Poppies
5:30am, Morning of the 10 Nov, and I wake with a full bladder that wants attention, and I mean NOW!!! Problem is, it’s still dark, and I’m afraid if I start moving around inside the camp I’ll get shot. So I have to wait 20 mins until there is the tiniest bit of light, and then I sling both cameras over my solders so that my outline should be recognisable to the guys standing guard with their night vision goggles.
People started to move around soon afterwards, and everyone was wearing fleeces and hats. It was cold, and there was a real feeling that the weather had turned. This was a big concern, as a lot of these guys didn’t have their winter gear with them. Up till now they had been carrying as little as possible (Every ounce counts) and because they had been in the field for almost 4 weeks they hadn’t had a chance to pick up their extra kit.
After breakfast I headed out with a clearing patrol. Their task was to improve the view from the camp, in order to maximise their “fields of fire.” This means that they want to be able to see their attackers from as far as possible, in order to bring down every possible type of destructive firepower on them, including Close Air Support (CAS), artillery, mortars, 25mm cannon fire from the LAVs, and heavy machineguns, as well as the soldiers rifles. The difficulty with the Pashmul area is that it is full of grape-fields, which have deep irrigation channels deep enough for a man to walk upright. There are various other problems with the terrain, and so the soldiers are woking to reduce their risk constantly. Today they destroyed a few mud wall, which I couldn’t believe took as much effort as it did. The walls are built with mud mixed with straw, and when they set they are incredibly strong. There were sledgehammers and pickaxes in action, as well as human brute force, but it was a long process. And of course the longer it takes the more time these guys are exposed to possible ambush, so it is a very tense undertaking. They then cut down a few trees, and burnt a crop of corn that was providing possible cover to their enemy. Again I felt that I was in a different era, as I grew up on pictures from the Vietnam war or soldiers burning crops and destroying structures. I spoke to one of the guys about it, and he said he often feels bad about destroying other peoples work, but they have no choice. This is war.
We walked back in to the base, past the point where two of their friens were killed only recently by an IED, with pieces of tyre and metal still strewn around the road. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to witness such destruction and death, and then to have to carry on working in the same place.
When we got back we discovered that more sandbags had arrived, and already soldiers were hard at work digging, shovelling, hauling the bags, while others built them up like bricks, and beating them into place with pickaxe handles. It is crude, but very effective.
I was worn out from my patrol, so I found a spot to sit against one of those sandbag walls and tucked into another MRE. During my meal I was chatting to a soldier about the chess set I photographed the previous day, and mentioned that I would love a game. He said he would too, and wished he hadn’t lost his chess set. So I suggested making one, as we had lots of time. I got to work on the board, cutting an MRE box and getting my black marker out. He started cutting up squares from white and dark cardboard, and after about half an hour we had a rudimentary chess set. I was feeling pretty pleased with myself, considering the idea was mine and we actually got it together despite the scepticism of some of the others, but the smugness was soon wiped away as he proceeded to beat me not once, not twice, but three times in a row. Still, my laptop battery was dead and I had pretty much photographed everyone in the Strongpoint, so I and nothing better to do. And it was fun playing the game of kings and warriors on such a crappy board in such a crappy environment, sitting on upturned boxes and swatting flies of the pieces so we could read the letters.
Then I was told I was going back to Masum Gar that night, as my convoy out to KAF was leaving there early the next day. I packed up my stuff while trying to remove all the sand that was determined to get into my bag. Everything I owned was now camouflaged perfectly with the desert thanks to the dust that was ingrained. Even the Canadians vehicles, which are actually painted green, are so caked in the fine powdery sand that they blend right into the surroundings.
I arrived back into Masum Gar, and found my cot still unoccupied in the dog handlers tent, and as soon as I dropped my bags I lay down and slept. I told you, its all about the cat-naps these days. I then found out that my convoy was leaving the next evening, so I would have all of the 11th at Masum Gar. This suited me fine, as I wanted to photograph the service that was being held for Remembrance Day.
Another night was spent shivering and waking, and then I was up to the now familiar sight of pre-dawn light. In fact the sun was hidden behind a cloud bank and the morning remained cold. I wrote a piece about the service for AFP, which I don’t think they used as it was a bit too emotive for a news service, which I will insert here.
By John D McHugh, embedded with Canadian Forces at Forward Operating Base Masum Gar, in Panjwayi.
Under skies that threatened rain for the first time in their six month tour, Canadian soldiers gathered at Forward Operating Base Masum Gar in Panjwayi, Kandahar Province, to mark Remembrance Day with a simple but moving service. Canadian Forces wearing the traditional Remembrance Poppy listened as the names of their comrades who have died in Afghanistan, many close to this base in Panjwayi, were read out in front of a hastily constructed wooden cross. The simple cross, made of lashed together timbers, was held up in the powdery sand by rocks stacked around its base.
The Canadians were joined by soldiers serving in the British and US forces, as well as members of the Afghan National Army. Surrounded by armoured vehicles and fortified positions, in the heart of the volatile district of Pashmul, the soldiers that were not on duty gathered in a casual manner to listen to the ceremony.
Dressed in full body armour and helmets, and carrying their weapons, it was impossible to forget that after these few minutes of solemnity those soldiers present would be back at their posts on the frontline, carrying out their duties as those that have fallen did.
A wreath, bearing the single word Canada, was laid beside the makeshift cross on the hill by Captain Jordan Schwab, Acting Company Commander of A Company, 2nd Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry, and the soldiers removed their helmets and bowed their heads to remember their friends. The vibrant red poppies and green base of the wreath stood out against the brown sands, as the poppies that many soldiers wore on flak jackets stood out against the desert camouflage of the military uniforms.
Sergeant Major John Hooyer then spoke to the soldiers, telling them that this was a day to think of their friends, and to be strong. He told the gathered servicemen and women that they must stand together, to fight the good fight, and that that was how they would get through their tour.
He then recited those sombre words, which will be repeated at so many rituals in so many lands on this day;
“They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old.
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them”.
Then the troops made their way to the cross, individually or in groups, to place a poppy in the wreath, or in some cases in the very sand on which the memorial stood. Some paused, some kneeled and removed their helmets, while one simply clapped his hand on the supporting rocks. Their thoughts and prayers were their own, as not a single one spoke aloud. Close to the end was Sgt. Maj. Hooyer, who spent some time before the monument.
Following the ceremony a short religious service was held, led by Canadian Forces Padre Zibby Jonczyk, who is attached to the battle-group. Afterwards, one of the soldiers thanked the padre for the service, saying it was much appreciated. The soldier said that the brief rain shower that fell during their prayers made it feel like they were back in Canada. Padre Jonczyk replied, “Well you know, in some countries, when it rains, people say that God is crying.”
Now, this piece was written simply because I was so moved by the whole situation, and I felt that it should be known about. What is impossible to convey properly is the raw emotion that was so apparent. This was no huge stage-managed event like I have photographed in London, marking the war-dead of years ago, of those who would be old men now. This was a group of soldiers remembering their friends that had died recently, and close by, and it was horribly sad. My heart went out to the Sgt. Maj., whose prime role is the care of his men. In the Canadian Army, Senior NCO’s wear a Red Sash as part of their dress uniform, which is a symbol of the bond between them and their men. Traditionally the sash was white before entering battle, and would become stained with blood as the Sgt. Maj. Carried his wounded or dead of the field of battle over his shoulder. Incidentally, there are 88 knots on the end of the sash, which the CSM would tie off as as he accounted for each of his men. An old custom to represent an old bond, and to see the Sgt. Maj. kneeling before the cross at Masum Gar, one which, in spirit, lives on.