Memorial Day and The Raindrops on Your Old Tin Hat

Those who know me, know I make a habit of Red Friday posts on social media. I've done this for several years and will continue as long as Facebook exists.

I look for quotes and stories, Bible verses and personal thoughts to draw our attention to the ones who lay it all on the line so we can freely and safely go to the grocery store, send our kids to school and worship without fear.

This past Friday, I felt especially heavy hearted as I looked for the proper post for the day. Thinking of Memorial Day just a few days away. . . I couldn't help but think of the Mom's who are without their warriors this year.

I came across an old poem, The Raindrops on Your Old Tin Hat, and the story of its author.

John Hunter Wickersham, born in 1890, joined the army and by the year 1918 he served as a Second Lieutenant in the 353rd Infantry Regiment in France during WW1.

September 11, 1918, just prior to taking part in battle, Wickersham wrote a letter to his mother. The letter contained a poem he wrote while thinking of her.

The next day, John Hunter Wickersham was seriously injured in battle. He pressed on and led his platoon until he fell later September 12 and died. He was awarded the Medal of Honor posthumously in 1919.


Second Lieutenant Wickersham's official Medal of Honor citation reads:

Advancing with his platoon during the St. Mihiel offensive, he was severely wounded in 4 places by the bursting of a high-explosive shell. Before receiving any aid for himself he dressed the wounds of his orderly, who was wounded at the same time. He then ordered and accompanied the further advance of his platoon, although weakened by the loss of blood. His right hand and arm being disabled by wounds, he continued to fire his revolver with his left hand until, exhausted by loss of blood, he fell and died from his wounds before aid could be administered.

Here is the poem he wrote the day before he died:

The Raindrops on Your Old Tin Hat

The mist hangs low and quiet on a ragged line of hills.
There’s a whispering of wind across the flat.
You’d be feeling kind of lonesome if it wasn’t for one thing
The patter of the raindrops on your old tin hat.

An’ you just can’t help a-figuring sitting there alone
About this war and hero stuff and that.
And you wonder if they haven’t sort of got things twisted up,
While the rain keeps up its patter on your old tin hat.

When you stop off with the outfit to do your little bit,
You’re simply doing what you’re s’posed to do –
And you don’t take time to figure what you gain or lose –
It’s the spirit of the game that brings you through.

But back at home she’s waiting, writing cheerful little notes,
And every night she offers up a prayer,
And just keeps on a-hoping that her soldier boy is safe –
The Mother of the boy who’s over there.

And fellows, she’s the hero of the great big ugly war,
And her prayer is on the wind across the flat,
And don’t you reckon it’s her tears, and not the rain,
That’s keeping up the patter on your old tin hat?

Second Lieutenant Wickersham was 28 years old.

This Memorial Day weekend I offer prayers of thanksgiving for the heroes who gave their lives for our freedom. I pray for the families who must display the tri-folded American flag and long to hold the one they love.

I will go to the church picnic and enjoy time with family and friends.

But I will not forget what this special day is meant to be.

And I will not forget the men and women whose blood makes American freedom possible.

God bless America.