence Benyon's poem, “For the Fallen.”

It's fitting the pool has the dimensions of a grave since the word “cenotaph” is actually a combination of the Greek words for “empty” and “tomb.”

It's unlikely a single person could have hefted those heavy granite benches and smashed them into the reflecting pool, so likely more than one person is responsible. Although those vandals might never be found,

I think it's safe to assume they're young, likely teenagers and likely unaware of the full effect their actions would have.

I mean, I'm sure they thought to themselves, “This is really going to tick people off,” which it did and rightly so, but I really don't believe they realized just how personally people would take it.

NorthernLife.ca received several letters expressing anger at the vandalism, which is to be expected. If they're caught, I do think they should be punished, but I don't think they should be judged too harshly — they are, after all, likely young people still growing and maturing, pushing the boundaries to see where the edge lies.

That's what being young is all about, finding your place in the world. We all did stupid things as teenagers. Lord knows I did.

In a strange way, I actually think we should thank those vandals for their immature, thoughtless actions. You must be wondering what I'm on about. Now, before you judge me too harshly, let me explain.

When I got to Centennial Park on Saturday afternoon, there were a few dozen people milling around and waiting for the ceremony to start. Many of those people were older, many were wearing their Legion uniforms.

There were a few guys like me, in suits. In other words, the kind of people you would expect to see at war memorial dedication ceremony.
But then something amazing happened.

More people began to show up. People in shorts. People dressed for a dreary Saturday afternoon. People with lawn chairs. Families with young children. Kids on bikes.

By our count, some 200 people eventually lined the sidewalk on two sides or crowded onto the wet grass, in time for the ceremony to begin.

Since Coniston only has a little more than 2,000 residents, that means nearly a tenth of the community came out to show their support for the veterans, for their families, for their community and for their country.

The vandalism was all the talk of the event, from the words of the speakers to the Conistonians on the grass.

Steve Frech, Royal Canadian Legion district commander, was one of those speakers. He likened the vandalism to kicking over gravestones.

But he also spoke about Coniston's war dead, saying their reasons for joining the war effort were many and varied. Some were looking for adventure; some were looking for a way out of town; some were looking for work in a time of economic uncertainty.

In many ways (and somewhat coincidentally), the young men whose names adorn the cenotaph weren't any different from those young vandals, trying to find their way in the world.

By turning out as we did, by giving up our Saturday afternoon, we showed those vandals what their callous actions really meant, how hurt we all were by what they did. In other words, the actions of a couple of vandals who wanted nothing more than to offend actually reminded us why the memorial was there in the first place.

At remembrance services, we often hear how the soldiers who fought, fought for freedom, for liberty, for these high-minded concepts that sound good in speeches, but are divorced from the reality of what war really is.

War is not philosophical; war is brutal and brutish. But soldiers are not those things. Whatever their reasons for signing up, the men and women who leave their communities to go to war do it, ultimately, because in the victims of war — in the dead and suffering civilians, in the ruined cities and towns — soldiers see reflected their own loved ones and communities — much as we in Coniston see the names of our own dead rippling in the reflecting pool before the cenotaph.

We came together May 30 not out of anger at the vandalism, I think, but out of a sense of purpose, out of a sense of duty. We came together to say, “At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them.”

And we do remember them. The vandalism just reminded us why we do. That is community. And that is the message we sent on Saturday.

Mark Gentili is Northern Life's managing editor.