Brian Isfeld
On October 3,1992 Mark left for his first tour in Croatia, his
second UN peacekeeping tour. There was a decidedly different approach to
this tour in comparison to the first. No excitement, no apprehension, just
a feeling that he was on his way to another war torn area and knew the
dangers and sights he would probably behold in this part of the world. The
exuberance of the last trip had been replaced with the semblance of a person
that was not really keen about what was coming up in the near future, but he
was going to do the required tasks with diligence and professionalism and
then get the hell home. One of his statements to me was that he was glad it
was fall, soon to be winter, as he did not think he could take any more
tours with the conditions he had been subjected to in Kuwait.
In retrospect, I remember that ever since he had returned from the
Kuwait tour, he was constantly picking at his eyes as if he had dust or some
irritating substance in them. This continued through the first Croatian
tour and even into the third.
Most of Mark's words here areletters to parents.
In the summer of 1992, before leaving on his second tour, Mark was visiting
on Vancouver Island and asked his mother to write her thoughts of war down
on paper. This she did and the poem is related here.
In addition, for his birthday on 14 august she wrote "My Son - - - Our
Sons": Her feelings about her son, and other mother's sons, leaving on
another United Nations tour, this time to the war ravaged mountains and
valleys of the former Yugoslavia.
Carol Isfeld
Thoughts of War
Our lives are in a turmoil,
But then so is Man.
There's been some sort of conflict
Ever since the world began.
The world isn't any bigger,
But our troubles surely are.
We don't stop to smell the roses,
Or even wish upon a star.
On the larger scale; some nation wants
What another nation has.
Why can't we love each other?
Time will help the hurting pass.
Armageddon will be our making
At the speed we're going now!
All the chiefs are inside talking;
We're the braves who push the plough.
We're letting "Big Wheels" do our talking.
Hate and bloodshed is no joke!
Once crowds that gathered - listened!
While one loving person spoke.
There's so much hate and greed and jealousy.
God! Help each one of us to care.
We forgot you gave us love and trust
So call your neighbour friend - and share.
Mom
"Thoughts of War" was incorporated as part of Padre Ted Moeller's
funeral service for Mark. The following poem by Mark's mother was written
in 1992 and presented to Mark on his birthday. A plaque of ebony wood with
the poem inscribed was presented to 1 CER December 15, 1994 by Mark's
parents as a remembrance.
My Son - - - - Our Sons
You are going away my son
For reasons only God can understand.
We're told you're trying to keep the peace
With our hurting fellow man.
I see my baby leaving soon
For an impossible situation.
That's my personal understanding
For this very troubled nation.
They have been warring for decades.
Now they're killing each other.
Where does all the hate begin
To make us want to kill a brother?
I know that each of our sons
Will make a friend with someone there.
They are taking love from home;
It will show them how we care.
People when taken separately
Will be helped by each of you.
Maybe something will rub off
From what you're trained to do.
In order to stop the ache at night
I pray you're safe wher'er you trod
And place all of you in loving hands
To walk side by side with God.
I love you - - - - - Mom
Dedicated to Peacekeepers from all walks of life, from all nations, and to
the mothers of these peacekeepers who carry on regardless.
The following starts his second tour in sector west Croatia.
Mark Isfeld
. . . Hi. I've been here for six days now and it has rained every one.
And when it rains it pours. It is really nice countryside. Every house is
a little farm. It smells fresh too for the most part. Sort of looks like a
cross between B.C. and nova Scotia. . . I am not near the front at all. The
only place near us where it is at all hot is Packrak. But that's cool.
It's funny, there is damage here. One house will be blown up and the two
neighbouring houses wont be touched. That's a Serb house. [Destroyed]
I've heard stories of people abandoning their spouses if they were Serb.
. . . I am going to teach mine awareness to the infantry from my brigade who
are manningcheckpoints in this sector. That will be from the 12th to the
18th Oct, so I'll get to travel a little and make movies. . . Tomorrow we
are starting to clear Camp Polom where we stay. There was a big battle for
this camp because it used to belong to the Jugo army. It was an engineer
trainingbase and full of mines and explosives that were strewn when bunkers
were hit. . .I'm trying to write as much as possible, but we are being so
heavily tasked. We are 30 engineers supporting a 900 person battalion. Not
only are we getting engineer tasks, i.e. mine clearance and clearing
areas or rather proving them safe, they are giving us menial and stupid
tasks such as gate guard and flag pole erection or fence painting. We are
special skilled soldiers and deserve better treatment from those in charge!
As for myself I am travelling around teaching mine awareness. I
really enjoy it. We have a good package. We have a lot of training mines
which were used by the Jugoslavian army. . .I took some pictures today of
two real old men who were pulling a cart full of apples and some walnuts.
When I approached them they seemed to be a little worried. I had my rifle.
I gave them each a chocolate bar and they sure smiled then! . . .
The following Letter was written for AndyHolota, editor of surrey leader,
who knew Mark in Kuwait, Wainwright and Croatia. Letter was never mailed,
for Andy arrived in Camp Polom. Mark considered Andy a personal friend, and
gave him the letter while he and Andy were in Mark's quarters talking.
Mark Isfeld Oct 92 Camp Polom Croatia
Last year, while I was still in Kuwait, my wife Kelly and I finalized
plans for our marriage. At first she insisted we have a summer wedding. I
explained to her that a Christmas wedding would be better for us. Since her
birthday is Dec 27, that would practically ensure I would always
be home for our anniversary. This year our first anniversary will be shared
together only because my warrant officer insisted my leave time be changed.
I will come back to Croatia on my wife's birthday. We will share our first
anniversary and Christmas together. Two out of three ain't bad!
From my eyes Croatia is a terrible scar on a once beautiful face. I
have seen churches possibly 500 years old in ruins. A monastery with
breathtaking architecture; fruit trees and grape vines fill a courtyard
where human voices are gone. I can almost imagine priests gathering grapes
to make wine for their communion. The church has a tall steeple with a
stunning mosaic on the front. A clock hangs from the other side, but time
has stopped for this ancient, sacred place of worship. Devils of war have
made this treasure of history a worthless eyesore.
My heart was torn from my chest today. I saw a helpless old lady on
the porch of an apartment. She was the only resident. People with larger
interests than the life of a pathetic old woman stormed through her town and
tore her life away. They ruined all her possessions, forcing her to
scrounge for utensils. I wonder if she will survive the winter?
One day, I can't help but wonder: Where are all the people? There
is a strange emptiness; peoples hours of labour, all their skill and love
that went into building homes; Some have been handed down through countless
generations. They lie in ruined piles of brick and stucco. What a pain it
must be to flee from your home, to flee from bloodthirsty strangers and
stand beside a pile of rubble.
Often, as we travel through the countryside, people shake their fist or
give us a well placed centre finger. At first I was a little bitter, this
was not the reaction I am used to or expected. While in Kuwait I got a
little tired of shaking hands and waving to the civilians. In Kuwait people
understood that we were there to help and protect them. In Croatia, where
no one trusts soldiers of any sort, they see us as some sort of trouble, but
I will keep on doing my duty of protecting nations that wish for peace. I
will risk my life daily using the special skills I have been given by my
country to help keep civilians and UN soldiers safe in travel and daily
function.
At the moment I am travelling from infantry checkpoint to checkpoint and
teaching private soldier and officer alike about the mines (anti-personnel
and anti-tank), unexploded ordnance, and booby traps, that are still too
frequent. We stress that one engineer has died, a well trained man. As
well, one Cpl infantryman who stepped outside an area that was clear lost
his foot.
I feel proud as a Canadian, and proud to be part of the Canadian Engineer
Corps, without a doubt the worlds best trained and respected. My only
regret is I am not with my regiment. I feel like an adopted son who
doesn't get the love and respect the adoptive parents should give.
