I have a Remembrance Day tradition, which began a long time ago and half a continent away.

I was a guest in a gathering at the home of a Canadian veteran who had been disabled by a gunshot wound suffered during his tour as a peacekeeper in Cyprus.

Back in those days, for some inexplicable reason, the bureaucrats in Veterans Affairs considered a gunshot wound taken during peacekeeping “different” than the same injury occurring during a war and that difference resulted in reduced disability benefits and services.

Now, one would think that the running battle with Veterans Affairs may have made this man bitter — and he was — but only toward the faceless bureaucrats in Ottawa.

You see, he was immensely proud of his regiment, his years in the military and the country he served.

And this pride was equally reflected in those attending the gathering – all of whom were career soldiers.

As the evening progressed and the whisky flowed, the conversation turned to reminiscing about tours they had served, missions they had accomplished, those they had served with and those soldiers who had given their health — sometimes their lives — “standing on guard” for their country.

By the time that gathering ended in the very wee hours of the morning, I carried from it an ode written about those soldiers and all the others like them I had known.

So, on every Nov. 11 since that day, I have shared the evening with a bottle of whisky, those memories and the words that were written down that evening.

It is not a great (or even passably good) composition but every soldier who has read the words has asked for a copy.

Somehow, despite the flaws, it speaks to a shared experience and honours the sacrifice of those who served.

Amber Teardrops

Still whisky in the bottle

Enough to fill a glass

And raise it to the images

That stare out of the past

The black of night beginning

Cause sunset’s come at last

The soldier salutes everyone

Who’s walked the iron path

For a hero is just someone

Who doesn’t count the cost

And in the trackless wilderness

Has met and loved and lost

With open arms embraced the ice

That fear knifes in your heart

And hell is just another place

In which their loved ones fought

So raise another glass and toast

The mirror’s empty eyes

A reflection can mean nothing

It can be chock full of lies

Or a picture can be everything

Can say a million words

Depends on who is looking

And what the watcher’s heard.

There is a crystal moment

A boy becomes a man

It isn’t tween her silken thighs

Nor a gun placed in his hand

It isn’t when he kills a man

Nor facing nightmare’s rage 

It’s in the second realized

Survivors love not hate

While there isn’t any silence

When the reaper comes to call

There never is an enemy

That isn’t fully mourned

You cannot fight the battle

Until you know the man

You cannot leave the dead behind

You hold them in your hands

How many empty chairs are there

How many folded flags

How many children’s fathers gone

How many absent wives

How many times a man can’t count

How many lives been spent

How many names are carved in stone

Too many of whom went.

Love your enemy as yourself

Cause one of you will die

And he who knows the other best

Is likely to survive

It’s those that draw another breath

Pour whisky in their glass

And offer amber teardrops up

To all of those who passed

But know you this my brothers

I’d never change my life

Cause everyone I’ve loved who’s gone

I carry in my mind

There’s joy inside the sadness

And a smile within the tears

Every one a hero

Remembered as a saint.

Still whisky in my bottle

So I’ll pour another glass

And offer amber teardrops up

To all of those who’ve passed.

Remember through your words and actions those who have given much — or given all — for this country and our way of life. They have left it in your hands. 

Brian Marshall is a NOTL realtor, author and expert consultant on architectural design, restoration and heritage.