I believe it was Ken (Fisher?) who coined this greeting in response to Joe Ayers completion: “our ever-dwindling Listserve.” This was one of those “intrusions”into my psyche that resulted in the following poem and Googling the Henry V speech. It made me reflect on the stages of grief and where am I. Not only are we dwindling in numbers but the species of our beloved home are dwindling even faster. I get up every morning and dutifully tick off another of the days of this decade remaining (3,395 today) to have to reduce our carbon emission by the proverbial 45-50% in order to have a livable earth. And get just a little more angry/sad/resigned/accepting. I think I am cycling between resignation and acceptance currently. The response this particular notice and comment from Ken generated in me led to the following. I share it for the edification of the remnant. Milan H. A Chair at the Table St Crispin's Day Speech The St Crispin's Day speech is a part of William Shakespeare's history play Henry V, Act IV Scene iii(3) 18–67. On the eve of the Battle of Agincourt, which fell on Saint Crispin's Day, Henry V urges his men, who were vastly outnumbered by the French, to recall how the English had previously inflicted great defeats upon the French. The speech has been famously portrayed by Laurence Olivier to raise British spirits during the Second World War, and by Kenneth Branagh in the 1989 film Henry V; it made famous the phrase "band of brothers".[1] The play was written around 1600, and several later writers have used parts of it in their own texts. WESTMORLAND. O that we now had here But one ten thousand of those men in England That do no work to-day! KING. What's he that wishes so? My cousin, Westmorland? No, my fair cousin; If we are mark'd to die, we are enough To do our country loss; and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of honour. God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; It yearns me not if men my garments wear; Such outward things dwell not in my desires. But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive. No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England. God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour As one man more methinks would share from me For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more! Rather proclaim it, Westmorland, through my host, That he which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart; his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse; We would not die in that man's company That fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is call'd the feast of Crispian. He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say "To-morrow is Saint Crispian." Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, And say "These wounds I had on Crispin's day." Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember, with advantages, What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, Familiar in his mouth as household words— Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester— Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red. This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be rememberèd— We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in England now a-bed Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. Addendum Ah we privileged few that in a land of myst’ry Sat at table, men and women, facing one another While girding ourselves for battles of the spirit More fierce than those we’d face outside Our hallowed halls where, singing songs familiar And others learned from theologians’ words Would stir our hearts and lead us into places None believed we’d ever tread. We century twenty band of timid souls Inspired first to save the Church by teaching Her to love the World a parish at a time; Then audacious though it seemed to all but we On fire with Consciousness flowing like a river Turned our gaze upon a suffering world four billion then, Now nearly eight before we blinked an eye, ours not G-O-D’s. Climbing the Mountain of Care, we thought could demonstrate Anew a balanced triangle, a band of twenty-four, a humanizing thread Of hope beyond hope to the poorest of the poor, Not realizing yet that they were Us, the ones in need. But wait, opportunity knocks, maybe only this once in a lifetime chance: The bicentennial of the good old USA! Are you ready for this? Yes! Said We, let us conduct five thousand Town Meetings And by the way, let’s make it several thousand more around the world. Town Meeting ’76! Was off and running. Of course, we did it, One in every county of the land belov-ed. Ours not G-O-D’s. And who knows how many in the world belov-ed, G-O-D’s for sure. What a historical ride on which we privileged few were taken: Painful years ahead, decisions, decisions, decisions. Sendouts galore! Broken chains of Care! Did I sign up for this? Oh Yeah! You did! And now you get to reap the fruits of your labor. Now the Sea of Tranquility’s becoming clear. Just got an E-mail about Audrey’s Joe, not the first of us to go to the Mystery’s embrace But there’s always one that wakes you up, not so? I knew Audrey! No, I don’t mean I knew Audrey, exactly. But I knew Audrey Back in nineteen-sixty-nine, Academy, and Summer 70. This feeling washed over me, of being one of the privileged ones Who knew Audrey and Joe, and the others of us who’ve gone to the Mystery’s care: My friend Terry, who “recruited” me, George and David, who taught me, And Bob, who mentored me and was my friend, and Audrey, who I knew in ’69. Chairs are missing at the table; we are dwindling one by one; Yet the stories as they leave us, telling us their work is done, Join with saints of all the ages, beckoning, beckoning, to leave out not a single one. I’m not naming any more of us, you know who you are. Except for that other Joe, who more importantly, knew me. Remember Joe? Joe used to say that when he went, all of us who went on ahead would wait hey-- At the Pearly Gate hey. So, we could all march in together hey. Ah, we privileged few who were there on Crispin’s Day Milan Hamilton September 15, 2021 Sent from my iPad