Memorial Day

by Beth Alexander Walsh

     My first memory of Memorial Day was as a first grader at the Gleason School in West Medford. It was the early seventies and our teacher, Mrs. Wallace, would start preparing our class weeks before the ceremony we would attend, instructing us on our musical selections, but more importantly the solemn meaning of the event. We learned about the history of our fallen soldiers and how crucial it was to remember their sacrifice. We practiced getting in line in our classroom and standing perfectly still and quiet until Mrs. Wallace gestured for us to sing. I took this ceremony very seriously and wanted to do my best not only for all our lost veterans but also for my Dad, who served in the Navy in WWII and my grandfather, who served our country in WWI.

     The week of the ceremony was our chance to practice with the rest of the school. We all filed out to the asphalt playground and took our assigned places. The first grade stood in front of the sixth graders, and we were told that they would be our partners walking to the cemetery next door to our school. The fifth grade was paired with the second and the fourth grade with the third. We all stood in uniform lines flanked by our teachers making sure we remained in place and that there was no talking. Various students were picked to do readings and petitions and the sixth grade sang a complicated piece with harmonies and provided two trumpeters to play Taps. It was at least a dozen times that we formed our lines, like little soldiers marching towards our own battle.

   On the day of the ceremony, my mother helped me clip purple lilacs from the bush in our backyard to put in the coffee can I had wrapped in tin foil the day before. We put some stones in the bottom of the can to steady it and wrapped the stems of the lilacs in wet paper towels to keep them moist. When I arrived at school I was amazed at the sea of lilacs in the hallways with the occasional bouquet of late blooming tulips. The heady sweet smell of all those lilacs was dizzying. We had to take special care to keep the flowers away from the door of our first-grade class as Mrs. Wallace was highly allergic to them.

    When it was time for the ceremony we again made our formation in the school yard and then row by row with flowers in hand, we departed for the Oak Grove Cemetery with our student partners. The only sound of our journey was the scuffle of sneakers and shoes on the sidewalk as we quietly made our way through the cemetery gates.  We stopped in front of the WWII Memorial and placed the flowers at our feet. The graves had all been decorated with small American flags and there were lines of veterans to one side, some sitting and some standing, along with a color guard in front. We opened our ceremony with the Star-Spangled Banner and in between the veteran speeches and our own readings and petitions was our rendition of God Bless America. Finally, it was time to place our flowers on the soldier’s graves. We were still partnered with our sixth graders so the job would be completed in a timely and silent manner. Our school trumpeter then played Taps which was answered in echo by another trumpeter in the distance. Although I knew it would be happening, the guns fired in salute made me jump. At last we sang our final song of Let There Be Peace on Earth and the ceremony ended. Our walk back to school was boisterous now that we were relieved of our solemn duties and we were all rewarded with popsicles in our classroom for our hard work.    

      There were other ceremonies and parades that took place in my city on Memorial Day, but none made the lasting impression of the sacrifices of our military than those six years I stood near the graves of those fallen soldiers with my fellow elementary students.

Your silent tents of green
We deck with fragrant flowers;
Yours has the suffering been.
The memory shall be ours.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow