<p>STATION 1: "In Flanders Fields" Written in by John McCrae (1915) After witnessing the carnage of WWI John McCrae wrote "In Flanders Fields." McCrae, a Canadian, was a medical officer in the Boer War and World War I. This poem is the reason poppies have become a symbol of Veteran’s day. Poppy seeds can stay in the ground for many years without growing. The soil needs to be agitated in order for the seeds to take root. When the graves of fallen soldiers were dug, the soil was agitated, and wild poppies began to grow naturally on their gravesites in Europe. 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. </p><p>Wilfred Owen’s “Dulce Et Decorum Est” Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.</p><p>GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling, Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time; But someone still was yelling out and stumbling And floundering like a man in fire or lime.-- Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.</p><p>In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.</p><p>If in some smothering dreams you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin; If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,-- My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori. STATION 2: Images of WWI</p><p>STATION 3: Songs of WWI “Keep the Home Fires Burning”: https://ia601407.us.archive.org/0/items/SongsOfWorldWarI/08KeepTheHomes- firesBurning.mp3</p><p>Lyrics: </p><p>They were summoned from the hillside, They were called in from the glen, And the country found them ready At the rallying call for men Let no tears add to their hardships As the soldiers pass along, And although your heart is breaking, Make it sing this cheery song: Keep the Home Fires Burning, While your hearts are yearning. Though your lads are far away They dream of home. There's a silver lining Through the dark clouds shining, Turn the dark cloud inside out Till the boys come home. Overseas there came a pleading, "Help a nation in distress." And we gave our glorious laddies - Honour bade us do no less, For no gallant son of Freedom To a tyrant's yoke should bend, And a noble heart must answer To the sacred call of "Friend." Keep the Home Fires Burning, While your hearts are yearning. Though your lads are far away They dream of home. There's a silver lining Through the dark clouds shining, Turn the dark cloud inside out 'Til the boys come home. </p><p>Over there: https://ia601407.us.archive.org/0/items/SongsOfWorldWarI/01OverThere.mp3</p><p>Lyrics: </p><p>Verse 1</p><p>Johnny, get your gun, get your gun, get your gun. Take it on the run, on the run, on the run. Hear them calling you and me, Every Son of Liberty. Hurry right away, no delay, go today. Make your Daddy glad to have had such a lad. Tell your sweetheart not to pine, To be proud her boy's in line. Verse 2 Johnny, get your gun, get your gun, get your gun. Johnny, show the "Hun" you're a son-of-a-gun. Hoist the flag and let her fly Yankee Doodle do or die. Pack your little kit, show your grit, do your bit. Yankee to the ranks from the towns and the tanks. Make your Mother proud of you And the old red-white-and-blue Chorus Over there, over there, Send the word, send the word over there That the Yanks are coming, the Yanks are coming The drums rum-tumming everywhere. So prepare, say a prayer, Send the word, send the word to beware - We'll be over, we're coming over, And we won't come back till it's over, over there.</p><p>STATION 4: Political Cartoons of WWI </p>