07 March 2010

I received this in an email from a friend. It is a knock off of an original. If I could give the originator a kudu for it, I would. Be that as it may I decided to put it up on the blog if only because I liked it. If the person who actually started this wants to contact me I am easy to find. I would then be quite happy to provide credit to him / her for the work.

As I am a pilot on a ground job in the middle east I can relate. I have never been so impressed with Canadian military men and women until I got to work with them out of country.

If you have a comment sent it to me at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it

Bez
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The Canadian soldier is profane and irreverent, living as he does in a world of capriciousness, frustration and disillusionment.

He is perhaps the best-educated of his kind in history, but rarely accords respect on the basis of mere degrees or titles.

He speaks his own dialect, often incomprehensible to the layman. He can be cold, cruel, even brutal and is frequently insensitive. Killing is his profession and he strives to become even more skilled at it.

His model is the grey, muddy, hard-eyed comrade who took the untakeable at Vimy Ridge, endured the unendurable in the Scheldt and held the unholdable at Kapyong.

He is a superlative practical diplomat; his efforts have brought peace to many around the world. He is capable of astonishing acts of kindness, warmth and generosity. He will give you his last sip of water on a parched day and his last food to a hungry child; he will give his life for the society he loves.

Danger and horror are his familiars and his sense of humour is, accordingly, sardonic. What the unknowing take as callousness is his defence against the unimaginable; he whistles through a career filled with graveyards.

His ethos is one of self-sacrifice and duty. He is sinfully proud of himself, of his unit, of his country. He is unique in that his commitment is total. No other trade or profession demands such of its members, and none could successfully try.

He loves his family dearly, sees them all too rarely and often as not loses them to the demands of his profession. Loneliness is the price he accepts for the privilege of serving.

He regards discomfort as routine; the search for personal gain is beneath him; he has neither understanding of, nor patience with, those motivated by self-interest, politics or money.

His loyalty can be absolute, but must be earned. Paradoxically, payment for his loyalty, is also loyalty.

He devours life in big bites, knowing that each bite might be his last; his manners suffer thereby. He would rather die regretting the things he did than the ones he dared not try.

He earns a good wage by most standards and, given the demands on him, is woefully underpaid. He can be arrogant, thoughtless and conceited, but will spend himself, sacrifice everything for total strangers in places he cannot pronounce.

He considers political correctness a podium for self-righteous fools, but will die fighting for the rights of anyone he respects or pities

He is a philosopher and a drudge, an assassin and a philanthropist, a servant and a leader, a disputer and a mediator, a Nobel Laureate peacekeeper and the Queen’s hitman, a brawler and a healer, best friend and worst enemy.

He is a rock, a goat, a fool, a sage, a drunk, a provider, a cynic. You, pale stranger, sleep well at night only because he exists for you — the citizen who has never met him, has perhaps never thought of him and may even despise him.

He is both your child and your guardian. His devotion to you is unwavering. He is The Canadian Soldier.