A Lesson, Old South Style

When I was a high school senior in Columbus Ga, I had an English teacher named Miss Byrd. I thought she must be a day older than dirt, but she was probably in her mid 60s as she retired at the end of the term. Miss Byrd I hope I wasn't a factor in your decision. Deep south, old school, she called you Mister or Miss. You were expected to stand when you addressed her. While I never saw her use it, she carried a long wooden pointer with authority. The Vietnam War was at its peak at this time, as was the opposition.As the son of a black beret wearing Ranger, my politics were pretty much ingrained in me. As Veteran's Day approached (yes you guessed it, it was Armistice Day to her) she had us memorize Rupert Brooke's "The Soldier" no explanation, just do it. On test day after we were all told "pencils down!" she sat and read the poem to us. When finished she paused, then in her Georgia drawl told us to remember no matter how you felt about war or politics or even your country always, always remember the fallen are real people who have given the full sacrifice and they MUST be honored.
Thanks Miss Byrd,I will never forget (and I didn't start the rumor about your Confederate Flag bloomers, honest.)

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven