Fifty Acts. The Eleventh.

Remembrance Sunday saw me in the city centre at one of the war memorials.  This was the large commemoration where members of the armed forces, civic dignitaries and representatives from the local schools were gathered.  This was one act where I didn't get time for much of a chat afterwards, but one lady mentioned to me of a relative who died at Arras in WW1, and of her family trying to find out the full story of what happened to her great grandfather. 

Remembrance Sunday is one event where there may be people gathered in a congregation who do not have a regular church connection.  But, this is their war memorial, so they will attend, whether the commemoration is in a church, outside at the memorial in the church yard or at a town memorial.  It's not a place for innovation, as there is an expectation of the same simple reflective ceremony.  And needless to say, timing is essential.

Today, in the stillness of the eleventh hour silence, two buglers sounded, one near me, and another at a memorial some distance away, a reminder that this is not an isolated commemoration.  And as  the ceremony closed, a piper began playing, almost immediately joined by another piper, playing at a third commemoration, the two pipers playing the same tune, gave the morning a mournful, reflctive air.

I'll leave you with four holes in a block of stone.  These are the empty holes left when railings were taken down during WW2 to be made into weaponry.  Rumour has it, however that thery got so much iron that some of it was dumped in the Thames.  Every time you see a hole where a railing used to be, think of a person who still has a hole in their lives as a result of someone's death in conflict. 

Because there's far more damaged lives than there are damaged railings.