[Mark's regiment at the time was stationed in Daruvar and his section was
attached to the
infantry]
I feel compelled to say that the support of the loved ones and wives who
miss us all so much is unparalleled. It takes a special person to weather
the storm alone at home while their husbands are worlds away and in
dangerous situations constantly. While we may laugh at being shot at or
finding mines, our loved ones get sick from 6 months of constant worry. I
love my wife, but I am very confident in my knowledge and ability to keep
myself from danger. I understand this. How can she? She cannot understand
why I would want to touch a bomb that is set to go off with very little
pressure, or that may have a booby trap on it. The only answer I can
give is, I know what this stuff can do. Civilians, small children don't.
My skills are to protect them. Engineers think of how many lives they are
saving, not of the one they risk.
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Mark Isfeld
. . . The day is winding down, I've had a shower, shared some Kraft Dinner,
chopped wood for the stove, now I have tea and country tunes and ready to
write letters. I get to sleep in tomorrow.
I'll carry on with the news as I understand it. It comes from so
many places when you're in the middle of it. I just sort of worry about
what's at hand and pick out what interests me from the big picture. I have
stories to tell but not in paper form. I have videos and pictures to tie
certain stories of my own together.
Well, after my "O - Group" tonight it seems something is amok.
There were 15 sorties last night, apparently there is a build-up of some
sort. That corresponds with my own theory that winter would be the time to
fight for these people who seem to be fighting a "cleansing" war.
A town was taken by the Serbs a few days back. It was suspected
that it was given up. Anyway 500 refugees were fleeing and being shelled.
Sick eh?. . . I was called out today to pull an APC out of a minefield. No
one was killed, a broken arm and a lost set of teeth. Turned out there was
two APC's and the second one struck the mine ( TMA-3 cast explosive anti
tank. )
Well to make a long story short the track was blown off. The real story
comes after that. We had dragged out the APC with recovery vehicle and me
and Mcpl Hughes were the last to depart the scene. As we were walking out:
"Stop!" I said. "Trip wire!" He was dragging a trip wire. We followed the
wire to the end and; "Oh-Oh!" "A pin!" We searched around and found a
PMR-2 anti personnel fragmentation mine! A dud! It had functioned but
failed to fire; very, very dangerous! Don't think that we missed the wire
initially, Ken. We started up the road about 300 meters further up when we
started to clear. It was a blessing that I found it. I think the APC
pasted it into the mud and the recovery vehicle dragged it up pulling the
disabled carrier out. If it had gone off we would have lost men. That was
my second trip wire. The first one I found turned out safe.. .
. . . Mark Isfeld 4 Feb 93 Camp Polom
Hi grandpa
I made this card for you cause we can't get any here right now. I
know you like children and animals so I hope you enjoy this one. I hear
you said my name a few days ago, that is very special. I know you love us
and I love you. I think of you very often and I took a picture of some old
fashioned woven beehives here in this former Yugoslavia. I will have it
framed for you
when I come home. There are a lot of beekeepers, or rather were a lot here
and I often think fondly of the times you and I enjoyed taking honey. As
well I always think of the time youthought you could smell a bear and we
could only find one slug. We were all concerned that the bear would destroy
the hives then Leigh said he found the bear. It was his socks--ha ha. And
I remember how you hated the sapsuckers and Glenn said there was a duck in a
tree and it was a sapsucker. So much for Glenn's bird recognition! Yes I
remember fondly all the times we had and wish we could talk about them. I
will be home in April or May and I will come to visit with you and the nice
ladies of the hospital who are so good to you. I know you think they are
cute eh? Hands to yourself buddy! Things are tense here and could get
worse. We are in a difficult position as UN troops, for, if we were not
restricted we could kick some ass and settle it. But as it stands, I use my
training to save lives of people who will never know they stepped in a spot
where a mine once lay. I've run out of space so I will mail this to you and
hopefully the next time you can hear from me, I can hold your hand.
All my love your devoted grandson Mark
On to part 6
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